Hunting for Answers (Open)

[mystic]

Nightflower
^{If Starclan had wanted me otherwise, They would have created me otherwise.}

Nightflower paced about, there was snow up to his chest, due to a heavy snowfall last night. However he didn't really care. What was bothering him was his feelings. Or at least how to express them. Explaining his feelings had never been something that Nightflower had been good at.

He sighed and looked down. He wanted to tell Lightheart how he felt. However every time he tried to speak the words stopped in his mouth, they refused to go any further. He looked up at the sky. "Starclan, please give me the words." He mewed. Then sighed, that was hopeless. Starclan wasn't around to help lovesick toms, they were there to guide the clans.

"Why hadn't I been born a she-cat?" he asked, sitting down and wrapping his tail around his paws. "Maybe it would have been easier that way. I wouldn't feel so, different. I mean I'm happy with who I am, but...." he sighed. "Starclan doesn't make mistakes, I'm sure of it. If they made me, then I'm not a mistake. Am I?"


Muttering he looked down at his paws. "Who am I kidding?" He said. "I can't tell him! I really can't. I mean why doesn't he say anything to me? I just wish he could." he turned and gazed at the waxing moon, then sighed. He decided he wouldn't go back to camp until he had made up his mind.

[Thyme]

“Mmm, ahhh.” Marshfoot breathed, eyes closing briefly as he inhaled the icy scent of the night. A chill breeze carrying a faint whiff of pine from forest drew across his nostrils, causing his fur to prickle pleasantly. He dug his claws into the boggy earth, feeling the moist dirt cling to his paw pads. It wasn’t uncomfortable – he’d live his entire life in this territory, and it was so familiar to him that it immediately carried with it a sense of home and longing.

The black tom slunk through the tall clumps of reeds; crisp with the collected frost etched all along their thin stalks. Stepping lightly, he wove his way around a small cluster of pine saplings, scratching his side against the rough bark. Needles brushed his ears and head, and he raised his tail to curl in the low-slung branches. His back arched smoothly under a particularly low branch.
“Juniper!” he said softly, opening his amber eyes wide. He bounded swiftly in the direction of the berries. Soon enough he spotted the shriveled bush, growing from a crack in a large rock. He purred with pleasure, shaking a pawful of the small blue berries from the stiff branches, and immediately tossed them into his mouth. Jaws worked frantically at the savory berries, and a little drool dribbled unbidden from the corners of his mouth. The flavor was incredibly strong, but over a long period of time he had become accustomed to it.

He sighed, flopping onto the ground near the bush. His tail swayed gently above his head. A whimpering sigh caught his attention, and he looked around, surprised that another cat might be out of camp at this hour. Warriors usually stayed with the Clan, unless there was a specific reason for one to be wandering around at night.
“Hey – oh, it’s you.” Marshfoot began as he stepped into view, his voice sinking as he realized that it was only Nightflower. The feminine tom had never really appealed to him, based on what little encounters he’d had with him. He was certainly odd, and appeared more than a little confused. He kind of grated on Marshfoot’s nerves, and he never came around to the medicine cat den, so he obviously wasn’t fighting. It was as though Nightflower didn’t feel anything for his Clan, and that was an issue when one was supposed to be a warrior.

“Umm, what are you doing out here?” Marshfoot asked hesitantly, certain that he didn’t want to know. He raised his shoulders and studied the other tom from his standing position. His body was angled, and so his eyes were regarding him from slightly over a hunched shoulder, almost in a lofty manner. It was now that he realized that blue-tinted drool was likely still strung from his lips, and he swiped his tongue around his mouth to collect the remaining intense flavor of the tangy berries.

[mystic]

Nightflower
^{If Starclan had wanted me otherwise, They would have created me otherwise.}

The sound of pawsteps in the snow reached the pretty black tom's ears and he stopped mumbling. Someone was near. Then the scent hit his nose, it was Marshfoot. He sighed, he had not expected anyone to be out. However he thought he might as well make the best of it.

Nightflower blushed and turned around, blinking his large grey eyes. "Marshfoot." he mewed. "I... I didn't expect anycat to be out here." He said. "Gathering herbs I see." He smiled, noting the berries on the other cat's lips. "That's a good thing, can never have enough of those." His eyes widened at the question. "Oh." He mewed. "I.. I've been thinking." he admitted. He smiled, sure he didn't gain many injuries. Rainstar was smarter than to send him on border patrol. However he needed the medicine cat's help for other reasons. "I've been having some, trouble." He sighed. What he didn't know was that pratically every cat had figured out about him and lightheart and the only two who hadn't figured it out were Nightflower and Lightheart.

[Thyme]

Marshfoot grunted and plopped down, letting his thick tail fall where it was into the icy snow. A small shiver ran up his spine, and he drew his tongue over his lips again, where his fur was quickly growing cold. It was obvious that Nightflower wanted to talk - probably to work out his problems, yadda yadda. Why did cats assume that he actually wanted to hear them yammer on about their issues? Sure he was medicine cat, but he had better things to do than read their futures in Silverpelt. The tom loved his position, just not all of the things he had to deal with - pitiful, overfretful apprentices and warriors included. It was worse yet when they expected him to come up with a definite answer on the spot. When a cat would approach him with a question - that was usually more of a plea for an opinion, anyway - and then not take his response. Well, that was just a waste of time. Call him grouchy, but when a cat who already knows the answer asks a question, he can't help but want to just walk away.

If Nightflower was worrying about his little situation with Lightheart, Marshfoot wasn’t sure just how he would respond. It was as if the tom couldn’t see two tail-lengths in front of his face. StarClan it was annoying, like watching a pair of desperate squirrels chase each other blindly around a tree. The hemming and hawing at such an otherwise open subject just drove him nuts.

“Well. Go ahead then.” Marshfoot meowed gruffly, waving a paw at the other tom for him to start speaking. He certainly didn’t want to be sitting out here all night, the medicine cat still wanted to hunt before the sun rose. Maybe he’d just rifle through the fresh-kill pile when he got back to camp, that would be easier, at least. No cat could complain of his lack of participation in Clan life, no matter how much he ate. He considered it a perk of the position.

[mystic]

Nightflower
^{If Starclan had wanted me otherwise, They would have created me otherwise.}

Nightflower sighed a little. "Oh..." He mewed. "Well, you see. Lightheart and I well..." he sighed and blushed. "I want to know if, well if it's more than just...." he fumbled over his words. He sighed and looked away. "If it's more than just well... physical for him." He sighed. "If it's more than that for me... D... do you think starclan made a mistake? You know, gave me the wrong gender?" He looked at his paws and hunched up.

[Thyme]

"Could be. I don't know." Marshfoot grunted a reply, shrugging absent-mindedly. Clumps of grass nearby drew his attention far more than the befuddled young tom. His amber eyes wandered, seeking any useful herbs that might be poking above the small snowfall. Yes, he probably should have been paying closer attention to Nightflower; he was being rude. No, he didn't care what Nightflower thought of his actions. With a weary sigh, however, he realized that the tom was expecting a better answer than that. He was just sitting there all forlorn and miserable like a kit who'd lost their mother. It was pathetic, really.

"Uh, I mean." Marshfoot began, then coughed a little to clear his throat. He took on a deeper, wiser tone and straighted up to look right at the other tom, "StarClan doesn't make mistakes. There's a reason for everything." he concluded with a sagely nod. Sometimes he enjoyed conveying cryptic, obnoxiously obscure messages. Actually, he found it to be closer to a hobby, since cats like Nightflower sought his wise words. There was no law decreeing that he tell everything he knew - it was his knowledge, dangit, and he would keep it to himself if he very well felt like it. Then, with an unusual tickle of sympathy, the medicine cat raised himself to his paws and said, "Why don't you ask him yourself? He would be able to answer your question far better than I."

[/justify]

[mystic]

Nightflower
^{If Starclan had wanted me otherwise, They would have created me otherwise.}

Nightflower pricked up is ears, then flicked them back and sighed. His yellow eyes followed the medicine cat as he searched for herbs. He didn't understand why the other tom was ignoring him. "I-I'll just go. I guess I'm bothering you." Then the tom spoke up again. Listening to his words Nightflower smiled a little. "You really think so?" He mewed. He paused, flicking his long bushy tail back and forth. Marshfoot spoke of asking Lightheart.

"I... I guess I could." He admitted. "B-but what if he says no." He mewed in distress. "What If he doesn't love me back?" He flicked his long tail about, then looked down. "Oh I don't know." he began pacing back and forth. "I... I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna do it!" He mewed puffing his chest out. "I will." he added, flicking his ears back. "T-thank you." he mewed, then bounded off into the night.

[Thyme]

This thread is done. (:

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