Sunshine in the Fog [c]

Honeypaw

Honeypaw waited when they first came to the Skyclan camp, trying to see if it would clear up on his own. He didn’t want to cause any problems or inconvenience Skyclan anymore than they already have been. Plenty of his clanmates were in worse shape or needed more help than he did, and he didn’t want to get in the way of that.

But well, it’s been several days and the problem has not gone away. In fact, it’s gotten kind of worse. His shoulder hurt a lot, and he was starting to get worried that something was seriously wrong. He wasn’t exactly experienced with medicine or injuries or anything like that. He’d been trying to avoid putting too much weight on it, but he still needed to move around, and he had no idea what to do for an injury like this. After a lot of internal debate on the matter, he decided it was better to at least ask if it could be looked at. He didn’t have to use any herbs or anything. He just wanted to know what was wrong. He didn’t want to risk causing permanent damage. Besides, he couldn’t be much help to either Shadowclan or Skyclan when he could barely put weight down on one of his paws.

So here Honeypaw was, hesitating before poking his head in the Skyclan medicine den. “Hello?” He called cautiously, still not sure this wasn’t a mistake. He wasn’t even entirely sure who the Skyclan medicine cat was. He’d skipped the last gathering.

Fogpaw’s furry head swiveled around to look at another intruder. Wet, miserable, bruised Shadowclanners were all that Fogpaw had seen these past few moons, rotating in and out of the medicine den in a never-ending cycle. Luckily, none of the injuries were too severe, and Fuzzybelly lended as much help as he could, but Fogpaw was quickly climbing to his limit on just how many sad little warriors he could take. He thought he finally had some time for respite, Plumpaw and Fuzzybelly out doing the stars know what, but of course he had been mistaken… another Shadowclanner.

”Can I help you?” he snapped on instinct before nearly hitting himself. Of course he could help him, he’s Skyclan’s medicine cat; though this waterboarded apprentice didn’t have any observable injuries. ”What’s bothering you? You should’ve seen me when you first decided to wash up in our territory.”

Honeypaw

Honeypaw has to bite back an instinctive, indictignant response. The medicine cat’s brusque attitude caught him off-guard (Aren’t medicine cats supposed to be nice? Fuzzybelly was nice.) but he tried to tell himself that anybody would be annoyed dealing with a rival clan being washed up on their territory, even a medicine cat. As instinctively irritated as Fogpaw’s tone made him feel. Still, despite himself, Honeypaw couldn’t quite resist grumbling, “I didn’t decide to wash up anywhere,” under his breath before quickly shaking his head.

“Er, I mean, sorry for disturbing you. I wanted to wait to see if it would go away on its own so I didn’t waste your time or supplies. I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. But um. It didn’t. So.” Honeypaw’s tail flicked with embarrassment, feeling hot under Fogpaw’s gaze. He really wished Fuzzybelly was here, that would be a lot easier to handle. He felt like he was doing something wrong. But what kind of warrior would he be if he couldn't even ask for help? “My shoulder got hurt in the flood. I don’t really know how, I think I hit it against something? It’s all a blur. But I just wanted to see if it was something serious.”

Fogpaw tutted at Honeypaw’s indignant reply, choosing to ignore the smaller tom in favor of analyzing his injury. It was hardly noticeable upon first glance, but now it was impossible to ignore; Honeypaw’s shoulder, while not overtly damaged, seemed to be causing the apprentice considerable pain. He was limping just a tad— was he trying to hide it?-- and avoided putting much pressure at all on his paw. While joint injuries weren't exactly uncommon, it was worrying that it had grown to affect Honeypaw’s entire leg. ”Well, you’ve now wasted even more of my time. You always come to a medicine cat immediately when you’re injured— you should know this, future Shadowclan warrior. I could have treated it as a simple ache a few sunrises ago.”

After a few extra moments of careful examination, Fogpaw turned to look at his herb storage without a word. He was fairly confident it was just a bad sprain— Honeypaw, in all of his idiotic duty, had done nothing but worsen and irritate his shoulder by ignoring treatment and moving around. It wasn’t pretty, and a pain to heal, but it wasn’t anything for Fogpaw to sincerely worry about.

”I’m making you a poultice of elder leaves. It’s just a sprain, though your idiocy managed to irritate it to the point of concern. I’m hoping you have the agency and the intelligence to apply the poultice yourself twice a day, but if you truly need help, go and bother Plumpaw or Fuzzybelly. You’re staying in here for observation for a few nights, just to make sure that you stay off of that leg. Continuing to prance around like that isn’t going to make it go away.”

Honeypaw

Honeypaw’s ears lay flat with a combination of embarrassment and indignant anger. He knew that Fogpaw was probably right, but he wasn’t trying to make it worse! It wasn’t like he wanted to be in pain. Honeypaw’s tail swished in the soft sand of the medicine den, and he had to resist squirming as Fogpaw examined him more closely. He wasn’t used to cats being larger than him. Since he hit his growth spurt, there weren’t many in his clan that were larger than him, especially this much larger. He didn't know how to feel about it.

He was even more irritated as Fogpaw gave his diagnosis. The thought of staying cooped up in the medicine den made him immediately want to start squirming, his skin feeling hot under his thick fur. It was bad enough largely staying in a foreign camp, when all he wanted to do was run and run until he could find Iceheart. But to stay in a den for days at a time, not doing anything to even help his clan or the clan sheltering them? It made him feel unbearably twitchy.

Which meant that he couldn’t hold his tongue. “I’m not stupid.” Honeypaw said with an indignant huff. “I can apply it myself.” His fur was getting puffed as he watched Fogpaw collect the herbs, nose twitching at the sharp, unfamiliar smell of them. He’d been going out with Thalia a bit to gather flowers with her, but he was still new to the world of herbs. “A lot of my clan was hurt or sick. I don’t think it’s idiotic to let the cats who are hurt worse get help first.” He gave a tiny nod.

And then, with a tiny twitch of his tail, remembered he really shouldn’t be trying to argue with the medicine cat helping him, especially if he was going to have to be stuck with him for several days. As mean as said medicine cat may be. Honeypaw’s ear twitched with irritation as he tried to reign himself in and focus on something else, taking a deep breath. “...But thank you for helping me.” He had to fight to make that not sound sarcastic. And then his curiosity took over, and he asked, “Also, what kind of herbs are those?”

Fogpaw growled in irritation, fighting the overwhelming urge to smack Honeypaw right between the ears— the satisfaction wasn’t worth the verbal beating he would get from Birdchaser. ”Don’t talk to your medicine cat like that! I don’t care how kind or doting Fuzzybelly is to you flea-ridden mouse-brains, while you’re in Skyclan territory, you respect Skyclan’s medicine cat.” The fact that he was actually a medicine cat apprentice was left unsaid; Fogpaw might as well be a full medicine cat anyway, with all he has to do.

”I get where you’re coming from.” the gray tom admits in a cold tone, preparing the aforementioned elder leaves. ”Except there’s three medicine cats in Skyclan’s territory right now. If you wanted to wait a day or two for others to get help, I wouldn’t fight you— but what about three days? Four? You’ve been here a while now, and the medicine den is almost cleared out.” Fogpaw flickered his gaze from the leaves to his surroundings. There were still a few Shadowclan cats who rotated in and out of his den for treatment, and a dastardly cold had started making its rounds, but even then the extra nests lay mostly empty.

Honeypaw’s quiet thanks only exacerbated Fogpaw’s growing irritation for this apprentice— now he was grateful and demure? He gave a rough scoff, intent on ignoring the other tom in favor of finishing this poultice, but Honeypaw would just not shut up, would he? ”It’s elder leaves, like I told you— from an elder tree. They treat sprains. I may add some daisy leaves if the ache keeps you up and bothering me— if you somehow manage to make it even worse than it already is, I’ll use some goldenrod.”

Honeypaw

Honeypaw was caught between flinching at the sharp tone and his own irritation. His ears laid flat for a moment and he had to bite his tongue. Fogpaw was right… at least about Honeypaw. He still really wanted to wanted to protest the ‘flea-ridden furbrains’ comment. Honeypaw may not be the smartest around, but that didn't mean that the rest of his clan weren't all amazing cats! Still. He shouldn’t be making an enemy out of any medicine cat, much less the one in the clan hosting them during their time of need. It was awfully tempting though. Honeypaw tried to channel Iceheart and her usual calm indifference. He could do that, right?

Besides, despite his stubborn indignance, and his embarrassment, Fogpaw was still, unfortunately, right about him being… less than smart about this. Honeypaw was not going to admit that to him though, but he could at least try to shut up.

The discussion of the herbs was a good distraction, and quickly, Honeypaw’s genuine curiosity helped override his irritation. “Huh,” He said. “I dunno much about herbs. I haven’t actually spent much time in the medicine den before,” He admitted. “I’ve helped gather herbs from time to time, but I still don’t know what most of them do. Is there a big difference between elder leaves and goldenrod? Is goldenrod stronger?” He leaned a bit closer to sniff curiously at the collection of leaves Fogpaw was mashing together.

Fogpaw debated ignoring Honeypaw for a split second, staring hard at the half-chewed poultice in front of him. Why couldn’t anyone in this forest understand that he just wanted to be left alone? Fuzzybelly, Blackpaw, Beechfang… every cat in this forest must want to force conversation upon him.

”Goldenrod helps with infection. Elder leaves don’t.” He relented after a moment of pregnant silence. He wanted to leave it at that, ignore anything that comes out of Honeypaw’s never-silent mouth, but he knew it would be useless— Honeypaw would just keep pestering him. He was even over his shoulder now—moving without Fogpaw’s permission— and sniffing at the poultice, causing Fogpaw to let out a warning growl. ”What did I say about moving? Get out whatever fluff is stuck in your ears and listen to me. Goldenrod helps speed up recovery for open wounds and is a life-saving herb when it comes to infection. Elder leaves only treat minor to moderate sprains. Seeing as you can still walk, the sprain in your shoulder must not be that severe, nor does it seem infected yet, so only elder leaves are needed.”

Honeypaw

Honeypaw’s ears flicked in annoyance. He barely even moved! He was just curious. Was this medicine cat’s default just rude? Besides, was he really meant to not move at all for days? He was going to burst before he was allowed out of this den again. His tail twitched rapidly, already worked up at the thought. It's not like he's been accomplishing much while he's been stuck in Skyclan's territory, but he could at least help out, or go by the Shadowclan border as much as possible to check on the flood or to see if he could find any sign of Iceheart and the other missing cats. He hated the thought of not even being able to occupy himself. He suppressed a sigh. He didn't want to appear ungrateful for the help, but he was frustrated with even being in this situation.

Honeypaw pouted a bit, settling back and falling quiet for a long moment, looking around the den to occupy himself as Fogpaw finished. Finally, if only because he was going to be stuck around this other cat for stars-know-how-long, Honeypaw said, “I’m Honeypaw, by the way. What’s your name?”

Fogpaw turned to give Honeypaw an unimpressed glare. ”I don’t remember asking for your name.”

The large tom sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and instead moved his focus back onto his poultice. It was finally finished, taking more time to prepare than usual due to his companion’s constant yapping-- Fogpaw gave a short grunt of ”stay still” before gathering up the poultice and beginning to smear the concoction on Honeypaw’s furry shoulder. He was starting to really regret putting the Shadowclanner on house arrest, despite it being the proper protocol; Fogpaw was certain that any more time spent in the presence of this tom would cause him to rip his teeth out.

But Honeypaw stuck on like a leech, refusing to let go— amber eyes so bright as he asked for Fogpaw’s name. Why did he care? He would be hightailing it back to swampy ShadowClan the minute he had the opportunity. He wouldn’t ever see Fogpaw’s furry face again in his miserable life, except at those abysmal gatherings…

”Fogpaw. My name is Fogpaw.”