it all comes back [C]

The days following the war had been restless, exhausting. Cloverheart's den was full, the wounded stretched between every corner of it; and with Ebonyhaze's... disappearance, she was left to handle it all alone. She didn't feel equipped for it at all. Not that she couldn't do it physically; her paws hardly felt her own as she moved from ruined poultices, re-opened wounds collecting blood, sprained, strained, nearly-broken limbs. Mechanically, she was the perfect medicine cat. Physically, she wanted to force all of them out of her den, drag a boulder to the mouth of it and never be bothered again. I want none of your war in my nest. This is all I have. But there was no one she could spit that to without being bashed over the ears. It was just as well, either way; nothing was changing because she wanted to act the petulant child. The sick would get sicker, the wounded would die. She had no choice but to work, even if cleaning up after such a grisly battle made her twitch and bristle.

For the moment, at least, she had relative peace. She had shooed away most of her patients, or let them attempt to wander on their own under the instruction they not go too far. Fresh air and sunlight would be good for them, quiet would be good for her. Win, win. The only cat left in her den at the moment was a ruddy tom, who'd had one persistent visitor and who Cloverheart had tried to pretend wasn't growing up right under her nose. He'd been asleep still, hazy, when she'd emptied her den; but it was time to check on him. Approaching his side, she settled down gingerly, giving his shoulder a meaningful prod. "Rushtalon? Are you awake at all, can you hear me?"

Rushtalon felt the prod and blinked several times as he slowly stirred and lifted his head. The tom glanced around the den, quickly remembering where he was and why. It was just Cloverheart. He let out a low sigh and felt the tension in his shoulders melt ever so slightly. Still, the movement caused his wounds to flare up. He clenched his teeth with a soft grunt before moving into a more comfortable position. Finally, his green eyes turned to look up at the medicine cat, "What is it, Cloverheart? Do you need something?"

The urge to get up and stretch was overwhelming but he reminded himself to ignore it, last time had not gone so well. He wanted to get up and feel useful for the clan, for Poppyshine. Sitting in the medicine cat's den for days on end and healing up had not been part of the plan. Admittedly, throwing himself into the charge had been the least thought he'd ever put into a situation before. At least it had shown him not to be stupid in the future. What had been meant as a valiant effort had proven to be nothing more than a fanciful show of stupidity. Once or twice, he'd had the fleeting thought that it would have been more honorable to die at the Dark Forest cat's claws.

As he waited for a respond, his head felt heavy, and so Rushtalon rested it on his forepaws but kept his gaze fixed on the medicine cat who had addressed him. She looked about as exhausted as he felt. Cloverheart had many cats in and out of the den all of the days that he'd been here. A persistent and useless patient he had become. It was in that moment, he made up his mind, when he was finally healed up his strength would be put towards helping the cat who had shouldered the burden of his mistakes. The she-cat had cared for them all for as long as he remembered, a welcome familiarity. A soft smile touched the sides of his maw, gratitude, as sparks of ambition smoldered behind the defeat in his eyes.

Rushtalon woke easy enough, if with a little bit of wincing as he adjusted himself in the nest he'd been forced to settle in. He still looked exhausted, stiff and battered from the battle, resting his head in a position that looked as close to comfort as he could get. The medicine cat nodded once, tail-tip twitching before settling to curl around his paws. "I'm glad you're awake," Cloverheart mewed simply, tipping her head. Pale green eyes flicked this way and that, once, twice along the length of his spine, from wound to wound. "I don't need anything. Well, anything but to do my job, I suppose." She assured. Her words weren't unkind, but they were muted by a terse degree of professionalism and unfamiliarity. Despite herself, she had kept Flywhisker and their late mate's family a foxlength away from her the entirety of their lives; and she was not overly keen on allowing them closer. For a moment, her jaw parted, and she almost rasped out something cruel about how the tom was lucky to have not met some grisly early death in the heart of camp. Instead, she allowed an unsteady breath to rattle past her teeth before snapping her maw shut and turning away.

"How are you feeling, Rushtalon? Not bored or lonely, I hope. You've got more than enough company in here, plus one particularly persistent visitor." Shuffling to stand and creep across her den, Cloverheart stuck her nose against a half-organized pile of seeds and golden leaves, pushing them around near aimlessly. "But are you in any pain? Tired? Want me to leave you alone and go back to sleep? Want to go sit outside, with the others? Want to pelt me with questions, like every other cat your age?" Clamping her mouth around some of her collection, Cloverheart straightened out once more and turned to face him. She didn't move after that; didn't offer the herbs to him, and didn't offer any concession for the unintentional bite of her words. She just stared, her form lingering and wide-eyed. Rushtalon would be any other patient to her; he would be no son of Darkglow's. Unless he could drag himself out of the den, carry his bruised body across each end of the forest and return with a body, or better yet a living, lost cat, he would be no son of hers.

Cloverheart blinked once, then again, then returned to only staring. Rushtalon hadn't disappeared from before her; hadn't been carried away by some unearthly fog, or forced into the back corners of her brain only to resurface with a cry when she needed it least. His ribs rose with his breathing, pelt twitched against his nerves. The medicine cat swayed, and stared longer, lurking shape bordering on haunting.