Gustclan Post 57

Teasel-leaf’s paws flew over the leaf-litter, and behind him he could hear the dead, dry leaves scuffing and flying high up into the air.

Ahead of him, he could see squirrels jumping along their branches, scurrying away from him as quick as they could. Despite the distance between him and the tree branches, the squirrels were clearly not keen to have him pass beneath them.

His movement was accompanied by the regular interruptions of wings starting to flap ahead of him. At one point, he heard a magpie call. His stride could not increase, with him already going at full pace.

He could feel his breath coming in short, sharp bursts, burning his lungs for more air as he kept going, and his limbs were starting to burn with the effort too, but he knew the stakes.

He couldn’t help thinking that there were so many other cats far more suited than him for this sprint. He was not a warrior. He was not trained for physical endurance in the way so much of the clan was.

Teasel-leaf had to force himself to keep running, as exhaustion fought to make his stride slower and shorter.

He could see the trunk of that tree sticking out of the ground, it’s roots reaching up in a fruitless attempt to reach Starclan. With the air passing through his lungs so quickly he didn’t have time to scent before he got here. He leaped up the side of the log, scrabbling with his paws and pulling his weight up and above the top of the wood, his back legs struggling for purchase for a moment. His legs came up behind, and his chest heaved as he paused for the first time in what felt like hours. His head whipped around, eyes flitting desperately, and a scent hit his nose. Teasel-leaf snapped his head around, bent his legs, wiggled his tail, and, scrunching up his face in concern about this jump going badly, launched off the tree, straight into a run in a second.

“Harrierpelt!”

Teasel-leaf’s voice sounded choked and breathy, but, even more than that, panicked.

His ears twitched as he heard something ahead of him from the same direction as the smell.

Ahead of him, he could see brightness from above, a shadow flitting to show a bird, but otherwise as clear a sky as could be expected during winter. The wind ahead of him told another tale. It smelt of the soil down by the lake shore, where his paws would enter a snowy white and leave stained and bright. And a familiar scent too.

His path was blocked by small shrubs and bushes, clearly growing up at the edge of the patch of light, seizing their chance at the sun. A little more cautious now - knowing full well what that smell was, and feeling the panic from that knowledge in his chest building - Teasel-leaf pushed his nose up to one plant, so his eyes shone through. He didn’t have the willpower to stop himself.

One moment he was hidden in the bushes.

The next, he was beside a thick grey pelt, licking grey fur to try to get the deep blue out of it, only revealing more coming out from underneath.

He felt muscle shifting under his tongue, but not in the right way, and he felt the rippling in the chest over to his right pass through his tongue with the accompanying groan.

“Teasel-leaf.” Harrierpelt’s voice was quiet, but it had not lost it’s bite.

“Don’t talk, you’ll just make the blood come faster.”

Harrierpelt shook his head slightly, but Teasel-leaf took no heed, eyes darting around the clearing to see if there was anything he could use to help. The grass was blue now too, where it had seeped from the older cat’s side. He couldn’t spot anything. Instead he winced, looking at Harrierpelt’s face, and pushed into his mentor’s side with all his might, laying his lower forelegs flat against the wound, creating as much pressure as he could. The wound didn’t smell quite right, not quite like only cat, but Teasel-leaf knew that already. No cat would create this wound.

“Okay, I don’t think any of the plants here are going to work, so you’re going to have to hold with me long enough for me to spot something.”

“Teasel-leaf, no.”

“Do you know if any of the plants here could help? I’m not spotting anything that could help with bleeding. Why did you have to go and meet a badger in winter.”

He could feel uneven breathing, almost like laughing, and then coughing and a long moan from pain. Teasel-leaf met his mentor’s eyes for the first time, brown eyes gazing down at amber.

“You’re a good medicine cat, Teasel-leaf.” Harrierpelt’s voice was quieting further. “I’m proud. Myrtleclaw would be proud. Your mother is proud. Starclan’s blessed you.”

Teasel-leaf shook his head.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” Harrierpelt asked.

“Like you’re not coming back to camp. The blood will stop, we’ll get you back to camp, and you can keep being a medicine cat for moons and moons.”

“And how are you planning to get me back to camp, Teasel-leaf? Even if you could stop the blood, you’re not going to be able to keep that wound closed long enough.” Harrierpelt reached out one paw limply, as though to push Teasel-leaf away. “She might even still be near. Gustclan needs to still have a medicine cat, and your apprentice will need a mentor.”

Teasel-leaf shook his head. If he’d wanted to notice, he’d have noticed the pauses getting longer, the blue running up his forelegs, the heavy breaths Harrierpelt was letting out. But he didn’t want to notice. He refused to. Harrierpelt would get better, and Harrierpelt would come back to camp.

“Stop talking nonsense. You’ll recover just fine, you’ll be okay. You’ve got to think positive.”

Harrierpelt chuckled weakly. “I need a little more than positive thinking, so- Teasel-leaf. You don’t need your p- mentor with you now. You’ve got your own life ahead and you don’t need me for that. Have your own apprentice, your own mate and kits, and enjoy what Starclan’s let you have.”

“...Medicine cats can’t have mates.” Teasel-leaf said, stumped, meaning to have said something reassuring instead for a moment.

“Ask your friend on that.” Harrierpelt sighed. “Is there anything you need quickly now? You can always tell me anything.” Teasel-leaf knew what he meant. He heard the resignation in Harrierpelt’s voice now. Because anything else that Harrierpelt heard now wouldn’t be getting back to the clan except through him or Heronstar; or so he thought. Teasel-leaf wouldn’t let it be so! Although a growing, niggling part of his brain couldn’t help but point out how it wasn’t just the grass covered now, but long fur, all the way up his forelegs, across his stomach and his back paws, which would take hours to wash off all of fully.

“I need you back in camp.” Teasel-leaf asserted. Harrierpelt shook his head. Teasel-leaf pressed down harder onto his mentor’s side. “There’s one thing. Well, two. Chubtail told me about a vision he had a while ago, and I have no idea when it’s going to happen, but I know it’s going to be something big and something awful, but I don’t know what. I’d love more guidance on what to do with that.” There was a rumbling grunt of agreement through his paws, and Teasel-leaf took that as consent for what he needed. Explaining the vision seemed redundant right now. If Harrierpelt pulled through (and he would!) then he could explain properly back in camp. If he didn’t, then Harrierpelt would know it anyway before long. “And, besides that, I had a vision myself not long ago too…”

Teasel-leaf didn’t spot when the little assurances stopped. He didn’t notice when the breath stilled, and he kept talking until he was done.

But he knew, with one look at his mentor’s eyes, glazed over and cold, but still looking right at him, concern etched onto his features, what had passed. Teasel-leaf let go of his grip on the older cat’s stomach, looking properly for just a moment at the ragged, torn wound, and found his gaze passing over it immediately. He turned to Harrierpelt’s head, ran one cheek along his mentor’s and then gently licked his shoulder, just as an apprentice is greeted by their mentor, but, more importantly, just as friends greet each other.

Gently, he pushed Harrierpelt’s eyelids closed, and, not wanting to accept what he’d witnessed, he started collecting small leaves off of the nearby plants that still had them, wishing to cover the smell of the wound.

Done with that, Teasel-leaf curled up close against his mentor, back against him, collecting as much of the scent of his fur into his nostrils as he could, not wanting to risk forgetting it as the moons passed on. It felt like hours before he was ready to move - and it probably was - and the wetness had dried off his face. He wouldn’t be able to take Harrierpelt back to camp on his own.

And anyway, he could smell that scent again - the one that had been on Harrierpelt’s wound as he’d arrived. Teasel-leaf didn’t need a warrior with him to put together what that scent must be from. He’d come out here to warn against it.

For now, he needed to prioritise informing Heronstar. He couldn’t afford to leave camp on his own for a while, not until he had an apprentice most of the way to being trained - Gustclan couldn’t afford to have no medicine cats. There’d have to be a warrior patrol scent out later - maybe even in a few days’ if it took the planning - both to take Harrierpelt to his body’s resting place, and to deal with that badger.