[FinchxFrost] Smiling with anchors on my shoulders

[Whiskers]

Despite the hot, heavy, still air and blinding sun, Finchpaw was relieved to be out of camp and found he could breathe. Every day was a day of walking around eggshells, tiptoeing carefully among the fragile egos that he was surrounded by. One word out of place could mean disaster for him and many others, though it meant instant gratification for Miststar's followers. Which was simply unfair and just...just...ridiculous. What a stupid world Fogclan was turning into, actually. True, Fogclan had never been a perfect place (though his father claimed it was close), but instead of a clan, Finchpaw lived in a cage, with a leash, as if he was one of those canines the two-legs liked to tug about.

His herb-collecting had always been the perfect excuse to get out of camp and now he used it to the fullest. It helped that he was improving immensely on his studies, even since his fight with Firepaw. The thought of it still burned a little, but it was starting to cool off and Finchpaw no longer thought about it as much, nor did he find himself dreaming about it (which wrecked many a night). But growing numb to the memory was just as scary and disturbing as the memory itself. It was insane, how he didn't want to stop hurting, if it meant he ended up not caring about Firepaw anymore.

Firepaw doesn't care about you though. The thought was small and quiet, but made an impact anyway. Finchpaw just plain stopped thinking then. About Firepaw and the clan. He let the heat stifle him and he began to hunt for herbs, something was becoming welcome and relaxing.

However, as he fetched herb after herb for his pile, he managed to find a scent through the herb-haze. Lifting his muzzle to the air, he wondered if-- if it was possible that she was close by or if his nose was lying to him, the heat was causing him to be a little delirious.

He hesitated, but decided that if he called out and no one was there, then he would be the only one aware of his delusions. Which would be just fine.

"Frostpaw? Come out, come out wherever you are..." He grinned, despite his doubt. Because it would be amazing if she was really here.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw smirked as she heard the tom calling out to her, pressing her belly lower into the leaf-litter below her. How more perfect could this situation get? Yes, she'd come out. She'd come out where ever she was.

Her ears twitching, Frostpaw took care to be as silent as possible, holding her. Her eyes fixed on his orange and white figure, she waited until just after Finchpaw gave up hope, his shoulders slumping slightly as he realised she wasn't around... and then sprang.

Emerging from the bushes, she landed squarely on his back before rolling off and springing to her feet, ready for any counter attacks.

"Hello, Finchpaw." She mewed innocently, whiskers twitching in amusement, "If that wasn't playing, I don't know what is."

She smiled, wondering if the tom would get the reference to their former conversation, after so much time apart. She was happy to see him again, having spent her time alone, worried about the happenings in camp.

She chuckled grinning, "Would it kill you to observe things a little more? I've been on your trail since you left camp. Easy enough, you stink of herbs, after all. Yet, despite being upwind most of the journey and stepping on a lot of twigs, you didn't notice me."

She giggled, feeling smug. It had been hilarious watching the tom, oblivious to her presence, darting around for herbs in a world of his own. For the entire journey over here, she had expected him to whip round and see her light-coloured pelt against the trees, spotting her and blowing her cover. Even though at the time she'd been slightly disappointed he was oblivious to her presence (the time it took to get here could have been used catching up), but now she was glad he hadn't spotted her. Pouncing on him as she had had been much more amusing than any conversation they could have had.

"I enjoyed that. It seems I like hunting when my prey is you." She said chirpily.

[Whiskers]

Well, looks like he was crazy after all, which was a bit of a downer. Finchpaw sighed-- then promptly had all the breath knocked out of him by a mysterious force that came from behind. He was knocked into his carefully constructed pile of freshly picked herbs; immediately, they scattered, as he rolled over onto his back with a grunt. His attacker had leaped off as quickly as it had leaped on, so he was left bewildered, a bit dizzy, but nevertheless, free to pick himself off of his feet.

He turned back onto his belly, ears flat against his head until his eyes found his attacker and identified her as none other than the elusive Frostpaw, who wore a dazzling, devilish smile. His entire body relaxed instantaneously. Frostpaw was a much better option that a random, murderous rogue out to get him! In fact, she was probably the best option out there. He had wanted to see her. And lo and behold, here she was, smack dab in front of him. Like the most ironic gift Starclan could give him, if they were real.

He laughed at her comments, and therefore at himself. He had been lost in his own little world of Firepaw and the clan that he hadn't noticed her, eh? How embarrassing...though he could always argue he was just a medicine cat, which meant he was deprived of the tracking lessons given to warrior apprentices, so his oblivion toward her presence was justified. Though there was no way Frostpaw would buy such a terrible excuse.

His amusement transformed at her last comment though, into something he couldn't describe. Bafflement and embarrassment and... a guilty type of pleasure, hearing her describe him as her prey. His ears grew hot and he found he temporarily lost the ability to form words.

When he regained his tongue, it didn't do him much help, since his mind wasn't working. He didn't even know what she meant by that comment-- she was just teasing, just... he shouldn't think about it.

Too late. He was thinking about it.

Yet Finchpaw managed to keep his cool, getting to his feet and smiling. "You're right; I should have known you would stalk, corner and catch me-- my father warns me of it every day. Shame you had to prove him right," Finchpaw joked, padding closer to her, leaving the mess of crushed herbs behind him. "Ah well. Now that you've caught me, what do you plan to do with me?"

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw felt a pang of satisfaction as the tom's hostile face thawed as he looked at her. Seeing his solemn face light up in such a manner was a great treat. For the past few moons, she had watched him in a perpetual state of sorrow, and it had been slightly worrying. No doubt the stress of Mistkit taking over the clan, and his idiotic father becoming one of her elected loons, were taking its toll. It had on her.

As she muttered her last comment, however, she spotted a change in the tom's demeanor. It was nothing she could put her paw on exactly, so to speak, but it puzzled her slightly. He withdrew for a moment, shifting... awkwardly. Then, for some bizarre reason, a strange smile passed over his face. Then he told her something she already knew and asked her a very silly question.

Had he accidentally swallowed some herbs when she'd pounced on him?

"Of course I was going to come and find you, we're supposed to like eachother after all. I think your father should know I'd corrupted you beyond redeemption a while back, so proving him right is nothing new, as much as I hate it. Why are you stating the obvious?" She looked down at the ground, feeling immensely stupid for even replying to his remarks.

"Now you've stopped walking around with your head in the clouds, we're going to have a proper conversation." She mewed flatly, turning to look at him.

It was then that she saw the marks upon his face. Dark red scars were etched upon his features, standing out horribly against his white and orange fur. Frostpaw couldn't help but feel slightly alarmed.

"First matter to discuss, who clawed your face and when?" She managed to keep her tone stable, despite the urge she had to hiss and fuss over him.

She instantly wondered how she hadn't managed to spot them before, although they weren't deep they were... concerning. How long had they been there? Who dare give them to him? Since he was a medicine cat with few enemies, logically the only cats who would have inflicted such wounds would be ones he cared about. Instantly, Frostpaw found herself assuming it was Rowanheart, the spiteful and overzealous one she could imagine would be pushed to such actions if she or Finchpaw ever angered him over their non-belief too much. She couldn't help but tremble at the idea. If Fogclan wasn't bad enough, Rowanheart might have lost his head to the stars.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw blinked, momentarily confused over the rapid change of tone Frostpaw used. One second they were both smiling and joking with each other, the next... the next Finchpaw was wondering what he had said to make Frostpaw so blunt with him. She was always blunt, but usually there was a spark in her eye, something that told him what she was saying was warmhearted. She lacked that spark this time and he felt the annoying itch to ask why, though if it was really just because he had 'stated the obvious' (he had been joking), then he didn't have much of a response.

But it didn't matter. Frostpaw didn't give him time for a response before the conversation was redirected to a place that Finchpaw had been avoiding. At the mention of his wounds, he felt them burn again. They were the mark of his betrayal, of his 'fall from grace' and he could not wait until they finally healed, though he would forever felt the sting of them. But at least this wouldn't happen-- cats asking what happened, wondering who would ever do such a thing to a kind, peaceful medicine cat like himself. So far, he had managed to lie pretty convincingly since, for some reason, he couldn't reveal his brother was behind it. He had a negative, physical reaction when he considered the idea, as if he would be betraying his brother again.

But a lie to Frostpaw would be a lie told weakly. He couldn't look at her and call her his friend (one of his only true friends) if she ended up believing that a rogue had ambushed him and taken his prey on the way back to camp. She'd probably see through it right away. She had the uncanny ability to do that.

So the truth it was, though a lump welled in his throat at the thought. His heart ached with guilt, thinking about how Firepaw would feel, knowing he was telling Frostpaw.

"Oh, right. That," he began pathetically, though such pointless, filler words helped loosen his tongue, which would make telling Frostpaw easier. "Firepaw and I got into a fight...a few days ago. It should be completely healed in no time, what with Brightnose's fussing over it," his attempt at a casual tone came off as awkward. He barely managed to hold Frostpaw's gaze and in the end, lost the battle, staring at the ground.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw had to focus hard when he told her his story in as few words as possible. Even before he uttered them, she noticed a change in his stance. A coldness and numbness came over him, erasing any trace of the happiness she'd seen in him before. It was a facade she knew too well. She had worn it almost every day for many moons mid-kithood. It was an indication of heartache, bitter all-consuming misery and feeling of displacement that the cat was trying to keep hidden.

The desolation quietened her and she had to struggle not to frown or let her worry for him show in her eyes. What could have caused him to display such a thing?

Then he told her. He told her in the way she had spoken a few times as a kit. He sounded lost, as if the entire world had been taken from under his feet.

Frostpaw wasn't one for emotion and she didn't care much about the trivial worries of others, but this effected her. She... understood, almost. Finchpaw had spent his life as she had her kithood, tripping over himself and denying his beliefs simply to please the one he had most. Now he had grown, become his own cat and stopped pandering to these dominating figures' wills, he had learnt the price of becoming himself. He had had the one he loved turn against him, show him physically that he despised him, punishing him for it. She could remember that time. Her mother... she'd never loved her mother, and the feeling was probably mutual, but she'd cared about her. She was her life, the only cat who she had known from birth and so had some kind of special significance. Watching her turn away from her, telling her she was forsaken and no longer any kit of hers, she'd... it broke her. For a bit. Just a moment.

Then she'd just stopped caring. At all.

But seeing this, his pain, so similar to her own, hurt her. Out of all the feelings in the world, pain (for a good reason) was the only one she ever grasped when it came to others. And knowing that Finchpaw was hurt in this way she had once been was horrible. Even if she'd known it would always happen, the moment Finchpaw turned round and said he doubted Starclan existed.

But, just because she understood it, that didn't mean she knew how to react to it. For some moments after he shifted his gaze from hers, she sat gazing at him, at a loss on what she should do. She... she'd never had anyone around her when she'd gone through this, how was she supposed to know what to do?

Still she sat there. Wondering. A whole minute spent, without a word. She couldn't bare it. It was hurting her.

So she got up and, relying entirely on her instincts, pressed herself against the light-coloured tom. She didn't know why she was doing it, or what effect it would have, but she hoped it would do something. Something positive.

"You shouldn't be hanging around in the medicine cat den then, Finchpaw," She mumbled softly, "if Brightnose is so keen on treating you. It won't help anyway, the herbs. Those stinking things don't do anything for pain. You should... just come find me and I'll give you willpower lessons. We'll get you thinking your wounds away."

She tried to ignore the way her voice sounded. So... soft and weird. It felt so wrong to speak in that way, so unlike her. At least her tone had held some of her old humor. She didn't recognise herself right now.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw was lost in his own head. The... the chore of recalling his experience with Firepaw had brought the event to the forefront of his mind. He felt the burning of his wound, the mark of his betrayal. And all he could think of was how he was still betraying his brother now. Here. With Frostpaw. He wanted to be happy to be with her. He wanted to embrace these few, sweet moments of honesty and use the energy that Frostpaw often gave him to...to...replenish the confidence he lost. To find the will to keep on going, just as she did. She had to, he had to, but unlike her, he needed someone to lean on. And now, here, when he had that someone, he couldn't enjoy it because of his stupid loyalty to his brother.

He needed to make a decision. That was the only way Finchpaw would ever be truly happy and free. Right now, he needed to decide if he wanted to try and please his family, follow orders and turn to Starclan. He could give it one more, final go. Maybe this time he would see the proverbial light and his wretched soul would be saved, his purpose found, his family made happy and whole again. He'd have to dedicate himself fully to that, which seemed impossible. Didn't he say he didn't want to lie to himself anymore anyway?

Which left the second option-- to simply...finally give up.

The second option left him with an empty feeling, thinking about it. Finchpaw was never that type of cat. He always gave everything some level of effort, and his recent dedication to learning medicine made all that work and time he put in seem wasted. But if he didn't give up and stop trying to please his family, then he'd be a fraud. And he wouldn't even have patience for himself at that point.

This was a lose-lose situation. Finchpaw's shoulders sagged and his eyes began to flutter closed, his mind wandering further and further away from Frostpaw-- but that was when something soft came into contact with his fur. Something soft stirred in his heart.

His eyes snapped open and he looked down-- his automatic instinct was to pull away, but he hesitated, then froze, when he saw it was Frostpaw's body pressed absurdly (wonderfully) close to his. It was embarrassing how fast his heart began to beat, as though he was face-to-face with a fox, not pressed against a pretty she-cat.

Somehow, Frostpaw's words made it through the fuzzy haze of Finchpaw's astonishment. They instantly managed to soothe the shock and heal the numbness that had been creeping over him. It was amazing, how instant the reaction was. It cleared his mind and he saw that he had overlooked a key variable in the second option, and that was, namely, Frostpaw. Frostpaw changed the whole game. He wouldn't be giving up...just dedicating his life to something he actually believed in, with her as his guide. It made him so relieved, he let out a weak, but honest, happy laugh.

Finchpaw once again hesitated-- for he would always be shy-- before he let his body relax and let himself press his muzzle to Frostpaw's head, breathing her in for only a second. He lifted away for him after that, but he still had her scent in his nose when he talked.

"I think...that's just what I need, Frostpaw. Though does this mean you're willing to take me on as your apprentice?" Finchpaw was very surprised he was able to tease...though then again, he really did mean it. True, Brightnose would still be his real, clan-appointed teacher. But he would learn more from Frostpaw any day.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw relaxed. Following her instinct alone, she had nudged against Finchpaw and stood there, providing comfort not only to him but to herself. In those few moments, she'd been cushioned from the world. She had forgotten who she was entirely, allowing herself to become the kit who was fascinated in the adoration-filled relationships she saw in those around her, nor rhw kit that scorned them and thought them stupid. It lasted just a few seconds. Just a few seconds. A few seconds of peace and wholeness, no guilt or qualms. Just calm.

And then Finchpaw returned the affection and she remembered herself in an instant.

As soon as she felt his warm touch against her, the awkwardness and nerves she 'should' feel in this situation returned to her. They electrified her, jolted her awake. There was no longer any pleasure in the embrace, there was only guilt and worry and 'what the hell am I doing?'. She couldn't pinpoint why, but she was incredibly afraid. She'd never had this before. She'd never had someone touch her like that. She didn't even know why this touch was different from normal, but it panicked her.

She was glad that Finchpaw drew away when he did. If he hadn't, he'd have felt her muscles tense and her fur begin to bristle.

She took in a deep breath as quietly as she could, making her pelt lay flat. She urged herself to stay calm.

Slowly, she backed away and sat on the ground a little way away. She made it look as if she was merely 'drawing away' as they were uncomfortably close. Here, she was close enough to talk to him but there was enough distance for her to have her own personal space. Or so Finchpaw would think. She couldn't let him know that she was cowering, that she was nervous and that if she stayed that near to him any longer she might lose her mind.

She closed her eyes and, without a glance at Finchpaw, began to groom herself. The action had a dual purpose. It would portray her as unruffled, giving her few moments to compose herself, as well as well as calm her. The rhythmic running of her tongue along her pelt would sooth her and help her regain her self awareness. She would remember she had a body and that it was still hers, unchanged by the experience she had just had. Her pelt was still hers, her mind was still hers. She manipulated both of them, and in doing so manipulated the situation. She was still herself. She was still in control.

After a few moments, she felt herself relaxing. The grooming relaxed her muscles and the constant pace helped her regain her sense of self. Breathing easier, she found she was unable to look up and answer his question in a natural manner, albeit a little late.

"Take you on as an apprentice?" She mumbled, musing to herself. She gave herself to the question for a few moments before chuckling, "I thought we'd established that I'd be an awful mentor. I'm completely blind to other cats emotional states and I have the patience of a bad tempered badger. I never tell anyone anything, I let them work it out for themselves. If I ever attempted to teach you hunting, you'd stave for moons."

She chuckled, unable to stop the image of a bratty apprentice coming up to her for guidance, before she quickly turned them away and continued grooming herself. They would 'work it out for themselves eventually.'

"However, iif you want to call yourself my apprentice, so be it. You'll only be ignoring yourself and taking a step backwards if you do." She looked up at the sky, "You'll be following me and my path, not your own. I'd decide what to teach you, so you'd only learn what I want and you'd be shaped into something of my design. And, in the end, I would only be doing what your father did. I wouldn't actually be teaching you anything."

Then she paused as she realised what she was saying. Finchpaw was asking for her help and support, and here she was point blank stating that she had not the ability to give it. This wasn't useful for either of them or their current problems, it was just admitting what she couldn't and what he shouldn't do. This wasn't right.

She thought for a moment, before looking back at him again.

"But that's not to say I can't help you." she growled softly, "You just have to decide how I help you. If you want to learn from me, take whatever you desire from how I act or think and do with it what you want. Just because I can't teach you, it doesn't mean you can't learn from me. We're an alliance, and an alliance builds on eachother's strengths and uses them to build eachothers. So, if you're ever feeling weak I can offer you the willpower to go on, in my own... unusual way."

She smirked. That's right. She'd maintain the willpower for the both of them.

[Whiskers]

Finchpaw felt Frostpaw draw away from him, and as she did, it felt as thought the sun had gone out, had pulled away, tucked itself behind some clouds. The warmth and the light that had filled him when Frostpaw was near had dimmed. He was cold and by himself again, strangely disappointed. He didn't know why he felt this way; it wasn't like Frostpaw had picked herself up and left him. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something had just changed. Something-- the air, the mood-- had shifted and it wasn't for the better.

Finchpaw attributed it to Frostpaw's drastic change of body language. Frostpaw had been caring before, gentle even, and now it felt like she had out-of-the-blue decided that she didn't care anymore. She wasn't looking at him, she wasn't acknowledging him and Finchpaw wondered if he did something wrong. He had, hadn't he? He always managed to mess up somehow, so it was only a matter of time before he tripped up with Frostpaw. It was amazing he had gone this far with only a few, slight bumps in the road.

When Frostpaw finally did look up, after composing her thoughts, her tone confirmed his guess. He did do something wrong. His expression became bewildered as each of Frostpaw's words landed on him, latched on, and planted their seeds-- only be ignoring yourself...taking a step backwards.... Somehow, these words twisted in his mind and he heard his father speaking, his brother speaking, himself speaking, and the disappointment settled deep.

Finchpaw knew Frostpaw wasn't attacking him or trying to upset him. He knew that she was taking his light teasing seriously, misunderstanding him a little. But the words still hurt, because they were true. He always ignored himself and running to Frostpaw didn't change that and why couldn't he just be...him? Did he even know how to do that, or was he completely stupid and had he lost all identity he had once, long ago, possessed? He wasn't even a cat, just a creation his father had made, only to break and go wrong. He needed to learn how to think for himself and make decisions. And he'd have to do it alone.

Finchpaw managed to suppress his urge to smash his head into the nearest tree, and he stifled all the voices in his head that told him how weak and pathetic he was long enough to act like a normal, reasonable cat. He vaguely heard something about an alliance, about 'using each others strengths,' but it did nothing to pick up his mood. What would he bring to an alliance? What 'strengths' did he have, besides making a perfectly prepared poultice?

"Mm, I suppose you're right. Sometimes I think I should just become a loner. I'd learn more that way. More about the world, more about cats...more about myself," Finchpaw managed an even tone, light and casual, though as he spoke the words came to life in his mind. It was a lifestyle he considered every now and then, and right now, he could see the appeal clearer than ever. He was tempted to just walk away now. He could hunt decent enough to support himself...though he'd be killed in the first fight he got into, so maybe it wasn't perfect. But it sounded better than clan life.

"What does clan life give us anyway?" He mused aloud, mostly to himself. Though with the words said, he realized he did want to know. "Y'know, besides a place to sleep every night. Does it give us anything...worth it all?"

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw was startled to see that her long speech, which she had hoped would continue the jovial mood, had actually impacted negatively on the male apprentice. She knew immediately from his body language that he had sensed her change in mood, despite her efforts to conceal it. From the looks of him, he obviously thought her fear was something to do with him. She'd said something wrong, done something wrong, and she had no idea what. All she knew was that she wished she hadn't.

Finchpaw's reply confirmed what she was suspecting. He didn't comment on anything she had said, which was concerning in itself as it suggested he either hadn't been listening or that he was too depressed to care. He hadn't even made a blanket remark about what they were going to do. No, he'd expressed doubt over the idea of being in a clan at all.

Out of all the things he could have said, that was the most intensely worrying. Had Frostpaw managed to say something so wrong that she'd made him lose faith in the warrior way of life completely?

Frostpaw felt all her energy begin to drain out of her body. She didn't want to think about this. She didn't want Finchpaw to be upset. She didn't want to have to admit that he was right.

If she had not been stubborn and slightly mouse-brained, she would have left the clan by now. She'd have decided to go with Owlstar, just because Blackpaw, Willowpaw and the other apprentices she'd grown up with were with her to keep herself safe while retaining the benefits of clan life. But no. Instead she'd decided to stay in a clan that persecuted her for the sake of a giggle and because Finchpaw was there. It was completely illogical.

Why was she still in the clan? More importantly, why was Finchpaw still here? Fogclan didn't do much to nurture the originality and uniqueness of every cat, and it was obvious Finchpaw was going to be stifled here. Especially when his parent and brother were doing everything in their power to make things difficult for him and his only source of support was an insensitive cat that shunk away from any kind of affection.

For the first time in her life, Frostpaw realised how useless she was. She didn't know how to read emotions, unless they were advantageous to her game of wills during arguments. She found contact with any cat worrying and frightening. She rarely shared her true feelings. She couldn't even protect Finchpaw. In fact, she was hurting him even more by being completely useless at communicating.

Nope, she didn't feel above all this anymore. She'd been sucked in. She had become just as trivial as her clanmates. If not more so.

And that wasn't good for Finchpaw. She wasn't good for Finchpaw. No wonder he had suggested going and becoming a loner, rather than running away with her. She wasn't helping, and she doubted she ever could.

"You're right." She looked down at her paws, "Fogclan doesn't offer us much anymore. Maybe it did, in the beginning, but now? For you, it's pointless. You're stuck doing a job you hate, being pressured to act and think a certain way from all sides and you're getting hurt."

This was painful. Like a thorn in her heart. Why was it painful? She shouldn't care. She was Frostpaw. She shouldn't care.

"Maybe you should become a loner." She tried to look up at him meaningfully but had to move her gaze away, "Maybe not yet. You're not trained enough to live on your own, but I could train you. We'd make you self-sufficient so you could go off on your own and... and become a heroic rogue that romances numerous females and lives outside the rules."

She smirked despite herself. The image was amusing, to say the least. But then her face fell again and she managed to look up at Finchpaw.

"You could live how you wanted to, without anyone to influence you." She mewed softly, "You could find cats... suited to you. Have kits. Find herbs and make dirt on them for fun. You could be happy."

"But," Frostpaw said quietly, "I couldn't do that. I'd go insane living on my own. I did it with my mother for the first few moons of my life and it was horrible. I need a clan, I need cats to talk to, but if it's suited to you, go or I'll make you go. I'll just stay here and live in the knowledge that, even if Miststar beats me down to the ground, I've accomplished something in my life."