Count your blessings (BrightxFinch)

[Cloudbat]

Brightnose had been talking to herself lately. It didn't make much sense...or perhaps it made all the sense in the world, for who was there to talk to in this Clan gone illogical? She remembered, vaguely, something from her early life, strange sounds made the Twolegs that they had called "poetree" or something, and it was supposed to be special. "Clean your sin-wounds out with light, never talk back and never fight..." she muttered. It was supposed to rhyme. "Dream safely, StarClan walks here. Unless being awake is the nightmare..." Gah. Why was she doing this? Why should any sane cat try to make sense of this stupidity? Yet she felt it was her duty. Everything had a reason, a beginning and end. The small calico hunched over the daisies, picking their leaves. If they had any elders, the leaves would be good for their aching joints...but they didn't. It wasn't practical to be picking them. So why was she doing it? Perhaps it was the simple repetitive nature of the task that soothed her mind. Perhaps it was their bland scent, their soft white petals that tickled her whiskers as she bent in to nip the leaves off. Perhaps it was the memories they brought back of playing in a huge garden, long ago. Brightnose knew her thoughts were muddled and impractical, but for once, she didn't care. Why bother in this maddened Clan, when there was no herb to cure it? [bg=090806][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

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[Whiskers [Archive]]

Finchpaw shouldn't be out of the den. Not when Brightnose was out too.

But she had been gone awhile. Earlier, with the beaming sun rising steadily, bringing a warmness to the windy day, Brightnose had peeked out and told him that she was going for a walk-- to look for herbs or just to get out, he didn't know. Brightnose had been off her...game (if you could call it that) recently, her expressions so muddled that Finchpaw was having trouble distinguishing her moods or guessing what was on her brain. It unsettled him. Their relationship had been quieter and more awkward ever since Miststar had taken over, and that awkward energy between them had only deepened when she disappeared and Volepelt took over, turning the clan completely upside down.

Finchpaw wished he could fix their relationship. Strange enough, he was fond of her. Fond of her bluntness and how she used to smack his paw away when he did something so entirely wrong. Fond of how she would treat her patients, with methodical care and the utmost concentration. He loved watching her work. He always had. For the longest time he had avoided doing medicine so much that it was really all he ever did. Sort herbs and watch Brightnose.

Things were just so different now. He wasn't a kit, as he had been for so so so many moons. He barely felt like he was an adult even now, though he wore the moons considerably well. But he did feel older. Even if he wasn't an adult quite yet-- in mentality-- he did feel older. Older and a bit more stoic, as his young tumultuous moons had hardened him and made him a little hopeless and pragmatic. And with that change of attitude brought new changes with his medicine cat career. He could recite herbs backwards and forwards. He often treated patients alone now, without as much as a blink of an eye. He walked through the forest and he looked for herbs. His ears barely registered the scampering paws of mice anymore.

His worry for Brightnose grew as the day wore on, and when the medicine cat den finally cleared of patients, he decided to look for her. Hopefully the camp would be okay and there wouldn't be any disasters while he was out. But he needed a break too. Sometimes, the smell of herbs still got to him, if he was breathing too deeply.

So now he was out and tracking down Brightnose was almost a mindless task as he worked beside her for so long that her scent was practically his own. He found her crouched by flowers, picking at them with strange, far away eyes.

Hesitantly, he approached.

"You've been gone a while now," the words tumbled out of his mouth softly and curiously, no thought put into them. He didn't really know what to say, so perhaps it was best to rely on instinct for once, instead of let the gears in his brain work out a strategy to fix his broken mentor.

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[Cloudbat]

Gone, gone. Everything was gone: identity, fantasy, reality. Did Finchpaw care? ...No, impossible. He cared about his Clan and his family. He never cared about her. Why should he? She was only the cold-hearted mentor that had been forced upon him. Everything is gone. Our honor, our pride, our faith. Our sanity, thought the calico. And I have gone with it - since he broke me, since I must learn to feel again. She still wasn't sure if she loved Finchpaw or hated him for that. What would StarClan think, the true StarClan? Would they wish her to save herself, or others? She no longer knew. She looked at him, sad and lost, and whispered back. "Gone, or merely lost? Is FogClan gone? No. It is simply lost, and we must find the way to bring it back and heal it. But how? I do not know. What I do know is that I'm not in my right mind, if I ever was. We need help." She let the words tumble out of her, without any regard as to whether they made sense or not. Help? What help? There were rebels, sure, but they were nowhere near strong enough to defeat Volepelt and his minions. Still, she couldn't get the idea out of her brain. Too long she'd been pondering over fruitless ideas to save her broken Clan, and to mend her own tattered self. You always cared for your herbs more than us, Sunny...go away, you freak... Begone! She said in her mind, trying to banish the ghosts of the past. Yet they were right. Perhaps, if she had been stronger and more emotionally involved with the cats around her, she alone could have shot down Miststar's foolishness. But no, she had let it all happen with only minor protests, and now the whole Clan was infected the illness she had started. Not that logic and philosophy weren't important, but she was beginning to see how strong emotion could be. She picked up a flower, and smiled at it, her mood changing. "Look, Finchpaw. This flower simply exists - it doesn't know anything of chaos or order, emotion or logic. It just lives on the rain and sun and earth, being useful. Is that not the greatest beauty?" Brightnose of FogClan was slowly losing her mind. OOC: D| I'm sorry Whiskers, I originally had a much better post but I lost it. Forgive me.

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[Whiskers [Archive]]

Whoa.

Finchpaw blinked rapidly, as though the sun was bursting before him, or he had something caught between his lashes-- he didn't, unless his utter shock counted. What was wrong with his mentor? Something. Something very, very, very wrong. He had never seen her act so strangely, bent over flowers and picking at them, rendering them useless for healing. He had never heard her say such weird, vague things. Fogclan gone? Bring it back? Her tone was cryptic, and he could tell that though she technically was answering him, she wasn't really speaking to him. It was more like thinking aloud to the world as a way to sift through her own thoughts.

Finchpaw didn't even know if she realized he was here. It was only when she turned fully to him, an empty, sort of wide-eyed smile on her face, did he know that she wasn't completely... "gone." But her comment about the flower didn't really give him much hope.

He was filled with guilt. Had he done this to her? They had not talked since their big fight, since he had snarled at her and insulted her-- disrespected her in every way. And over the moons, she had remained silent, rather introspective, barely even looking at him. Now that Finchpaw was confronted with his mentor's strangeness so directly, he realized that she had been this way for the while. He just hadn't bothered to pay attention.

He felt sick to his stomach, of himself and how he could get so absorbed in his own thoughts that he couldn't even recognize a cat's problems. He had once lectured Brightnose on her lack of empathy when he himself had given her none. It felt like it was too late now-- that he had somehow broken a vital part of Brightnose, and it was not in his power to fix it.

Still. He had to try to fix her. It was the very least he could do.

"It's definitely beautiful," he said kindly, a little quieter than normal, like Brightnose was a kit. He walked toward her and the flower, his eyes falling on its delicate frame. He was reminded of Crowflower and his love of flowers, but in that moment, with Brightnose's comment in the air, he thought of it differently. "But I find it's the greatest tragedy of all, being beautiful, surrounded by this beautiful world and not having the ability to realize it. Ignorance is bliss, but it's empty bliss. You know that, Brightnose," he smiled at his mentor. "It's nothing to envy."

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[Cloudbat]

It was so strange, his kindness. Or was it merely pity? She so wanted to believe it was kindness. But she couldn't, because it made no sense for Finchpaw to be kind to her. No. He was only pitying her little delusions, her escapes from the reality that it would kill her to feel, but that it would kill her to ignore. Truth and lies, thought the medicine cat. Truth and lies. Both are so intertwined that sometimes they even become one another, like those few moments between day and night. She had lived her life by truth, but she had lied to herself that she could understand all truths. Yet lies here were so believed as truth that perhaps they even became them. It was truth that she was insane - yet it was a lie, because how could she know she was insane if she truly was? "What a beautiful world, when lies and truth can become one another, when it is so hard to tell the difference that we don't even know if we ourselves are liars. Ignorance is never bliss, but is it always pain? Knowing pain...wouldn't we wish to be ignorant of that sometimes? I do...I was ignorant, until you woke me. I was dreaming so deeply, I didn't want to wake up." She murmured all of this, half to herself, half to him. "What a beautiful world, when there is such pain in not suffering yourself, but unable to help the suffering of others. Yet you do not even know if you want to help them, if it matters to you at all. Still, you cannot stand seeing such illogical things. When you know not whether you hate or love, or even if you can. When you don't know if you can trust someone, even if you want to, because you fear, because they made you fear everything again. When all you want to do is die, because you feel so broken, so fallen from your glory that you can't live with yourself anymore. What a beautiful world." As if nature heard the FogClanner's words, and decided to be dramatic, a single gray feather spiraled down to rest in front of the fallen angel. [bg=090806][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Finchpaw had no idea what to say. He stared at his mentor, shocked, unable to find his words or remember how to use his tongue at all. She was babbling incoherently, her words materializing from a place deep within her or else a place so foreign to Finchpaw that he could not understand. He felt his sinking desperation again as he recognized that this was his work. He had definitely contributed to this strange behavior from Brightnose, even if he was not the source of it.

Still, wherever her words were coming from, they still struck hard. Liars. Truths. These were things that reminded Finchpaw of his own lies. Once again, he was forced to stare at himself and realize that his truth was that he was a liar. Strange how Brightnose's nonsense could still illuminate and make him feel truly awful about everything he was.

Why couldn't he just escape from it all?

That's what he really wanted to do. If Finchpaw could, he would run away from Brightnose and never look back, never bother himself with her madness or her entire existence. He wouldn't have to worry about how to help her then. He wouldn't have to worry about what to say. He'd do the same with everyone else in his entire life. He'd run away from Rowanheart so he wouldn't have to keep pleasing him, he'd run away from Firestorm so he wouldn't have to keep disappointing him, he'd run away from Frostpaw so--

So he wouldn't have to feel... this way. So confused.

He'd run away as selfishly as he could. He'd hide under some rock or in some abandoned rabbit's den. He would close his eyes and sleep and avoid everything and be not quite happy, but... content. Safe.

But his feet would not budge. That's right, Finchpaw thought bitterly. Not only was he a liar, he was a coward. He didn't have the courage to run away or to tell the truth. So he was just stuck.

"Brightnose...are-- are you okay?" and though he did not know why, Finchpaw's voice came out as a whisper.

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[Cloudbat]

Okay. Fallen angel- Okay. -broken wings Okay. Righteous burn, Okay. Sinners sing. "No." She whispered back, truly focusing on him for the first time with her haunted hazel eyes. "No. But no one has ever asked me before. 'Sunny, are you okay?' Not my parents. 'Hey, Sunshine, are you okay?' Not my mentor. Not even my sister. But you did. When by all rights, you should hate me. Of anyone, you have the least reason to say it. But you did. Oh, you did. And for that, I give you a gift I've given no one else in so many moons." Brightnose, leaning forward, licked her apprentice lightly on his head, then withdrew. Perhaps it would meant nothing to him. Perhaps he would simply feel awkward and confused. But if he would accept it...let him. The only cat she had ever, truly, felt anything of meaning for. Disdain. Irritation. Confusion. Heartbreak. Insanity. Respect. Admiration. Tenderness. Yes, Brightnose thought, at least, I hope, I have given him the slightest feeling of tenderness. My wings may be broken - but let me pray my heart is not, yet. "And now let me ask you a question to which I know the answer, Finchpaw - are you okay?" [bg=090806][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]

[Whiskers [Archive]]

Finchpaw's eyes widened and his words caught in his throat, words that had been swelling for too long-- for many, many moons now, since his kit-days when he looked up at his father and found he could not speak his mind for fear of retribution. Now, these words were in his throat again, scratching at his vocal cords as they yearned to break free. They scratched harder and harder as Brightnose and her weary eyes took a step toward him.

For a moment, Finchpaw felt fearful, his ears pressing back into his head, his paw lifting as though to run. But Brightnose reached him before he could let the fear control him. And though Finchpaw knew that his fear was uncalled for, that Brightnose would never hurt him physically, the feeling still hammered inside of him as Brightnose licked his forehead lightly-- a simple, unimportant touch. It was a simple, unimportant touch. It was something that a mother would give her kit...but then Finchpaw had never had a mother. It was a simple, unimportant touch, but it resonated in his body tenfold.

Who knew that such a thing was all it would take? Who knew it would be so simple, so unimportant, as tenderness? For all their moons of petty squabbling and intellectual warfare, with Brightnose pushing for Finchpaw's secrets and Finchpaw pushing her away, to think that all along their weakness was this-- empathy. The gift of a true medicine cat.

These thoughts blossomed inside Finchpaw like a poisonous flower and threatened to choke him completely. Finchpaw let his head drop, and his whole form hunched over, his tail curling around him as though to protect him from this feeling of vulnerability. All he wanted to do was go to Brightnose and bury his nose in her chest, breathe her in and whimper like he was a tiny kit again, a tiny kit with eyes too big for the simpleness of the stars.

So he did.

Acting on instinct, Finchpaw let out a shaky sigh and buried himself against Brightnose; he was certain she could feel his trembling, but he no longer cared. She smelled like the medicine den, sweet and earthy, and just this scent was enough to soothe him, just enough to tell him that it was okay. He could let out his secrets now. He wasn't alone.

"No. No, I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all," Finchpaw whimpered. "Brightnose...I...I don't believe, Brightnose. I don't believe."

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[Cloudbat]

At first, her instinct was to back away, hide, from this nonsensical thing called affection. It was not right, it made no sense, it was - good. Yes. Surprisingly, it was good. And yet, and yet it does make sense, she mused to herself. All cats have spiritual, earthly, and emotional needs. I may be...different...but like it or not I have those same needs. I must...adapt. Not ignore them, not embrace them necessarily. But adapt. So she let Finchpaw take comfort in her, and turned her attention to him. Ah, my burdened apprentice. A father who only saw an ideal. A brother who - I suspect - only saw a traitor. A mother who is gone. He has no one but Frostpaw. No. He has me, too. She felt dazed by the realization; she had never been needed by anyone before, not really, though she had considered herself indispensable. Yes, her skills were important. She should take pride in them. But she must also cultivate others. After all, the calico smiled to herself, emotions are mysteries to be solved too. So she bent over him slightly, letting his lanky body press into hers, her ears pricked as he finally spoke. At first, she was surprised. Then she wondered why. Somehow, it had just always been a given that Finchpaw believed - she'd never asked, never really quizzed him on StarClan, believing he just knew what to do. That had been a mistake. Not that she should have interrogated him like Rowanheart - but she should have been more attentive. Even if it barely mattered now. "I...I see. Well, it does make a certain sense. I should have guessed by how you and Frostpaw are; how could she ever let you get close to her if you were a clone of your father in that respect? I feel...I feel as if I have neglected your education, however. Personally, I have never felt that belief in StarClan is as important as how we use herbs - noteworthy, but not overly important. I suppose...I suppose it doesn't really matter now, anyway. It's obvious even to me that StarClan isn't going to help us; at least, not until we help ourselves." For surprising as it was, Brightnose still retained a small measure of faith: Not a lot. Just a little. Most of it was blame. But there was a faint hope that perhaps the true StarClan - for obviously, there must be some who were not so pure who had helped Miststar gain power - might triumph if they worked their will on earth. [bg=090806][atrb=width,469,true] [atrb=border,0,true]