When your heart has expired [FinchxFrost]

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Finchpaw just felt numb today. Wandering through Fogclan territory, on the same paths his paws had traveled before, the same worn-out ground with the same plants on the fringe of the forest's petticoat. He was doing the same thing he always did-- hunting. For herbs, though, not for rabbits or voles or mice. It had been a long time since he had even tried that, indulged in that dream. And to be fair, that dream had faded in intensity as his worries had grown, taking up all the space in his head and heart. Fogclan was a mess and it was just no place for dreams. Not right now.

Everything was just becoming too routine. His earlier moons had sizzled with anger and frustration. But he was giving in now, he recognized that. That wasn't really what made him...bored, persay. Medicine was actually growing more interesting as he gave it the time of day and it really did help that he knew what he was doing. It was more the fact that he still had all his lies, and his lies had him with his mouth shut and his head down, as Volepelt stomped all over Fogclan.

If only he was allowed to do his job! If only Volepelt let him heal those that he hurt. Then he'd feel better. Stronger, almost. But since he couldn't heal, his newfound appreciation for medicine didn't even matter-- he didn't matter. He was worthless.

But not for long.

Crowflower was on his side. As soon as they arranged a safe place to set up their new den, Finchpaw would craft his own purpose and help those who needed him. He never thought he'd get to the point when he felt the need to heal, but he was there. And he was going to do something about it.

But for now, he had to go through the motions. He had to walk these same paths and pick the same herbs, which would end up drying out for lack of use. What a pitiful waste of medicine, of his time. But he had to do it.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw was awoken by somecat wandering close to where she was sleeping. She yawned, yearning to stretch her limbs but fearing that doing so might send her plummeting towards the ground. Instead, she blinked, attempting to shrug back the tiredness that never seemed to fade these days, shaking her head when her eyes did not clear. Luckily, her eyes did soon clear, and she peered down at the ground from the high branch she was poised on, attempting to see the cat who had wandered so ignorantly past her hiding place.

These days, Frostpaw didn't get any rest. She might not play the council members games, hunting or patrolling when they told her to, but that didn't mean she was able sleep whenever she wanted. No, the Council members were very fond of driving her to the point of exhaustion, telling her she had to stay up and 'guard camp' and waking her up with a scratch for idolness if they found her napping. During the night, sometimes. Even a mousebrain would guess that this was done to break her moral, attempting to make sure she had no energy to rebel. So she'd begun to powernap up trees. Sure, the quality of sleep was dreadful - she was always paranoid that she would fall - but at least it gave her enough strength to stand again those starry lunatics.

She strained her neck to see below her but, just because it'd be too easy to be able to see them from here, she couldn't. She growled grumpily. There were only two options now: Ignore the cat and hope she wasn't spotted, or climb (fall) back down the tree to find out who it was, knowing it could easily be a council cat or a follower. Likelihood was, since she only had 2 real supporters in the clan, it would be someone she didn't want to see and she'd be questioned about her sudden love of climbing trees. And then clawed.

Frostpaw yawned. Well, if they asked her, she'd been fishing for birds. With her eyes shut.

Getting up, she immediately began to make her way down the tree, clawing onto the trunk and awkwardly moving down. She fell the last few feet and winced. However, she remained silent, creeping after the cat who had moved past.

Frostpaw smirked as she saw the white-and-ginger pelt of a cat she knew rather well. It seemed that her luck had held today (about time, she hadn't had any shred of luck for the past 2 moons), and she wasn't about to get her ears bitten off. In fact, the prospect of talking to Finchpaw without restraint... it was enough to bring up her spirits. Considerably.

Purring, she briefly considered playfully sneaking up on the tom, just like she used to in the days before Mistpelt left. However, she decided against it, noting quickly that she was upwind and he'd catch her scent soon and that she was too tired and in pain to fling her body about unless she had to. No matter! Finchpaw probably wouldn't have appreciated it anyway.

She smiled, wandering towards the tom. Emerging in a completely uneventful way, she bounced towards Finchpaw. Her mouth was curved in a smile which, though subtle and easy to miss, reached her eyes effortlessly.

"Well, Finchpaw. What're you doing here? Don't you know that you should be in your den every hour of the day, looking at the wounds you can't heal and organising herbs over and over again?" Her voice was cold, but filled with false annoyance, "Silly tom. Repent now or Starclan will hate you for ever and ever, and we'll have to pretend you're a very naughty medicine cat."

She giggled, sitting in front of him. She noted quickly that he was anxious and stressed, and she made herself calm down. "I really ought to pretend you've converted me from my herbless ways so I can visit you more often. Maybe then you wouldn't look so glum!"

[Whiskers [Archive]]

"Frostpaw?!"

The sight of Frostpaw was frankly shocking.

A strange feeling instantly pierced through Finchpaw and froze his paws in place, his eyes betraying his shock at seeing her. He couldn't even stop the feeling for a second and he didn't understand it. It was a mixture of intense relief and horror-- two contradictory emotions that created in him a paradox he could not hope to solve, not for the life of him. It was just-- it was just her. She was...she was ... a mess.

Frostpaw was covered in cuts and scabs, caked blood that grabbed at her white fur like stubborn burrs, and these wounds were numerous and seemingly endless. Finchpaw wanted to pin her down and force the herbs and poultices on her poor body, hush her cries and snarky comments and just-- fix her. He wanted to fix her. He needed to fix her.

Yet despite these wounds, Frostpaw's devilish green eyes shone luminescent in the light of the forest, and her smile had not lost its charm, nor its strength. Her steps did not falter, her whiskers still twitched, her voice was still clear-- and she was, by every definition, medical or not, alive. Alive.

And she was here. Finchpaw didn't know what relieved him more-- her alive-ness or her here-ness, because for Starclan's sake, he needed her like he never needed anyone in his life because this intense surge of feelings (whatever the hell it was) was the most potent emotion he had felt in several weeks, and it brought new vitality to his limbs.

Her jokes were the same old Frostpaw, and for that, Finchpaw breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Nothing could break this damn she-cat's spirit, could it? His heart throbbed at the thought of it broken; such a day, if it came, would truly be the end of Fogclan as he knew it.

" I wish you would, Frostpaw. I really do. If only so you wouldn't get beaten up all the time," his eyes swept her up and down, and Finchpaw barely resisted going to her and breathing her in, nuzzling her neck and licking her wounds. But he did resist because he knew that wouldn't do much good and he hadn't seen her in what felt like moons. To think they were in the same clan!

"You look awful, Frostpaw," he breathed. "You really do."

[Rolo]

Frostpaw was somewhat confused by his reaction. She couldn't quite pinpoint what he was feeling. His words seemed to convey a deep seated concern, making his reaction feel strangely cold while being clinically caring. However, his body language... it was warmth. It was welcoming, beckoning, it reached out to her. She felt as his deceptively still form was buzzing with energy, as if he yearned to be active. It was a strange clash of a reactions and Frostpaw, who was the self-proclaimed queen of words not mistress of emotions, couldn't work it out. Not that she tried very hard. The more overt emotions were enough to deal with.

Finchpaw was concerned about her, that much was obvious. He looked pained. She didnt like it. So, she thought quickly, she'd combat his fears in her own, usual fashion.

"Oh, Finchpaw, don't be silly. If I pretended I was a herb user, they'd still beat me. They'd just get the added pleasure of withholding herbs from me afterwards too." She purred. "Plus, I'm not sure your father would believe that I wasn't constantly sitting in your den because I had become fascinated with flowers. He'd beat me for tainting your den with my very presence, tampering with the healing powers of Starclan."

Frostpaw's words tailed off, and she realised that her tone, originally cheery and bright, had become layered with sarcasm and even showed a hint of bitterness. She shook her head. The exhaustion really had to be getting to her, if her expert tone use had been dulled so badly. Normally, it would have been of no consequence, but now she'd done the exact opposite of looking fine and irrepressible... she'd sounded tired, pained and fed up.

Great way to calm a worried friend.

Well, she reasoned, if Finchpaw was after a friend with social skills, he'd have been better off trying to exchange heartfelt feelings with a rock.

Frostpaw shook her head.

"I'm fine, Finchpaw." She said plainly, "I'm hanging in there. The wounds don't hurt much anymore, I've acclimatized to the pain."

She sighed, looking at the ground, "Besides, I'd rather go through this hurt then let those idiots win. What are my looks and my health when I have my soul and beliefs?"

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Sometimes, Finchpaw could not believe Frostpaw. Sometimes, in fact, he wondered if she was really all there in the head-- that perhaps his father had been somewhat right when he called her a raving lunatic. These thoughts came very quickly and left almost immediately, but they were coming more and more often as Finchpaw watched Frostpaw practically give herself over to the enemy. And for what? Her pride? The sake of her own stupid pride?

It made him so-- he wanted to-- he wanted to yell at her. He wanted to shake her around or sit her down and chastise the fur off her back out of sheer frustration. Didn't she realize how vital she was? Didn't she understand that if she died, Fogclan would lose its most powerful warrior?

Yes. Warrior. She was. She might be an apprentice by name, and perhaps her skills were not the sharpest, but she was the bravest cat here, with the tenacity of a true warrior, the kind he had once upon a time dreamed of becoming. Her spirit, if harnessed correctly, and her tongue, so smooth and smart as it was, could probably save Fogclan. But not if she died first.

Fogclan didn't need a martyr. It needed a hero. It needed her in one piece. And Finchpaw wouldn't be so blasted angry at her for standing up for herself if she just let herself be treated afterward! He would do it himself! He would dress her wounds and make her strong again so she could keep taking what Volepelt and the rest of the stupid Starclan-obsessed kept dealing her. But her stubborn refusal meant that everybody lost. She lost, the clan lost, and he-- he lost. He had to sit and watch as she bled, knowing full well that he had the ability to heal her.

He was so angry. It came upon him suddenly, a wave of absolute rage and frustration, that had probably been brewing for a while now, underneath the sympathy and pity and admiration and yes, love, that he held for Frostpaw, that he kept deep inside so his father would not see it stirring on his features every time she walked past. But now it was exploding out of him and Frostpaw was the one who would receive the blow.

"Your health is everything," his voice was trembling. She would find him ridiculous, he knew she would, but he cared too much for her to let her keep on with this. "What good are you going to be to any rebel cause-- to any hope of overthrowing this horrible, nonsensical reign of terror-- if you're dead?"

He took a step forward, his tail lashing behind him as he hissed. "You're being selfish, Frostpaw. Don't you see the good you can do if you just-- if you were logical for once instead of so stupidly proud-- if you accepted help? If you let me heal you--you could-- you could fix everything."

[Rolo]

Frostpaw was surprised by the tom's sudden explosion. She was taken aback for a moment, although she reacted physically in no way other than blinking, and she stared at the tom. Her mind tried vainly to process the fact that this was Finchpaw, the laid-back and nonconfrontational tom who usually lacked firm opinions on things. It didn't seem possible, but she'd always known it would occur some day... she'd just hoped that the fury would land on his father instead.

And yet, despite the numbness and confusion, her initial reaction was tinged with what she could only describe as sorrow. It was a soft sadness, it barely managed to tinge her reaction... but it did strike her consciousness. She was sad he was angry with her... sad he was angry with her when she wanted to do nothing more than relax and bask in the warm glow of having him about.

Why was Finchpaw always so unsupportive of the one principle she held so close to her heart? She nearly sighed. Why was it that not one cat in this damn clan could accept her exactly how she was, without questioning what she held dear? Well... all apart from Otterclaw, who understood her actions in this rebellion better than Finchpaw could.

But then, the misery faded and it was replaced with a quick, sharp flash of anger. The fury bubbled up from somewhere deep inside her, and filled her green eyes with a look of great hostility.

"I am not selfish!" She snarled ferally, "Don't you dare ever accuse me of that."

All the pain she had gone through, all the stress, all the fury she had kept bottled up inside for his benefit exploded inside her. Tired and sick of explaining herself, Frostpaw finally cracked.

Stepping forward in a threatening manner, just as he had done, and pushed herself into his personal space, "I give my life for the rebels of this clan. I have dedicated myself to that. I give my body, my will and my everything for the sake of getting my view across and fighting for their benefit. I gave away all my damn pride in the process. And I do a damn lot more than anyone else, including you, for this damn clan. And I do it without any obligation. I don't have to do anything. In fact, its stupid that I am at all. I should have left this clan, and all these lunatics and rebels who question my every action, long ago. I don't have to fix anything. I've never had to do anything, Finchpaw. I am not some 'chosen one', with infinite power and wisdom, sent to save this clan from mousebrained idiocy. I'm just a cat, playing a part she's chosen and gaining nothing for herself in the process. Good earth, do you think I like bleeding every freaking day?"

Her fur was practically standing up on end, her tail lashing. Her voice had long lost the control she usually had over it, becoming a vile hiss. And she couldn't give a damn.

"So don't you dare accuse me of selfishness, you silly passive apprentice. I am far from that, and you know it. Save the fury for cats who actually deserve it. Like the council members and your damn father who wound, hurt and isolate their comrades every damn second of the day."

When she was finished, she was out of breath. The tensing of her body had caused some of the larger wounds across her body to reopen, and she hissed at the stinging that suddenly consumed her thoughts. Without looking at Finchpaw again, she dashed a little way away from him and lay down to lick her wounds. This she did for several minutes, without acknowledging Finchpaw's presence.

As she tended to them, her fury loosened its hold on her mind and she felt a sad emptiness begin to set in.

"And you know what, Finchpaw, no one here gives a mousetail about me anyway. For Earth's sake, I could die and they wouldn't even care. And it really wouldn't matter if I did. Even Brightnose thought I was a souless 'painbringer' with no sense of sympathy until recently, you know. If I don't even have the respect of those I'm fighting for, what's the point?"

Her head dipped onto her paws and she closed her eyes. She exhaled.

And what's more, she'd probably hurt one of her two friends in this world by insulting them now. For all his ignorance sometimes, Finchpaw wanted to help her, that much was clear. He didn't like seeing her in pain.

And a tiny part of his rant had resonated. 'If you were only logical'. 'If only you were logical'. It swum around in her head. She was being logical by her standards, she felt that she should not prolong life by using herbs, as once it was her time to die, it was her time to die. However, by Finchpaw's, and from a rebel cause point of view, she was not. She was doing the exact same thing as all the mousebrained kits in this clan, remaining rigid in her principles without considering the situation.

She groaned. She wanted to sleep. She didn't want those damn herbs anyway. Right now, it felt like the sooner she faded from this earth, and didn't have to keep fighting for every damn thought she had, the better.

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Finchpaw knew immediately when the words had left his mouth, inspired as they were with brash feelings, and neither edited nor suppressed by his usual cautious brain, that he would come to regret them. Of course he would. He knew Frostpaw better than many (even if she herself thought that he didn't; maybe it was arrogant to think differently, but then arrogant he was), and he knew that no matter what he said, when it came to herbs, she would be resistant. It infuriated him. It made him so angry that he could spit. He wanted to bang his head repeatedly against a tree. The more involved he became with medicine, after all--the more he realized the good he could do--the more he saw Frostpaw's position on it as nonsensical and built only from her pride. But he had never attempted to argue it, not really, until now, when her belief was endangering her very health.

Still, his words were biting and misplaced. This was not the time to react with anger. This was not the time to admonish Frostpaw when all she ever got were admonishments. True, he could not and would not treat her like a kit. He would always speak his mind. But there was a much more intelligent way to do so, a way that would not come across so hostile and would not garner hostility in return. And he, being stupid, being emotional, being so sick and tired of his life, being so...so...affected by Frostpaw's appearance, had gone and practically begged for the hostility that she so generously gave him.

Finchpaw's mind jumped back moons. He remembered the first time that he met and talked to Frostpaw, the way she had mocked him then--only a little, and mostly in good humour. Then, her comments had felt like little burrs and he had easily removed them. Her words had been dangerous, but he had been strong enough to battle against them with his own. Now, something had changed. He felt real hurt, real offense, when Frostpaw sneered at him for being a "silly passive apprentice." Those words burned at his skin, sinking deep to eat away at his insecurities that plagued him every single day of his life. He knew them to be true, he always had known this, but coming from the lips of Frostpaw, the one cat he admired above all...it truly made him feel ashamed and hurt and damn near speechless. Because really--he had no right. He had no where near the right to scold Frostpaw on her methods of rebelling when he barely did a thing for the cause and was too scared to open his own snout. But--but still! He wanted to cry out at her like a kitten, protest even now. Couldn't she see that she couldn't die? She just couldn't! Her life was the most important thing to so many cats and the fact that she didn't recognize that--that she thought herself worthless with no friends...

For it was that comment that really hurt. It made Finchpaw, ever so empathetic, lose all his anger toward this she-cat that was curled up before him. She truly did not recognize her own importance to others. Frostpaw really didn't see how the rebels looked at her. How...how...he looked at her.

His eyes softened toward Frostpaw.

And then his life changed.

Finchpaw looked at Frostpaw and his life changed: He was in love with her.

The epiphany was clear and bold and bright and in front of his eyes the entire time. It did not hit him like he had imagined being in love would feel. It was simply...inside of him. It was him. His ever-present admiration of this brave, bold she-cat who talked with a tongue of steel had always been growing toward this point, becoming stronger the more that Finchpaw watched her from the distance. It was impossible to ignore now, and really, it was no surprise. Finchpaw was in love with her for everything that he was not and everything that he could be because of her. She was the courage he lacked, the strength he yearned for, the cleverness he hid from most, and if given the chance to simply be with her--every day, every second--he could become all those things. He could. And her faults, even those, he adored. How had he not realized this until now? Her stubborness and pride, her cruelty (because she could be cruel at times), even her ignorance of the impact she made on the clan. He adored it all, even as it infuriated him.

And it took all of Finchpaw's strength to ignore the overwhelming urge not to tell her in that moment, to go to her and tell her that he loved her with a ferocity foreign to him, the "silly passive apprentice" that she would never take seriously. It took all his strength not to tell her that he would work the rest of his meaningless existence to make sure she felt loved, not hated, appreciated, instead of disrespected. He couldn't say those things, probably not ever.

Dear Starclan, he just wished for her happiness. That's all he really wanted. He wanted to heal her so she could smile. It was strange--now that he realized he was completely, foolishly, in love with Frostpaw, he suddenly knew with the same certainty that he wanted to heal and help others. If only, at least, to help her.

Finchpaw swallowed, burying all these words and, for the moment, silencing these feelings that coursed through him. He would have to say something of course. What, he did not know. He figured that for once he would just begin talking, and he would know what he wanted to say when he had finished saying it.

Slowly and hesitantly, like he was approaching a trap, he approached Frostpaw and lay beside her, not close enough to touch.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--I know that you aren't selfish, of course not. But you're so completely, mindboggingly wrong about one thing," he said, turning his gaze to hers, eyes wide with his sincerity. "So many cats care. So many cats...need you here. I can't explain it. You...you probably can't see it yourself because you're you but...you walk through camp and you're a symbol of hope. Not only that, but freedom. Even those who don't necessarily agree with you--they look at you with fear because of the way you retain that--that independence--even in this time of complete oppression of thought and feeling. Cats need to see that. Cats need you. And so if you...if you died, then any hope of freedom dies with you."

His eyes flicked away again as he took a breath, his mind racing with so many thoughts, unsure of how to convince Frostpaw of her importance to the clan, how necessary it was to stay alive. "I look at you and I feel stronger than I am. You're the reason I even attempt to rebel as much as I do--ironically, the reason why I want to heal others and the reason I recognize that as both a gift and a burden. Which is why I got so angry. I can't...can't stand not helping you, not healing you because I know I can, I know I can help keep you alive, I know I can make it less painful and less lonely for you but--but yet, I can't. I know you have your beliefs. I always try to respect those, but I will never like them, not when I see how much it hurts you and not when I know I can help stop that hurt. I care about you, Frostpaw. I really do. More than--" he stopped for a breath, his ears twitching as he edited his speech, "--more than anything, I want you to know that. If that means anything to you, if it helps...I don't know. You just can't give up. You just...can't die. Fogclan will truly fall if you do."

[/size]

[Rolo]

Frostpaw was so lost in her own thoughts that she barely noticed the apprentice approaching until he was laying beside her. Without meaning to, her eyes automatically looked up to see his eyes. They'd softened.

She looked away again.

'I'm sorry'. He said. Well, that was a nice start. He should be sorry. Frostpaw felt her sadness lightening sadly.

And then he said that. 'You're so completely, mindbogglingly wrong about one thing'.

Frostpaw nearly moaned. An intense pain consumed her chest. It was about herbs again, wasn't it? She was going to be told she needed to take herbs. She would have been angry with Frostpaw if she'd had the strength, but she was so intensely tired and in so much mental and physical pain, her heart said 'damn it all'. Let him smother herbs all over my body and I can reek of plants. Just shut up. Just let me, let me-

'So many cats care.'

What?

Frostpaw blinked and tried to focus on the stream of information that followed. She listened as he told her that she was far more important to the clan than she had suspected. She was a 'symbol of hope'? Her silly, broken body and rotten attitude was a symbol of hope? It was almost beyond comprehension, and she nearly outright turned round and accused him of lying. Part of her... part of her wanted so much to believe it, to allow this idea into her head and to get up and laugh. But the other half of her, the realistic, cynical and overwhelmingly right part of her told her that these were just sweet sweet words. Words she wanted to hear. Frostpaw knew Finchpaw wasn't an idiot, and that he was more than intelligent enough utter an effective set of phrases to mend her shattered mind, in the same way that he applied poultice to a physical wound. These words... they were healing words, and nothing more.

However, as he continued, his voice unwavering, she found it harder not to take comfort in the words. Not to... be lulled by them, not to let them numb her pain. Had... had Finchpaw really acknowledged his own reason for constantly chastising her about her lack of herb use? She felt lightheaded. He'd acknowledged her opinion... maybe not accepting it but... he'd also said he cared about her. 'More than anything'? She didn't understand. She really didn't. What did that mean? Why did he? Why did he even bother with her? She just didn't comprehend any of this.

And then he uttered the last sentence, and it all made sense.

'Fogclan will truly fail if you do.'

It all made sense now. She acknowledged the reason for his words with a feeling of great relief, the confusion receding.

Finchpaw cared about her and the clan rebels cared about her because she was an important pawn in the rebellion. In opposition to what Brightnose had led her to believe, she was of importance to the clan and was a strong positive influence on the rebels. As Finchpaw had said, she gave him the strength to continue and reach for his potential, just as she had for Brightnose but a few days ago. With her dead, the clan, the rebellion and the future would be in severe danger. If she gave up, the rebellion might crumble and the oppression would become suffocating. As Finchpaw had suggested, the prospect of freedom would die with her.

Frostpaw tried to understand this idea. She tried to open her heart to the happiness the fact would cause her. She was making a difference. Cats were respecting her for the first time in her life. She was succeeding in everything she'd ever wanted...

But she felt emptier than before.

"I know I'm needed, Finchpaw." she mumbled weakly, "I know. And I've tried so hard for everyone and... and I'm so glad I've achieved something in this damned pointless clan. I... I always hoped I might do that... that I might help you and others to see that other path I always talk about. And I'm hap- I know it matters that I do this. But, Finch."

She dipped her head and closed her eyes, exhaling.

"I can't do it anymore. It's all so... so empty. I'm not a saint, Finchpaw. I might have thought I was but I'm not. I can't just... keep going without getting anything in return. I get so hurt and... and what is proving someone wrong worth? Nothing. I can't do it anymore. I need something else... I need..."

Frostpaw paused. Completely frozen. What did she need? She was sat here complaining, and she had absolutely no idea what she wanted. Despite herself, she chuckled weakly.

"I don't even know what I need."

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Finchpaw listened to his friend with a sinking heart, his whole body feeling heavier than before somehow. Once again, merely watching Frostpaw was changing him. Did she know that she had that effect on him? That by merely being near his mood would shift, his steps would change? Usually he was comforted by her nearness, her constant aroundness; he would know, then, that he was not alone in his so-called home. But now, her desperation and her hopelessness were making him feel similarly desperate and hopeless. Desperate to heal her and draw that smile and that strength back into her tired body. Hopeless that he did not have the ability to. Finchpaw, after all, had no idea what he meant to Frostpaw, if the words he said would really ever take root, let alone blossom. She may just think him to be a troubling thorn in her pad, often annoying her with his pleas for advice on how to deal with his petty issues. But still, Finchpaw would try. He would always try. His nature as a pleaser and a healer meant that he could not be happy if those around him were in such unbearable pain.

But where to begin and what to say? He did not know what Frostpaw needed, only wished that she needed him. It was a selfish wish born from his love for her, and it was the kind of wish that would keep him up at night from now on. He would be there for Frostpaw if she wanted him, if she needed him. She could say the world and he would appear to her. But this was a kittish hope, a self-indulgent thing worthless to Frostpaw, only living in Finchpaw's imagination. She did not need him. She needed no one. She was Frostpaw. She had gotten through this life with no one by her side, with no parents to speak of, with barely a friend to make her laugh or keep her company or a sibling to offer her an ear. Finchpaw had seen her with Otterclaw--perhaps that tom was who she needed.

No, wait, scratch that. Damn that. Finchpaw suddenly did not care if Otterclaw was the 'correct' answer or the smartest solution because that's what Finchpaw wanted to be. So what if he wasn't now? He would make himself the solution. He would find a way to become better and to figure out how to keep Frostpaw strong. He would be by her side.

Finchpaw's claws scratched at the dirt as he stared straight ahead with a look of intense concentration, like the proverbial gears in his head were turning and turning away. He was thinking through her words and trying to feel what she was feeling so he could fix it.

"You don't...need anything, Frostpaw," he murmured to her, turning his head to look at her again. "You just need to stop making it about us. Stop thinking of them, of spiting the Council or earning the love and respect of the clan--or of how you can help me. You can do all these things just be being you. You have to fight for you. That's all you need."

It was strange; as Finchpaw tasted these words in his mouth, meant for Frostpaw, he felt them echo in his ears like they were meant for him too. Pleaser, healer, silly passive apprentice Finchpaw: always making others happy. He fought even now for Frostpaw, but never did he think of himself. He just wasn't worth thinking about. He was just the little broken kit who stared up at the stars and saw only questions. He still thought of himself like that. He didn't know how to stop.

Then this will be for me too, he thought to himself. I'll heal Frostpaw for me.

"I remember, you know. The first time I met you. I think about it a lot actually...how we just stumbled into each other, how I fumbled with my herbs--and we talked for such a long time," Finchpaw smiled. "No one had ever talked to me for so long. And you seemed so alive to me, Frostpaw. You were full of joy, no matter what my father did. And that spark--you have this spark--it grew when he found us, because you just knew you were going to beat him in the end. I don't want to see you lose that. And maybe back then, the spark was so strong because it was all you had, but now you have--for whatever it's worth, you have me too. You have me, Frostpaw, and I'm not going to let anyone change you including myself, and I'm going to help you see that you are going to beat them in the end. With or without my help, you're going to win."

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