Malaise [Newtpaw]

Smokefeather eyed the noon sun with a grimace, carefully standing and limping her way toward a patch of shade near the edge of camp. Early-greenleaf heat was unpleasant for the long-furred she-cat, and she only hoped that it wouldn't be as bad as last greenleaf. The forest was still recovering from the fire, and the miserable heat wave was the last thing Skyclan needed.

A quiet sigh escaped Smokefeather as she settled into her new spot, head resting on her paws and eyes half-closed. She'd never been the sort to enjoy being idle, but it wasn't like she had anything else to do. There was a downright lethargic air about the former warrior recently, and whether it was stress or simply far too long spent idle, Smokefeather wasn't quite sure. Most of the clan seemed content to leave her be, and Smokefeather found she couldn't muster the energy to be annoyed with having nothing to do. It had become normal, and now her routine consisted of curling up in quiet corners of camp when she wanted a change of scenery rather than roaming the territory hunting. She'd become distant from most of her family, hardly talking to some of them most days, and going out of her way to avoid others. It was easier to avoid them than try to untangle the complicated knot of emotion, at least.

Smokefeather's eyes drifted shut, the retired warrior too lost in her own thoughts to notice the approaching pawsteps of one of her clanmates.

"Stupid Lichenblaze, making me take care of the elders." Newtpaw's tone was unusually dour as he plodded away from the apprentice's den. "I'm plenty ready to do some real training. He just can't handle me." The young cat's day had barely started, and already it had been ruined. It had been a hard adjustment, trying to get along with Lichenblaze– he had been bitter with his mentor since the shove he'd gotten during his ceremony. Cross and not one to make amends so readily, Newtpaw had spent the last few sunrises moaning his hardships to his sisters and skulking around anywhere Lichenblaze wasn't. All in all, apprenticeship wasn't everything he hoped it would be. He hadn't gotten to dig his claws into some stupid ThunderClan fleabag on the wrong side of the border yet, hadn't gotten his chance to drag home a squirrel half the size he was. He was half-tempted to break off from his route to the elder's den and race out of camp on his own.

Oh, right, the elders. Nearing the den, Newtpaw drew in a breath as he stuck his head inside. ...only to see no one was there. Pulling back, he scanned the camp for any of sign of those raggedy old pelts, resenting his task more now that he had to do extra work just to find any of them. And bad day only got worse when the only one he recognized was Smokefeather.

He did not want to talk to her. He was sick of his Clanmates whispering (and doing a poor job of it) about his parents, about how he and his siblings didn't belong here, about poor old Smokefeather. The name left a sour taste on his tongue, and for a good few heartbeats he considered just taking a nap in the elder's den and pretending he'd done something constructive. He didn't need Lichenblaze clawing his ears off, though. Or maybe he did: then he wouldn't have to hear all the gossip.

Bristling, Newtpaw crossed the clearing to the old cat, looking down at her with a scowl. Clearing his throat, he grumbled, "Lichenblaze wants me to tend to the elders. Do you need anything... important?" He spat the last word more than he said it, tail flicking behind him with agitation. Hopefully she would just say no and send him off. StarClan forbid she be covered in ticks, or need new bedding, or have a lecture on his father.

The voice that disturbed her wasn't one Smokefeather was familiar with, she realized. Then, she'd generally made it a point to avoid the nursery. The mention of her son Lichenblaze caught her attention, and the elder finally turned her head slightly without lifting it from her paws to eye who she assumed was his new apprentice. He'd complained that he'd gotten one of Bloodstrike's unfortunate kits, hadn't he?

There'd been one tom in the litter of mostly she-cats, Smokefeather had heard, fitting, that. A pity Smokefeather couldn't seem to remember (more accurately, she couldn't quite bring herself to care enough to remember) the name of the tom standing in front of her. He certainly didn't look happy about being put on elder duty, not that Smokefeather could blame him. Nobody liked elder duty, least of all Smokefeather, who did not need some belligerent apprentice fussing over her. Her son knew it, Beechface knew it, even Bloodstrike, oblivious and boneheaded stupid Bloodstrike, knew it. Smokefeather wasn't even sure she deserved such ridiculous treatment in the first place, the clan would be better off without a useless mouth to feed.

Smokefeather's ears twitched back at the insincere question and offer of supposed help, though she managed to keep from hissing at the unfortunate apprentice. For the moment. Poor 'paw had his duties, of course, and she didn't need to see apprentice and mentor interacting to understand the seething dislike between the two. Her kits were more angry about this notion of half-siblings and their father moving on than she was, it seemed, and while Smokefeather didn't really harbor any ill-will towards the innocent kits caught in the middle (she'd learned that too late to try making amends with Tornshadow, she was sure), she didn't exactly want to be in their presence, either.

"The use of my leg would be nice, but you can't help me there, 'paw." She muttered, a flash of temper finally making itself known. Of course, if the traitorous limb functioned as it should, Smokefeather would have never retired in the first place, and neither of them would be doomed to interact with the other like this. Still, that had nothing to do with this apprentice, either.

"Look, I don't need you searching my pelt for ticks or anything else. Save us both the embarrassment." She added, tone softening only slightly.

Taken aback by her tone, Newtpaw flattened his ears, narrowing his eyes as he regarded her. He had half a mind to say something cruel about how it wasn't his fault Bloodstrike chose Briarthorn, he didn't deserve the attitude, but the rising heat of embarrassment warming his fur and the thought of the scolding he'd get for it was enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut.

She'd given him the answer he wanted. This was his perfect opportunity to just turn and walk away and never have to interact with her ever again. He tried to convince his legs to follow through with the thought, but he was rooted in place. Maybe it was the barely noticeable hint of kindness in her last words. Maybe it was pity. Whatever it was, if he left now he was sure his bad mood would only get worse from spending the rest of the day thinking about Smokefeather.

Rolling his eyes, Newtpaw sat down, curling his tail around his paws. It still twitched restlessly, but at least he was making an effort to smile now. "Can you at least make something up for me to do?" There was still an uncomfortable edge to his tone, but it had lost the hostility it initially held. "I want your son to see my doing something that'll convince him I'm useful enough to take outside." The same bitterness carried those words, but there was a layer of disappointment under all his showy attitude. It made him angry, sure, but being the talk of the Clan hurt, too. Especially when his own mentor could hardly stand to be near him.

Whatever. Rolling his shoulders and readjusting himself, Newtpaw sighed. Smokefeather of all cats didn't need to know how insecure he was about his place in the Clan. Maybe she felt the same, though. Her name was in everyone's mouth, too... No. She wasn't his friend. She was probably on the same side as Lichenblaze and Beechface and all the others. He couldn't imagine Bloodstrike's former mate wanted to see his new kits running all over the place, and Newtpaw didn't want to deal with them, either. His posture stiffened as he thought on it, but he quickly offered another smile that was painfully insincere. "I do something for you now and get to learn to hunt and fight like a real apprentice, or I don't and I stay stuck on elder duty and we get to hang out more." He couldn't completely stifle the bark of a laugh at the idea of actually using his precious time to sit around with Smokefeather, but then again, she probably didn't expect to be hounded by her son's grumpy apprentice, either.

A low snort of amusement escaped Smokefeather at his words, "No apprentice enjoys tending to the elders. I didn't, either. If Lichenblaze asks, I'll tell him you kept me from going bored out of my mind." She commented dryly. Bloodstrike had despised it the most, but with his sensitive nose, it was no surprise. Smokefeather would cover for him sometimes... She gave her head a shake,trying to push away the thought. Things had changed a lot since those days.

"Although, I think Cloudmane was complaining about a thorn in his nest. I fail to see why when the nests were just changed, it's probably nothing." He hadn't complained about a thorn in his nest, but pretending to search for it might give a mentor the impression that Newtpaw was making himself useful.

Newtpaw blinked as she spoke, a look of surprise crossing his face. Was she actually... offering to help him? He snorted a laugh, muttering a thanks before getting to his paws. He had no interest in bothering with the elders, but any of them would be better than Smokefeather. He gave her a quiet nod and turned away, only taking a few steps before stopping.

Something pulled at his chest, and with a sigh, he was turning back to face Smokefeather again. Closing the short distance between them, Newtpaw laid down beside her, eyes narrowed as he looked her over. She just looked... tired, not at all malicious. But still– "Why are you helping me?" He huffed, trying as hard as he could to make the question sound cool and aloof but a note of pain will came through. For all his show and bluster, being born into a Clan that didn't seem to want anything to do with him was taking its toll on him, and he was still too young to be able to hide his feelings as well as he wanted. Shaking his head, he continued, "I mean, I thought you didn't, or weren't supposed to? I don't know. But I thought you didn't even like me. Or–" The thought of anyone in this stupid Clan making his sisters feel bad for a life they didn't ask for made anger burst in him white hot, but he sighed and went on with the sentence. "Or any of us. So why, huh?"

The apprentice turned away, and Smokefeather rested her head back on her paws. She'd given the tom an out, and he seemed happy to not have to deal with her for any longer than he already had, not that Smokefeather blamed him for that.

Only, he turned back to her, and Smokefeather blinked up at the question, a flicker of surprise crossing her expression. Wasn't the answer obvious? He clearly didn't want to spend time tending to the elders, least of all her. She didn't need some apprentice caring for her like an invalid. It was a win-win, as far as Smokefeather was concerned. The apprentice got off light, and she would be left in peace and quiet. Why was he questioning it at all? She'd given him an easy out and he was being ungrateful. Telling him as much was on the tip of her tongue, and in another time she would have snapped at him without remorse for it. She'd done as much to Tornshadow when she had been the one to find Smokefeather after Dawnhawk had buried his fangs in her leg. Maybe he'd recognize that in the flash of temper that crossed her expression.

Something held her tongue however. Maybe it was guilt, keeping the bitterness at bay. Tornshadow hadn't done anything but be born to Dawnhawk, and the apprentice hadn't done anything to deserve the scorn of his clanmates, either. That had been on his idiot parents. Smokefeather hadn't wanted to interact with him or his siblings either, but...

A weary sigh escaped Smokefeather, her ears twitching back briefly. He wasn't wrong, she didn't much care for him or his siblings, and why should she? Bloodstrike wasn't her problem, and he'd made that clear. His new mate and kits weren't her problem, either. "Well, you aren't wrong." She muttered. "You don't want to be in this position any more than I do, so why make things difficult for both of us? Most of the clan dislikes you about as much as they dislike me, and I've done enough snapping at others for things outside of their control for a lifetime. Nothing useful ever comes of it." What had she done but drive others away as much as she could, recently? She was surprised that she'd even said this much to the apprentice standing before her. There was no edge of snide hostility to her words, and Smokefeather wasn't quite sure if it was because she simply lacked the energy for such or if it was because she'd actually realized the futility of it all. Could've been both.

"Don't make the same mistakes."

He was already well committed to this, so Newtpaw set his chin on his paws, making himself comfortable as he stretched himself out next to the elder. Neither of them wanted to be here, and yet neither of them could leave.

It was almost funny, really.

Her warning not to make his mistakes did little to caution him against his next words. If it ended in Smokefeather trying to maul him for his disrespect, so be it. "Then why don't you like us?" He pressed, not taking his eyes off her. Just as her tone had lost its edge, so did his: there was no anger in his mew, just tired frustration. "Hate mom 'n' dad. It's their fault," he spat, tail starting to lash. He had never talked about his parents with such distaste before, and maybe he never realized he felt that way about them. He did love them, of course, but...

It was because of them that they had to put up with SkyClan, with being looked at like an oddity and a mongrel. Newtpaw scowled.

"I didn't do anything. I just want to be a good warrior." For a brief moment, his claws flexed as he thought about his sisters. None of them were happy here, and it enraged him to think about what the rest of the Clan was saying, either to their faces or when they thought no one was listening. "We all do. None of us even did anything except– except be born." His voice was strained, the hostility from earlier coming back to it, though it wasn't directed at Smokefeather this time. "If y'have the sense to give advice, why're you wasting your time hating innocent cats?"

Sighing, Newtpaw finally looked away from her. What was with him, getting all emotional anyway? He hardly told his family how he really felt, and now he was moments away from spilling his heart out to a cat he'd just been determined to hate. "Why don't ya give the rest of the Clan your sage advice? They need it more'n I do," he muttered, ears flattening against his head.

The apprentice spoke, stretching out beside her, and Smokefeather's ears twitched. He wanted to be the best warrior he could be... Typical.

"Hate? No. I'd simply prefer to avoid. Your father is an idiot, but he at least does me the courtesy of leaving me be. As for... Briarthorn, was it? Things were over between us before anything happened there, maybe she'll have better luck dealing with him than I ever did." Smokefeather snorted. "I pity her if you and your siblings are as resentful of her as your half-siblings are." Beechface and Lichenblaze had been the most outspoken, along with Ravenclaw. Smokefeather didn't imagine that her other kits felt much different, even if they were quieter about it.

At the notion of giving the clan advice, Smokefeather let out a bitter laugh. "Nobody listens to a dam.n thing I have to say. Maybe if I'd learned that sooner, I wouldn't have had three litters with our oh-so-esteemed deputy. Half the clan won't even look me in the eye, probably think I'm too far gone to care." Maybe they weren't wrong that she'd lost her mind. Smokefeather wasn't sure she wanted to start looking for it.

Newtpaw was unusually quiet as she talked, staring at her thoughtfully. So she didn't hate them, but she didn't want them around, either.

Figures.

The comment about his mother made him bristle, but he quickly quieted his temper. He hated to think about anyone else in the Clan having it out for her– he didn't really like either of his parents, but they were his parents. He had the right. The rest of SkyClan ought to just keep their stupid jaws shut about his stupid mom.

With a twitch of his ear, he nodded as if Smokefeather had said something he'd been waiting to hear. "Well, they won't look at me, either," he yawned, resting his chin on his paws. He appreciated the elder for being honest with him, even if she was the last cat he wanted to be talking to. But, as grateful as he was, he was tired of this emotional talk. He hated being serious, even just for a little while.

"Well, anyway," Newtpaw started, closing his eyes. "Is this what'ya do all day when the Clan doesn't want ya 'round? Sunbathe?" He laughed, but there was a clear note of pain to it. "I could get used to this. Maybe I should stay on everyone's bad side." It was a little too hot for his liking, but he was comfortable, and he could never complain about extra time spent lazing around.

"Unfortunately." Smokefeathre sighed, "I miss hunting and patrolling... I never liked sitting around idle, and that's all I have to do now." Her tail twitched in displeasure, though at least it wasn't aimed at the apprentice that had stretched out beside her, though his next words made Smokefeather glance over at him. "Making others angry to get out of doing things won't get you far, kid."