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Post by Cloudbat on Oct 18, 2012 5:37:28 GMT -10
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Or perhaps not little, but suppressed. Intelligence, as it were, was only to be used with permission, in carefully set patterns. He honored those patterns - or deluded himself well enough into thinking he did.
Does Brightnose really speak with StarClan?
It had been bothering him. All she seemed to do was drift about and heal the occasional wound. But she never spoke of omens, signs, or prophecies. Anything that would assure him StarClan spoke to those who honored them so much.
I should ask her.
He was but a lowly apprentice, sent to gather herbs, yes. But surely his query would be seen as a wish to be closer to their ancestors? Or was it blasphemy to assume they had answers for him?
Where's Finchpaw, anyway? He should be doing this. Then again...maybe it was an honor, that she had picked him. Birchtail, fool though his mother was, had been right about honor. Honor was of even higher importance than the stars...wasn't it? Or had the stars created honor?
If only he knew.
So many dou - questions. Questions...were not inherently sin, though if he was not careful...
The smell hit his nose like a barrage of rocks.
A PineClanner stood on the other side of the Gathering Place.
He nearly choked.
The incarnation of all he'd been taught to fear and hate.
And it was so big. |
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Post by Pyro on Oct 18, 2012 12:03:48 GMT -10
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Hawkstorm laid in the Gathering Glade idly chewing a couple of pebbles. Or not chewing exactly, so much as rolling them around in her mouth. She liked the way they felt against her tongue: smooth and earthy in taste. The she-cat had no qualms about swallowing them, but she was content for now, just to swish them back and forth. It reminded her of her former home, the swamp. Scents were so powerful there, life so gritty, so about food that a cat couldn't help but get the taste of the environment in their mouth. That's what Pineclan's territory lacked. It was so dry, so....woodland. The scent of pine needles and cedar was well enough...but it was mellow. And the land itself wasn't horrible, but again, there was something...less about it when she compared it to the swamp. There were no hanging mosses, no swaying reeds...no sense of danger with every pawstep...It was tame. The clan itself was by no means a laid-back wussy farm, but the territory...
It was different.
Eating the rocks gave her more of a connection. If she could taste the land then it was really home. If she could love the taste, the smell, the look of it...hmph. She was almost tempted to play Streamclan at its own game, if only to feel water, smell a real marsh again.
Now of course, her clanmates didn't exactly share her feelings. Home was home, whether they had the taste of it or not. And they were picky about what they ate, besides. They could see no sense in swallowing pebbles, or indulging in mint, or eating a fox (though it could feed the lot of them a whole lot better than a single mouse). And this was why she was at the Gathering Glade. Within Pineclan territory there would be the chance that she'd run into one of her fellows and have to answer questions. Here, that problem was nonexist-
Was that a Fogclanner?
The large she-cat stopped mid-chew, head swiveling around so that she could stare at the approaching apprentice. 'Well I'll be damned.' So the Glade wasn't quite so private a place outside of full moons as she'd thought. Hawkstorm spit the pebbles out and rose to her feet. She probably wouldn't get any peace with him around, not if he was one of those preacher types everyone said Fog was full of.
"Are you going to stand there gawking like a newborn babe seein' snow for the first time or are you going to be polite and say hello?"
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Post by Cloudbat on Oct 19, 2012 14:02:34 GMT -10
[bg=131013][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true]He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again and it hung there as he pondered. Rhetoric seemed useless against this warrior, who looked like she could eat him for a snack - and Falconpaw was large for a cat of 10 moons or so.
"Er...Greetings."
Somehow the more formal approach seemed like it would salvage a bit of his dignity. No doubt Miststar or his mentor would tell him to...actually he didn't know what they would tell him to do. Technically, this was neutral territory. Neither of them was trespassing.
The tabby's simple brain seemed to short out and he figured he'd be better off pretending she didn't exist and searching for the herbs he'd come for in the first place. Something called chervil. Brightnose had it said that it was a light green, grew in clumps, and sprouted into three ends from each stalk that had leaves almost like miniature maple ones.
She'd given him a bit to sniff, but unfortunately it had been old and dry and not much of the scent lingered in his nostrils. Which would have been far more helpful. He cast a furtive glance at the big she-cat and wondered how the healers of her Clan worked. How did they even function with no StarClan for guidance, morality, and reassurance?
"How are PineClan medicine cats even medicine cats?"
...he just said that out loud, didn't he.
Brilliant. |
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Post by Pyro on Nov 1, 2012 11:01:43 GMT -10
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"'Greetings yourself, stiff." Yeesh. Had the little punk just walked out of church or somethin'? Why was he actin' all flustered and uptight-like? Hawkstorm mulled over this for a few moments to give the apprentice some time to calm down and gather his thoughts- which seemed to be in disarray from the curious way in which the tom repeatedly opened and closed his mouth. Or maybe he was just in awe. Or shock. Yeah...he was a Fogclanner so it was probably shock. The only thing that awed them if she heard right was Starclan.
Huh. Starclan.
Not God or nothin, but stars...'To each their own, I guess.'.
The Fogclanner didn't seem in much a mood to talk, so Hawkstorm set about gathering herself up to leave, smoothing some ruffled fur, stretching- the latter of which was made a tad difficult by a stiffness that had recently settled into her bones. "Must be getting up there, damn it all." she muttered under her breath. Now, just as she was about to leave a curious thing happened: The Fogclanner attempted to make conversation.
By being a complete and utter ignoramus.
"Huh, mo chagren. Did you just ask me how a medicine cat's a medicine cat?" She gave the tom a queer look, for all the world mystified as to why he'd ask such a question. Obviously Pineclan medicine cats were healers, just like all the other clans' medics. That was the important bit to it as Hawkstorm understood it. Medicine cats practiced medicine. If a cat practiced medicine, then it was a medicine cat. Well. Tolly'd called himself a doctor...but she supposed that the terms 'doctor' and 'medicine cat' were pretty interchangeable. "Fogclan has medicine cats, right?" she questioned. "Well, they're medicine cats because they heal. Same as Pineclan medicine cats. I suppose our medics go about gettin' the job same as your's. If'n their interested, they go for it and train...Probably go about doin' the job about the same..." The large she-cat shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm pretty damn confused as to what exactly you're asking. A medicine cat is a medicine cat. It's pretty self-explanatory."
Then a thought smacked the warrior upside the head. Oh hell no. "Wait a minute, you don't think Crowflower and Ravenheart are liars do you?" Yeah they were both a little on the off side, but they were damn good healers. And damn good cats.
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Post by Cloudbat on Nov 29, 2012 6:48:38 GMT -10
[bg=131013][atrb=width,400,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true]Stiff? What part of 'we're supposed to hate and fight each other on sight' didn't the warrior understand? Of course he was...uncomfortable. But he would admit he would not have dared to attack her even if this were a normal border - good as he might be, this huge she-cat could squash him like an ant.
She muttered...something about "getting up there"? PineClan expressions. Who could understand them.
"Mo...chagren?" The question escaped him like that vole when he had last hunted with Reedfoot. No no no. One did not ask questions. One did not ask questions of warriors, one did not ask questions of cats of other Clans, and one did not EVER ask questions of PineClanners.
He barely listened to her next words, trying to keep his face from showing dismissiveness. Of course that hadn't been what he'd meant. He meant...what did he mean? Well...belief in StarClan, he supposed. How could any medicine cat work without a source of wisdom and guidance? Yet it was...more than that. It was also pure treason to voice even to a sinner.
But he didn't seem to be able to help himself even though he knew it was so very wrong.
"No...I don't think they lie...or I don't know, really...but...what is their..." He looked at his paws. How could he put this into words? How could he dare? This went against so much of his teachings.
"What is their reason for healing, if they don't have a faith?"
There. He'd said it. Dirty, impure words straight from his own wretched mouth. Cats healed because of faith, because StarClan chose them. That was how it was. All PineClan medicine cats WERE liars and pretenders.
Weren't they? |
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