No Good Omens [closed]

Aspenpaw's herb stocks were dismal, and he was getting to the point in training where Mintwhisker felt comfortable shooing him out of camp to do his own patrols. Burnet, goldenrod, and cobwebs were the object of that day's venture, and in the heat of Greenleaf, they'd be easy to find within the territory. Perhaps he could drag some sorry apprentice along with him. His eyes fell on Cloverpaw, one of the more brazen of Graybriar's litter, and Finchstar's apprentice. He reminded the medicine cat of himself, when he was a younger cat, before the injury and the seizures. In another life, that might've been him. Aspenpaw had no qualms about his new destiny, though he couldn't help but wonder if he was really cut out for his line of work. His memory was a little shoddy, his attitude less than serious and composed, and he couldn't be bothered to keep his station neat. Every day he was reminded that he was the difference between a cat's speedy recovery and their painful death, and he loathed the responsibility. Aspenpaw dreaded the day where he would have to bring somebody back from the brink of death. A part of him decided that it would never come, though it was a childish thought.

He knew that if he failed, as he often did, he would have to watch the elders bury a clanmate that expired at his own paws. It was a reality he was unable to face. It haunted him.

Hobbling over to Cloverpaw in the uneven way he usually did, he gave a quick motion to Finchstar to let him know that he was stealing his apprentice for the afternoon. "Alright, Cloverpaw," he started, "One of the duties of a warrior is to assist your medicine cat, especially if he's disabled and his mentor is busy. It's your turn today, my friend. Come with me." As he guided the younger cat out of camp and into the weighty heat wave that waited them on the harsh moor, he went over his herbs again in his head. He ought to take back some fresh moss, too, since the elders would easily dehydrate in this weather. Aspenpaw groaned at the softie he had become over the moons. "Usually, the objective of an escort on an herb patrol is to protect your medicine cat from enemy cats who haven't met me before, and from predators. There's an added responsibility that's specific to me, and that's making sure you don't panic if I go down. I'm still not really used to it myself, but I can usually tell when it's about to happen. Just make sure I don't smack my head... again. It might finally kill me this time!" He laughed at his own morbid remark and continued searching. He came across goldenrod rather quickly, taking a few sprigs along with him. He began searching for a good pile of rocks to look for cobwebs between. "Is Finchstar working you to death, Cloverpaw?"

Cloverpaw had been an apprentice for only a moon, but it had been one of the greatest moons of his life. On his first day learning under Finchstar's guidance, the apprentice took down a rabbit - with his mentor's help, of course - and learned some hunting techniques that he practiced nearly every day and sometimes even dreamed about. He had since learned more about the borders and which Clans were where, but hunting was his current fixation. The silver tabby stood beside a shady outcropping of gorse stretching his lean muscles as he tried to encourage himself to go ask Finchstar for more training, but at the sound of an unsteadily approaching cat Cloverpaw stopped with his forepaws and chest against the ground, tail and rump in the air, and looked up to see the Clan's medicine cat, Ash....Ast...Aspen? Aspenpaw!

The medicine cat went right to business, stating how it was a warrior's duty to aid their medicine cat. "Hi to you, too," Cloverpaw teased, but he listened attentively as the pale tabby tom spoke. Cloverpaw righted himself, slowly pulling his paws closer and leaning back until he was sitting upright with an interested expression. My dad got to learn a bunch of cool stuff when he went with Aspenpaw! Cloverpaw thought, and when Aspenpaw called him for their little herb patrol he felt his heart beating faster, his feet filling with energy. He could run all the way to ThunderClan! Well... If he could remember which direction that was. Cloverpaw knew his paws were better served aiding his medicine cat, though - what an honorable warrior thing to do! He immediately jumped to his paws and answered, "Okay! I'm ready!"

When the two first took off, Cloverpaw tried to stand close to Aspenpaw as he always stood close to Finchstar. He quickly learned - or perhaps, realized in practicality - how unsteady the tom was, and that the medicine cat really wasn't as stable or good at walking in a straight line as their leader was. After the medicine cat bumped into him for the third time Cloverpaw contented himself with walking just a few pawsteps behind instead.

They had exited camp and drawn out into the sweltering heat; immediately Cloverpaw was grateful for his pale, thin coat he'd gotten from his mother - he couldn't imagine having a thick coat in this weather! Aspenpaw began to explain one additional responsibility the warrior apprentice had on this patrol: to be aware of his affliction and help him not get hurt if a fit were to come on. Cloverpaw felt no trepidation at the thought of the added worry, instead feeling a wave of excitement at a new experience he may get to witness and learn from. Nodding dutifully as they began traversing the moor, Cloverpaw replied with a grin, "I've still got some good soft kitten fluff; I could roll myself under your head if you start... um... going down?"

His voice lilted up in a slight question as he realized he didn't quite understand what the tom meant, but he remembered Aspenpaw saying he didn't necessarily understand it either. Cloverpaw wondered what it looked like and shrugged, hoping he wouldn't need to find out. He was a warrior's apprentice, not a medicine cat's! Aspenpaw asked a friendly question, making small talk, and Cloverpaw chuckled with delighted amusement and responded cheerfully, "Nope, not yet! I kind of think I'm working him to death, really. I want to know everything - there isn't enough time in the day for him to teach me everything I want to learn." His eyes sparkled as he looked down, realizing that Aspenpaw had stooped to reach his paws in for something. "Eww - what if a bug crawls on you?" he asked in true kittish fashion, crinkling his nose and backing away dramatically with a grin on his face.

Aspenpaw shot a teasing glance at the apprentice as he wound a large cobweb around his paws and stuck it to his back. "If that happens, it'll be going on you," he joked. "Sometimes, I take them back with me, if they can handle the ride without jumping off. It gets a little boring in my den... I watch the ants crawls and the spiders spin webs." He felt his ears get a little hot with embarassment. He had said too much to maintain his stately posture that he was apparently supposed to have. He recalled, for a moment, the poise and nobility that Amberdawn and Mintwhisker seemed to have an endless supply of. He thought about Pricklebush, both somewhat feared and respected by even the other medicine cats. Even Mosspaw and Mistlepaw, in their youth, had all the grace and purity of figments of StarClan. How could he be seen as anything except disabled and crude by the members of his clan? Was he perhaps too light with them? Should he resolve himself to silence, break his sacred vow of graveness for no one except his dear friend, Finchstar, in their private moments?

He found himself lost in these thoughts as he traversed the moor, plucking up burnet, moss, and webs full of spiders that tickled his spine. The medicine cat thought himself quite innovative for finding a way to both rid himself of pests in the sick den and collect cobwebs without ever leaving to find them. It was dreadfully hot, and they had been walking for long enough that even little Cloverpaw was winded. Thankfully, a thunderstorm in the forest left plenty of puddles to drink from. He dropped his herb collection beside himself and began to lap from the pool, practically slurping in his thirst. He paused, flopping over on his side and letting the winds of the moorland wash over him, breaking the monotony of...

That's not cat scent. In a swirl of flowers, herbs, grass and rabbits, there was a disgusting scent, one that made his scruff fur stick up. A sick feeling erupted in Aspenpaw's stomach, bile threatening the back of his throat. It smelled horrible. Horribly familiar, like a bad memory. Ten thousand bad memories welled up in his brain like old scars and he wrenched his eyes shut, gasping. He covered his head and saw dogs, dogs everywhere, snapping at his whiskers, throwing Barleytuft, killing Frozenpaw, he's in the air, he's soaring and his head is pounding, a great battle, the roar of the Sharptooth, he wants Finchstar, dogs, all over, dogs, dogs, death, blood, it's spilling on his pelt, blood BLOOD! CLOVERPAW!

Ripped from his trance, Aspenpaw leaped to his feet and whipped around to face Cloverpaw. "DOG!" he cried out, voice strained and desperate, "We need to go, now, go, it's coming it's coming-"

And a huge brown shape was barreling into Finchstar's apprentice.

From the tail-length away, Aspenpaw's jest sounded out clearly, matched with mischievously glimmering ice eyes glancing over his shoulder. Cloverpaw raised a paw as if preparing to defend himself from an oncoming attack; however, the medicine cat made no move to strike and instead patted a thick swath of cobwebs onto his coat while speaking softly about how sometimes he brought bugs home since they were fun to watch. Cloverpaw giggled and said again, "Ew," but his tone was a little less convicted as he watched Aspenpaw flush with embarrassment. Oh - he's not kidding!

The medicine cat quickly got back to his paws to continue on, and, fearing he had spoken badly of his medicine cat's interests, Cloverpaw added bashfully, "They're, um, not that gross; I like the the beetles with the shiny wings." Tail still high in the air and eyes still glimmering with joy at the journey, the apprentice followed his medicine cat, still blissfully engaged in the new learning experience and chance to explore. The thoughts of his momentary social failure instantly flickered from his head as the pair continued across the moor, dipping left and right now and again as Aspenpaw spotted herbs here and there. Occasionally Cloverpaw would ask questions, and, despite the tom's insistence that he was only a medicine cat apprentice, he was amazed at the knowledge which Aspenpaw held in his answers. Surely Cloverpaw would never retain it, but somehow Aspenpaw, even with his strange condition, managed to know what he needed to help his Clan.

The sun was straight ahead and beating down on the pair by the time they found a body of water to take a break from their herb hunting at. Cloverpaw held in his teeth a tiny sprig of burnet which he bore with him proudly despite how it had stuck to his dry lips. He was finding that the sun at last had gotten to him, or, at the very least, that he was feeling a little warmer and a little more weary. He trailed behind Aspenpaw by a short distance, and he arrived to the edge of the pool at the moment that Aspenpaw backed away from the puddle and flopped to his side, sighing as he basked in the sun. Cloverpaw grinned and felt a gentle breeze stir his fur. It smelled like home, except for something - something he didn't recognize. He sat his burnet among Aspenpaw's own and turned to the pond, sipping up the warm water and immediately feeling rejuvenated.

Another breeze flitted by and the scent was stronger - a heavy, musty scent. This time, it made Cloverpaw's fur prickle along his spine and caused his heart to beat a little faster, and he sat a little upright to gaze towards the wind. The silver tom immediately shot to his feet upon seeing a dark brown shape bounding impossibly quickly over the moor from the direction of the Thunderpath. "Uhhh, Aspenp-paw? What is that?" Cloverpaw asked with alarm in his tone. He could not take his eyes from it, but he didn't have to look to catch the fear radiating off of Aspenpaw. "Aspenpaw?" the silver tabby tom breathed.

"The objective of an escort on an herb patrol is to protect your medicine cat . . . from predators," Aspenpaw had said, and with a suddenly realized feeling of horror Cloverpaw knew that he was staring into the face of a predator charging towards he and his medicine cat at full speed. Those teeth, those wild eyes - he didn't know what it was, but there was nothing else it could be. Acing on his duty through feelings of sheer horror Cloverpaw's pale pelt puffed up and he dashed forward to keep the thundering creature's attention from Aspenpaw, who was still laying horror struck on the ground. Cloverpaw was trembling as he hissed a useless warning at the thundering beast.

The medicine cat's voice cried out, too late, and as the massive beast barreled into him Cloverpaw knew - late and unhelpful information that it was - that a dog had found them. The oily-furred brown beast flung itself fangs first into the scrawny young tom while forepaws slammed him aside. Immediately Cloverpaw was thrown off his feet and slammed hard into the ground, rolled for a moment until he only knew two directions: dog and ground. He had hardly even settled a whisker on the earth when the dog lunged at him again; Cloverpaw let out a yowl of pain as the massive creature clamped its jaws around his back and sides, digging into his ribs with a force unlike any he'd ever known. His first taste of battle, and against an opponent he didn't have a dream of beating. He writhed in its grip and flailed his paws, trying to claw at anything, but the dog clamped harder and he felt his body racked with pain as his breath left him in a pitiful squeak. He was held in a jagged vice that was crushing his lungs.

When Cloverpaw thought things couldn't get worse, the shaking began. He was jarred in its teeth as it thrashed, as if shaking water from its pelt rather than trying to shake the life from a cat. The silver's apprentice's cries for help were hoarse and pitiful; in the distance and drawing nearer, a twoleg's shouts for his pet echoed over the moor. The dog opened its jaws mid-shake, and Cloverpaw found himself airborne. He gasped and flailed in the air, trying to orient himself in any way before he hit the ground, but the dog caught his tail and gripped hard once again. Cloverpaw's head and forepaws smacked awkwardly into the ground as he was painfully suspended by his spine, and he found himself in an agonizing haze as the dog swung him around again by his tail.

When it released him, Cloverpaw hit the ground in a motionless pile, his silver fur darkening with red every second.

The twoleg screamed again from closer, and the dog hesitated. Its eyes landed on Aspenpaw, and for a second the fire of aggression that lit its eyes was swimming with the desire to obey its human. The brown beast took one leap at the pale tom, slamming its paws into the ground on either side of the small creature as it tested the waters. The twoleg yelled again.

Aspenpaw watched in gut-wrenching horror, and for a moment Cloverpaw was no longer Cloverpaw. Time swam and his breath slowed as he watched the dog thrash the young apprentice. Aspenpaw saw himself, felt the chill of the mountains, and heard Barleytuft yowl from below him. When the mutt dropped the apprentice, it was Aspenpaw's own bloody form dropping into the abyss, tossed aside by the dog. He could do nothing but scream, fur fluffed and claws out, as his companion oozed blood. The crackling of his bones rang in Aspenpaw's ears. Why had he told him to protect his medicine cat? He was too young to understand when to run and when to fight. Of course this would happen. This was only supposed to be an herb patrol. He should have brought a warrior, he shouldn’t have let Cloverpaw do this on his own-!

Blank. Seizure. Frozen, ear twitching. When he returned, the teeth were inches from his face, but he had forgotten what kind of creature they were from. All he knew was fight-or-flight. Aspenpaw reared up and hissed, bringing both paws down, trembling, across the dog's eye. The beast jumped back, whimpering, and shook its entire body. A twoleg yelled once more, and the brown dog froze, eyeing the medicine cat. Aspenpaw seized again, his body and mind stressed beyond what he could handle. When he came to, the creature was gone. The moor was silent. Cloverpaw did not move.

for listening: the weight of us

Aspenpaw was scared to approach him. He dropped to his haunches and stared at the body. "C-Cloverpaw? Little buddy?" he tried desperately. No response. No movement. Just scarlet red pooling around him, his limp form. I'm not ready. "Get up," he said a little louder, "It's gone! You can stop hiding!" I'm not ready. He was rising to his paws, ears drawn back. "Please, I can't help you, get up, you idiot! Don't make me save you, I can't! I can’t." His breaths were labored, heavy, and irregular. There was no other option. Barleytuft's eyes flickered in his mind, staring at his dead son. Finchstar, already having lost so much, pressing his nose to his apprentice's forehead. Feeling no pulse. How could he face Graybriar?

This was a mistake, a freak accident, a desperate plea to stay out of the elders’ den. It did not hit him, the true responsibility, until now. He was alone. It crashed down on him like a wave. There was nobody else who could rescue them. He had chosen this path, and yet he did not understand. He went about his duties, laughing and smiling, never giving thought to the heavy burden he carried on his shoulders. It toppled him now, like a set of stones. Did he want this? Had he ever wanted this? If someone else had chosen this, they would have known better. Mintwhisker was right. This was not like deciding to join the morning patrol. He held in his paws the knowledge of life and death. He couldn’t possibly have handled this. He had chosen death, the death of his clanmates. He would watch now, helplessly, as Cloverpaw gave his last breath, because of his foolishness. He should have thrown himself off the gorge seasons ago.

But, nonetheless, StarClan saw something in him. They had accepted him. Why? What set him apart? Sageleaf’s words came back to him, rising up in his chest like fire climbing the trees. “Your ferocity can be channeled,” she had said. His blood ran deep and warm. He could not fight what was in his heart. Channel it. There was nobody, not a single cat in the forest, who understood the predicament he found himself in. They didn't need to understand, and neither did he. He had a job to do, and cats to do it for. As he stood over Cloverpaw, he felt intense, passionate closeness. The love for his clan, who fed and sheltered him, who stood together against the forces that threatened to divide. The strongest that there was. He, of all cats, was to protect them. This was more than busy work and fixing aching paws. Cloverpaw was not meant to be his guard today, no, it was he who guarded Cloverpaw. If not him… who else?

Aspenpaw grunted and snatched up his herbs. They felt weighted in his mouth. He hobbled over and set to work immediately. All he had was what he held, but he had to make do or watch Cloverpaw die. Not another clanmate. No more suffering. No more pain. He was Aspenpaw, medicine cat of WindClan, and this was his duty. Everything that had happened to him happened for a reason. It must be so. The time has come. Let me be brave.

Blood: Moss and cobwebs. Aspenpaw spread the moss open on the ground. Open wounds: goldenrod. He chewed the flower. It tasted strange and foreign on his delicate tongue, but he did not stop. He spit it onto the moss, smoothed it out. The moss was planted firmly on his body, where the dog had torn his flesh. As he pressed the moss down with cobwebs, he felt his paws sink where they shouldn’t have. Broken bones: handle later. Life or death. As he began to slow the bleeding, he moved to press his nose to Cloverpaw’s neck to listen for the signs of life. They were there, but they weren’t nearly strong enough. He looked around and saw burnet nearby. He raced to the plant as quickly as he could on his unsteady legs, constantly looking behind him at his patient. Tearing it up by the roots, he padded back to Cloverpaw and walked around his body, looking for more signs of bleeding. Finding none, he began to rouse the apprentice. He had to be awake to swallow the burnet.

Words echoed in his mind, once more, from Sageleaf's own mouth. Softness is not weakness. “Come on. Come back to me. I'm here. You're safe.”

Cloverpaw blinked open his piercing pale amber eyes and was surprised by what he was experiencing - or, well, wasn't. He vaguely remembered being out collecting herbs with Aspenpaw and stopping for a break, but above him the sun wasn't beating down with vengeful heat. Thousands of stars glimmered all over the air and on the earth instead, making it shine like Silverpelt. There was no pool before him, nor a pale tabby medicine cat beside him. As he gazed around, Cloverpaw found his surroundings familiar, yet foreign. He remembered the dog and remembered tumbling on the dirt and then his mind went static with pain, and suddenly he was afraid. "H-Hello?" he mewled, soft as a kitten. "Anybody?"

"Crying now isn't going to make anything better. Certainly you aren't giving up, just like that?" a husky, regal voice chided with little empathy. Cloverpaw whirled to face the source of the voice, but the cat was shaded in the darkness of a heather bush and he could only scarcely make out the hue of their russet fur. He opened his mouth but they stated first, "This isn't meant to be your time, Cloverpaw, but it could be if you don't get yourself together." Immediately his mouth snapped shut again, and the StarClan cat's deep hazel eyes flashed with something like amusement but more like annoyance. "It's really a little embarrassing. You have a strong name - a proud name, from a proud origin. Your actions should reflect that. At least you did something right in defending Aspenpaw today; your medicine cat is alive, in part, thanks to you offering yourself as a distraction for the dog - even though it meant turning yourself into a chew toy."

Cloverpaw's fur bristled at the memory, and the phantom pains flickered in his ribs where there were no visible wounds. Somewhere, a medicine cat's familiar voice sounded, but it was distant and muffled. He finally asked in a tight voice, "Is this St-StarClan?"

A bushy tail lashed behind the StarClan cat and they replied, "Yes, it is, but don't get comfortable. Can't you hear Aspenpaw calling? His lesson has been learned, but his test hangs in the balance. He needs you - go back and serve your Clan. Earn that name you carry."

Cloverpaw became fiercely aware, then, of pressure on his ribs that radiating a bolt of pain through every limb. The silver tom dropped to the earth, but it immediately gave way beneath him, dropping him into a raging tide of restless sleep and swirling darkness that pulled him to nothingness. After moments - minutes? - seasons? - a voice echoed in the shadows. "Come on. Come back to me." Cloverpaw stirred; in the real world his paws twitched, pawing limply at the ground, and in the darkness of sleep he floundered and reached desperately. "I'm here." His pale amber eyes began to flicker and blink, unfocused and glassy; an unintended whimper left his blood-tained muzzle. "You're safe."

"A-Aspenp-p-paw," Cloverpaw whimpered, and immediately the pain of reality settled in. His body convulsed from the pain, sending a more painful jolt through him, and the world swayed with black again for a moment. "M-Mom... Barley..." he whispered on the edge of sleep.

Aspenpaw finally exhaled, after what felt like hours of waiting. He shuffled ever closer to the apprentice, nose-to-nose, and pressed the burnet to his mouth. "Eat this," he said quietly, "You're going to need it until we can get back to camp and the herb storage. Thank you, Cloverpaw. I would have died if you hadn't been there. Just stay awake for me, alright?" He moved backward, observing the small tom. In fact, Cloverpaw should have died, too. He looked at his handiwork. That was him. His paws had brought a little apprentice back from the brink. He did not try and stop the tears from falling down his silver cheeks. He chuckled softly and laid his head next to the other tom's. There was no rush. The danger was gone, and Cloverpaw needed to rest and brace himself before Aspenpaw took up the dangerous task of carrying him on his back. His head still swam from his seizures. He took some burnet for himself and slowly chewed it.

While he sat, watching Cloverpaw for signs of going back under, he wondered what he would say to Finchstar. It was going to be a huge debacle in camp, dragging Cloverpaw in and causing pandemonium. He hated to scare them. If they hadn't been out here without a warrior, it wouldn't have happened. He should have known they were straying close to a twoleg walking path. He took a deep breath. He couldn't change it, could he? All he could do was face what awaited them in camp. Cloverpaw was alive. Shouldn't that have made Aspenpaw proud?

"Graybriar is going to tear my ears off, little buddy," he sighed. "But hey, you ought to be made a warrior after that stunt. Last time I saw an apprentice face a dog like that was... well, when I did it. I'll have to tell you that story, 'cause... stars, you're going to have a lot of downtime for the next moon or two. You're going home, and that's what matters." It was then that he saw Cloverpaw's tail, bent and crooked. Fantastic. He had overlooked it, but, then again, the life threatening injuries had to be dealt with first. On top of the broken ribs that had to be dealt with, he knew he'd be getting guidance from Mintwhisker. He'd never seen something like this happen before. He dreaded the next test... it was the difference between recovery and disability. He hobbled around to Cloverpaw's back side and firmly nipped his spine. "Did you feel that?"

A pungent smell cut through Cloverpaw's daze, and as his glassy eyes fluttered open once again he saw a pale tabby figure directly in front of him. The apprentice couldn't focus on the tom's face, and the strong smell of herbs pressed against his lips was overwhelming and made his head throb. Cloverpaw crinkled his face and pressed his lips tightly shut, feebly turning his head away like a stubborn newborn kit, when he realized that he could hear a voice talking through the ringing in his ears - Aspenpaw. The herbs were pressed closer again, with a gentle prompting, and Cloverpaw opened his mouth to take them at last. He felt tears slipping down his face as he chewed the herbs - it tasted just like the sprig he'd been carrying for Aspenpaw - but his eyes could still barely focus, and the movement of opening and closing his jaw sent a dull ache through his whole head and shoulders.

He realized again that Aspenpaw was talking as the burnet slowly began to do its work, and Cloverpaw gazed a little more lucidly at his Clanmate. "Just stay awake for me, alright?" he understood Aspenpaw say, and the silver tabby nodded just visibly in understanding. He tried to take in a breath and his sides burned and stabbed with pain; his breath immediately left him in a shudder racked with pain, and he took a smaller breath in with the same result. Everything hurt, no matter how he tried to do it. As he struggled to fight against the exhaustion flooding his senses, he turned his head slightly to see his medicine cat's on the earth beside him, eyes dark with concern and his own suffering. Cloverpaw whispered softly to Aspenpaw, "D-Did I do s-someth-thing b-bad...?"

Then Aspenpaw spoke, talking about Graybriar and how he may as well have earned his warrior name. The tom's words fluttered through Cloverpaw's ear and out the other as he lay in his dazed heap on the ground, but the world was slowly solidifying itself and he wasn't sure he liked that any better. The herbs had helped significantly, but they couldn't take away pain completely. He had heard a few times before that Aspenpaw had gotten his affliction after a battle with a dog, but the connection between that story and this current one was mystifying in his wounded stupor. Cloverpaw made a soft murmur of approval at Aspenpaw's mention of going home, and his eyes had started to flicker shut so that he didn't notice Aspenpaw stand and observe his haunches.

The experimental nip was startling, though not overly painful, and Cloverpaw jerked slightly away from Aspenpaw's teeth. Doing so he felt another blossom of pain, and he squeaked and whined as he tried curling his body up protectively around himself. Being wound so tightly hurt, yet when he unraveled to lay flat he hurt as well. He spent a few heartbeats writhing until he thought the pain couldn't possibly get worse and that he could never find a position that didn't hurt so badly his eyes watered. "I wanna go h-home," Cloverpaw sniffled at Aspenpaw.

"Good. Your spine isn't broken. You're not going to bleed out." Aspenpaw sighed his relief and sat back down, pressing his eyes shut. What now? So much had gone wrong. He still wasn't sure if he could recover, even if he wasn't paralyzed. The medicine cat bounced back and forth on his forepaws, shifting left and right. There was no point in hesitating. They had to get out of the territory, before a fox smelled Cloverpaw's blood and made the situation worse.

"You did everything right, Cloverpaw," he said softly, bracing himself as he wedged his head under the apprentice's body. "I'm sure - jeez, you're a heavy fellow for an apprentice - Brookclover would call what you did 'valiant' or 'honorable.' I'm sure she's glad Barleytuft borrowed her warrior name. Me, I just think it was nuts." Aspenpaw was far too frail to be carrying a broken apprentice across his back, but he didn't have a choice. They needed to get home, where the real healing would begin. His stomach flipped at the thought of what would happen when they came through the gorse tunnel, looking this worse for wear. The main priority was keeping Cloverpaw on his back and awake. So long as he could talk, he couldn't die.

"Once I can get some poppy seeds in you, the pain will stop," he started as they (rather slowly) marched in the direction of camp. "Then, we can try to straighten out your tail... If not, Clover-busted-tail isn't the worst name in the entire world. I'll probably be Aspenshake." The sunken-in camp approached. Aspenpaw's jaw tightened and he reached to hold onto Cloverpaw's scruff.

Cloverpaw only murmured softly in response to Aspenpaw's quick diagnosis. The words registered in some part of his brain, for a sense of relief found a pawhold in some part of his brain - though perhaps that was the effect of whatever herb the medicine cat had fed him - as he was told that his spine was intact and his blood wasn't flowing freely; some deep recess of his mind recognized that he wasn't going to die. Not today. The silver apprentice and his companion sat in silence on the moor for a moment, and Cloverpaw felt the darkness trying to grip at the edge of his vision and draw him to sleep again.  "Just stay awake for me, alright?" Aspenpaw's voice echoed in his head. He wasn't sure he could do that.

Then the tom's real voice spoke and Cloverpaw was drawn slightly from his daze. "You did everything right, Cloverpaw," Aspenpaw reassured him. The apprentice barely remembered he'd asked the question, but he wasn't sure he agreed. Everything felt wrong; his medicine cat told him to stay awake, but his body just screamed to sleep. He didn't realize what was happening at first when Aspenpaw began to burrow his head underneath him, but as he was rolled and lifted across the cat's back Cloverpaw was awakened to crackles of pain in his chest, and he mewled pitifully and gripped onto the medicine cat as they made their wobbly way back towards camp. When the medicine cat mentioned Brookclover's name, he thought for a moment of the strange starry cat he'd seen - and then the thought vanished.

Each step jarred Cloverpaw; he couldn't fall asleep now, no matter how tired he felt. The pain was too much. He gritted his teeth, and he tried his best to cling to Aspenpaw's promise that there would be relief from his pain at home. He didn't know how long they would have to travel, but he wished more than anything to just be there and be safe and not hurt anymore. The medicine cat commented on his tail, and Cloverpaw's dazed face for a moment clarified with confusion before thought was lost again. "My t-tail..?" he asked. He was quiet for a moment, and then he began to chuckle - a soft, grim laugh, hoarse with pain. Then he sighed and mumbled, suddenly deadpan, "That's not funny."

But it would be, eventually.