into the night [closed]

ooc: takes place shortly after Shed a Little Light

It had been a successful hunt—successful enough, at least, that Raventail no longer felt guilty about missing WindClan’s first collective attempt at tunneling. He’d skirted the Gorge (empty, to his disappointment), circled the Lone Stump once or twice, stopped near the Thunderpath in case any ShadowClanners had decided to take their chances. It had been a while since he’d been able to take a leisurely walk like that, so he’d covered as much ground as he could. When the camp came into view well after sundown, the cluster of cats around the entrance, Barleytuft among them, was absent. He was safe, or so he thought until he padded through the gorse...into Grousefrost's line of sight.

”How good of our deputy to join us,” the silver tom had begun, and suddenly, no number of rabbits hanging from Raventail’s jaws could justify his absence.

Now Raventail stood before the Gorse Circle (as Barleytuft called it) yet again, tense to the end of his tail. There was no escaping this time; he could feel Grousefrost’s icy gaze on him. ”You really don’t have to go out of your way for this,” he said faintly. ”I mean, I appreciate it, but...I'd make a better moor-runner, right?” Protesting words aside, his voice held only resignation; Grousefrost had said "private lessons," so there would be private lessons. A tiny line of fur down Raventail's back began to prickle as he squinted into the depths, ears turned sideways.

Grousefrost had waited patiently for Raventail to join the group for the tunneling tutorial. When the black furred tom didn’t show, he felt a small bit of resentment. As though Raventail was deliberately slighting him by not appearing. Now, the situation was no better. He watched as Raventail padded into camp with a rabbit in his jaws. Staring coldly at the tom as he seemed to lose jaw strength and confidence in his stride for a moment. Cold words, and a shoulder shove later saw them here. At the entrance of the same tunnel Barleytuft had used earlier.

His blue gaze swung behind him to Raventail. Excuses. It was always the Star-blamed excuses.
“You are WindClan’s Deputy.” He stated, the stress on the last word as though he was talking to a kit. “It isn’t a choice for you. To keep WindClan safe, you need to learn this.” His tone offered no room for argument as he padded into the tunnel a few steps, then paused and turned his head.

“Keep your nose to my tail.” The instruction was simple, but even more so was the meaning in Grousefrost’s icy blue eyes that watched him closely. ‘StarClan themselves will not be able to help you if you skip out This time.’ He thought darkly before he padded deeper into the tunnels. To where the circle seemed the most stable.

Foolishly, he looked up just as Grousefrost looked back. “Icy” was an understatement; “frigid,” however, was right on target. Raventail winced when his former denmate once again addressed him. Deputy, always. Hearing that at the Gathering had been strange enough, but here, on the territory he knew best, it was as jarring as it had been when Finchstar had chosen him. From where they stood now (one shirking his duty, the other taking time out of his night to correct it), it was strikingly clear that, between them, Grousefrost would bear that weight better. Perhaps Grousefrost agreed…perhaps that, in part, fueled the chill in his tone.

Spite is inefficient, piped a voice in the back of Raventail’s head. He didn’t have the heart to laugh. Instead, he flicked an ear, let the rest of the scolding wash over him, and didn’t ask. The older tom brushed past him, entering the tunnel on legs that were enviably steady. Raventail swallowed. To keep WindClan safe. Quailpaw, Finchstar, Brookclover. ”O-okay.” Then he hurried forward, setting his muzzle almost alongside the end of Grousefrost’s tail. As little as he wanted to enter these tunnels, he refused to do so alone. In that, at least, he had a choice.

Grousefrost led him deeper until the last threads of moonlight had all but vanished. Raventail tried to recall how breathing worked; it was harder than it should have been. For how tight his chest felt, the tunnel might as well have already collapsed on him. Compared to this, walking down to the Moonstone had been so easy... Then again, he'd had nothing to fear back then. "Uh, Grousefrost?" he said, even quieter than before. "Just how far are we going?"

“As far as I decide to take you.” Grousefrost’s answer was as cold as his namesake as they padded deeper into the depths of the dark tunnel. Gone was any moonbeams or starlight. His eyes closed on his face as he used his whiskers to navigate instead. Paws feeling carefully over dirt that was being carefully smoothed by teamwork. “If you’d joined the other lesson, you’d have had the luxury of Barleytuft’s coddling.” He stopped abruptly, flicking an ear back to listen to Raventail’s erratic breathing.

He sighed a hefty breath before he huffed and shook his head.
“Breathe calmly, Raventail. There is no shortage of air in these tunnels.” He ordered, his head tilting up to stars he couldn’t see as he sat down in the tunnel. Clearly they weren’t moving much farther, even though the darkness enveloped them wholly. “Don’t bother using your eyes, you’ll only strain them. You have to use your whiskers, your pelt and senses.” He used his tail to tap Raventail along his shoulder. “Let yourself settle. There is no danger in the gorse circle.”

What he heard of Grousefrost’s response was far from comforting. At once, Raventail was too aware of his surroundings, or what his surroundings felt like. If he’d been thinking more clearly, he might have noticed how smooth the dirt was or Grousefrost’s apparent confidence in the path on which they walked, but, of course, he was too busy remembering the taste of dirt in his mouth, bitter and cold.

Wait. His name. Silence settled in the tunnel; after a moment, Raventail realized he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly, then inhaled with equal concentration, in and out until he was mostly sure his lungs could keep going without his conscious input. Barleytuft would have gone easier on him…and the whole Clan would have seen this. At least Grousefrost hadn’t laughed. "Breathing calmly. Got it." His side brushed something solid—a wall—when he was fairly sure it wouldn’t give way beneath him, he allowed himself to lean against it. "How do we get air down here, anyway?"

Something, presumably Grousefrost’s tail, poked at his shoulder. No danger. ”You say that,” he said, squinting at Grousefrost (what he thought was Grousefrost, anyway; trying to discern his outline made Raventail’s face ache) through one yellow eye. Then he gave in. The darkness got less alarming when he knew it was from the backs of his eyelids, and, as he breathed, he realized the tunnels smelled almost as strongly of WindClan as they did of earth. Whiskers, pelt, senses. He managed a laugh. ”…No eagles, at least." Frankly, he would have preferred fighting five hundred eagles to being down here, but he was already cornered like a rabbit. There were worse cats to take lessons from, though. Despite his companion's utter lack of sympathy, Raventail knew Grousefrost was part of the group that had gone to the Moonstone, and, to put it simply, he knew Grousefrost; he'd be hard-pressed to find a more reliable teacher. With this in mind, Raventail sucked in another breath. "I think I'm settled."

“Where do you think air comes from?” Grousefrost’s voice asked flatly as he took a deep breath himself. He allowed Raventail to ramble uselessly as he tried to relearn how to breathe. Something all cats instinctively knew, yet the other Tom seemed to have forgotten. When things became quiet, he began to speak. His voice lower, not as harsh as it had been.

“The tunnels are safe from eagles, but there are other dangers.” He began calmly, sitting up and speaking as though he was talking to his apprentices. “Do you know how far away from camp we are?” He asked, it was purely rhetorical as he paused just long enough for his voice to be startling. “ Far enough no cat would hear your screams. We are on the furthest edge of the gorse circle as we can be.” Grousefrost’s low-toned casual delivery of this line didn’t echo down the cavern like his louder comments earlier.

“I was bitter, you know. We both had the same mentor. We both had our names around the same time. Yet you were picked as Deputy.” he sighed, then smiled as he remembered that day with Goldenpaw. Her words like salve on a light wound. “I understand it now. We are very different. You thrive with the emotions of our clanmates. You understand their feelings and thoughts far better than I ever could.” Warmth coloured his tone. Made the threat less as he tapped his tail on Raventail’s chest. “Your fear is not unwarranted, but you must understand the entire territory if the clan is to thrive. If a clanmate were trapped down here, they will look to you to guide them. They will trust you. As I must, that in time you will guide WindClan in a path of great peace with the clans and our own territory.” he paused, then stood. “Now, let’s begin. ”

Raventail winced. He hadn’t thought it too mouse-brained a question. Then again, if two cats could find a way into the tunnels, air probably could, too. Maybe Barleytuft had covered it during the earlier lesson. The shorter tom shuffled his paws against the dirt, only lifting his head to face Grousefrost’s voice. Other dangers? Rabbits—he’d heard of the damage they could do when cornered; thank the stars there weren’t many corners to be found aboveground. Cave-ins—as if he could forget. What else could there be? Did he want to know? Sometimes ignorance really was bliss.

Ignorance of how far they’d gone was less welcome. For all Raventail knew, they were somewhere in SkyClan by now. He opened his mouth to say so, only for Grousefrost to cut him off with two equally alarming statements. It was a testament to his acquaintanceship with Grousefrost (or his not-quite-gone fear of the tunnel collapsing on him if he moved wrong, or his certainty that Grousefrost would find him no matter where he went and drag him back down here by his tail if necessary) that he didn’t turn and run. He did, however, step away from the tunnel’s side, eyes springing open. The next thing Grousefrost said wasn’t encouraging, either. Still, Raventail let his eyes fall shut and simply listened.

Bitter. Was bitter. Somehow, Grousefrost saw logic in Finchstar’s decision where Raventail didn’t, and furthermore, he went on to explain. Another sound tap, this one against Raventail’s chest. Grousefrost gave voice to the obvious: he had been useless to save Brookclover, and he would be useless to save anyone else. Whether that could be changed was anyone's guess. Even underground (especially underground), his paws felt terribly small. Against the moor itself—

He cast that thought aside. Some of the chill had faded from Grousefrost's tone, a small comfort in unknown surroundings, odd as it was. Was he getting his old denmate’s approval? Respect? Cautious optimism? ”You will guide WindClan—“ Raventail shuddered. Deputy or not, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—imagine that job belonging to anyone but Finchstar. ”Still think I’m better on the moor than under it,” he said lightly, ”but I trust you, too. I'll…I'll try to learn. As long as you don’t say anything else about me screaming.” As before, his voice held more resignation than agreement, but something less gloomy had crept in alongside them. He waved his paw in a “go ahead” gesture, then, realizing it was pointless, set it down with a slight sigh. ”Okay. Lesson one, right? I’m ready.” I think.

A loud huff as Grousefrost shook his head.
“You may be better above ground, but now is not the time to think of that.” He paused, head tilting. He wasn’t sure what was so wrong about what he said earlier, but there wasn’t any time to waste dwelling on that. “Very well.” He agreed, turning to face Raventail properly despite not being able to see him. His dirt covered paw patted the side of the tunnel they were in.

“When you are down here, it’s important to use every sense you can. Sight is not of much use, but scent and hearing are the two most important ones.” Grousefrost explained, pausing part way through and lifting his head. Ears twitching for a moment. Close, in a tunnel, the thump of a large rabbit. Probably awakened by the meowing of cats in the nearby tunnel. “Listen closely. Can you hear it?” He murmured softly. The soft thuds stopped after only a few moments as the rabbit resettled itself. With a nod of approval, he continued on. “The tunnels are full of life. It’s important to pay attention to where animals are. It helps you figure out which ones are safe.”

He turned around again, tail brushing Raventail’s shoulder as he padded down a tunnel outside the gorse circle. The scent of rabbit was strong, a few must have travelled up to the circle, then ran scared back down it.
“Rabbits especially, a tunnel they are in is typically a good sign. It’s important however, that if a tunnel does collapse, that you do not panic.” He shook his head. “Cave ins will happen. They are unavoidable, but deaths are preventable. Just focus on freeing your muzzle first. Always keep your wits about you, and never tunnel alone. Having a partner can help prevent worse troubles.”

While rarely grateful toward StarClan, Raventail did send them a quick thank you when Grousefrost let the previous subject drop. Tunnels, while terrifying, were something Raventail could understand. A world in which WindClan looked to him for direction…not so much. Finchstar might have made him deputy, but he was just an ordinary warrior at heart, same as anyone. He was meant to stand alongside the cats he loved. Never above. Still. Grousefrost seemed to be in a better mood now that the lesson was beginning, and there were no more mentions of screaming; Raventail took it as a sign that, whatever his instincts were telling him, he was doing the right thing.

There were rabbits that hadn’t held Raventail’s attention as thoroughly as Grousefrost did. No place offered more visibility than the moor; the only places prey could hide were behind hills, in tunnels, and in the grass itself. The tunnels couldn’t be more different. Partway through his explanation, the older warrior went quiet. Raventail held his breath, ears standing tall, but all he heard was a brief series of thumps that set his pelt on end yet again. Softly so as not to drown out the faint sounds from nearby, he said, ”I think so. It sounded…small.” Less than badger-sized, anyway. ”Like a rabbit, maybe?” He perked his ears to listen again, but the thumps had stopped.

At the brush of a tail against his shoulder, he turned as well and followed his denmate with careful haste. Gradually, the scent of rabbit pierced, then overpowered, the various cat-scents. Grousefrost, in typical Grousefrost fashion, did not dance around the subject of cave-ins; he thundered directly over it like a Twoleg monster. Part of Raventail wanted to protest—Finchstar and Brookclover had died together, what if his partner couldn't save him, what if he couldn't save them—but, swallowing hard, he rerouted. ”I’m guessing there’s no way to practice for those. Aside from being in them, I mean.” Then there would be screaming. Reaching out a paw, the dark tom found the tunnel wall again. Having something to touch helped, somehow, though he knew it wouldn't last if this lesson took a turn toward practical. ”…If someone gets stuck, what should I do?”