But I'm Stupid in Love

More talk comes rushing through Lynxclan’s camp — something about more patrols, something about fire — Stars, Otterspark hates fire. Smoke… Beavers blocking the Moon Pool… The molly can feel herself getting a headache, which, accompanied by the fresh pain in her missing limb and hip, only freshens her previous agitation and frustration with herself. She doesn’t know when the Herbalists will let her out of here, but Otterspark sure hopes it’s soon, so she can help her clan. Maybe prove that she isn’t as useless as she was against the damn beavers. 

Throughout the day following the news, Otterspark is temporarily distracted once again — mostly by the presence of visitors. The first of which is Bumblefoot, who comes limping toward her as quick as he can — his eyebrows are furrowed together, and he looks like a concerned father more than anything else. It makes her grimace, but Otterspark does her best to smile up at the warrior and assure him that everything’s fine. “S’fine, jus’a scratch — get t’be a bit more like y’now, Bumblefoot.” 

She meant that as a joke, not a reason for the tomcat’s eyes to water before he sat down beside her, pressing his muzzle to her shoulder. “Don’t go cryin’ on me, y’lame old man,” Otterspark grumbles, familial affection in her voice. “ ‘m fine… An’jus’messin wit’you.” 

“I know,” is the gentle response that emerges from somewhere in the back of Bumblefoot’s throat, his voice thick with emotion. “I just…” There’s a pause, before he continues, trying to sound humorous. But Otterspark hears the sniffle. “You gotta stop giving me grey fur, half-pint. I can’t handle the amount of stress you put on me.” The white and orange tabby pulls away from Otterspark, offering her a watery smile that makes her grin back at him. She doesn’t quite feel like smiling right now, but if it makes her mentor feel better… 

Later in the day, she’s greeted by Softwillow. The typically elusive tom looks at her with round, orange eyes that bore into her person in a way that makes Otterspark wonder just what the hell he’s thinking about — or if he ever stops thinking. There’s a set of flowers in his jaws, and the familiar sight from the young tom is more than welcome. Setting down the flowers near her, Softwillow dips his head and speaks quietly. “Are you comfortable?” Straightforwardness is another appreciated aspect. 

“S’fine, kid.” Otterspark replies, truthful. “Just a lil’ sore, but I’ll be back on m’paws soon.” Softwillow remains quiet, his expression blank, but Otterspark is certain that he’s doing that thing he does, again — thinking. It doesn’t look very enjoyable. “Okay.” Softwillow finally states, nodding his head. “Good. I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re here, but… I’m very glad that you’re okay.” 

“... Thanks.” Otterspark replies, nodding her head slowly. She decides that she won’t take Softwillow’s lack of surprise as an insult, not right now. “Uh. ‘Preciate the flowers, kid. They’re nice.” The tabby continues, her paws coming toward the bouquet to pull them closer to her chest, a subtle smile coming back onto her muzzle. 

And her day sort of continues on like that. She receives a visit from a concerned Rowanscar who drags herself forward from the Elder’s Den, gazing at her sister with affection. They spend some time talking, with Rowanscar excitedly informing Otterspark that she would be going into physical therapy, just like she herself had. Following this visit is Lichenclaw, who quietly sits beside Otterspark. The silence between the pair is companionable, but the air between them is comforting and warm, bristling with the energy only siblings can share between one another. It makes Otterspark feel better. 

Leopardfern and Crookedfire come into her line of view following Lichenclaw. Otterspark’s discussion with the pair is definitely far more animated than the relaxed sitting with her sibling, but it’s a nice change of pace to wrap up the day. The poor kid looks… Worried. And tired. Real tired, like he hadn’t been sleeping well before this all happened — the tabby knew that something aside from everything happening was on the tom-cat’s mind, but she didn’t dare push at the topic, especially not now. Her Uncle seemed much more keen on making the situation more lighthearted, full of assurances and gentle affirmations — like Rowanscar offered previously, he would help her find her footing on three legs. 

And then, of course, Barkmask — her kit — seems to find the courage to approach her after everything that happened. They’re tentative at first, sitting down beside the warrior with their head slumped down and a familiar, sad look on their face. It makes Otterspark want to wipe tears that aren’t present away, like she would when they were a distressed kitten. Instead, she gives a sigh as she puts a paw on their own and speaks. 

“Hey, kiddo. How y’feelin?” A sniffle, and then a thick voice responds to her question. 

“Mama… I should be asking how you’re doing — I’m an herbalist, after all,” They trail off, voice wobbling with emotion in a way that makes Otterspark crack them a grin. “Don’t mean I can’t check in on ya, Bark.” Their wobbly muzzle parts open and spit out some sort of argument, but Otterspark levels a look that causes the young herbalist to close their parted jaws. 

“Just… Get y’wound looked at, won’tcha? F’me?” Otterspark questions, watching Barkmask offer a slow nod of their head. But the orange tabby glances to the side, and the she-cat knows her kit well enough to know that they have something on their mind. “Sure, but ‘m… ‘m headin’ out, first. We need more…” 

“I get it, kid. Just… Just be careful, please.” The tabby interrupts, eager to soothe her kitten’s potential ramble of an apology. “Long as y’come back in one piece, I don’t care whatchado. Y’grown.” 

Eventually, visitors are shooed from the tattered remains of the Herbalist’s Den and Otterspark is left to rest again. It feels good to lay her head down and focus on something that isn’t the dull throb in what remains of the stump that replaced her leg. With her belly full of poppy seeds and with her bandaging retreated, the tabby she-cat dozed off. 

“Splashzone, y’up?” Beetlestar’s voice dawns upon her when the moon is high in the sky, and Otterspark blinks in a dazed confusion as she lifts her head to look up to the dark-furred leader. The tabby tilts his head, frowning down at her with worry written on his features. Although her mind is fuzzy and the pain that she was feeling earlier is re-emerging, she manages a smile for her father. He looks strained, tired — it makes her heart feel heavy. 

“Sure…” She grumbles, lifting a paw to rub at her face. Taking this as silent permission to sit near his daughter, the leader takes a spot… And Otterspark isn’t sure if she needs to begin the conversation, or if her dad will. Beetlestar always knows what to say, especially when his daughter’s done something stupid — like getting herself landed in a destroyed herbalists den because a beaver had grabbed her. … Well, okay, maybe that wasn’t stupid, as much as it was unlucky. 

“How y’feelin? S’..S’a lot th’happened.” She knows that ‘ lot that happened ‘ means ‘ I’m glad you’re not dead ‘, in her dad’s own special way. It warms her chest, just a little bit. “Sore. Wanna ge’up an’help,” Otterspark begins in a grumble, and then glances away from her father with a puff of her cheeks as she recalls one of her first discussions with her father about being injured and reckless. The lynx in the cavern, which led to a cave-in and… Well, sometimes her side still aches thinking about the way the beast’s claws dug into her. 

 “I know y’wan’me in here till ‘m doin’ a lil’ better, though.” From the corner of her vision, Beetlestar nods. “ ‘m no good gettin’ worse out there, and all that, right?” 

“Right.” Beetlestar replies, but there’s a smile on his muzzle — maybe he’s happy to see that Otterspark still has her… Well, spark. “Glad I don’t got’remind y’on th’one.” Otterspark huffs and rolls her eyes at the partial insult, especially when she feels her father’s paw brush playfully against her shoulder in a gentle shove. She casts him a side eye glare, wanting nothing more than to be able to give him a kick in the haunch for his teasing. 

“I can listen. Sometimes.” Otterspark grunts, shifting her weight so she can stretch out her forelimbs before she decides to question her father further on his check-in with her. “Y’only come in here t’hassle me, or are y’gon fill me in on how y’makin’ me do water therapy when the Herbalists lemme outta here?” The brown-furred warrior continues, looking at Beetlestar expectantly. Her father grins in return. “Bitta both.” 

“Great,” Otterspark rumbles, outstretching her claws as she takes a moment to flex her toes. “Next thing y’gon’do is try an’groom m’pelt, an’then suddenly ‘m gonna look like a different cat — no one’s gon’recognize me.” The warrior begins to ramble, crinkling her nose in disgust at the idea of looking well groomed, and losing the rugged look to her thick pelt. There’s a sound that erupts from her dad, not quite a laugh — but definitely a chuckle. 

“‘Pends on how long y’gon’be in here, Splashzone.” Beetlestar tells her nonchalantly. “ ‘m sure y’won’t be in here long enough f’it ta get ta tha’point, but we’ll see.” Otterspark gives a loud, doubtful snort through her nostrils — finding such a thing impossible to believe. But as she opens her jaws to get a smartass quip out to her father, she notices that his body language has shifted… Just a little. The tomcat looks a bit more tense, his gaze fixed forward in contemplation before looking back toward Otterspark. 

“I didn’t come in here only ta check on ya, though.” Beetlestar states. “We had a cat come in on the border, from Ravenclan. Named Volepelt, sound familiar?” Her mouth grows dry at the mention of Volepelt. She knows him very well. They had been friends since apprenticeship, and similarly to Honeythroat… Their relationship developed into something more, something stronger than just a close friendship. He was far more than her best friend, he was settling his way into becoming her other half. It would take time, but if their loyalties weren’t divided… 

There was potential. 

She looks away from her father, her eyebrows furrowing together as she tries to find the words on her dry tongue, a way to not necessarily smooth the situation over, but to explain it properly. “I do.” She says, finally, after a tense moment of silence settles between herself and her father. “Told ‘im I wouldn’t do nothin’ wit’him less he…” 

“Joined Lynxclan?” Beetlestar finishes the sentence, and Otterspark has a hard time deciphering if her father is disappointed or just happy that Otterspark cut to the chase rather than what she did with Honeythroat. “Yeah.” 

Beetlestar gives a sigh, and then nods his head. Otterspark is sure that he’s disappointed to some extent, but she can’t bring herself to think about that, not right now. Volepelt’s here, and he came in at the worst damn time that he possibly could — which, yeah, that sounded like his luck, really. “Can’t say ‘m pleased, but… If y’think he’s good, willin’ ta give him a shot ta prove loyalty to Lynxclan.” 

“Thank you,” She finds herself mewing out before she can even really think of the words escaping her muzzle, but Beetlestar lifts a paw to stop his daughter from babbling on for very long. “Yeah, yeah. Y’an I will have a long discussion ‘bout all this later, when y’feelin’ better, okay? Just… Let this be th’last damn cat ya bring in from outside’a here, wontcha?” 

Otterspark finds herself nodding in agreement to her father’s question. Her relationship with Honeythroat had been… It had been her first try at all of this, tiring but exhilarating at the same time. But now? Otterspark is only getting older, and it’s hard to keep up with all sorts of theatrics happening — and the idea of losing Volepelt the same way that she had lost Honeythroat, it hurts. She won’t let it happen. She won’t make the same mistakes that she did with her last mateship, this will be fine. It has to be fine. 

“I don’t intend t’get another… Partner, Pa,” Otterspark tells him, and it’s the truth. She won’t be doing this, ever again, and if Starclan is kind — then the tabby will hopefully spend the rest of her days with Volepelt, happy. The thought makes her pelt twitch with excitement, as though it’s alight with this sudden need to find the tom in question. She does her best to conceal this antsy feeling from her father, who nods to signal that he’s listened to her. 

“Keepin’ tha’ in mind,” He grumbles, offering a half smile toward his daughter before lifting himself up and onto his paws. “I’ll grab ‘im f’ya, so ya can check in wit’ ‘im. Sure he’s worried.” Beetlestar glances over his shoulder and back toward his daughter, his gaze soft with fatherly affection that reminds Otterspark of her days in the Nursery, looking up at her father with wide, admiring eyes — feeling nothing but pride for being his kin, his blood. 

“I love ya, Splashzone. Even if ya choices are questionable. Don’t forget tha.” Beetlestar tells her, and Otterspark finds herself blinking hard to fight back tears as she beams up at her father, teeth and all showing. “I love ya too, Beetledad,” She mews. “An’ I’ll be back on m’feet in no time, ready t’kick y’ass in a spar.” Otterspark knows damn well that she has yet to actually defeat said father in a spar, but it’s the thought and determination that counts. Even if she’s down a leg, now. 

Beetlestar is satisfied with this response, chuckling and grinning back at his daughter momentarily — it’s easy to forget the stress that weighs upon Lynxclan’s shoulders with their conversation before he turns fully and leaves the rubble that makes up the Herbalist’s Den. Within a few heartbeats, in his place comes Volepelt. He’s still the same cat that Otterspark had met as an apprentice, all legs and no body with big green eyes and the kindest smile. 

But Volepelt is a different warrior, now, and Otterspark isn’t sure what to make of that realization. Volepelt’s smile falters, and then he’s rushing toward her as quickly and cautiously as he can — dodging glances from new clanmates that resided near the Herbalist’s Den, and focusing his attention onto Otterspark and only Otterspark. “Shit, Otter… Look at you,” Volepelt mumbles when he nears her, drawing out a deep breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding until arriving to the she-cat’s side. 

“Hey, lil mouse,” Otterspark purrs as she bumps her head against the brown-furred tom in greeting. There’s a well of emotions forming a lump in her throat, and sits in a tight ball at the bottom of her chest. It threatens to come out in the form of tears, and Otterspark finds it hard to bite back these emotions as Volepelt takes a place by her side. The tom quietly leans his head against hers, and leans into her mane. “Glad y’got here, in one piece.” 

“I’m not. I should have gotten here sooner.” Volepelt grumbles against her fur, and Otterspark scoffs with a roll of her eyes. “Well, y’didn’t,” She grumbles. “But y’here now, more paws ‘round here th’better, I s’pose.” Volepelt falls silent beside Otterspark, and she’s secretly relieved by the fact that the tom-cat isn’t eager to fight with her on the discussion of his tardiness in arriving in Lynxclan. 

“... So, does Lynxclan always look like this?” Volepelt mumbles, his question mostly playful. Otterspark feels herself grin as she settles beside the tomcat, nuzzling her head against his fur and curling a tail around him. She does her best to stifle a yawn as her eyelids threaten to slip shut. 

“Not usually, no. Caught us on a bad day.” Otterspark rumbles, feeling Volepelt offer an acknowledging nod of his head against her shoulder in turn to her words. Silence settles between the pair for the time being, and Otterspark can’t help but feel relieved with it. For right now, everything is okay.