[closed] From Dark Dreams to Dark Talks

For the last moon and a half, it had been slowly getting harder and harder to tell the difference between the StarClan-given training and regular dreams - or, more accurately, nightmares - whenever tunnels were involved. Featherfall - his ancestral guide in the ways of tunneling - had become almost... erratic for reasons he couldn't glean from her. The number of cave-ins Barleytuft had been forced to endure in his dreams increased, and each grew more violent, and more brutal. The slight silver-blue she-cat with stars in her pelt became less and less opaque the more times she and the living WindClan tom suffocated under the murky weight of ethereal mud. No matter how desperately he tried, stones would collapse and crush his body, or mud would fill his lungs, or water would rush in and squeeze him into oblivion from all sides. He couldn't save them - either of them.

He would wake up shaking violently, and when he did he would go to the medicine den. If Aspenheart was there and awake at whatever odd hour the senior warrior found himself jolted to consciousness, Barleytuft would ask for something to help him calm down. If not, he would simply pace about a secluded part of the camp and think of his dream: what he had done, what had happened, what he could do next time. The pale tabby warrior would eventually grow weary again, and he would return to his sleeping mate to rest again.

Three quarters of a moon ago, the tunnelers had been cornered and attacked by four foxes in a tunnel. They'd all narrowly escaped with their lives. Ever since then, Barleytuft's tunnel dreams were different. Sometimes Featherfall was there, but she felt... wrong. She would ooze like mud, or screech like a screaming wind, or run like the Dark Forest was at her heels without getting anywhere. The tunnels all became twisted; grotesque. Now he knew these were nightmares; surely his heavenly ancestors wouldn't send him such terrors? The shadowed Featherfall's face would twist in wretched terror and she and Barleytuft both ran into foxes and badgers and dogs - over and over again - and the tunnels would sling him into the waiting, snapping jaws of a predator.

More than that, Barleytuft spent several days confined to a nest with his injuries. Graybriar, ever loyal, had always stayed with him. Without being able to get up and walk around he was restless, and he feared that his sweet mate was beginning to be affected by his affliction. Tonight was the same. Barleytuft's wounds were all tender, but with Aspenheart's skilled work they were delicately scabbed, well-bandaged where still needed, and on the mend. In his sleep his face twisted and scowled, and soft spits or huffs of breath escape the senior warrior's mouth. His wound on his lip split with his expression and immediately Barleytuft sat up, eyes wide and wild, with the taste of blood in his mouth. Under the moonlight he panted, on edge as he scanned camp.

At some point, her life had just become one series of misfortunes after another. They were interspersed by the amazing family and Clanmates she'd been blessed with, but as she lost them one by one Graybriar was beginning to wonder whether her love for them was a blessing or a curse. Ever since Badgerthorn's death... Breezekit, Wolfkit, gone without a trace. Then she'd found Barleytuft, and her life had been happy again- before getting injured twice by predators, swept away in the flood, then losing her two apprentices. She'd had kits, and life had been wonderful. Then Quailpaw had been buried in the tunnels like her worst fear, Cloverpaw had been heavily mauled by a predator, then most recently, her beloved mate had been injured as well. Now he had to go through what she had... stuck in the medicine den, plagued by the wounds and by nightmares of what had happened. Why, why couldn't he stop putting himself in danger? Especially when it was partially her fault? If only she'd paid more attention to Puddlepaw...

But she couldn't hate him. That was unthinkable. Instead, she held him closer, cared for him, reciprocated every bit of selfless love he'd shown back when her left leg was bitten through by that fox. When she could barely walk and almost drowned. When she wanted to fight the dogs, but helped others instead. She knew it hurt him. There was no need for her to hurt him too. Soon, they would talk... but not now. Not while they had other problems on their minds. And StarClan, were there problems on their minds. She tried to forget them while they cuddled in their feather-studded nest, her tail wrapped cautiously around him so as not to touch his sore spots or remove any bandages. It was difficult for both of them, especially when he tossed and turned, but the least she could do was be there for him. Eventually, though it was difficult, she'd managed to sink off into the dark realm of sleep.

At first, she thought that one of her apprenticehood dreams had returned to give her a reprieve from nightmares. It was greenleaf- the soft grass of the moors glowed with the golden rays of sunset, and there she stood, a young apprentice again, blue sky turning orange at the edges, as idyllically perfect as anything. Alone in WindClan territory, smelling the sweet wind that ruffled her tabby fur, watching with awe as a white cloud drifted by above her. Her curiosity and sense of wonder had returned, and she found herself marveling at a tiny pink butterfly that lighted on a small lilac a few mouse-lengths away. Interested, she dropped into a crouch, putting its delicate wings at eye level as she stared. How could any creature be that small and graceful? She wanted to see it closer.  She wanted to touch it. Trembling, her paw stretched forward- and sure enough, it began to flit away into the sky. But that was unacceptable. Graypaw sprang up, ears pricked forward, a smile beginning to grow on her face. That butterfly was going away? Well, there was only one sensible course of action. Chase it.

So she stood up and batted at it, and it flew off. But she chased it. Uncertainly at first, slowly, but then faster, streamlined, graceful. Her tail flowed behind her. Wind blew her whiskers back. She didn't care where she was going, just following the spot of pink, following the creature who always seemed just out of her reach. Butterflies weren't supposed to be this fast. She didn't care. Graypaw let out a delighted laugh as she sprinted, sky-blue eyes focused on her target, warm inside and cooled off by the breeze outside. This was peace. She could run like this forever. The butterfly was beginning to slow down, so she sped up, gathering power in her hind legs for an enormous leap to catch it-

-then suddenly she plummeted down. Off a high cliff she hadn't seen, into a gaping mouth of a dark pit with no end she could see. Panic filled her eyes and she tried to scramble back, but she couldn't reverse her course, and she was falling, falling- She hit the ground below with a thud, a high-pitched buzzing in her ears, and found herself in a tunnel, surrounded by loose dirt and rocks and overhanging roots. She whirled around behind her, but she couldn't see an exit, only pathway upon pathway of deep and cold tunnels. A deep, rumbling growl filled the space and she squeaked in fear, scampering down the path right in front of her, no thought in her mind other than get away, get away- something sharp hit her paw, and she tripped, and fell down, there was no floor anymore, she was falling again, down- Right in front of the fox, Barleytuft clinging to its back, claws stuck in its fur. It turned around and glared at her, it lunged forward and grabbed her leg in its jaws and bit down and SNAP and pain and darkness and- Quailpaw in the mouth of a tunnel, reaching for her paw, she tried to get to him but it collapsed and he was crushed and- Cloverpaw scratched, bleeding and Badgerthorn dead of greencough and Barleytuft in the mouth of a terrifying fox and- Barleytuft was trying to help her, support her, the water was coming and they had to get out of camp. Briarpaw was just ahead of her and their Clanmates as well, water splashed as she limped with her useless leg, frustrated at how she was putting them in danger, then the wall of water came and crashed down and she couldn't get out of the way and she was under it and drowning and water in her lungs and eyes and she couldn't see it was dark cold someone help she tried to scream c ouldn't water lungs help please she couldn't bre athe and-

Something jostled her, and she woke up, sprang up, fur mussed where her face had been pressed against Barleytuft's. Fear prickled at her spine, made her eyes wild, and she inhaled as much air as she could, great wrenching gasps, feeling as if she were underwater still. Only after a few moments of breathing did she notice her mate to the side of her, awake. He seemed as alarmed as she was. The scent of terror rolled off of them both, drifting off into the cold evening air. She noticed with a grimace that one of his wounds had opened again. But just his presence comforted her. He was there. He was safe. For now. She looked at him for a little bit, just drinking in the fact that he was there, he wasn't dead, he hadn't left her. A tiny shiver ran through her, then she sat down, heaving a heavy sigh. "...Rough night, huh?" she whispered hoarsely after a few moments of silence, a half-hearted smile on her face as opposed to the wild look of terror from earlier. It would be fine. They would be... fine.

Sudden movement beside him made Barleytuft flinch slightly as the last figments of belief in his dream scattered from his grasp. When he snapped his head to look at the cause, heart pounding, he saw his love. She had jolted to her paws, up and looking ready to bolt with a frantic look in her eyes. Her gentle gray face was troubled and dark. The weary warrior had not yet found his sleeping voice; the taste of dirt still clung to his mouth and throat. The heavy scent of dirt and death from his dream diminished as he breathed the clean, cold night air of the camp. There were no foxes here, but the fear scent was unmistakable.

Several moments of speechlessness spanned, interspersed with panting and anxious shifting that slowly eased as reality settled in. Barleytuft licked absently at the thick wound on his lip that oozed blood still; hard to heal something that's always moving, he'd noticed. At last Graybriar's face seemed to turn slowly to him, recognition and sympathy laying heavily on her face. "My love..." the pale tabby tom murmured, a greeting and a reassurance and a subtle question - what did she fear?

After a moment, the beautiful queen sat heavily, some of her terror losing its potency as she settled upright beside Barleytuft. The tom thought nothing of sitting up beside her, and did some almost reflexively, offering his better side for his mate to lean against. "Must be," he answered her quietly, leaning in to begin gently grooming her neck as they sat. Another silence stretched; Barleytuft's heart still beat quickly, but each gentle rasp and the scent of the most wonderful, compassionate she-cat in the world soothed him over the moments.

"What's on your mind?" Barleytuft asked gently, breaking the quiet. He licked at his lip again; the bleeding had slowed some.

Graybriar's muscles slowly relaxed, and she leaned more into her mate's side, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. His rough tongue groomed the matted fur on her neck, soothing her. She rubbed her face gently against his, careful not to brush his wounds, trying not to hurt him more. A low sigh escaped her, releasing tension but also showing exhaustion. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn't they get a good night's sleep? As the cool night air flowed around them, she turned her eyes to the horizon, noting that the dawn was still a good way off. The bright moon, just a little past full, glowed with benevolence overhead, surrounded by a million tiny stars. Silverpelt. StarClan. Were they even watching over her anymore? Sometimes, though she hated to admit it, she struggled in her faith. And yet...

Barleytuft broke the silence. His gentle voice brought a sense of peace, though his tone was low and barely disguised his worry. The silver tabby's shoulders hunched a little, and her thin tail swished on the ground behind her from side to side before finally curling around the tom. "Too much," she answered finally with a wry smile. "Leftover worry and sadness mixing with the current concerns. A wonderful recipe for very imaginative nightmares." Her sky-blue eyes lingered on his comforting brown ones for a while, then returned to the moon. Was now the best time to bring it up? The question pounded at her chest, rose inside her, begging to be let out. He didn't need trouble from her right now... that was the last thing he needed. And yet... she would go mad if she couldn't at least ask. All the sorrows of her past moons battered at her walls until finally the words came.

"...Can you stop putting yourself in danger," she whispered bitterly, "just for a little while?"

Instantly she knew how selfish it sounded, how rude to the noble nature he possessed. She regretted the words... but, no. She didn't. Ever since they'd become mates he'd always gone off and done the right thing, no matter what it meant for her, for them. Even for the rest of the Clan. And here he was again, wounded, covered in even more scars. Her shoulders hunched, and she felt a little ashamed of the unjust feeling she'd allowed to show. Was it too much to hope he hadn't heard her?

Graybriar was quiet and thoughtful for a while before she answered, and during the silence Barleytuft could feel the storm creeping up from inside of her as he gently preened her. She gazed out thoughtfully, but at length she answered with a sad, bitter yes and curled her tail around him. She spoke of nightmares built from worry and sadness and the struggles facing them as of late. Barleytuft nodded and groomed between her shoulders, feeling the tension relax into weary ease. "I understand what you mean. I'm sorry your dreams have been unkind," the tom mowed gently to her.

As it turned out, he didn't understand completely. The next words to come from Graybriar were surprising and bitter, and Barleytuft sat up blinking with surprise as if he'd woken up in the flood again while he processed it. The cream tabby tried to meet her face, to understand what she had said and why, but she had turned away, her shoulders dropping.

"I'm... not entirely sure I know what you mean, Graybriar," Barleytuft admitted quietly, his face seeking her gaze. His own expression was dark with sympathy and sorrow and confusion. "Please, my love, I'm here always - nightmares or none. What's hurting you? How can I help?" he asked, trying to understand. He remembered how deeply it hurt that Graybriar had kept getting wounded near and around the flood; her legs bore the permanent scars, and he always wished he could have been faster to be there for her. Being a warrior was dangerous by nature, but StarClan watched over them both.

He had heard her. But, somehow, he didn't understand. His wonderful, noble nature couldn't allow him to understand that when ever he was injured, she felt the pain too. Graybriar let out a deep sigh, feeling the breath enter and leave her lungs. She felt more worn down and tired than she had been for moons, as if all the weight she'd been ignoring suddenly came crashing on her shoulders. Barleytuft didn't deserve this. He was a perfect warrior, a loyal tom, a wonderful mate. And what he got was her ungratefulness. Sky-blue eyes met his gentle, concerned brown gaze, trying to communicate what she was feeling. The least she could do was explain her bitter words.

"I... I know that you love this Clan," she began slowly, her tail wrapping tighter around him. Trying to make him understand. "It's wonderful. You are the strongest, bravest, most loyal cat I know. You want to help everyone, to do your part, more than your part. You work far more than your fair share. I know that, and I know that you think it's the right thing to do. But... sometimes...." The gray tabby looked up into the night sky, feeling absurdly lost despite the fact that she was snuggled up against the love of her life. A mild tinge of desperation entered her voice as her feelings poured out. "Sometimes, it's too much. All that you do. I know you want to be a part of everything, and that's not wrong! But, I just, I... I need you. I need you safe, and sound, and whole. I need you to be all right. When you're hurt, it hurts me. It's wonderful of you to help tunnel, to go on every search patrol, to battle foxes and save every other cat. But could you... could you stop? Just for a little while?" Her voice cracked. "Take a break. Please. Let other warriors do some of the patrolling and fighting. Stay away from foxes and cave-ins. Stay safe... Please?"

The senior warrior's beseeching blue eyes met her mate's for a little while, then her gaze dropped. Her tail's tight grip loosened. "You must think I'm selfish, wanting you all to myself."

Another silence stretched between them for a time. Barleytuft frowned slightly, feeling genuine worry starting to prickle at his pelt. At last Graybriar looked at him and met his gaze, pleading as it was; her own eyes were dark with frustration and remorse. He simply wanted to know what was causing her so much pain and worry. It was about him - about him putting himself in danger - but he didn't understand how, or why. Graybriar sighed, and when her breath left her it was as though she was dragging herself up through the wreckage of a failed tunnel. Barleytuft realized immediately, before she delved into her worries, that she had been bearing this weight alone for a long time.

When Graybriar began to speak, however, the tom realized why she had kept it quiet: the weight came from their responsibilities as warriors. Her fears came from their life in the Clan. Her tail tightened around him, desperately trying to convey her desire to keep him close - not to chase him away - as she explained that every time he got hurt, it hurt her too. Graybriar's words were sad and painful, and Barleytuft felt his wounds from the recent fox fight burning not with pain but with bitter shame and guilt at the grief he'd caused his love. She praised his deeds and his desire to help, yet with a bitterly hurt voice she said, "But could you... could you stop? Just for a little while?"

Barleytuft stayed silent, struck speechless. He was distressingly aware of his wounds now, aware now of how Graybriar always kept away from them and looked elsewhere and tried to keep from touching them. He thought it had been because she didn't want to accidentally reopen his wounds or spread his poultice, but what if... what if she was angry and repulsed just by their existence, upset that he'd been in the position to receive them at all? Barleytuft almost wanted to pull away self-consciously, but his mate's dark tail held him close. No, her words weren't malicious. They were just... grieving. Grieving and afraid. She begged him quietly to stay safe, and her blue eyes sought his again, searching for reassurance and comfort. Barleytuft stared back, and he knew his expression didn't hold what she wanted to find. Her gaze fell away sadly.

Several tense moments spanned out in which Barleytuft thoughts swam. How can I give up being a warrior - serving and protecting my Clan? he wanted to ask incredulously. I took an oath to defend WindClan at the cost of my life, how could you be upset with me for fulfilling that? I thought you understood. But the pale tabby tom didn't ask those things. Graybriar turned away, relaxing her hold on him ever so slightly, and instead Barleytuft leaned into her, wrapping his own tail to hold her close as she had done a moment before. He couldn't find the words to say; he continued to say nothing. I can't promise to stay away from foxes when I don't know they're there. I can't stay away from cave-ins if no one knows where the risky tunnels are. Graybriar, someone has to be at risk to keep the others safe.

But perhaps she had a point - did it always have to be him? "Let other warriors do some of the patrolling and fighting," Graybriar had said, and the thought was disheartening. Yet was that not the point of naming new warriors? To bear some of the burden of caring for a Clan? Goldengale, Ploverpuddle, Rabbitleaf... perhaps Cloverpaw would join them soon. Was that what Graybriar wanted? For him to let younger cats risk the same dangers he survived because of his skill? Certainly it wasn't her intention, but what else could happen? If he stepped back from the darkness, their children would take his place.

At long last, the warrior shook his head slowly. "It's never selfish to want to keep your loved ones safe, my starlight," Barleytuft replied quietly, yet with a bittersweet voice he added, "but what can I do? I'm a warrior... just like you. We have duties. If... If I hadn't been there, Sandpaw would've been killed. The foxes would have torn her apart, and her brother and Elmskip could've been lost with her. Our daughter's mate... the father of her kit..." He shook his head and looked at her again sadly. "Love, isn't our job to make the Clan safer, stronger, for our kin who come after...?"

At first when he spoke, hope swelled up in her, rising her shoulders and making her ears perk a little. It's never selfish to want to keep your loved ones safe.... But as he continued, the warmth she had begun to feel left. He didn't understand. He didn't understand. And it hurt. Graybriar let out an inaudible sigh, feeling her breath shake as it went in and out of her tired lungs. She regretted bringing up this conversation- it wasn't going to work out. But at this point she had to keep trying.

"That's... not what I'm saying," she meowed finally, desperate to make him just understand. Her eyes found his again, insistent, determined. "I'm not saying you have to give up being a warrior. I know it's your lifeblood. I wouldn't do that to you for the world, not that you'd do it if I asked. It's wonderful that you were there to help Sandpaw, it turned out well for her- but StarClan, Barleytuft, sometimes I feel like you don't want to spend time with me anymore!" Well, there. The rabbit was out of the field. She knew she couldn't take back what she said, so the tension in her voice kept mounting, passion increasing her volume. "You volunteer for everything, you put yourself in danger all the time, every day, and there's a difference between hunting and patrolling and fighting in tunnels and battling foxes, Barleytuft! Do you have a death wish? Are you that committed to making sure every single person in this Clan never gets to see you again? If you get hurt you can't help others! If you get hurt, you hurt your family! You hurt me! I hate when you get hurt, but you don't care as long as you can go fight foxes again! You- There's- I- just-!" She wanted to scream. But instead, a strangled half-cry of frustration and grief broke out of her throat, and she tore her gaze away from her mate's. Now she'd done it. There was no way he'd still love her after that.

The senior warrior sat and breathed for a few moments, hating herself and what she'd said. But it was the truth. And she didn't want her family to be torn apart by the feelings she kept inside. Her voice was quiet, subdued, broken when she spoke again. "I love you, Barleytuft," she murmured, staring at the ground between her paws like it was a representation of all the grief she'd suffered. "I love you more than anything. Please, just... consider slowing down a little. I'm sorry, if, what I said hurt you... but I'm not sorry I said it. It's true." Her eyes burned, and she forced them shut. This night was a disaster.

Barleytuft blinked as Graybriar explained he had misunderstood. He met her gaze evenly, the look of concern and care still deep in his eyes. The beautiful silver queen spoke reassuringly for a moment, though his heart twinged with a painful acknowledgement that he certainly wouldn't give up being a warrior for the world, even if she wanted him to. Her next words, however, began to shift with a bitterness and coldness that made him feel slightly uneasy. Barleytuft realized that some hidden flood was about to be unleashed as she declared, "StarClan, Barleytuft, sometimes I feel like you don't want to spend time with me anymore!"

"What?" Barleytuft mewed softly, a look of surprise and hurt on his face. "Graybriar, no, I--" he began to explain, but she had more to say - things he'd never heard or thought or thought he'd hear, least of all from his mate. Her voice grew in desperation and, it almost seemed, venom as she disparaged the duties he'd experienced as a warrior. "Do you have a death wish?" she demanded, "Are you that committed to making sure every single person in this Clan never gets to see you again?"

"No," the senior warrior tried to insist again, but Graybriar was still speaking. Her words stung nearly as badly as the fox's attack, and Barleytuft felt just as stunned and hurt. She practically snarled that he didn't care about her or his family so long as he was able to keep battling and putting himself in harm's way. He was speechless as she let out a wordless cry of pain and frustration, ripping her gaze away from his utterly shocked and heartbroken face to look pointedly away. Barleytuft's tail had left her side without him even noticing, and it was now curled around himself. It was like they had the Gorge between them and he hadn't seen it. He couldn't even think of how to defend himself when all he'd ever done was his duty.

He barely registered the words of the she-cat beside him until the last. "It's not true," Barleytuft whispered, and his lip was trembling and his voice was strained with sadness. "It's not true. How... How could you think I don't care about you or what you want? Or our family?" He shook his head firmly and stood, leaving the warmth that one moment ago had been comforting and in this one felt suffocating. He turned his back to the she-cat who had turned furiously away from him. Barleytuft's body felt heavy - heavy as in his dreams where the sand and dirt crushed him to death - and his heart felt like it was going to break. Was there wisdom in her words? Was she right - was he throwing away his life and family for his warrior duties?

His oath yowled in his head, yet there was another more subtle memory in the back of his head: a memory of StarClan, when he had been Barleypaw long ago. Swiftstep had taken him to the Moonstone and there the apprentice had dreamed of a WindClan tom from some time ago. The words were similar to now: "A good warrior doesn't fight every battle he ends up in, some battles you ave to run from. . . . a good warrior picks his fights and steps off when they realize that they can't win, and remember that you can't fight if you're dead."

Was it really always a theme with him? Barleytuft shook his head softly and turned back to Graybriar, his voice as defeated as her own, "I... I never meant to hurt you... Never meant to make you feel that way... Graybriar, why didn't you tell me? I didn't... I didn't realize how you felt." He was devastated; was he truly such an inattentive, absent partner? Had he really abandoned her in the service of his Clan? He hated this; the fox attack wasn't his fault. He'd tried to flee - he hadn't tried to get in a fight with them! Why couldn't Graybriar see that?