Post by Fawn on Apr 16, 2013 3:15:40 GMT -5
→ROOKFROST←
Medicine Cat of LightningClan
To think that he had neglected his apprentice's lessons to so high a degree was unheard of. The normally punctual, tacit Medicine Cat took professionalism in his chosen field very seriously, so it was with a small, shallow twinge of regret that he returned to his den this morning, his paws washed clean of any offal from the hare that had been his first meal of the day. Well, perhaps 'regret' was too strong an emotion. More or less conscious of his negligence, the black tufted tips of his ears brushed against the ceiling of the cool herbal-smelling lair of the Medicine Cat, jaws separating, voice as chilly and clipped as was the norm. As if every day were the bitterest of leafbares, and if he spoke too much or for too long, his lungs would freeze.
"Come. You have an assignment, Snowpaw."
With all the practical precision of a surgeon - the shadowy tom stepped out of his dwellings and cut a path towards the nearest exit - Rookfrost sorted through the knowledge he had filed away for the past 6 or 7 moons or so that pertained exclusively to his training sessions with Snowpaw. They had covered the identification and application of herbs - how could they have not? - it was the foundation of their entire roles as Medicine Cats, and while Rookfrost did not particularly care to have an apprentice, he could care even less for an uneducated one. In terms of getting his paws dirty, both collecting the necessary bounty their ancestors had reaped from the land whenever the seasons permitted, and in patching up the wounds of their comrades, Snowpaw was as experienced as one could hope to be whilst serving as Rookfrost's apprentice.
There was a particular area that the white shadow behind him was lacking.
Combat training.
Rookfrost was not an expert. He was not a brilliant inventor of new techniques. Nor was he that particularly enthusiastic about exerting massive amounts of effort to defeat an opponent. He cared not for battle rivalries and 'glory' that came with it. What the dark tom did have, was a plethora of knowledge on feline anatomy, a gaping hole where feelings such as remorse, hesitation and compassion should have been, and several moons' experience spent as a warrior.
Snowpaw did not.
If his efforts to teach the little pacifist were to come to fruition and not be wasted upon the claws of an enemy cat, then, surmised the black tom as he continued his purposeful march towards the battle grounds, Snowpaw was going to need to learn how to at least defend himself.
It would bring Rookfrost no pleasure to strike out at his apprentice. Equally so, it would bring him no such remorse or sadness if Snowpaw DID shed blood during the course of their training regiment. Snowpaw had fallen into the category of 'uninteresting', to the scientist in black fur. He was a gray area, or rather, a white area, so to dissect him would be a waste of effort.
The white tom was simply a side effect of serving as LightningClan's Medicine Cat.
If one was to be so skilled at such an important, rare position, then one was expected to pass on their knowledge and their abilities as best as they could. Rookfrost's thorny countenance broke into a tiny, mocking smile, stepping onto the trampled clearing.
If Medicine Cats are so highly valued and in such short supply, then why, dear ancestors, have you not granted them nine lives as you have the Clan leaders? Question coming out mocking and cynical of the Clan he chose not to believe in, Rookfrost did not bother to glance over his shoulder to see if Snowpaw was still in pursuit.
Almost any cat out of those five flocks of sheep could throw their lives away for the sake of their Clanmates.
...But how many could be trusted with the decision to decide if a cat should live or die? With the power to harm or heal?
A small outlier of cats. Cats who had at least a modicum of talent as compared to their Clanmates. Cats who were made of different things compared to their kin. Well, that was the idea. Rookfrost turned to face Snowpaw, flashes of Crowfang and Blackeagle - both Medicine Cats who had fallen beneath his claws - flitting across the dark tom's gray eyes.
So tell me, StarClan. Who are you REALLY wasting your 'powers' on?
Rookfrost had only briefly entertained the notion of immortality before, and as always it would bring a small, unfeeling smile to his dark muzzle, as if sharing in a joke only he'd been able to hear.
If he outlived his generation, Snowpaw's generation and countless others after that, as well as still kept all of his faculties, then the experiments would never end.
Not until he had answered every question, and satisfied every curiosity. He wouldn't mind living until that had been accomplished.
He wouldn't mind it at all.