[Taxx]

Blackpelt had spent the moons since leafbare going where he pleased, often meeting with some loner or other to share a meal or company. The Clans he avoided as much as possible, unwilling to be on the recieving end of their anger. They might know of the loners, but there was no reason to tempt their fury by trespassing for any reason. Besides, the land around the borders was prey-rich, so why intrude?

The black-and-white tom had risen with the dawn that morning, rising from his nest of soft grass and padding to the river for a drink. Then his thoughts turned to a meal, and he’d found an easy one in the form of a large mouse.

He’d nearly finished when the peace was shattered; the first hint of danger coming in the rush of paws through the grass. The flash of red and white fur sparked the first hint of fear, but the fox was faster. Before Blackpelt could do more than think about running, the fox’s fangs were buried in his shoulder and he was wrenched to the ground. He fought back instantly, hissing threateningly and fixing three sets of claws and his own teeth into the sensitive flesh of the fox’s nose. He ripped deeply and the creature yowled in pain, shaking itself free.

Blackpelt ran without a second thought; a tree ahead was his focus, and he could spare no thought for anything else. He leaped halfway up the trunk, claws digging deep into the bark, and heard the clack of jaws snapping shut just short of his tail. Scrabbling higher, the tom crouched on a branch, staring down at the fox and trembling. His shoulder throbbed painfully, and he eased his weight off it, but there was no way he was coming down until he was sure the fox was well gone.

That took longer than he’d have rathered, but finally it turned away, heading back to collect the discarded mouse before disappearing once more into the grass. Even then Blackpelt stayed where he was, slumped on the branch and debating the wisdom of heading back to the ground right then. So he waited, tail still bushed, shoulder steadily pulsing with pain, until a much more familiar presence pulled his focus to the she-cat who appeared beneath his tree.
nimble

[nimble]

Heaven never heard a word I said,
I've cried enough to raise the dead

As the night drew to an end, so too did Featherstep's hunt. She ate the vole she'd caught quickly, burying its remains beneath a fragrant young conifer before heading back towards the makeshift den she'd called home for the past few days. She'd made a simple moss nest beneath the overhang of a great granite boulder, which mercifully guarded her from the sun's harsh light. The she-cat hadn't lingered anywhere long in the seasons since she'd departed the Tribe, but the stone alcove she'd found reminded her of – well, it didn't matter. Anyways, she'd run in to a familiar pelt hunting this part of the mountain a pawful of times, and though she hated to admit it – even to herself – she craved the company of another cat. Blackpelt was pleasant enough, if not a little odd, and she knew him from the time he'd traveled with Tribe when she'd led them to the valley. Though he carried a warrior's name, the tom was not of the clans, and had, as far as she knew, always been a loner. Featherstep reached her nest just as the sun began to rise; it wasn't long for a fitful slumber settled over her.


The moonless night sky practically glistened with stars, their silvery light illuminating the mountainside where Featherstep trekked in a way that stars did not. She blinked as the world around her drew in to better focus, the hazy atmosphere lifting from her surroundings. Immediately, the she-cat was at attention: this was no longer an ordinary dream. The tip of her tail twitched with anticipation as her pale green eyes searched the dreamscape frantically. But though she could feel the influence of StarClan, she was alone. Suddenly, the trail disappeared, her vision filled with a flash of rust-colored fur, her ears deafened by the screech of cats, the taste of blood filling her maw.


Featherstep was jolted awake, heart pounding in her chest, her mind spinning. Her ears flicked back as she leaped to her paws, tail sweeping to steady her. She must – she had to – She darted out from beneath the boulder, squinting against the too-bright sunlight. She'd been asleep for some time, it was just past sunhigh now. She stumbled to a halt, trying to calm herself. “What was that?” she hissed aloud, digging her claws in to the earth as a mix of aggravation and dread washed through her.

Unsettled, the gray-furred she-cat tried to shake the feeling from her prickling pelt, scanning the edge of the forest around her. It was no use trying to get back to sleep. She set forward, her paws carrying her down the slope with urgency she didn't understand. So engrossed in thought was Featherstep that she hadn't noticed how close she'd grown to clan borders. Ordinarily, she kept away, unwilling to face the uncertainty of what could happen if they learned that she lived. No, it was better to keep her distance.

A breeze brought Featherstep crashing back to the present, her tail bristling. That scent was unmistakable. Fox! She instinctively crouched, and would have turned away then, but fox was not all the wind carried. Her stomach churned. Even a lone warrior could be overwhelmed by a fox, and Blackpelt was no warrior. The she-cat was quick to move forward, cautiously scanning her surroundings, feeling utterly exposed in the daylight. It was hard to focus on the loner tom's scent, but she followed it in to the open woods, growing uncomfortably close to TreeClan's border.

She was glad to see that he was alive, clinging to a branch. As she drew closer, she could see that he was wounded.

“Blackpelt,” she hissed quietly, afraid of drawing the fox back. The former medicine cat quickly assessed what she could see of his wound, praying that he could make it back to the safety of the boulder she'd been nesting under. It isn't safe to treat him here. “Can you make it down?”

Heaven won't let me in, I don't know why

No one's ever loved half as much as I

Taxx

[Taxx]

It’d been a while since he’d seen Featherstep. They had met after Blackpelt had returned to the valley, newleaf’s warmth ensuring that prey was running well again, and he’d been pleased to know that she was alive and well. They’d spent a few days together before going their separate paths once more, but the short time together had been pleasant.

This time, it wasn’t the meeting Blackpelt would have chosen: he was still keyed up, every hair prickling with fear from the unexpected encounter, and blood ran freely from his aching shoulder. On his own, he might have done the best he could for the injury- licking it clean and hoping it healed well while he did his best to continue hunting for food he needed to survive. Featherstep’s appearance, though, was timely, and even now he wondered if she’d seen what had happened, her quiet tone meant to keep the fox from returning a second time.

“I think so,” he replied, rising carefully to three paws, gritting his teeth as the motion jarred his leg. He was going to have to use it, however, to get down, and the loner sucked in a breath as he hooked his claws into the bark and scrabbled downward until his hind paws touched earth once more.

Lifting his wounded leg from the ground again, Blackpelt turned to the gray tabby, whisking his tail in greeting. “Hi, there, Featherstep. Good to see you again. You’ve got good timing- I just got out of a scrap with a fox. Got anything that can take care of this for me? I’d be grateful, really, for whatever help you can offer."
nimble

[nimble]

Heaven never heard a word I said,
I've cried enough to raise the dead

Featherstep could smell Blackpelt's fear. It hung in the air, mingling with the scent of his blood. Still, he greeted her cordially, as mild-mannered as ever, despite everything. She studied him, feeling a little incredulous. “You've got good timing – I just got out of a scrap with a fox.” I can see that, she thought, her whiskers twitching with what humor the situation allowed. “I'd be grateful, really, for whatever help you can offer.” She blinked, his words catching her off guard for a moment. Of course she would help him, she was a medicine cat, it was her duty to – Oh. An icy feeling that had become all too familiar lately gripped her belly. She forced it away. This is not the time nor the place, mouse-brain! she scolded herself. Instead, she nodded in response to Blackpelt.

“I can help, but we need to move,” she mewed, nervously scanning the woodland around them. “It's not safe here.” She lowered her voice more, muttering, “The last thing we need is TreeClan showing up.” Or LightningClan – whoever owns the open woods now, she added to herself. Both scents lingered faintly on the breeze. “I've been nesting farther up the mountain. If you can make it, there's shelter.”

The silver she-cat eyed him, calculating. She was anxious to leave the area; he needed a thorough exam, and the sooner she could begin treating his wound, the less likely he'd be to succumb to infection.

Heaven won't let me in, I don't know why

No one's ever loved half as much as I

[Taxx]

Feathertail's agreement that she could help- as unnecessary as it might seem- gave Blackpelt something to hold on to. "Right," he agreed, knowing that she was right; who knew if that fox was still lurking around, waiting for another chance to go for him- them, now? He was already injured, and he didn't know how capable Featherstep would be at fighting. Better to make tracks now, than stick around and find out the hard way.

The Clans hadn't even been part of his initial worry, but the silver she-cat's comment piled another reason on the wisdom of going quickly. Stifling a grunt of pain, Blackpelt set off, his gaze lifting toward the mountains and heading for them at Featherstep's direction. "I can make it," he swore. "How far is it?" A quick glance over his shoulder, both at her and to make sure they weren't being followed by fox or cat, before settling to the task of getting himself to the den the former Tribe cat had mentioned.

A bit father than he'd have preferred, as the pain in his leg grew, but the bleeding had mostly stopped on its own, which he was glad for. He made it the last few tail-lengths on three legs, one attempted step resulting in the leg simply buckling, refusing to take any weight, and when he reached the hole beneath the boulder, he eased his way in, clenching his teeth to keep from making noise as he jostled his shoulder. Then, finally in the nest, he lay panting lightly, eyes narrowed as he blinked over at Featherstep, silent as he gave himself to her treatment.

[nimble]

Heaven never heard a word I said,
I've cried enough to raise the dead

Featherstep admired Blackpelt's grit. She'd expect no less of a warrior, but this loner surprised her with his stubborn resolve as he struggled up the mountain. The silver tabby kept a watchful eye out for any unwelcome visitors, but by the grace of StarClan their journey was free of disturbance. When at last the boulder had come into view, Featherstep was acutely aware that her companion's pain was mounting, his limping growing more pronounced. She winced as the black-and-white tom stumbled, barely recovering his balance to hop the final fox-length beneath the great rock's overhang, where he crumpled in to the nest. Sympathy apparent in her pale green gaze, the she-cat padded forward, crouching beside him to get a closer look at his wound. Blood from his shoulder had flowed down his leg, staining stripes of his white fur crimson. It had begun to clot, though blood still oozed from the wound. Her eyes flicked to Blackpelt's face. His expression was pained, and his breath was short and quick.

Her feathery tail lashed as she rose again, stepping around the nest to scoop up the little leafy bundle that sat nestled on the far side of the nest. Though she hadn't the place for a true store of herbs, she'd gathered a few basics to carry with her, and now she thanked StarClan for her foresight. Deftly unrolling the leaf, she carefully transferred the few small, black seeds she'd managed to gather. “Poppy seeds,” she explained, pushing them towards her patient on a small leaf. “They'll ease some pain.” And keep you out of shock, she added silently.

She waited for Blackpelt to lap up the seeds before turning back to his shoulder, her ears flicking back as she gingerly began to clean the drying blood around the wound. Not for the first time, she longed for the herb stores she'd kept in the Tribe's waterfall cavern with Stoneteller, or in NightClan's medicine cat den with – she stood abruptly, not allowing her thoughts to continue. Instead, Featherstep turned back to her little bundle of herbs, picking up a bushy stalk. This won't be enough, she thought grimly as she began to chew the plant into a poultice. All that was left of her measly stock was a bundle of long leafy stems. And if I'm a medicine cat worth my prey, he won't have any use for feverfew.

Heaven won't let me in, I don't know why

No one's ever loved half as much as I

[Taxx]

Blackpelt lay still in the nest, watching from the corner of his eye as Featherstep examined his shoulder, watching her expression to see just how bad it was. It hurt quite a bit, and he knew it had bled on their way to the she-cat's nest, but pain would fade and blood could be cleaned off. The injury itself was what concerned him. The seeds placed in front of him were licked up, and he swallowed them before asking, "Is it bad? Can- can you heal it?"

Head back on his paws, he gave in as the tabby began to clean the blood away from the bite, wincing a time or two as the pain spiked, but he was feeling it less- and starting to feel a bit drowsy. His breaths evened, deepened, but he forced his eyes to stay open and on Featherstep, waiting for her answer to his question, watching as she began to chew up a plant. "That for me?" he asked, pushing himself to make conversation and not drift off. "What is it?"

[nimble]

Heaven never heard a word I said,
I've cried enough to raise the dead

So absorbed in thought was Featherstep that she'd hadn't registered Blackpelt's words. Her mind spun as she contemplated where she could gather more of the herbs her patient would need. It was no mistake, where the clans had laid their borders. The herbs she needed were sparse up here, if she could even manage to suss them out, and she questioned how bold she could be in venturing near the territories in the valley. Today she'd strayed closer than she had in seasons, and it pained her to think that she might need to travel even closer. It was a risk she could barely consider taking. If the wrong cat scented her – or worse, sighted her – the news could travel back to...

Featherstep recoiled from the thought like a kit stung by a bee, her throat tightening for a moment before she blinked, looking back to Blackpelt. Too much time had passed since he'd first spoken, but his inquiry had finally reached her. Can you heal it?

“Yes,” she replied simply, not realizing it was a two part question. Had she heard the first words he'd spoken, she might have assuaged his fears. Instead, she mewed, “It's called horsetail,” as she stooped over his shoulder, beginning to lick the poultice into the wound. Too late, she warned him, “This will sting.”

Heaven won't let me in, I don't know why

No one's ever loved half as much as I