The Cracks Are Starting To Spread

Total Word Count: 4,618 InsanityBiscuit: 2,002 hollyleaf26: 2,614

Maggotscorn:

They had been gone a long time.

Maggotscorn could taste the difference in the air; the sour notes that promised sickness within the clan. He had learned already that an illness had taken the clan sharply, and so too had he learned that Bravestorm found herself unwell now.

He didn’t fully understand what it was which confined Bravestorm now. An explanation given in a whirlpool of information – no, he’d been unable to capture that particular detail. Worry tugged at his chest as he approached the Herbalist’s den – he did not doubt her strength, but neither had he doubted Lightheart’s.

Bowing his head, he entered the den, the stench of sickness wrinkling his nose as he crossed the threshold and caught sight of his friend.

For a moment, Maggotscorn only stared, narrowed eyes studying her and jaw clenched. She had been wounded – was it a creature? Something it could have protected her from? It swept into the room now, stopping only a tail-length from her.

”What happened?” It asked, voice a low rumble and eyes alone betraying the fear it felt for her wellbeing, and the guilt that tugged at it. This was becoming more common; it didn’t like that. It had gone as a means to protect its clan – as a way to show its loyalty and pride for them. It had gone because it had been told there was someone to save.

And she had already been dead.

It could have left – could have returned home and protected its clan from whatever dangers now reared their heads. Could have protected Bravestorm, and finished Dustybone’s training.

But it hadn’t.

And she had gotten hurt.

Bravestorm:

Bravestorm had resigned herself to the herbalist's den for most of the day. The idea of facing her returned kin and friends was terrifying for a reason she couldn't name. So she had settled with her head ducked down and buried beneath her paws as best she could without agitating her sore jaw. It's because of this she doesn't notice the looming shadow in the den's entrance when it comes.

She assumes the pawsteps drawing closer are Crookedfoot or Stormpaw checking on the den's residents. It isn't until a deep, familiar voice rasps over her that she realizes it's Maggotscorn stood at the edge of her nest. Her skin prickles and she hesitates, as though they might be speaking to anyone else but her.

She doesn't know why her heartbeat is so fast in her ears. It was like her body was preparing her to be in trouble, which was absurd, wasn't it?

Slowly, Bravestorm lifts her head, ears pressing back as she finally makes herself meet Maggotscorn's gaze. It's question is ringing in her ears and she parts her jaws to speak but pauses short. The stretch burns and she honestly hasn't spoken much lately. It's a struggle to get her tongue to feel right in her mouth, never-the-less to make words with it.

She knows she should be elated that her friend was back and in one piece. She knows she should have gone out to greet it and the others, but what she now can recognize as shame keeps her still. Finally though, the stretch of silence goes on and she knows she owes Maggotscorn an answer. "There was a land slide," she utters quietly. The words sound as strange as they feel and her eyes squint a little at the effort it takes to make them come out clearly.

Maggotscorn:

Maggotscorn did not miss the unease that Bravestorm displayed – did she have reason to be nervous? It watched her with narrowed eyes, waiting for her answer. When she gave it, it seemed almost…inconsequential. A landslide? And now-

It ground its teeth, then settled into a crouch across from her. While Milkweedshade’s warning rang in its head, it couldn’t leave her – it had been seasons since it had seen her, and now she lay here, wounded. Could it have helped her? Prevented this? It didn’t know.

”You will grow accustomed to it.” It wasn’t sure that was true, but it would have to be – there was no other option. It had grown accustomed to a bad leg, surely a bad jaw wouldn’t be all that much different?

It knew that wasn’t entirely fair or true- claws were strong, but a bite makes the kill. It flared its nostrils, working its own jaw and studying its friend carefully.

”What are you afraid of?” It asked finally, voice a harsh rasp. She looked as though he were someone who might leap at her, or lay into her with sharp words.

Perhaps it would have, if she’d done something stupid – had she been playing in rocks when her face had been shattered? It doubted that.

Had she forgotten their friendship?

…

Perhaps.

Fine. They would remind her.

”Are you confined to the den?” It asked now, head shifting slightly to eye the other denizens among them; they reeked of illness, and Maggotscorn was loathe to see Bravestorm cramped within the same den as them; she would sicken. No, the best thing now would be to get her out of here.

Bravestorm:

She fidgets idly with her paws under it's gaze, picking at her pads. It's words give her pause though, as it settles down, eyes drifting to the ground for but a moment as she considers it's words. She shifts her jaw, stretches it as though she could the truth of it's words but it just makes her wince. This isn't how she wanted it to come back, not who she wanted to be when it returned.

Bravestorm had always anticipated after moons of festering loneliness she would have greeted her returned friends with gusto. But how could she? When she had told each of them to be safe and now here she sat upon their return with a jaw that would never set right again.

Afraid. "Maggotscorn's voice echoes around in her mind for a minute. She swallows thickly. She supposed that was right, more so though- she was: "Ashamed."

The word is stunted in her mouth but it comes out. "Should have been keeping a better eye out and then Featherfall wouldn't have been in the way and I could-" she trails off. Could what? She isn't certain what else she could be. Her bite will never be the same, hunting would be harder, she wouldn't be able to lift and carry things in her mouth nearly as much. Work would be harder. She couldn't help but fear being a burden, never-the-less disappointing her hardworking clan-mates. Her friend.

But Maggotscorn was here. And they were asking something of her. She blinks almost owlishly at them before glancing around. "Don't think so," she replies and it was true. She hadn't been told she was confined, it had simply been easier when she needed tending too, and not to mention she didn't want to carry the illness out with her. She had resigned herself to just waiting it out, even though sitting around doing nothing had been killing her inside.

Maggotscorn:

She wasn’t afraid, she was ashamed. That was more complicated.

Maggotscorn’s expression grew more…complicated. Brows knit and eyes narrowed, mouth setting into a thin line. If she had been more careful – if she had been watching more attentively, then what? Where had Featherfall been? Had she intercepted the rockfall for the warrior’s benefit?

It moved to stand now, white tail twitching lightly as it jerked its head towards the den’s entrance. ”If you are not confined, you can walk.” Fresh air would do her well, and besides that it did not believe that sticking her in the herbalist’s den with ill cats was any kind of solution.

It was confident that she had sustained this injury in protecting her clanmate – and Maggotscorn could not and would not fault her for this. She had nothing to be ashamed of as far as it was concerned – protecting their clan is what they had trained to do, enacting this training was hardly something which ought to eat at her.

But neither could it fault her for being ashamed; would it not feel that same burning feeling under its pelt, had it done as she had? Had it not been furious and guilt-ridden as it had lain prone in the herbalist’s den after the cougar had rendered its leg immovable? It could not fault her for her shame, but neither did it wish for her to retain it.

”Shame does not help you recover, and neither will it fill the bellies of your clanmates. I will not pretend I know exactly what happened, but you are a cat anyone would be privileged to serve alongside. You protected your clanmates?”

It didn’t feel it needed to know the answer to this question itself, but perhaps to remind Bravestorm of her virtues, it would be beneficial.

…

This was complicated in a way which Maggotscorn did not savor. It was not a creature meant to ease the worries of fellow felines – this was not its duty as a warrior. No, this was its task as a friend.

Burnt scrap, it wasn’t cut out for this. Driftspring was far better suited to this manner of conversation than it was. It swallowed the growl in its throat; it didn’t like coming up short, and it knew it would in this.

Bravestorm:

Though Bravestorm is already moving to stand at Maggotscorn's words, there is a small flicker of hesitation in the form of a glance over her shoulder, as if anticipating Crookedfoot or Stormpaw to intervene. When that never comes, she seems to relax, stepping forward after Maggotscorn. Despite all of her worries and shame that weighed heavy on her shoulders, there was a part of her that wanted nothing more then to step into her friend's presence, to bunt her head against their shoulder and take in his return.

But she doesn't, no matter how badly her skin itches.

Instead, she swallows down her wants, not wanting to crowd it just after it had returned; not feeling as though she could when she'd sent it away with a request for it to come back safe, and here she was wounded in the midst of a sickness. She can't help but linger on that thought. It echoes around in her mind, patronizing herself for her personally perceived hypocrisy.

When she finds Maggotscorn is speaking to her again, she jolts a little, teeth clicking awkwardly against each other as she clenches her jaw on instinct and has to fight back a grimace. Still, Bravestorm does her best to give her friend her full attention now, further laden with guilt at having been so distracted in their presence. Their words are stirring, and Bravestorm's expression shifts to become softer as she regards Maggotscorn.

"I-" she pauses, brow furrowed as she processes what's been said. "I did, yes," she finally replies.

She wants to say more, but she isn't certain what else there is to say, so instead, she steps just a little closer to Maggotscorn. Not enough to touch, but enough to feel their heat.

Maggotscorn:

Maggotscorn's eyes narrow briefly at Bravestorm's apparent nervousness, concern for his friend's well-being felt in the subtle tightness of his jaw. She stands close to him, the warmth from her pelt enveloping him like the hot breath of something large leering in his presence; he liked it. Proximity was something he had been lacking while on the patrol to find Harmony - and it was something he hadn't realized he might have missed.

She had been injured in guarding her clanmates. A part of him wanted to be upset with her - upset that she, one of the clanmates he had meant to protect, injured in his absence.

But she was different. She wasn't just one of his clanmates, she was one of the MonarchClan's guardians. She, it, and some others stood between their clan and injury - they would put themselves between their clanmates and danger without fail.

No, it wouldn't fault her for this.

"Then you did not do anything wrong." It told her, voice flat and matter-of-fact. It led them out of the den and down towards the camp lake, tail-tip twitching as it walked.

"Did you fault me, when I was injured in a fit of blind willingness to die for our clan?" The cougar had been the closest thing to monster Maggotscorn had ever laid their eyes upon; in the moment before they had rushed towards the thing, they had made their peace with dying for their clan.

And its due had been to become naught but a burden on the clan - and to boot, it suspected it hadn't helped anything either. Milkweedshade had followed right after it - and the thing hadn't chased after anyone.

But it could have, and they hadn't been willing to risk that.

"We live and die for our clanmates; there is no fault in that."

Bravestorm:

Bravestorm's thoughts trickled through her mind; all of them just ripples on the surface, none of them solid enough to grab. Her eyes are downcast, watching where she places her paws. They feel heavier then normal, and that weight carries into her every step. Perhaps, if she fixated on the physical, her mind might settle.

She focuses on the feel of the ground beneath her paws; soft but patted down over time. She focuses on Maggotscorn and the heat of it's body; something she could feel even through the thickness of her fur. It was something she had missed. She wants to sink into it, to lean her shoulder against it's and let the weight in her paws, and the burden on her shoulders be eased. To be shared.

But she doesn't. Instead she pricks her ears at the sound of her friend's voice, and swivels her head to look at him better.

She did nothing wrong.

They were right. Some part of her, deep down echoed the sentiment. She hadn't done anything wrong. She had saved her clanmate, taken the brunt of a landslide that could have done so much worse to someone smaller then her. And yet she could not accept that - could not find it in herself to forgive herself. She was a protector. She should have done more. She could have been more.

Maggotscorn is speaking again, and Bravestorm takes a stuttered breath at it's question. "No," she is fast to reply. She could never fault it for being good. But she also remembers that period of time vividly. The fear that she could have lost him, as she had Snapstride, as she nearly had Barkbolt when they were but an apprentice. It had upset her then, and the thought upset her now.

"No - but I feared for you."

Saying it now, she worries she might be misunderstood. She didn't want to imply that she doubted it's abilities. No, she never doubted Maggotscorn. She raises her head, eyes softened as she looks into Maggotscorn's. It's scars stir her nostalgia.

She remembers seeing it in the herbalist's den after. Remembers it's frustration at itself. She remembers being so glad it was alive, and so worried it didn't share the same sentiment. She knew better now, that death wasn't what Maggotscorn chased in it's endeavors. It's own words now echoed that much.

"There is no fault in it, no," she pauses, just for a moment, collecting her thoughts and the strength to speak, "but I fear how often we decide it must be the latter."

Maggotscorn:

She feared for them, and they understood why. Their nostrils flared as they walked, breathing in the sharp, familiar-yet-foreign scents of MonarchClan’s camp. ”Many die.” They conceded, their thoughts returning to Lightheart He had died for Hootfrost - a burden that could have been (should have been?) Maggotscorn’s.

”You did not.” It seemed correct to remind Bravestorm of this – seemed right to point out that in her act of gallantry she had saved another, and managed to keep from perishing herself. That was victory – and not an insignificant one either.

They were quiet a moment, studying their old friend from the corner of their eye. She was beautiful from an objective eye; a grand sort of feline, large enough to rival them in size and with fur enough to dwarf them.

And she seemed … burdened. Maggotscorn’s brows knit together, jaw working as they moved towards the camp lake in steady pawsteps. Her posture seemed less confident – her eyes less certain.

”Your injury will heal. I will not lie to you and tell you it will be the same as unmarred flesh and bone; I do not know if it will. But I know you. I know your tenacity; your fierceness.”

Its own broken body seemed trivial when held in comparison with Bravestorm’s mangled jaw. A warrior could hunt without a leg – even battle still; an ache in its bones would only ever be a nuisance to them. They did not know how a jaw would heal – did not know how it would trouble her at the moons went on.

But they knew that she would not give up – she would not lay down and die. She would learn to maneuver around it – and it would stand by her side as she did.

Bravestorm:

There's a flicker of something in Bravestorm's face, her ears pressing back briefly at Maggotscorn's reply. It wasn't disdain. Wasn't even disappointment. She knew the truth of it's words. Many did die. But that didn't mean the thought settled any easier. It was a truth that had always been hard for her to swallow. It was the reason she so often buried herself in work or mentally distanced herself from the reality of the moment. It had been the only way to keep strong for so long that it had become second nature, but she supposed that didn't make it anymore satisfying.

The molly's conflicted expression eases some, her mind settling once more at the sound of her friend speaking again. She turns to look at them, and catches the way it watches her from the corner of it's eye. She wonders briefly, what she must look like to him. She can't imagine it's nice with her fur mussed from her nest-rest and her askew jaw hanging slightly open, bits of cobweb and old poultice still caught across the scarring that had formed there.

Bravestorm had never been conceited or overly concerned about her appearance. She still wasn't. But growing up with family like Daphnepath and Snapstride, one was left with a sense of expectation. Perhaps that was more pertinent for the fact that it was Maggotscorn looking upon her now.

She is thankful when he speaks again.

She flutters her ears in a meek attempt to cool the heat from them and focuses on Maggotscorn's words to avoid her mind spiraling off track again. Of course, it doesn't take long for her to stop in her tracks. Her eyes soften, and her maw gapes a few times, trying to find the right words.

The conversation strikes something within her. Something familiar. They'd been here before, she thinks. Not for the same reasons but this moment was familiar. Her throat tightens and she has to take a deep breath before she steps forward. The big molly presses her flank against Maggotscorn's and turns her head to rub against it's shoulder without jostling her jaw. She fights the urge to apologize, and settles for gratitude instead.

"Thank you," she rumbles, straightening her posture but not stepping entirely away, watching them for any sign of discomfort while basking in it's pressure against her side no matter how brief. "I-" she pauses again, there seems to be something she wants to say, but she turns it around in her head and elects to refrain. "You shouldn't have to remind me of my virtues so often, but you do. I'm- Your strengths are infectious, I'm more grateful for that then I could ever express."

Maggotscorn:

Maggotscorn noted when Bravestorm’s expression seemed to falter at its words. Her ears flicked back, something in her face shifted, and it cannot keep from wondering what thoughts tugged at her mind – what uncertainties frustrated her in this moment.

It suspected it knew.

”There will always be failure.” Even as it spoke, the words grated against it; it felt like a failure in it of itself to concede such a thing. With effort, failure should be minimized to naught.

But Maggotscorn had yet to see such a thing in action, in spite of its best efforts – it had seen the effort, the dedication its fellow patrol mates had taken And it had seen how failure had bitten them nevertheless.

Perhaps more could have been done – no, it knew more could have been done. And so too did it know it would have been futile anyway. Burn it all, there was always failure – as surely as death chased that which lived, failure would follow effort, and inevitably, it would catch eventually.

It didn’t follow up its words with more; Bravestorm’s flank met its own, and her head moved to follow, butting against his shoulder with a sudden bloom of warmth and pressure. Its breath caught in its throat, face freezing the moment her pelt brushed its own.

Maggotscorn did not seek out or engage in physical contact. When it occurred, more often than not, it was within the confines of a spar. The closeness of such contact was something they avoided – something they made effort not to think about. It was complicated, uneasy; not a thing which they reveled in, no.

And Bravestorm pressed her head against their shoulder. She had always been respectful of its distance, closing it only in evenings bitten by chill which sept into Maggotscorn’s bones – a comfort saved for evenings and never spoken of come morning.

Outside of that, it could recall only one time in which she had pressed herself against it – once, by the rapids, when she had stood tear-streaked and mired in misery, her burning sister having turned her back on her. That had been an occasion of discomfort already – a moment of helplessness for Maggotscorn - he was not a creature of emotion, no – he had known his help would be insufficient for her.

And she had appreciated it nonetheless.

And now it stood in a position it had been much more comfortable in. She had seemed distressed, yes – so was he, if he were being honest. But it was a measured distress – it wasn’t wild, raucous as wind on a violent day.

And she sought comfort in its presence nonetheless.

She shouldn’t do that; why was she doing that? It did not have comfort to offer – did not have the softness that Driftspring and even Smallfern possessed. No, he was the wrong choice for this.

But he would pretend.

This time, for her, he would pretend. He could not pretend forever, and he didn’t mean to either – but for now, he would try – for her.

When she pulled away, he moved to rasp his tongue over her shoulder. Guppywhirl did this frequently – and he had seen other cats do so as well, as a sign of affection, or perhaps comfort. Uncertainty painted his motions, each movement he made just a little shakier than it might have been if he were comfortable with this sort of affection.

He wasn’t, of course.

She spoke, and her eyes were trained on him – that made him nervous. What was she watching for? A misstep? She would find plenty of those; she ought to know that. But her words were genuine, and warm – appreciation for him tangling in her tone and talk alike. He cleared his throat – this conversation had quickly become something entirely unmanageable to him.

”If you forget them, then so be it. I will remind you.”

That much was easy to say. It was true; he had no qualms with telling her who and what he saw her as. And if this brought her comfort, fine.

Bravestorm:

Bravestorm rumbles thoughtfully at Maggotscorn's assessment on failure. It was true but still frustrating. She could handle it better now certainly, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it. She supposed no one did. She's certain Maggotscorn didn't. She takes a deep breath however, and seems to relent. "It can always be followed with success," she offers, tipping her head just so, as if still thinking over her own remark.

If Bravestorm could see the turmoil in her friend at her touch, she doesn't remark on it. She's perhaps to caught up in the feeling of it's tongue across her shoulder. Warmth blossoms and she can't help but stretch her maw into a smile. At least, she hopes it comes across as a smile. She's uncertain how it might sit on her sore jaw, but she tries none-the-less. Still, she doesn't miss the shakiness in her friend's touch. She gives it a moment longer before pulling her flank from his, expression still gentle.

She's sure her mind would stir again later but for now it settled in the familiarity and solidness of Maggotscorn's presence. It's words are further comfort and she presses her ears forward now, attentive once more.

"You know I'll do the same for you," she replies. She hopes it knows.

Maggotscorn:

Bravestorm’s statement was simple, to the point, and true. And it brought Maggotscorn some sort of comfort to hear. He relaxed a small amount, easing into the touch that his friend offered. She smiled at his touch – it seemed wrong that someone should find comfort in his presence; seemed like something of a paradox, that someone could find warmth in his kit-like attempts at reassurance. It left a strange taste on his tongue.

Maggotscorn still felt some measure of relief when Bravestorm did finally pull away from it; the touch had been unexpected, and tender – and entirely too burning much. It exhaled softly when she left its flank, shoulders easing at the returned physical solitude. Its pelt seemed to tingle where she had touched it, and it clamped its jaw, settling itself firmly into a position of ignorance regarding that particular sensation. It would tell her, later, that it was not someone she ought to confide in in this manner. It returned its attention to her face, meeting her eyes evenly as she spoke again.

Burnt scrap; she should know that this isn’t what it’s built for. It doesn’t talk like this – burn it all, it doesn’t need reassurance. Doesn’t want it. It worked its jaw for a moment, as if chewing on her words. It wasn’t made to navigate conversations like this – so why was she doing this? It felt like a kit shoved unceremoniously off a cliff and into tempestuous water below, floundering as it tried to keep afloat long enough to cling claws to a stony shoreline.

”You know me.”  It finally answered, voice low and rumbling like the song of a storm on the horizon. It held her gaze, expression nothing short of intense. ”I do not want for such reminders.”

She knew it better than most did – she would understand that it did not want this. Maggotscorn worked their jaw a moment; she would understand that this was uncomfortably for it, and that she was asking at all told that she needed this comfort. They forced themself to relax, allowing the tension to ease from their shoulders as their expression softened. ”I understand the sentiment, though.”

A pause.

”Thank you, Bravestorm.”