we're tumbling [grayscar]

Smoke had almost forgotten she was on TreeClan territory. The earth was rich and fragrant, its scent carried up on a cool breeze that combed gently through the diffused spots on her flanks, she reveled in the sensation, deeply grateful that such a terrible leafbare had finally ended, and life had returned to the earth. She had noticed a patch of color and found a clump of poppies, and was nosing through the scarlet blooms to see if the plant might yield a few poppy seeds when a noise startled her. Smoke shimmied out of the flowers, drooping red blossoms framing her dark face as she noticed, for the first time, a massive gray tom making his way toward her. Do I know him? She wondered, but his long, tabbied fur seemed unfamiliar. She felt unease creeping beneath her fur – this was still TreeClan territory, and her animosity towards Pinewhisker was well known… And his towards her perhaps more so. He’d come from so far upwind that she hadn’t scented him coming – not that the dizzy-sweet perfume of the flowers helped. But he had surely know she was here… Was she about to be run off?

Instead, the tom surprised her with a cordial greeting. He seemed polite enough, she observed, as he sat neatly. But she knew Pinewhisker – he would want his warriors to at least challenge trespassers, right? Was she being tricked, set up for ambush? Or was this tabbied warrior different from the rest of his clan? She’d grown accustomed to TreeClan being… Warlike. But he seemed peaceful – perhaps even apathetic. But then again, calling her “loner” meant that he probably didn’t recognize her.

“Hello.” She mewed cautiously, holding off on answering his question. She worried that telling him might spur an attack, and honestly, the tom was intimidating. Now that he was closer, she could see the scars – one across his eye in particular. That, coupled with his size, made Smoke feel safe in assuming that he was a formidable warrior – perhaps a former rogue come under the influence of the clans. He spoke again, and his voice was curiously flat. She stepped out of the patch of flowers moving slightly closer. There was something in his eyes, not apprehensive, but interested, perhaps, was a good word. He didn’t seem tensed to spring, just eerily calm. Pinewhisker knows better than to let his warriors attack you. She reminded herself. If he did, well. Refusing to help his cats would be the least of his worries – she could actively hinder, even kill his warriors with her knowledge. Not that she would do that. The killing at least.

“My name is Smoke.” She answered. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” It took her a moment to realize how egotistical she was likely to sound, assuming her knew of her. But certainly she’d at least been mentioned – Pinewhisker was supposed to be finding a suitable medicine cat for TreeClan. Certainly keeping her out of TreeClan territory was incentive enough to at least mention the search. “I’m the one helping to train medicine cats for the clans.” She explained quickly, hoping to negate her earlier arrogance. “Who are you? If I may ask?” She meowed, mirroring his earlier question.

She turned back to look at the poppies. Poppy seeds were easy, shaken from a dried flower head, and even if TreeClan didn’t currently know how to use them… Hopefully they’d soon have a medicine cat, and building the base of an herb stock for them might be a wise move. The scarlet flowers bobbed in the breeze, nodding as if they agreed. Poppy seeds were useful for pain and sleep aid, and always in demand when cats were sick and injured, to ease pain and allow them to rest. Sending some back with this warrior for TreeClan to use might be a good peace offering – and light a fire under the temperamental clan to find a medicine cat of their own.

“If you’re not busy – I know your kind has… Patrols and such – would you stay a few moments with me?” Smoke requested, turning back to her companion. She wasn’t exactly sure how the clan division of labor worked, but she didn’t want to take him from an important duty. But she also didn’t want to stroll into TreeClan camp – its wealth of herbs meant she had already worn her welcome here thin from her constant presence. “I’ve been gathering herbs, and could send some of the more useful ones – like these poppies –” She flicked her tail to the flowers “back to your camp with you. For TreeClan to use, it’s quite easy…” She looked hopefully to the gray tabby tom and waited for his response.

    Smoke quietly noted his reaction to her name – unreadable, but a reaction all the same… had he perhaps heard of her, then? This close it was easier to discern the scars on his battered frame… She knew she hadn’t helped him when he’d gotten those wounds, she’d remember something like that. His attention seemed hazy for a few moments, but Smoke dismissed it. She didn’t know this tom from anywhere, and wasn’t in a position to understand him, of that much she was sure.

    His response to her request was… Less than enthusiastic. She was puzzled, especially by how upset he seemed to be. “I’m sure Pinewhisker will appreciate…” (Keeping me the hell out of his camp.) “the contribution to the clan.” She purred, hoping to reassure him. As his golden eyes drifted towards the poppies, her gooseberry ones fixed on him. Her life was run by her skillset, it was an instinct, by now, to assess and heal whenever she could. That desire was flaring up in her chest as she watched him, licking hot like flames. But his injuries were healed, his body sound. Her eyes traced the jagged lines of the scars he bore, roughened skin telling her he has seen battle like lines on a page. There was no sign of infection. The wounds were closed and clean, his nose was wet, his eyes were focused over her shoulder, but clear and bright. He didn’t even have a cold, so why was she so moved to act? She quickly looked away as he shook his head, but when he asked he a question, well – that was something she could do.

    “When poppies – the flowers, at least - are dried, the seeds can be shaken out and eaten. They dull pain, and bring sleep.” She mewed, making her way back to them. “My mother said not to give them to pregnant queens – I don’t think TreeClan has any pregnant queens right now, though, so it should be safe to send back with you.” Smoke explained, blinking once at her huge gray companion. She cocked her head at him. “You never did mention your name.” She reminded him cheerfully.

    He seemed so apathetic that Smoke didn’t really expect much of a response – an automaton in Pinewhisker’s service, she was beginning to expect. Her worry about the clans was always that it would be the blind leading the blind, and Pinewhisker, especially, she did not trust to lead. His arrogance and selfishness seemed an ill omen for the clan’s future, and with obedient, dispassionate muscle at his back, he could be truly dangerous. So his next question floored her, and she let out a mrow of surprise and ill-disguised excitement, springing to her feet immediately. With the heavy weight of responsibility (much of it self-imposed, though she’d never admit it) it was easy for her and presumably those around her to forget how young she was. And the idea that another cat – especially a TreeClan cat – might be interested in her passion was exciting. He kept glancing away but she felt that she sensed a genuine curiosity behind his hesitance, and was eager to speak. Perhaps it was just an embarrassment at admitting weakness – there was no shame in injury, and he needn’t have suffered, there could have been a medicine cat there… She leaned forward, face alight, to explain.
   
    “There’s a reason you haven’t heard of them.” She began, hoping to encourage him. Her voice was quick and pitchy, colored with excitement. “The old clans – the Thunder-, Wind-, River-, and ShadowClans - they each had a cat trained to know herbs, and how to use them, and other healing techniques – that was a medicine cat.” She mewed, settling down a little to consider how she’d explain. “Their knowledge was so specialized that it didn’t survive in memory the way the clans themselves did. But my family is the direct descendant of an old clan medicine cat, and they passed their knowledge of herbs and healing down through the generations until, well – me.” Her dark fur hid the rush of heat to her face. Putting it so bluntly made her self-conscious, and she pulled her tail in, winding it around one leg. Taking up less space usually made her feel a little better.

    “I’m hoping to teach cats from these new clans to heal, as well, so that each clan can have a medicine cat again, who can train their own apprentices, and…” Her eyes glazed for a moment as she imagined clan life; herb gathering, healing wounds from battle practice, helping queens give birth to the next generation of warriors - and perhaps a healer, too. Season after long season in the same place, in the same den. Steadfast friends that were always there. Battle, disease, death. But life, too. The old clans had thrived. But then, they’d been noble. She shook her head. “There will always be war, there will always be sickness.” She reminded herself as much as him. “But I don’t think any clan has to face it alone.”

    The world was changing and the dusky she-cat that lived in it was learning as it spun – learning, especially, not to smirk at the mention of Pinewhisker, of all cats, thinking her helpful. She suppressed her reaction to that statement quickly – best not to pull this poor tom in on her politics, convoluted as they were. Her rocky relationship with the TreeClan leader wasn’t likely to be a secret, but if this warrior had never even heard of her, perhaps this was more of a cold war than she’d anticipated. Fancy that, she thought, amused Clans have been here how many moons and now I’ve gone to war.
His response to poppy made her think twice. “I’d never considered that use.” She mewed after a pause. “I’m sure it would – they’d sleep like the dead, but… It’s strong stuff. I can’t imagine using it regularly would be safe.” It was almost an apology. She didn’t want to disappoint him, or make him feel he’d been wrong – that was certainly a novel idea, one she never would have considered. This is why you need to train others. Smoke reminded herself.

    “Still, I imagine occasional use wouldn’t be so bad – if a cat needed to be particularly well rested for the next day, perhaps. ” She allowed. That seemed practical, right? And she suspected Grayscar was right about queens – Pinewhisker valued his power, he would likely keep her closer if that meant expanding it to a new litter of kits. She wondered what had made Grayscar think of that use. Probably had a littermate who kicked in their sleep. Or a denmate who does now. She thought wryly. Dove certainly did, would have loved to dose her with poppy. But Dove was gone, living a soft, fat life behind a picket fence. And she was here, living a tough, hungry life that crossed borders and allegiances. More complex than kittypet gossip by far… Perhaps it was dreams of this life that had made her silvery sister so restless as she slept.

    “Grayscar.” She repeated upon his introduction, hoping it would help her remember, and she dipped her head in a formal greeting.

    Smoke fairly lit up as Grayscar praised her family. She was proud of their resolve, proud that they’d remembered the old ways and passed them along, and proud to be in that line herself. His lineage was a curiosity to her – of course he was ThunderClan, to be a TreeClan warrior he would have had to be. Many cats were, anyway, since it was the last clan to die out. But WindClan? He could have just as easily joined HillClan with that blood. What would make him choose this place? She wondered. Certainly it couldn’t seem as bad as she thought it was, if it drew in cats over HillClan. Perhaps there’s a latent clan loyalty there. Smoke considered. If she knew her lineage, perhaps she’d have chosen a clan, rather than waiting for one to truly, desperately need her. That seemed unlikely – she’d rather be asked to come in any case. Perhaps that explained his mother’s distaste for clan ancestry – she hadn’t wanted the messy entanglements that came with loyalty.

    She’d heard a variant of this a thousand times from her mother: ‘You can’t be everywhere at once – do what you can where you are.’ She nodded solemnly to Grayscar. “Now that would be a truly useful skill.” She cracked, but the joke fell flat – this wasn’t really a laughing matter, after all. His revelation was oddly poignant, though, and Smoke sensed, if only vaguely, that the guarded tom was letting something slip. She’d assumed so, of course – his scars were older than the clans, surely something had happened, and he was right. Every cat she’d met, all the ones of decent age, at least, had suffered. Grief, hunger, injury, illness, loss. The world was vast and it seemed to be so often indifferent to the sufferings of the cats in it. “We were all more or less alone before the clans.” She said by way of agreement. Everyone was so caught up in them, it was like her old life was forgotten by the outside world. Instead it burned in her chest, the ghost of lost freedom, a memorial flame for a bygone era. And she sat a lonely vigil for it as the forest divided itself on old blood and new prejudices. The story bubbled to her lips before she could stop it.

    “Everything’s changed so much. I used to wander – healing where I could, helping where I was needed, wherever I wanted…” She sighed, shifting uncomfortably, eyes fixed, unfocused, over one of his shoulders. “And now everywhere I go I’ve crossed a border, there’s politics and powerplays, I’m not sure it’s my world. It’s always been hard but in a different way – hard to remember herbs, hard to heal broken cats, hard to tell a mother her kit may not live…” She shivered, as if with a chill. “I could never be a warrior. Strength and speed and cunning, it’s more than that, it’s casting your loyalties, limiting yourself, subscribing to some other cat’s plan for your life.” She shook her head, and then realized who she was talking to – a clan cat, a warrior, a grizzled gray tom who had cast his lot in with a clan he seemed to know so little about. “It’s not bad, not wrong.” She clarified hastily. “But it’s not for me. I want to be useful beyond a border and a leader, my loyalties lie to my own principles first.” She shrugged. The wind swept through the trees and brought a new bevy of scents – moss and earth and water and a distinct, pervading cat-scent – TreeClan. Perhaps she was crazy. The forest itself had taken to its new inhabitants, their pawsteps had begun to wear paths through its maze. The trees had seen innumerable seasons but they accepted the clans easily. “Then again, I could just be old fashioned.” She admitted.