Quote:
Originally Posted by Silver Fishie
Ringpaw lifted her head up from what she was doing, and looked on in interest as he dissected the leaf. When he spat it back out, it landed in front of his paws with a quiet splat, and she widened her eyes as she watched. She jotted down the parts of the leaf.
“If it’s the juice that helps, why can’t you just store the juice? It might be hard to keep it fresh, but it certainly might be easier than having to dry all of the leaves.” She meowed in curiousity. She couldn’t imagine what he would do exactly to keep the poultice fresh, but Shinefang knew more about it than her. He would know.
”How can you help with shock? And what’s thyme for? It has to have a use, right?” She asked, her flow of questions coming out easily with a cheery lift to them.
She listened to Shinefang go on. “Some day I bet I’ll have as many scars as you. I already look like a warrior!” She meowed proudly, puffing out her tan splotched chest. She then smiled bashfully. “Not really. Snapbranch says I look more like a seagull pretending to be a badger.” She then reached down again to strip a few more leaves from the stem, so that she would be allowed to stay longer. From her experience, if she wasn’t doing anything, she would be sent to do chores or go to her nest. If she was being productive, she was normally allowed to stay or get fresh kill. Quickly pawing the other leaves together, she returned to chatting with Shinefang.
She remembered when she could talk with Snowbranch about anything. The white molly had sort of been her adoptive mother, but since she was already off milk she didn’t get a Queen to be her mother or any new siblings. Snowbranch had been the first cat to not care if she was a Loner or whatever, and Ringpaw had no idea why the cream molly had so quickly abandoned her. Maybe she realized hanging out with a kit wasn’t what it was cracked up to be.
Ringpaw for a second thought about her last conversation with Snowbranch.
They had been staying up late, later than a kit should be up, gazing up at Silverpelt. The moon had been crisp in the starry sky, the most prominent thing she remembered.
Snowbranch had then sent Ringkit off to the nursery, murmuring good night wishes and little tiny things of good luck, as her apprentice ceremony was going to be soon. Ringpaw had been so happy as Ringkit, but the next day Ringpaw was born.
Snapbranch was much grumpier than Snowbranch, but she was used to it.
Ringpaw missed Snowbranch.
“What we're learning?” She asked, mostly to herself. Maybe it was just her imagination; Shinefang’s voice sounded a bit kinder. “Mainly fighting techniques. I’m okay at hunting, but battle training is out there for me.” She meowed, gesturing with her right paw just where her knowledge was in that focus. She pointed out the door, to show it was just gone. “I’m apparently frustrating to work with; and so bad that Snapbranch took me out to the farthest reaches of Skyclan’s territory so no one would see his no-brained apprentice.” She smiled and turned back to the plants. |
Shinefang listed his head and looked at the apprentice, the brow above his missing eye raised in an affronted, questioning manner before he realized the shecat was actually serious. "Do you have any idea how much of that juice would be lost in the process? Or how much time that would take? Why spend time doing something that nature has already done for you better than you can?" He pointed to a leaf, drying in the warm sun beam. "Here it's already contained. Don't work harder than you have to kit."
He went back to work, not looking up as he fielded more of Ringpaw's questions. "Yup, that's exactly what it's for," he remarked simply. He snorted at the apprentices excitement about his scars, "I doubt it, kit." The truth was, most cats Shinefang's age retired long before he did and didn't have the chance to earn all these scars. The rest of them didn't have the chance either because they died while they were still young. At the statement about her mentor, the old tom looked up and at the shecat, "Snappea sounds like he's terrible at insults." He kept listening as the apprentice explained her trouble with battle moves and her mentor while the old tom hung on each word, his jaw tightening in frustration. At last, he bit the last leave off the thyme stalk and took the rest of the thyme, packing it loosely into the lowest shelf. The old tom yawned as he stretched out his legs and yawned deeply before padding toward the den entrance. "Leave that stalk you're working on and come with me," he ordered. "Any cat can learn to fight. I'm going to show you how."