Hiding a massive pile of flowers turned out to be way, way harder than Flickerpaw anticipated. She didn't want to simply
dump blossoms in everybody's nests; the tiny apprentice had
vision, artistic passion, a desire to dazzle and inspire, and thus poured copious heart and forethought into each bouquet that they wanted to craft. Fawnpaw's den had been a success (at least in Flicker's mind), so that same level of dedication had to extend to
all the beds that the onyx-and-rust apprentice planned to hit. Flowers had to be chosen based on their color, texture, petal count, scent. The gathered blooms had to
make sense, had to exude a certain message to whomever found them, which meant at least a solid hour of furtively sorting through stalks behind the barracks where Flickerpaw slept. The flowers that Flicker had foraged with Birdpaw were back there, concealed beneath a light blanket of skinny stacked sticks; a few more half-finished bouquets resided in other secret locations throughout camp, awaiting Flicker's final masterful touch prior to distribution. Here and there petals littered the dirt like old confetti or shed feathers, forgotten by the fluffy kid in their desperation not to get caught. It felt like only a matter of time before somebody stumbled on a suspiciously organized piles of foliage... but what else could Flickerpaw do? Distract anyone who wandered too close to her stashes? Move the unfinished arrangements outside of camp? Why was all of RiverClan CONSTANTLY in their way?!
Exhaustion pushed Flickerpaw to collapse in their nest—utterly worn out from the stress of keeping secrets. She understood even
less now why people acted nice... why bother with acts of kindness when they were THIS tiring? And for what? Flickerpaw didn't expect an award—in fact, if their plan worked out, nobody would ever realize that it was
them behind the flowers—but she had to keep reminding themself that
they were doing good, and that alone should be worth it. The goal was not to engratiate themself within RiverClan, but to attempt to soothe the many leaking wounds that festered within the clan's collective broken heart. All the death that had crept into their territory... the lives unfairly lost... it felt as though every morning Flickerpaw woke up, some fresh grief had cracked RiverClan's tenuous peace, and she was
sick of listening to the sound of sad cats crying. Flowers were their genuine attempt at sewing brightness. A mission that Flickerpaw could carry out in secret, uncomplicated and effective. If she succeeded, RiverClan's renewed happiness would bring back their combined strength.
She did not want to consider what would happen if she failed.
With a half-dead huff, Flickerpaw snuggled deeper into the softness of her bed... only to be met with the poke of a daisy nudging against her muzzle. She sat up and frowned at the offending white petals... and realized, with mounting horror, that she had forgotten to properly hide this bouquet. They had just plopped their worn out body onto a bouquet-in-progress! Out here in the open! Visible to anybody that glanced under her haunches! Cloud-white daisies and pale blue chicory, stems kinked from Flicker unceremoniously flopping on them, petals strewn across the moss she usually slep in, incriminating! OH NO!
Muttering frantically to themself, Flickerpaw attempted to scoop the flowers out of their tangle of moss with their claws—freezing at the sound of somebody calling their name behind them. Flickerpaw gulped. She knew that voice. It was one that she'd missed for more than a moon, haunting her dreams alongside the musical tone of Birdpaw. Her heart clenched in her chest, squeezing treacherous tears into her pale green eyes.
Pull it together. Don't be a loser. "Mistypaw? What is it?"
A heartbeat later, Flicker cursed under her breath.
"Sorry—Stormpaw. I gotta get used to that, huh?" Her back was turned to the other apprentice, surely showing off the nervous lift of their robin's breast hackles. She scrached behind her ear and trilled out a brittle, anxious laugh, hoping her peer did not notice the way she tried to use her teeny frame to shield the delicate flowers almost spilling out of her bed.
"I, uh, didn't see you back there!" (Probably because Flicker had squeezed herself through a miniature opening at the back of the apprentices' barracks, avoiding the main entrance.)
"H-How are you doin? Settling back into being alive okay? It's, um, it's really nice to see you again."
Here Flickerpaw
finally spared a glance over a skinny shoulder, offering Stormpaw a wobbly smile—AFTER scraping the glisten of tears from their gaze, obviously.
"I forgot to tell you how tough you look now at the last clan meeting. Wicked eyeball." Flicker patted her own eye, mirroring the scarred-over one that Stormpaw had lost sight in.
"Remind me to stick by you at the next gathering... nobody will mess with us."
If Flicker failed at putting Stormpaw at ease, that was par for the course. Their social skills were positively
abysmal, and the midnight molly had no idea how to approach a cat that she'd barely been close to. She'd
wanted to befriend Mistypaw, had craved attention and affectionate regard, an alliance if nothing else, and her dreams had haunted her with
what might've been. How many scenes had played out in Flicker's fantasies of her and Mistypaw bonding? Her and Mistypaw being blessed with plenty of moons to get to know each other, learn about one another, grow close? Hunting together? Laughing with Birdpaw, the sun on their fur? How many times had Flickerpaw woken in a cold sweat, heart racing, because she thought that Mistypaw was still around—and her stark absence in the den had struck Flickerpaw silent?
"Almost-friends" was such a strange, awkward place to stand with someone. Flickerpaw didn't know how to cross the bridge spanning between them without making it all fall apart.
Flicker swallowed weakly, glancing away from Stormpaw's face.
"... Birdpaw told you to talk to me, didn't she?"
cradling a dream
ALSO ILY 
)