walla walla [C]

"Herbs, herbs, herbs..."

A voice went muttering down the river, nearly drowned out by the stream's babbling. A little she-cat went stumbling along the river's edge, drifting side to side on her trek. Her head was bowed, tail dragging through the earth, whiskers twitching against any slight shift in the air. Even though she was watching where her paws set in front of her, her eyes were glassy, distant; she hadn't even noticed where her paws had lead her until the soft new-leaf grass lining the river's edge turned hard, stony, worn to dirt and sharp pebbles. One lodged in her paw, shocking her to the present. For a heartbeat, she looked horrified and lost, looking each way as she shook loose the stone from her pads.

"I went too far, didn't I?" She murmured, muddied tail curling to arch over her back. "I can't do any herb hunting here, I don't even know where I am... where am I?" Her voice rose, shrill and confused. On the other side of the river, trees had cropped up; she hadn't even noticed the other side of the treeline. Cloverheart's breath caught in her throat, and she spun, reeling herself in the direction she might have come. "Upstream? Downstream? Hello?" No one was there, except the voles that shot through the brittle grass, and whatever made the foliage twitch across the river.[/color][/color]

The day was warm, almost too warm, really, and so Beechfang had reluctantly made her way to the moonlit creek to lap at the still-cool waters before deciding to hunt along it. Her path had taken her towards the river, and a familiar, obnoxiously high-pitched and grating voice had been what welcomed her, alongside the rushing of the waters that were already annoying enough.

"And what, exactly, brings you here, Riverclanner?" She didn't bother to mask the snarl in her tone, fluffy tail lashing behind her as she spotted the puny medicine cat. "Don't you know to keep to your own territory? A little thing like you could get hurt, wandering where she's not supposed to." Especially considering the promise Beechfang had made her the last time they had seen each other. While some clanmates had starved, she'd been fed well throughout leafbare... And had been fed well throughout the plentiful newleaf that had graced the forest. And... Maybe her stomach was a little larger than normal. It was just the food, she was sure of it.

And even if it wasn't, well. Beechfang was easily well over twice Cloverheart's size, both in weight and height.

A voice, stubborn and rough, broke through the haze of misdirection plagueing Cloverheart's mind. Suddenly, she had a focus, and she whipped around towards the source of the snarl, all her fur bristled on end. "You!" She spat back, working herself up into turning in another circle. "Aren't I on my own territory? This is the river, after all. RiverClan's river. My territory, and not yours. I'd like to see you try to kill me here. You're not going to." Her words tumbled and rolled into each other, a mess of a sentence, as she paced along the river's edge, never taking her eyes off Beechfang. Her lip curled, gaze flicking this way and that over the scarred tabby's form. Eventually, she slurred out: "SkyClan doesn't swim. And look at you, you're fat as a rabbit right now. You'd sink like a rock if you tried, and I'm not mouse-brained enough to walk right into your claws." Even as she said it, she was drawing closer to the water, the current pulling at her forepaws. She was in danger of letting her ire carry her way, send her storming through the water and right up to Beechfang's muzzle.

Snapping away, she stomped upstream, then drew up to a halt; tilted, swang left, right, left, before turning on her pads to shoot a glare in the SkyClanner's direction once more. "What is it with you SkyClanner's, wandering into my Clan with full bellies? Don't tell me you've fallen in love with some dashing RiverClan tom with feathers between his ears and you expect to throw your kits at me across the river. I'm not doing that again. Well, I don't know if you can fall in love with anything, let alone something that smells like fish. I'm not raising SkyClan kits again." Petulancy had turned to moaning as Cloverheart swirled in place, nose wrinkling as she thought of the she-cat Turtlefur had dragged into her camp. Their kits had all been good cats, and Otterdance had been a particular favorite... it was sore to think that he was gone now. But they were SkyClan-blooded cats anyway, and Beechfang's kin at that. The medicine cat spat against herself, finally stopping her restless movement to drive a paw hard into the mud, causing it to splash up the length of her leg. "I'm going to laugh at you if you say you're having kits again. Or- or- or! I'm going to laugh at whatever tom was stupid enough to give you them. Please tell me SkyClan is just shoving mice down your throat with reckless abandon. SkyClan is good at reckless, I wouldn't be surprised..." Her voice trailed off into babbling, and her whiskers quivered, tail lashed. Beechfang, Beechfang, Beechfang... no matter where she went, the horrible she-cat was always there, tormenting her. "Give me a break! I'm doing something good, and useful, and not lurking around the river haunting random cats! Leave me be, and let me collect my herbs!"

"You could quit yapping and turn around, run along back to the safety of your camp... But you seem to not know your own territory. Pathetic, really." Beechfang rolled her eyes as Cloverheart hissed and spat and generally made a fool of herself.

"Fat?" Her hackles rose instinctively, "And coming from the laziest clan of them all, who can just sit and wait for prey to come to them? Is this all you have, petty, kittish insults? I've heard worse from those soft Windclanners." Beechfang scoffed. And of course, Cloverheart would contradict her own words by moving toward her. Beechfang couldn't help the way her claws unsheathed, and she took a step forward, teeth bared in a smile that wasn't very friendly at all. "Couldn't I? I could throw your scrawny hide into the river and nobody would know what happened." It was almost tempting... Just to shut her up. Despite Cloverheart's incessant talking, her next words did stick out to her, however.

"Like any self-respecting Skyclanner would get with one of you fishbreaths?" She sneered, "I'd sooner choke on crowfood. But none of my clanmates have left to chase after your lazy, stuck-up, nosey warriors, let alone bring kits. You must be confused." And Cloverheart continued... Pregnant... Again? "Shut. Up." Beechfang growled, "What would you know of my personal life? It's not even your business, you nosey, obnoxious windbag." Stars above, but Cloverheart was more obnoxious than Softbreeze had been. Quite the accomplishment. "You could never leave well enough alone, could you? You enjoy this, you enjoy poking fun at cats who want nothing to do with you."

Tattered ears rotated forward, and every hair along the length of Cloverheart's body trembled with nervous excitement. Any threats Beechfang had spat at her were entirely lost; foggy eyes widened, and for a moment, the little cat went entirely slack-jawed before she worked up a toothy smirk. She looked smug and utterly stupid, half-covered in mud and taunting the only thing that might snap her head off. She tittered again, the danger she'd put herself in entirely lost on her.

"That's funny, Beechfang, that's funny! Well, I guess you wouldn't know, right? Not really a very present mother." She sneered back, ranging closer to the river. The water had crept halfway up her forelegs, and she was distantly aware of the strength of the current pulling at her body. Digging her claws into the mud, she went on, "Well, well, if I was Birdsong I wouldn't tell you, either. Scary. Far too scary, I'd think you'd bite my head off for it! Do you remember Birdsong? That's your daughter." A pause to hum, and tilt her head. "I remember Birdsong! I remember Birdsong and I don't remember anything. I hope you say yes. It'd be embarassing if you forgot your own daughter, but, well, who am I to talk." Her grip slipped, and she nearly went tumbling into the water, but she steadied herself and quickly backtracked onto dry land. Dry land that wouldn't suck her into Beechfang's waiting, snapping maw.

"It was moons ago, moons ago. Birdsong came to my Clan, and she came fat and full of kits! Just like I bet you are right now. Funny thing, the feather-brained tom that dragged her home was my own best friend. Isn't that funny? Ironic." She spat the last word, voice flooded with distaste. Heat blazed through her fur; the first sign of terror about to creep into her heart. She could die here– the realization had finally kicked in.

But she wouldn't. She had not died yet, and Beechfang wasn't stupid enough to kill her. I won't– can't die.

"I think she got eaten by a fox not long after. Made herself at home, threw a litter of SkyClan half-breeds at us, then got eaten by a fox. Then‐ then we went to Twolegplace! Oh, well, I suppose I could have told you then. If you wanted to know, I'm sure you would have found out, though. Maybe I do enjoy this, a little." Cloverheart clicked her teeth, smile tightening into a grimace. She felt invincible, standing here where Beechfang couldn't reach her, sneering and spitting at the she-cat the same way she'd done their whole twisted time together. "One of your grandkits just died, actually. Otterdance, he was my favorite. Gave up his life for StarClan. I doubt you'll see him one day; I can't wait to, though."

"What is wrong with you?" Beechfang spat, eyeing CLoverheart as if she were a snake who might bite. Cloverheart was insane, there was no other word Beechfang could think of to describe the erratic behavior and this absolute fixation the little white she-cat had in making her life difficult.

Not a present mother. The truth stung, but she had already known that and made peace with it. The only two of her kits to survive into warriorhood had abandoned the clan. She'd failed them, but Ravenclaw was a better mother than she would have ever been. Beechfang knew that. They'd been better off.

Birdsong. The name made Beechfang flinch, hackles rising defensively as she glared down at Cloverheart. She'd... Joined Riverclan. Taken a mate. Beechfang was a grandmother, even. She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to make sense of the words Cloverheart had spat her way. Otterdance, dead in sacrifice to bring starclan back... The news meant little to her, honestly. She hadn't known him. Birdsong wouldn't have wanted her to know him, she was sure. She'd took up with Riverclan, of all places, after all. "You knew when we were in twolegplace, and couldn't be bothered to tell me? You fleahearted, sniveling, wretched excuse for a clan cat. You are just as bad as Spiderquill... No, you're worse than he ever was. He was stupid and misguided, but he wasn't so twisted as to enjoy it." Beechfang growled, the sound low and menacing and she stepped toward the puny medicine cat. "No wonder Starclan graced you with those memory issues, a cat like you deserves not to remember good things."

"Oh, I'm sure I won't wind up in Starclan. I trained with the dark forest, though not willingly or knowingly. Mayhaps I'll drag you down with me when I go, hmm? Wouldn't you like that, Cloverheart? Or maybe I will wind up in Starclan after all, I did fight to get my littermate's followers out of the forest... Perhaps I should haunt your dreams and give you no rest instead. Or maybe I'll kill you now and spare myself the trouble. Not even Riverclan deserves a medicine cat who can't remember what's important, right? It would be a mercy for you."

In retaliation, Beechfang bristled, hatred rolling off her pelt and coloring her biting words. She ranted, raved, then spat out a name that made something spark in the back of Cloverheart's head. It was like a small bolt of lightning had flashed through her brain; abrupt, leaving a numb ache pushing against her skull that made her stagger, her legs almost buckling beneath her. Spiderquill, Spiderquill, Spiderquill... Which cat was that? Which of the many ghosts that crept in the shadows of her vision was that? The medicine cat turned away from her foe, searching the edges of her vision, as if expecting the cat to materialize at her flank. No one was there, though. It was just her and Beechfang, nothing but the current to separate them. When she turned back to the SkyClan cat, it was with a curled lip and bared fangs. "I'm a better cat than you'll ever be," she hissed. There was significantly less threat in her higher pitch than in Beechfang's rolling growl, but she wasn't deterred. "Call me whatever you want. Poke at my memory. I don't care. Everything I've done to and against you is earned; everything I've done is just." She straightened to stand at her full height, and she felt brave when she wasn't at threat of being under Beechfang's claws.

Unwittingly, she stepped into the water. She hadn't asked her paws to do it; they'd just set forward on their own, carrying her into the river's pull. The river was narrow here; narrower, at least, than it was when it ran through the heart of her territory. Still, it was wide enough for the shelf of sandy earth to disappear beneath her, and when she lost her footing, Cloverheart bobbed helplessly for a moment against the little waves before she remembered how to kick her legs. "You've earned your vilification, Beechfang. You've earned those scars. And maybe you've earned your kits leaving you." She huffed out little gasps between words. Even for short distances, swimming was more strenuous than she remembered. When her claws found earth again, she hooked into it, stabilizing herself against the shale. She wasn't stupid enough to crawl onto dry land; that was asking never to make it home. Still, this close to Beechfang, it was easy to see she'd been right. Her thick fur hid most of the bulk, but the milk-scent clinging to her fur was apparent. Faint, but it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. "You're just like me. You can't have anything good in your life, or you wouldn't be so militant and cruel. Or maybe you've just been a foxheart since birth." Cloverheart's body still rocked where the water wrapped and tugged against her legs, and her breathing had yet to even. "Then kill me! Kill me, and let your Clan exile you, or execute you. Take the lives of whatever kits you're carrying with you. Or hide it until they're born, so you can abandon yet another litter. Or haunt me. I don't care– I'm already haunted. Go to StarClan, or to the Dark Forest, and waste your pitiful after life on stalking me through the forest. Find me, and drag me to my own death then. Leap at me now, and drown yourself in the river. Make your choice; don't leave me standing here."

Her heart hammered. It was easy to forget how Beechfang towered over her when there was something to separate them, and the suddenly very real threats of murder made her shiver. I'll be fine. I'm not done yet. I cannot die today.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Beechfang hissed. "You don't have a clue, so stop pretending you do and maybe you'll learn something. You weren't even alive to see the horrors the Asylum inflicted on us, before or after we finally kicked them out. If I could have raised Birdsong and her siblings I would have." Beechfang snapped, claws digging into the earth. "Wolfstar made my littermate deputy in a foolish attempt to keep the peace with the Asylum. I was pregnant when he killed Featherkit in front of me because a queen said vile things to him. I fought so he wouldn't kill her or her remaining kit and nearly died for it. Do you think either of those toms were handling ceremonies or leading the clan at that point, Cloverheart? Nobody trusted Dawnhawk, of course, and Wolfstar failed everyone with that fool's gambit. I did the work of three cats with Dawnhawk threatening to kill me and my clanmates at every turn. I did so without being asked because the clan needed me to. And you have the gall to lecture me? We kicked the Asylum out and I had to deal with our real deputy acting like a fully-grown, violent kit while he recovered from being tortured by them. All while watching my sister raise my kits as her own while knowing they were better off for it. You haven't done nearly as much for Riverclan and never will. Perhaps you should pray that you never do. Starclan might actually listen, since they decided to abandon my clan even before that point." Bitter rage coated her words, her eye bright with a fire she hadn't felt in moons.

Her patience was growing thin, much too thin for Cloverheart's safety. Cloverheart, Who had, the entire time she rambled and Beechfang snarled a response, been approaching her. Did the medicine cat want to die? Because Beechfang had no qualms about obliging her. Oh, she even spoke the words out loud. It was all Beechfang needed to surge forward, heavy paws aiming to slam into the tiny Riverclan medicine cat. "Then let me help you into an early grave, we'll all be so much better off." Her lips twisted into a snarl as she shoved hard at the other medicine cat. She couldn't keep her footing under Beechfang's strength, and the river would do the work it had failed to do for Dawnhawk so long ago. She would ensure it did this time.

Beechfang had been snarling and spitting at her while she kicked through the river, drawing on a story about Asylum and her terror of a littermate. The words bounced off her ears, though snippets of it made it through– Dawnhawk's history of cruelty, Beechfang's history of shouldering the weight of her entire Clan... RiverClan, and how she wouldn't do half as much for them in her lifetime. Her jaw fell open, about to babble out another response, but Beechfang had other ideas; the large she-cat kicked forward, massive paws catching against Cloverheart's chest, her shoulders. She yelped, and her legs buckled as she was shoved slack-jawed into the water.

The second her head went under, water flooded over her tongue and down the back of her throat; the impulse to snap her mouth shut came a second too late. Burning followed in its wake, chasing the flood into her chest, and all the way to the hollow of her stomach. Cloverheart sputtered against it as best she could, but every attempt at coughing just drew water further in. Her muscles froze, then spasmed, and a spark of panic shot up her spine, finally driving her muscles to do more than let her helplessly float under Beechfang's weight. She thrashed around, hind legs kicking out in a desperate search for the solid riverbed, or even a pile of shale she might be able to force herself upwards from. She found nothing, though, kicking fruitlessly against open water. Still flailing, she tried to reach out with her forelegs, claws outstretched. She sliced through the water, attempting to angle herself upwards to hook into Beechfang's legs, sink into her skin deep enough to force the tabby off her and allow her just a moment to bob upwards and suck in a breath. But on either side of her, she was only met with pressure. Paws bearing down on her, the river pushing around her. There was no way out.

No! The word shot through her, a thought outside herself; a feeling, an impulse more than a conscious thought. A tremor went through her, another spasm that made her entire body shudder and thrash. Darkness bled into the corners of her vision, spots forming right in front of her. The fire that had drowned out her stomach crept into her limbs– slowly at first, just around her paws, then it shot all the way up her legs and through the rest of her, every tightened muscle firing with exhaustion. But she couldn't– I can't die like this. Her chest tightened, and Cloverheart wasn't sure if it was from the water squeezing against her lungs or the terror that had seeped into every nerve. She kicked again, hard as she could, but any continued fight was more a gentle swaying of limbs. Her eyelids lowered, and she choked out another cough. Whatever water came out rushed back in, a torrent down her throat and through her nose.

Something bright flashed behind her eyes– distant, but swiftly growing sharper. She couldn't feel the water tugging at her pelt any longer, or the beast holding her down. When she opened her eyes again– or tried to, or thought she did, or –a scrap of white fur appeared before her. With mismatched eyes, stocky, and smiling at her. Cloverheart's body went slack under Beechfang's paws, rising to bob against the current without any fight.

As she'd known, Cloverheart was no match for her and was quickly knocked off-balance. It was her own fault, really. Maybe it would teach her to stop running her mouth at every opportunity when her opinions weren't needed or wanted. Cloverheart's attempts to struggle were feeble at best, a few strands of Beechfang's fur getting caught in her flailing paws but little else. Beechfang was sure a few-moons-old kit could've done more harm than Cloverheart. She sputtered and coughed, inhaling more water. Riverclanners in the water were like Skyclanners in trees, apparently. Utterly helpless despite their clan's claims to being the best.

Or perhaps Cloverheart was just as weak-willed as she looked. If only her voice had been as weak as she was physically. Then maybe she wouldn't have wound up beneath Beechfang's heavy paws.

"Warned you." She growled softly, "You didn't listen. You only have yourself to blame." She wasn't sure Cloverheart could hear over her frantic struggles, and if she could Beechfang wasn't sure the foolhardy little medicine cat would have listened anyways. Cloverheart had always been lacking in the way of common sense... And survival instincts.

Beechfang shoved away from the Riverclanner as her struggles became weaker and spat, a look of disgust crossing her expression. Cloverheart was no Spiderquill, though Spiderquill would never in a million seasons have spoken to Beechfang the way his apprentice did. He was far too cowardly for that, though Beechfang wouldn't have called his apprentice brave to do so either. Now stupid, on the other paw... Cloverheart had transcended it.

Shaking out her pelt, Beechfang turned back toward Skyclan territory, not bothering to look back at where she'd left Riverclan's medicine cat. There was no need to. Her corpse could rot like so many others had done before it.