rises the moon [C]

"Beechface."

The name was softer than it was meant to be, and it seemed like the hollow swallowed any of the force it was supposed to carry. Cloverheart had been careful to put a few tail-lengths between herself and the other medicine cat, but she kept her eyes fixed firmly on her. She doubted Beechface would strike, but... the little she-cat took a step closer to the Great Rock.

"I'm... sorry for making you stay. But I– I just had some questions. Important... questions..." her mew trailed away, voice shaky with hesitance, and she scuffed the earth with a paw. "Thank you, though. I– I appreciate it. Please hear me out. I don't think you like me, but please."

Maybe she was setting this conversation up for failure. Cloverheart's ears lowered as she thought about Beechface storming out to chase SkyClan back to camp, leaving her alone in Fourtrees with less than she'd arrived with. Sighing, she pressed softly, "Please."

The last of the cats were making their way back to their own territories, and oh, how desperately Beechface wished she could join them. Bloodstar had left a pair of warriors behind, who were doing a good job at keeping themselves hidden in a tree above. That should have been reassuring to the medicine cat, but her nerves had been frazzled from the moment she'd stepped foot into fourtrees, and the tension at the gathering hadn't helped. Unable to sit still, the massive she-cat paced back and forth, tail lashing behind her. She almost wished that Dawnhawk was waiting in ambush her like he had Wolfstar, she only needed to die once. It would be better than being here.

The Riverclanner's voice had her head snapping in the other medicine cat's direction, ears pinned back as she regarded the smaller she-cat. Cloverheart was stumbling over her words, and it only heightened Beechface's growing sense of irritation. Sorry for making her stay? Was she sorry about nearly getting her killed? About her clan rushing to defend a murderer? About how her mentor had lied to her face about Beechface's own sister being alive?

"Your stupidity nearly got me killed here," There was no hiding the edge of anxiety-laced hostility in her voice, and Beechface didn't care to do so in the first place. "Stop stalling and spit it out, Riverclanner."

The force of Beechface's glare made the smaller cat cower, pressing herself low enough to the ground that the fur of her stomach brushed the grass. Her thin tail lashed behind her, and when Cloverheart tried to meet Beechface's eye– a challenge against the hostility or an attempt at peace, she wasn't sure –she found she couldn't hold the attention and quickly looked back down at her paws.

After a painfully long few heartbeats, she managed, "Almost getting you killed here? That's not– that wasn't my fault." Hesitant as it was, there was a hint of indignation in her mew. How could Beechface fault her for something StarClan did? How could Beechface fault her for–

"Blame that– that whoever cat that attacked me!" Cloverheart shot back, rising back to height. "And it wasn't stupid! I was– I–" She was defending herself. What was wrong with that? SkyClan was to blame for... this. She knew that, from the way her pelt bristled at the sight of any of them, the way her chest tightened. Cloverheart mustered up the strength to meet Beechface's gaze, her own stare long and searching.

The lightning hadn't been her fault. None of this was her fault. It was...

It wasn't Beechface's fault, at least. Was it? No; it never had been. She– then why had she been so hostile towards her? Beechface hadn't done anything to her. Not that she knew of, at least. It was... Cloverheart blinked slowly. No name came to her this time, and she swallowed hard around the mounting unease.

A heavy sigh left her, and she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I didn't ask you to stay to scream at you over what happened in Fourtrees." That would have been cathartic, though, she was sure. "I had, uhm... medicine related questions. You've been doing this a lot longer than I have, Beechface, and I..." Her words trailed away as she thought. What was the best way to say it? Or maybe not best, just easiest.

"Have you ever had to handle a cat that might have memory loss?" Every word in the sentence was slow, every syllable rounded as Cloverheart thought over the words. Her heart had kicked itself into a steady thunder, beating hard enough against her chest she could hear it in her ears. Beechface had no reason to help her, and as Cloverheart started running through all the ways the SkyClan cat could turn away, she slowly started to realize what a terrible idea this might have been. Hackles rising as anxiety worked itself into her, she unconsciously started kneading the ground as she searched Beechface's expression for any betrayal of her response.

Cloverheart cowered, as she should. Beechface however, just wanted this over with. She sputtered some nonsense about how it hadn't been her fault and Beechface's gaze narrowed. "Perhaps you should learn to keep your mouth shut the first time you were warned, and not purposefully antagonize others, then. Let alone attack a cat that wasn't even present." Beechface turned away, resuming her pacing back and forth. Her shoulders were tight, the tension obvious in the way she occasionally risked a glare up at the oaks.

She hadn't asked her here to talk about that night? A soft scoff of disbelief escaped Beechface. What else could she have asked her here for? They weren't close and never had been. Were it Dovefrost, or even the Shadowclanner that she'd hardly met, she would have been happier to at least speak to them somewhere that... wasn't here. But Cloverheart had asked her to stay here, specifically. When whatever she wanted could have taken place anywhere else. No, it didn't help her current state of mind, not at all.

Ah, so it was medical advice, then. Maybe she could just leave. The lives of Riverclanners meant very little to Beechface after everything, and they had been on opposite sides of a war. There was no reason to help them at all, and doing so would be impractical at best. "Memory issues?" She echoed despite herself, turning to stare down at the smaller medicine cat. Both cats' fur was spiked with anxiety, Cloverheart was kneading the ground. Either Beechface scared her that much, or this wasn't some trivial ask. And as much as she despised Cloverheart, she didn't think the medicine cat would come to her for something trivial unless her life depended on it.

"There's nothing I know of to help with memory issues." That was all she had to offer her. It seemed like tonight Beechface was to be the bearer of non-helpful answers. "Juniper berries and thyme can both soothe the mind, though I'm not sure how helpful they'd be for that." If Spiderquill had been a halfway decent mentor (something Beechface very much doubted) she would know that much. Maybe the Riverclanner would leave her be after having been given an honest answer?

"You think I haven't thought of that?" The shrill cry rose from Cloverheart unbidden, her tail starting to lash. Her eyes narrowed, and her expression looked caught somewhere between absolute grief and fury. She wasn't quite sure if the latter feeling was actually directed at the other medicine cat, but it seared through her chest nonetheless.

"I've– I've tried everything I know how to try! I've done everything I can think of, and– and it's not getting better, and I don't know what else to do." The wail sounded genuinely pained, the suggestion that there was nothing to be done striking a nerve uncomfortably close to her heart. "Beechface, I've tried every stars-forsaken herb I can, I've tried rest, distractions, all of it! It doesn't work!"

At some point in her raving, Cloverheart had scrambled to her paws, claws digging into the soft earth. All her fur stood on end, and despite looking twice her size, she still felt dwarfed in front of Beechface.

Beechface, who had stopped pacing, but who still looked like ants were crawling under her pelt. Cloverheart's ears flattened against her head as the observation crept in through her distraught haze, and pale eyes widened slightly. Was this a mistake– not for her safety, but Beechface's?

Shaking her head, the younger medicine cat swallowed hard and willed her trembling body to be still. She took a moment to gather herself, but her voice still shook as she went on, "Nothing 'soothes the mind.' It just gets worse!

"How are juniper berries supposed to help me? How are a bunch of pointless berries supposed to help me remember who did this to me? Thyme isn't going to tell me what happened in WindClan! Thyme isn't going to make me feel normal again!"

Cloverheart had picked up her own pacing mid-rant, and she drew herself up short as she realized what she'd said. Crying out about her damaged memory, something she'd fully intended to keep secret... with a look of abject terror, she regarded Beechface with wide eyes for a long, horrified moment before spinning on her pads, back turned so she wouldn't have to watch the SkyClan cat's reaction to her admission.

"I told you what I know." Beechface snapped, teeth bared in a snarl of frustration, "Do you think I can pull some magical cure out of my tail? I can't, you should know that, you're a medicine cat too." Albeit a terrible one, Beechface's perfectly unbiased opinion. Cloverheart's expression and tone were twisted by grief and fury, two things Beechface was far too familiar with. But there was absolutely no reason for it to be directed at her, and she would not take the blame for something that wasn't her fault. "Take your blame elsewhere, none of this is my fault."

She... Didn't know what had happened? Beechface outright laughed, though when she spoke her tone was just as rage-filled as Cloverheart's had been. "You spent the entire gathering wailing about exactly that, and you tell me you don't know what happened? You can't possibly think I'd believe you." Beechface hissed, tail lashing. "I see you're just as much of a liar as Spiderquill is." There was a voice in the back of her mind that said if this was bluffing, it was a very good one, but Beechface was too upset to care.

"It is not my grandfather's fault that your leader is a stars-cursed fool. It's not his fault that she is so incompetent to stick her nose where it had no business being to help defend a clan that sheltered someone who murdered a two moon old kit in front of me. It is certainly not my fault that you chose to step into a battlefield." She growled, tail lashing back and forth, "How were we supposed to know that Riverclan would be there, let alone some scrawny apprentice who just so happened to be a medicine cat? You got in Wolfstar's way, being attacked for that is entirely on you."

Beechface turned away, breathing hard. Her claws unsheathed, digging almost painfully into the forest floor. Even now, after all this time had passed, Cloverheart's foxdung was enough to make her blood boil. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to spin on the smaller medicine cat and sink her claws into her instead. A branch creaked above in the breeze, and Beechface swallowed, throat painfully tight.

She should go. Go before she did something stupid. There was nothing else to say here.

"Are you satisfied now?" She asked through gritted teeth, taking a single step towards where Thunderclan territory met the edge of fourtrees. If she ran fast enough she could catch up to Bloodstar and the rest of the clan.

And what did she expect, for Beechface to listen to her shouting and to back down? For Beechface's tone to soften, for her to offer some cure she'd intended to keep secret? To apologize, to be gentle, to be–

To be anything like Dennis had been? Understanding, compassionate, to listen to her?

Cloverheart's tail snapped back and forth fiercely as she stalked her little path, a rare growl rumbling out of her as Beechface laughed– actually, outright laughed –at her. Here she was, shouting to the stars something she hadn't even had the nerve to tell Turtlefur, or Ivystar, or anyone, and Beechface was laughing at her.

And there was the comment about her mentor, and Cloverheart spat back, "He was not a liar. And you have no right to talk about him like that."

But her heated defense wasn't loud enough to talk over Beechface, and Cloverheart was left to just listen as she dug into her about whatever battle happened at the moor.

Murdered a two-moon old kit– chose to step into battle?– and yes, she'd been right when she claimed it was Wolfstar. She got in his way? In the brief silence the other medicine cat allowed, Cloverheart pressed into her memory. Foggy, still. All she could think of were the smells of heather and sharp, fresh blood. It was dark, and everything hurt, and then she was home and there was lightning and now she was here.

Here, with too many gaps in her memory for this argument to fill. Beechface had given her more than she'd started with, but it still wasn't enough. More pieces were missing than just Wolfstar, than just a war. The harder she tried to think, the more hollow the back of her mind felt.

"You think I would've wanted to be there? I hate– look at me, Beechface, you think I can fight? Do I look like the kind of cat to be able to handle going to war? Do I look like–" Cloverheart swallowed hard, her steps slowing so she could look at Beechface before continuing, "like I would want to defend someone that killed a kit? Is that the kind of fox-hearted cat you think I am?" She left her jaw half-parted, more burning on her tongue to be said, but she couldn't force the words out.

I can't even put that night together, and I know I wouldn't do that. Not willingly. Isn't that my job as a medicine cat, to protect my Clan? Did I even know what my Clan was defending? A thought struck her, then: why had they sent her, and not Dennis? Cloverheart tipped her head back, blinking at the sky.

Why did you send me? Did you know this would happen? Was I meant for this? But the stars only glittered coldly in response, and Cloverheart sighed.

"You'll probably kill me if you stay, and you're too big for me to make you," the pale cat snorted, slowly lowering her gaze. Her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of walking away with less answers than she came to the hollow with, and she swallowed hard around the tightening of her throat. If Beechface had answers, any answers that weren't throwing her injuries back in her face, she would've shared them.

Or maybe she knew exactly what to do, and her disdain for RiverClan was holding her tongue. Cloverheart's tail whipped against her side, and weariness crept under her pelt.

"You don't believe me, go. You want to blame me for not being able to walk right anymore? You want to blame me for not being able to remember a thing past yesterday? Go. I won't plead my case to a cat who doesn't give a mouse's tail about me. Clearly, you've got nothing to offer me. At least Spiderquill would've tried."

"He lied about my sister being alive, when she'd been carried off by a hawk so that Riverclan could hang onto two extra apprentices that weren't theirs to begin with! And then Ivystar put Mountainheart in danger by bringing her to Windclan. To help defend the clan who sheltered the cat that killed her littermate in front of her." Beechface growled, "But of course they wouldn't tell you that, right? You're the weak, naïve little medicine cat everyone thinks you are, right?"

"If you couldn't handle war, you shouldn't have stepped into a warzone to begin with. Don't play victim for your own stupid choices." She continued, turning to glare down at the smaller medicine cat again. Her vision was tinged red... Things looked nicer that way. "I warned the medicine cats the very first meeting after Asylum fell, and continued to warn them. Wolfstar and Bloodstar warned everyone at the gathering. Multiple. Times. Dawnhawk maimed our mother and sent her to the elder's den while he was in Windclan. And yet Windclan still sheltered them and you helped defend them. If you truly didn't agree with it, you could have disobeyed, you could have dissuaded Ivystar from her idiocy, but you didn't. You went along with it and so did the rest of your warriors. So yes, I do believe you are that type of lowly foxheart." Lunging for her and ending her miserable life would have been a mercy for Cloverheart, Beechface was sure. It was a mercy Cloverheart would never deserve. And yet it was a struggle to not do just that. Even with the branches and browning leaves rustling in the cold wind around them.

The gathering was over, the truce was done with for the night, wasn't it? Beechface's muscles bunched, finding out wouldn't be so bad... If she turned out to be wrong, Starclan had already tried to kill her once in this stars-forsaken place, what was one more time?

Only Beechface found that she couldn't move. The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh was almost overpowering, though Beechface would've swore there was no fire or lightning in sight. There were no clouds, no rain, but she felt as if she'd been soaked in freezing water.

For a long heartbeat the scarred medicine cat stood frozen, poised to spring. A growl rose in her throat, and wavered. It had started angry, menacing, and by the end... wasn't. A sharp, ragged huff of breath escaped her as she stared wide-eyed at the smaller Riverclanner, gaze uncertainly flickering towards the trees above.

And then she spun, racing for the edge of the clearing like her tail had been set afire. The warriors hidden in the trees exchanged a glance before scrambling to follow. If she was fast enough, she could catch up with the gathering patrol...