sick of losing soulmates [closed]

It wormed and gnawed its way into his stomach like some persistence pest. Houndheart had dealt with less irritating ticks before. But the feeling did not subside no matter how much he willed it. After seeing such brokenness across the she-cat's maw, recognizing the agonizing pain that she felt once again, he simply could not get his mind off of it. And the tom hated it. No matter where he trod, or how many squirrels he chase, the only thing his mind nagged for was to seek out Mossbloom to see how she was. Settling on an excuse for such an endeavor was easy with the churning of his gut. A stomach ache, nothing more. Lesser ailments had relieved other cats from their warrior duties. With eyes crossed and ears flat, he marched over to the medicine cat's den. A clear purpose was in his step but the closer he got, the more that he faltered. And he stopped at the entrance for a moment. Those flattened ears, the irritated gait, it faded. Instead of being flattened in defense, they were raised in curiosity and prying.

Until they weren't.

How could he walk in such a soft fool? Houndheart could only stare at the ground in anger for so long before his features softened. He remembered Lionspark for some reason, the way she caressed him so gingerly and tenderly. He longed for that moment and yet wanted to forget it and cast it aside all at once. Finally, with a deep breath, he pushed forward and stepped into Mossbloom's sanctuary with a gruff meow, "Hey. I have a stomach ache. I must be getting sick. You have herbs for that, right?"

Mossbloom was staring at the far wall, her fur ruffled and unkempt. It was such a stark difference to her usual sleek, soft and shiny fur. Her eyes were glazed over, tear stains still tracing her cheeks from her earlier thoughts. What more could the coming moons bring? Her head slowly lowered onto her paws until she heard pawsteps approaching. Turning her head, eyes unseeing at first, she blinked for a couple moments before the cat came into focus. Houndheart. Blinking once more in a full curiosity and concern for his reasoning of being here, his explanation was quick to follow his arrival.

Ah. A stomachache. Of course she had herbs for that.... Didn't she? Rising on stiff legs, numb of feeling and paws that felt like huge clumps of dirt, she padded unsteadily to the crack in the rock that housed the herbs she had so carefully tended to, that Pricklebush had cared for. Slipping into the dark sanctuary, her nose was graced by the almost overwhelming mixture of herb scents, and the tiniest whiff of the long stale scent of Pricklebush. Carefully pulling a leave full of berries from the stashes of herbs, she emerged from the crevice and set it down, selecting a couple of the juniper berries. They were starting to crinkle... She'd have to go out to get more soon. She should really go through all of the stores with leaf-bare rapidly approaching... Maybe it would help the den not feel so empty. Rolling them to the toms feet with her pink nose, she looked up to meet his eyes with her own dull ones.

"Here, Houndheart, these should help. They'll also give you some strength, but if you want to take it easy please stay in your den. You also shouldn't eat much, if anything, until sun-down at the earliest." Her voice was crackled and strained, a result of her self-imposed solitude.

The slender warrior found himself face to face with the medicine cat just as the words finished their escape from his maw. Grey eyes fixated on the medicine cat. It only took a moment to realize how much he truly hate the sight of her right now. A pit was formed in his stomach, worse than any real bellyache that he had ever had, as his gaze traced every stray fur on her ruffled pelt. Houndheart felt the sensation move into his throat as he met her deadened gaze. Flintfang's death had been one thing, not completely extinguishing the quiet fire of her soul, but this was another. Whatever drive she had seemed to have been snuffed out by tragic blow after tragic blow. Any trace of the true nature of the she-cat had vanished. And he could not bear to let himself be such a bitter creature any longer. At least, in this moment with her. If he would have spoken right away, the words would have shook with emotion. And so he chose not to speak.

The juniper berries at his paws gave him a reason to advert his gaze. Any cat with genuine churning in their gut would have swallowed them down in a second. And so he dipped his head, finding himself hoping they wouldn't cause him an actual bellyache. Although, at her advice not to eat, he found hunger to be a foreign sensation at the moment anyways. Instead of turning away to go rest in his nest, considering leaving now would be leaving far to quickly, he rested his haunches onto the earth, "As much as I'd like to rest in the warrior's den, Beartooth's snoring is truly as insufferable as he is. As your patient, I think I would be better off taking up a nest here until I'm feeling better." Houndheart glanced around, finding an empty moss nest not far off. Two of them. That wasn't where sick cats normally slept which meant... one for each medicine cat. Had she not already cleared the den of any trace of Pricklebush? His scent was still faintly etched into the smells of the air. Even in his absence prior to death, the tom had once called that nest his own. Although he was decided on staying, his eyes met hers for some silent approval. He willed there to be something; he needed to know she wanted him here.

She watched quietly as the tom obediently bent his head, lapping up the berries with little complaint. She half-expected a shudder, or his usual mutterings at the taste of the herbs, but none of that came today. Perhaps his stomachache was that bad that he couldn't even bring himself to moan about the herbs that would help. Sympathy squeezed her belly gently at the thought, and she found herself nodding to his words. Beartooth's snoring was quite loud, there were some nights she could swear she heard it in the medicine den. Or perhaps that was another cat.... Oh who knew anymore. Her mind and her thoughts had been so jumbled recently, and she stared at the spot the berries had been. Those had been juniper berries, right? No, they surely were. She had double-checked... Hadn't she? 

The feeling of eyes on her brought her back from her self-doubt, and as she met the tom's eyes again they flickered in slight realization. Oh yes, he had asked about staying here. That was fine, perhaps some company would do her good, even if it was just a cat relaxing quietly. And that way she could keep an eye on him, in case his bellyache got worse. As the tom continued to stand, gazing at her, it suddenly came to mind that she had voiced this to herself, silently, and she blinked slowly at the realization. "Oh stars, yes, absolutely. You are more than welcome to stay here, I'm sorry Houndheart, I..." Tears began welling in her eyes as she noted she didn't have an excuse, head lowering as a tear fell to the soft dirt of the den. Placing her white paw over it after a heartbeat, as if she was trying to hide it, she turned away. "You... You can have any n-nest you'd like, Hound...heart."

Oh Starclan. She was crying. Houndheart felt his chest tighten and heart beat faster as she responded to his question, the tears welling in her eyes. He didn't miss the singular tear that fell into the dirt. In fact, as she turned away, the warrior simply couldn't pull his gaze from the singular speck of earth. In his lifetime, the lanky tom had never felt the raw pain leak from his eyes. Everything had been lashing out in anger, burying away sadness. Unbearable agony and tragedy from such a young age was hard to overcome. Mossbloom had always challenged his inability to feel anything other than self-righteousness and rage. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to her. Now, all he could do was swallow back the knot that was forming in his throat. A more sympathetic cat, one less damaged by circumstance, might have padded over right away and wrapped themselves around her for comfort. He found that he wanted to. But having never done such a thing before, Houndheart found that he couldn't.

Digging his claws into the dirt, the warrior merely looked after her for a moment. Such normally easy speech was lost. His tongue buzzed to say something but it was clenched behind the cage of his tightened jaw. After a moment of silence, he padded towards one of the nests typically used to patients and settled down, tucking his paws beneath him. The entire time, his eyes never left her frame. As the nagged relentlessly, it was nearly impossible to not claw at his chest and throat. Everything demanded he go to her. Houndheart couldn't. It wasn't fair to her to bring such a horrible creature to her side for comfort. And that was the first time that he truly process that deeply rooted disdain for himself. On the outside, he bragged about his talent and his self-worth. It was as shallow as the short fur on his pelt. Realizing this thought, considering was a truly fragile and terrible thing he was, only held him back further. Between his own fears and inability, there was something genuine and new that he had never fully recognized before.

Care for another creature.

The foreign beast of the whole situation scared the frail and wounded kit beneath his prickly exterior. Behind all of it, there was simply a lost kit; it was the very kit that had once lay exposed in the middle of the territory, coated it the blood of its littermates. In ways he would never understand, there were similarities between him and Pricklebush. Houndheart looked at her with wide eyes. His expression was blank and unfeeling. However, much like his father, those eyes were the window to a vast churning of emotions. Unable to provide comfort to the she-cat he cared for, he looked like a helpless kit. Every part of his learned defense mechanisms screamed for him to look away and stop succumbing to the raw and foolish softness of this moment. But he couldn't look away from Mossbloom. He couldn't even glance at the earth below. When he finally managed to pipe up, it was at the usual volume in which he spoke, but the edge was gone, "Get some rest, Mossbloom. You look like a badger has been relentlessly pestering you for days."

There was silence for a long time, and Mossbloom wondered if she had missed Houndheart leaving through the sobs she was fighting to keep silent that were shaking her shoulders. However, his voice broke through the silence suddenly, making her jump slightly. Turning slowly, she looked towards her nest, cold and empty, and so close to Pricklebush's old one. Head lowered, she turned and headed towards Houndheart, where he had chosen a nearby nest. Settling into the nest next to the one he was in, she curled in a tight ball, her tail wrapping over to cover her eyes. Perhaps when she woke up, everything would be back to normal....

There was no sound from the medicine cat. He simply watched as her shoulders trembled and she quivered slightly at the shock of his voice addressing her. Such pity and pain welled up in his chest. As Mossbloom regarded her own nest, he drank in the wretched sight. Stiff movements lead her away from that place and into the nest right next to where he had settled down. Houndheart felt himself stiffen at the warm aura of her presence. His heart beat faster. Sleeping next to Dacepaw in the apprentice's den had never caused such a stir within him, at least nothing like this. That had been simply comfort and presence of a friend. Something different pounded through his veins. His head laid lightly on top of his paws but he couldn't pull his grey gaze away from the calico she-cat's pelt. She couldn't see the way conflict passed through his eyes, nor how he repeatedly lifted his head. This thing was far more troublesome than a feigned stomach ache.

Finally, the feeling was unbearable. As quietly as he could, the long-legged tabby stood and picked his way the short distance towards her. For a moment, Houndheart stood there, still as stone. His mind was stuck on one simple idea and his breath hitched in his throat. This should not have plagued him as relentlessly as it had, nor driven him into such madness. Perhaps a more normal cat would have been able to comfort a cat they cared for without wanting to yowl to the skies. It should have been such a simple act, and yet to Houndheart, whose affections were as fleeting as a warm breeze in the midst of leafbare, this seemed to be the greatest challenge of his few moons of life. His limbs quivered ever so slightly before he forced them to stiffen into an almost immobile state. Wrapping himself around her, Houndheart's chest threatened to waken all of the prey in the forest with its pound. But as he breathed in her scent, the tom found peace. The raised hair on his back and hackles seemed to settle.

His maw finally settled right below her ear, tucked in so she could hear the labored breathing that passed through his throat. In the middle of leafbare, it was fairly normal to find cats tangled together for warmth. For the young warrior, this was perhaps the most intimate comfort he had found since the fleeting moments at his lost mother's stomach. Houndheart bit at his lower jaw for a moment, unknowingly much like his father in the moment, as he the anxiousness of his soul sought to quiet itself in this newfound situation. Several long moments passed before his breathing and his heart slowed. He didn't say a word, and for once in his life, he felt like he didn't have to. Instead, he slowly let himself succumb the the slowing breaths of Mossbloom. Warmth crept into his could pelt, and his even colder soul, and Houndheart fell into the most restful sleep of his life.