a small boy and his infantry [C]

Fernpaw turned his head toward another grey-stripped, green-eyed tom. "Hello Silverhawk," he greeted in return. "Yes, I have a minute." Obviously, time wasn't something anyone could 'have' or otherwise own. But he did not insist on correcting the politely-intentioned warrior, having learned and accepted not every turn of phrase was often literal. At least this one made more sense than others.

The apprentice imitated his brother's smile. After nodding in response to usual questions about training his white-tipped ears flicked. The owl. For the seventh time tonight he wondered if Hedgepaw's scratches were healing well. Then he remembered the pain in one of his toes, something he had first noticed while cleaning the blood off his paws soon after their return. He suspected he tore a claw while running towards her screams. His ears folded over at the memory of those screams. The terror in her voice had matched that of his entire body, desperate to close the gap between them. What felt like many minutes was really only a few seconds until he found her being dragged away, a sight as horrible as wolves themselves. Fernpaw drew a sharp breath in the form of a laugh. "Hah. Scary, yes." The tom's eyes would not meet his brother's. He might be dumb for having been so scared. When he was scared, he didn't think, he just foolishly followed the adrenaline in his heart. Sure, it worked out this time. Some called him brave. But what if he had injured himself far worse than what either of them were lucky to have returned home with? What if he had gotten in the way and the owl wasn't killed? What if the owl had carried her away?

Fernpaw's tail flicked restlessly as he silently pondered the possibilities, mindlessly using his teeth to try and remove the loose claw without irritating his paw further.

Fernpaw stopped picking his teeth and looked down at the paw now resting on his, blinked with slight surprise, then finally returned to Silverhawk's gaze. He tried to hide the tensity in his pale brows. Would the warrior agree that Fernpaw was inexperienced? That he was foolish? That he should have controlled his fears? Silverhawk's voice talked over the rush of possible reactions flooding the apprentice's mind. "Hey." Fernpaw focused on listening, his brows furrowing in thought as Silverhawk continued, then releasing tension at his brother's final sentence. At first, he failed to speak, struggling momentarily before quietly replying, "...Thank you." Fernpaw no longer felt tightness in his chest, for the moment at least, but that relief came at the cost of confusion.

He had expected the warrior to be angry at him for fear of losing his siblings. Or reprimand him for his recklessness. But no, Silverhawk simply... empathized with his situation? Once again, Fernpaw's predictions regarding emotions were incorrect. And with no clear explanation as to why! Not only that, but Silverhawk's praise, though comforting, didn't make sense. Did he not also fear what could have happened to him and Hedgepaw if they weren't so lucky?

"Maybe I did good... But I think that I could have done better." His brows began to furrow again, tight chest returning as he constructed a question. "If it had been you on that patrol instead of me, would you have reacted the same as I did? Do you think haste is more important than waiting to plan an attack, even if it is risky?" Fernpaw's tone was framed neutrally, but almost turned accusatory as the apprentice's mind raced for a conclusion. Did the warrior Silverhawk, who Fernpaw had often looked up to, simply disregard the value of strategy over impulse? Or did his brother, Silverhawk, somehow think recklessness was acceptable just because he was an apprentice? Did he pity his younger, foolish kin? Fernpaw's thoughts paused as he was suddenly faced with the dissapointment of those possibilities. For once, he hoped that his hypotheses were wrong.