Words Bitter Like Saltwater [C]

Tired. Exhausted. Plodding, one step after the other. This journey was taking everything out of Dovepaw. Every waking moment, he tried to keep an eye on his siblings--because they were all he had left at this point. His home, the only one he'd ever known, was being torn away from him. Everything he'd taken for granted whisked away just like that. Pigeonpaw, Swanpaw, Ravenpaw, Owlcall... they were all he had, now. He would hold them close. His Clanmates and others were good too, and he found himself spending a few moments of rest with Murkyripple every now and again, but if he stopped to rest or think about himself then he would start to shake. This was all too horrible to bear thinking about. So he just... didn't. If he didn't think about it then it wouldn't affect him.

But even he had to stop eventually. The Clans were taking a brief break, and after a quick glance to make sure all of his siblings were still in place, Dovepaw slumped against the base of a tree. Rough bark pressed into the soft fur of his shoulders. His eyes slipped closed. His heaving breaths slowly began to calm. Then, he was interrupted... by a voice he'd always tried to avoid.

Pale blue eyes shot open to see Larkpaw--no, Larkspring now. He'd just gotten his name, hadn't he? He'd been out of camp at the time, searching in vain for prey in the beech copse. Of course, he had mostly shrugged the news off, since so many of the other apprentices had gotten their names. Most of the ones who were older than him, in fact. He'd never been able to shake the rumble of anger that arose in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw the dark-furred tom, and now was no exception. Slights against himself he could forgive, even if it had been the first time he'd truly experienced fear. But what he'd done to Pigeonpaw, and the way he'd acted after? Well, it would be difficult not to hate the tom. However, Larkspring had... approached him. Which was odd. They never spoke. They would occasionally glare at each other across camp, and communicate only in terse sentences if forced to patrol together. So why would the tom come intentionally to speak to him?

Dovepaw could have guessed a million reasons. However, the only one he would not have guessed was an apology.

"I’m sorry.”

He blinked. Had... had he heard that right? The tom who so stubbornly refused to even talk or discuss was... apologizing? His first impulse was to ask for Larkspring to repeat himself, since obviously he must be mishearing. But he shoved it down, choosing instead to tilt his head slightly as he considered the warrior before him. He'd reflexively hated the tom for so long that hearing the words was almost jarring. As a kit, he'd waved the then-apprentice off as a menace, a danger, an enemy to the Clan. Though that had been amended as he grew older and more nuanced, he'd still disliked the tom and been wary of his every action. But the sincerity, even gruff and begrudging, was a new look. He'd never seen this side of Larkspring before. Was it real? Well, there was no way he'd say the words in jest. Had he... really changed? Or perhaps someone else had put him up to it?

Dovepaw tried, but found that he could not truly feel angry at the tom as before. Perhaps it really had just been a kittish argument between two toms too young to understand themselves and their emotions. Though he wouldn't be prepared to call the tom a friend, maybe he wasn't so bad a Clanmate, after all. Maybe bonds could be mended... eventually. "Thank you," he said, allowing the surprise in his tone to be tempered by unfeigned honesty. "I appreciate that. I acted... hastily as well. I was wrong to insult you in the way that I did." Though directing anything but a glare towards the tom felt odd, like trying to eat water instead of drink it, he offered a hesitant but real smile. "I apologize also."