I've Been Running For So Long.. [Closed]

Leaving behind the she-cat had been more difficult than he anticipated. For so long he had forced himself to become comfortable with a life on his own. However, companionship was a thing he could not help but crave. Patrick had once been his constant friend. But life had torn them apart fairly quickly after his flight from the Oasis. Since then, he had traveled for so long on his own. Amberdawn had been a nice relief. However, she had her own path to travel down and the older tom tried to understand and encourage her in that. His paws lead him away and in the direction of the mountainous formation at the edge of horizon. Against the fiery hues, the rocks seemed imposing and he felt the urge to duck his head overwhelm him. Perhaps he could shelter there before heading away from these forests and all the cats they contained. He trotted closer with mild hesitation, scenting the air repeatedly along the way. There were faint scents of many cats, very faded, and he wished that his senses were not stuffed and dulled. Keeping himself alive would be much less of an arduous task had Arcayus been born with a better ability to smell. Something seemed stronger to the rest, and he looked up the sheer face, peering curiously into the dimming daylight, to see the pelt of a cat. It appeared to be far enough away in case he needed to bolt. Despite his softer and stocky frame, the tom had managed to get pretty used to running, "Are, uh, you okay up there?"

Aspenheart's sleep was restless and aggravated by nightmares.

Through no fault of his own, he hadn't attended the last gathering of the medicine cats. Normally, he would revel in the opportunity to avoid climbing all the way up to Highstones and engage in conversation with the other herb-chewers (he liked the lot, but the half-moon always sprung up on him when he was busy!), but something was awfully strange about the wind lately. He kept having visions that were unlike the nightmares he usually had. It was like somebody was desperate to speak to him but couldn't reach from the middle of WindClan's grassy camp where he slept beside his dear friends. A whisper floating on the breeze. He couldn't tell if they were echoes of the mountains or true messages from above, but either way, he had to investigate. Waddling as quietly as he could to the medicine den from his place beneath the stars, he swallowed a few travelling herbs and exited through the dirtplace side. He forwent the usual seizing herbs. He had no time to waste if he wanted to reach the Moonstone before morning. He had to speak with dear Nightrunner.

As to stay hidden, Aspenheart elected to take the tunnels until he reached the Thunderpath. The darkness, as usual, was comforting. He detected a crumbling wall, marked it, and continued on his way. As he exited the tunnel, he paused unexpectedly, feeling dizzy and off. He sat down, placing his head on his front paws, and began to count the seconds before his mind went blank. When he returned to consciousness, he was thankful to find that he was still halfway in the tunnel entrance and unscathed. Of course, this of all nights was the one where his head went batbrained. With a sigh, half disappointment and half annoyance, he continued on his journey, driven by the need to know and be taught. Maybe it was folly that drove him as far as he went.

The next thing he knew, he was hunched over on a small overhang, too fragile to shift lest he fall right off. Every seizure shook him to his core. All he heard was the blood pounding in his ears as he lay, cold, stiff and hungry. He took each opportunity he could to sleep before he was awoken by another dangerous drop. He never made it to the Moonstone, but the dream he had was clear.

He stood in a desolate, sandy field. A flower bud, not unlike the ones he saw on the moor, was mere inches in front of him. Touch it, touch it, touch it. Dipping his nose to the flower bud, it suddenly bloomed in a vibrant shade of yellow. A daffodil? With it, suddenly bursting out of the ground came herbs of all kinds, filling the barren land with greenery. The wind picked up from beneath his paws, and he was shocked to find that the pelt he stood in was not his own. It was a light brown tabby... Mintwhisker! He stepped forward, and to his shock, the pelt fell from his own like pollen on the breeze. He stood alone in the field with the little daffodil, in his own skin, and the whispers of one thousand ancestors calling out to him. 

He opened his eyes to the haze of near morning. What could it possibly mean? It was with a quick glance downward that he realized he was still on the small cliff, incapacitated at Highstones. A strange cat stood below him, calling up to the silver tabby. He gruffed and rose to his paws. "What clan are you from, and why are you here alone?" he asked curiously. "I'm the medicine cat of WindClan, but I'm sure you know that. The jiggle-legs are kind of hard to miss. Look, I need help. I gotta get back to camp, and I can't really get down."

"There sure are a lot of you..." He muttered, thinking back to the medicine cat that he had just met. But the she-cat had been soft and kind. This one, bearing the scent of herbs as well, surely couldn't be too bad. Arc hesitated for a moment, conflict crossing his maw. There was a lot of ground to cover. But he had planned on stopping here for the night anyways and if this was a healer, there was no way that the tom could bear any hint of sickness. Then why did he seem so weak? Jiggle legs? The bicolored loner cocked his head and simply stood there a moment with his gaze fixated up on Aspenheart. Finally, he shook his head. If this cat was stuck, it had to be some duty of his to help in someway before carrying on. Some things about his upbringing just stuck. Even a selfish nature of fear and self-preservation could not push away the foremost rule of the Oasis. Patrick sighed lowly to himself. Sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils, ignoring the stuffy nature of his nose, he climbed and spoke.

"I travel alone because its for the best. I don't live among any clan, young'in. The name is... Patrick. And I'm just a loner." Arcayus picked his way up the rocky face, ignoring as the jagged edges scuffed his pads uncomfortably. It didn't take him long to reach the cliff where the strange clan cat was perched. Thankfully, despite his hefty appearance, there was some muscle there after journeying for so long. Once there, the tom sat at Aspenheart's side, drinking in the scent of herbs as a confirmation. Golden eyes peered curiously over the younger cat and he pressed softly, "What happened? I can get you out of here but, I need to know about these, uh, jiggle legs." Something nagged at the back of his mind, perhaps a distant memory. Growing up under the guidance of experienced healers, in a place where his kin traveled and learned of the world, he had learned of many conditions and many things. Perhaps he knew a thing or two about jiggle legs.

His mind had immediately gone to the safety of the other cat, once reassured of a lack of danger. But as he waited for a response, it drifted to another thought, once he had to swallow back. If this cat truly did need assistance, that would mean going with him on the path back to camp. And that meant many more cats. Arcayus had to fight the urge to flee as the thought flitted through his conscious. That was something to worry about later. His paws were set on this task now and he would be sure to see it through.

Patrick was his name, and he had no clan. What an interesting life he must lead. Finchstar would like to hear his stories. In fact, he might just get it. Loner or clanner, the medicine cat wasn't getting down by himself. "I'm called Aspenheart. I don't know how much you know about us, but I'm the one who heals cats and talks to ghosts." Patrick asked about his affliction. The silver tom sighed.

Aspenheart, ever the court jester, simply stood up instead of responding so this strange tom could see for himself. His legs wobbled beneath him as he bobbed up and down in the supreme effort to stay on his own four paws. A few chips of rubble could be heard rolling down from the ledge. Once he was sure of his stability, he stretched out one paw at a time.

"Busted my head when I was a tyke," he explained with a slight tinge of bitterness. He wasn't really all that bothered by his state, but rather how he had come into it. "A few times, actually. Too many times in too quick succession. We can't fix it, no matter what we try. I ended up here because I had a fall. That's what I call it when I... Well, I don't know. Apparently I look pretty rabid, but I can never remember it. So, yeah, it's all lack of balance and random passing out from me." He tilted his head as he processed his surroundings. They weren't all that high up. "If you can get me down this StarClan-forsaken heap of rocks, I can walk back home. I'll make it worth your while, loner. Plenty of prey if you're hungry. They'll certainly reward you for bringing me back alive."

"I met another one like you." Arcayus muttered softly to the other tom, thoughts trailing to the ginger she-cat and the hopes that her path had lead her somewhere safe. Somewhere she could find herself. Part of him felt bad for leaving her behind but he knew there was only so long they were able to tread in the same direction. He was a cat condemned to solo travels. Although, when the medicine cat stood on his shaky legs, the bicolored tom quickly closed the gap between them and helped to support his unsteady frame as if to prevent it from toppling over the edge and to a certain peril. As he stood there, he stood his head ever so slightly to dispel the strange sensation of brushing coats with another cat. How long had it been since he had even spoken to another since the other medicine cat? It was something he found himself missing. The aching for companionship blossomed in his chest in an instant. But such a now unfamiliar thing also threatened to send him bolting away.

It was then he focused on the other tom's words and sought to still his breathing. Another memory filtered through his mind. There'd been another cat like Aspenheart, whose steps faltered and body convulsed. Funny enough, he had seen it with his own golden gaze. One of the great things about the Oasis is vast amounts of knowledge of healing and beyond were held by the cats who lived there. It was for that reason he found his mind straining for a single word, "Chamomile. Have you tried chamomile? Do you have that plant here? It helps." The stranger had come to them after dealing with such a thing their whole life, almost dying at the paws of a fox due to an inability to run off. Some of the adventurers had saved her and brought her back, where the healers studied and tried many herbs before finding something that worked. Unfortunately, it was all he could remember. And without a Sight Seer, drawing any forgotten knowledge would be impossible.

Without acknowledging the thoughts of a reward, he paused for only a moment, before gingerly taking the younger tom's scruff in his maw. And then began picking his way down the sheer, rocky face. It took some effort to haul both of them down but ultimately the pair of toms had an easy time in their descent. As soon as their paws stood on softer soil, Patrick let him go but stayed close to his side, "I'll, uh, make sure you get back to camp okay. But, I can't stay long. I have to go somewhere." His golden eyes stared out over the horizon, as if he could see the destination there. He had no idea where these worn and weary paws would take him. But he couldn't stop. Swallowing back a stone that seemed to lodge itself in his throat, the loner once again fought the urge to flee. He'd been a selfish creature in the past for the sake of his own self-preservation, why wasn't it easy in this moment? Curses longed to fly from his maw, directed to the paws the rooted themselves to the earth. There was no point in fighting it. For now, Arcayus had to fight the undeniable fact that he was about to face other cats.

Chamomile. Why hadn't he thought of that yet?

The loner was surprisingly gentle as they made their way down the cliff face. Aspenheart did his best to help the poor tom, dragging his paws across the ground to lighten the load, and huffing with each strain. Soon enough, they were on the soil below Highstones, and Aspenheart found himself looking skyward. Best to hurry back, before the rest of his clanmates assumed the worst. He flicked his tail for Patrick to follow, wobbling along towards the Thunderpath.

"Chamomile. Wow. You seem like a smart tom, you know. Experienced. Finchstar's gonna love this one. He's really enthusiastic about adventure stories. I hope you don't mind if I embellish it." Aspenheart gave a wheezy chuckle. "I should tell him I rode home on the back of a hound dog. In a thunderstorm! I'm kidding, of course. I still like to tease the cat. We're like family, WindClan. We make fun of each other." When they reached the Thunderpath, he pushed back the gorse around the tunnel entrance with a paw. "Do you have a family? I figure you survived this long somehow."