// this is 1200 words exactly hell yeah
Nobody had thought to tell her how difficult being a medicine cat would be. She felt each death, the life leaving her Clanmates' bodies. She felt each painful, crackling breath of those infected with greencough. She felt the sharp sting in her heart that those with cuts or bleeding wounds felt in their skin. She felt the horror-filled stares of her kin when they saw what was happening to their Clan. Her heart broke every time an injury occurred that she didn't know how to deal with. And, most importantly, she heard the whispers, the ever-looming threat of a reputation as a terrible medicine cat. It was crushing, humiliating, to know that she couldn't help.
She was StarClan-sent, an omen that Blackstar had received in a dream.
And still, she was useless.
Heatherbloom wanted to wail along with her mourning Clanmates whenever a new case of whitecough popped up, when an elder succumbed to the famine that was ravaging their Clan. But she couldn't. Medicine cats should be disciplined, she thought. They needed to be the very picture of compassion, the serene muzzle that an ailing Clan could rely on, the rock that wasn't moved an inch in a thunderstorm. Heatherbloom ... wasn't that. She was frustrated too easily, too easily swayed, too unsure of herself. Even with BloodClan's aid and the help of the RiverClan medicine cats to get herself and Heatherkit on their paws, there was nothing that Heatherbloom could do when an empty belly became too much to handle for some of their most fragile Clanmates. Now, with the loss of Sunningrocks, they had been forced to move camps again, taking up a temporary residence further into the territory. Food was even scarcer.
Asphodelpaw and Lambtuft knew what they were doing. They'd been medicine cats for moons while Heatherbloom was growing up in the shadow of her mentor, and both were still present in the Clan. Asphodelpaw had helped Heatherbloom most of all in finding her way, even if he did step on her toes sometimes. He was intelligent and thoughtful. Lambtuft was compassionate and kind, the picture of what a medicine cat should be. Even as a warrior, she excelled in everything she put her mind to. Why hadn't either of them been chosen to take on the mantle of medicine cat in these disastrous moons? Why had StarClan overlooked two of its messengers, instead choosing an incompetent warrior and a kitten to suffer through this ordeal?
Oh, Heatherkit ...
Aside from the Clan's constant supply of ailments, Heatherbloom worried for her apprentice. Heatherkit, in her mentor's mind, was the best of her parents. She had Moonwatcher's compassion and wit, and Asphodelpaw's knack for herbs, and seemed to be learning the art of herblore so much quicker than Heatherbloom could hope. But by being chosen by their ancestors at such a young age, the pointed kitten had escaped a kithood that was absolutely necessary in these tough times. While her littermates enjoyed the last moon in the nursery Heatherkit had been given a heavy burden, apprenticed to a mentor who knew more of killing than saving a life.
Shaking out her fur, she'd taken a small breather. Gone to stretch her legs, praying that nothing else went wrong while she was gone. Deep down she knew that something would; it happened every time that she wasn't nearby the camp. And when she was in the camp, something would go horribly wrong deep in the territory. Eight moons' worth of experience as a warrior called to her as she left, her snowy paws itching to find some prey, but she resisted its thrall with self control that she didn't even recognise anymore. She didn't know if it was her own willpower, or some unspoken gift given to her upon becoming a medicine cat. To compromise, however ... she ran. As soon as she was out of the sight of their new camp, she opened up. Her long legs carried her along the border with the speed of a cat better suited to open moors, and not for the first time, Heatherbloom considered running away.
The lilac tabby sometimes thought she would have been better off being born as a WindClanner. Every time it had crossed her mind as an apprentice and a warrior, she quashed the notion. She was a ThunderClanner, born and raised. Her Clan needed her. But did they? She'd wondered what would change, if had she run away the first time the thought crossed her mind at seven moons old. She wondered whether they would miss her at all. Whether anyone would mourn the loss of an apprentice. Would Clan life continue as if nothing had happened, a monument to her impermanence? Even now, with her rank and her knowledge, she would likely be viewed as just another failure if she left.
Heatherbloom realised, finally, where she had taken herself. While she was distracted, her paws had led her near the old camp, and a chill fell across her long fur. She was left wondering why she had come here, panic rising in her throat for a moment. There was nothing but death looming over this place, as if StarClan themselves had taken up residence where the living could not. Green eyes looked around wildly, ears flat to her skull, as the edges of her senses turned dark. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see figures, some shadowy and sinewy, some with their fur stained with the night sky. She took one step back, and then another, trying to move as silently as possible.
Backing away from the shadows that crowded the edge of her vision, Heatherbloom slipped into their abandoned camp-- quite literally. Without the protective barrier of brambles to alert her of her proximity to her old home, she missed a step and tumbled down the slope, landing in a small pile of snow that had built up at its base. She leaned against a charred boulder as she stood up, breath misting in the chilly air, and glanced around at the empty camp. The figures were gone but the air felt still here, as if the icy forest was holding its breath. Waiting for something that just wouldn't come. But what? It was a question that tugged at her fur insistently until she turned, green eyes landing on the nursery.
Memories of her kithood flashed in her mind, the way that she had longed to see outside the camp as a kitten, the echoes of her littermates' overdramatic wails as they play-fought. She followed the echoes to the charred stump that had once hidden the ThunderClan nursery, ducking under snapped branches and clearing snow away with her white paws. Her paws guided her to the space where her mother's nest had been when her litter was born. It was a lot smaller than she remembered, the thought causing a faint and nostalgic smile to cross her features. She dropped down with a small thud, curling up in a ball of lilac fur, alone with her thoughts.
She was alone, where none of her Clanmates had to see her composure slip.
And still, she couldn't bring herself to mourn.