Late Night Conversations [c]

Honeypaw

Honeypaw was happy that his shoulder was improving. Really, he was. He’s even been doing his absolute best to follow Fogfeather and the other medicine cat’s instructions and not move around too much, largely staying curled up in his temporary nest in the medicine den. The only exception to this has been when he’s woken up from a particularly intense nightmare, which he’s been having most nights since the flood. He moves around a lot in his sleep at the best of times, but hey, he can’t exactly help that! The good news is he hasn’t had to worry as much about adjusting to sleeping during the night. Sleeping during the day is fine right now.

But it’s been a few days, and Honeypaw was starting to feel intensely restless. He had been doing his best to stay quiet, too. He didn’t want to distract the three medicine cats from their work, though he wasn’t always able to resist the urge to ask questions or just chat. Forestbreeze, Leopardsun, and Swiftheart have all checked up on him, but they have things to do, and they don’t want to interfere with the medicine cats’ work either.

Honeypaw heaved a sigh, shifting uncomfortably in his nest, kneading anxiously in the air. Finally, he sat up, taking care not to mess up the current poultice on his shoulder. He could tell from the moonlight streaming through the opening of the den that it was late evening, which meant that he felt even more awake. His brain kept telling him this was the time he should be getting ready for a hunt or a patrol. He licked his chest absentmindedly, grooming the ruffled, bed-ridden fur.

His eyes landed on Fogfeather. It seemed he wasn’t the only one unable to sleep right now. Honeypaw’s tail twitched as he debated whether or not it was worth it to try and strike up a conversation. On the one hand, Fogfeather was much more likely to tell Honeypaw off for disturbing him than the other two medicine cats were. On the other hand, Fogfeather already disliked Honeypaw, so it’s not like Honeypaw could make their relationship much worse. Maybe he could even make it better.

Softly, so as not to disturb any other members of the den currently actually managing to get some rest, Honeypaw asked, “Can I ask what that does?” He nodded to the pile of flowers Fogfeather was currently organizing. “That’s… borage, right?” Honeypaw squinted as he tried to identify it, thinking back to a few of the things Thalia taught him about flowers.