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[sedge-and-sanctuary]

Moon Six - Highsun

Sedgeclan has no deputy! Snowstreak has recovered from bloodloss, though her wound is still infected. Harebolt gathers herbs. Coniferstar marks the borders.

Cats mentioned: Snowstreak - 105 moons - Warrior Coniferstar - 26 moons - Leader

Snowstreak pads out of the medicine den for the first time since they’d arrived, pushing her nose into the wind. It trickles into their camp between the rocks, bringing the green-smells of the tundra’s short but vibrant growing-season. Her leg feels better than it has in moons; though her pelt still prickles with fever, and her paws tremble as she limps out into the open. Coniferstar turns to greet her with a blink of pleasure, and pads over to touch his nose to her forehead. “Snowstreak. It’s good to see you awake– how do you feel?” Snowstreak swallows, her mouth still dry, her throat sore. “Ah- tired. But. Better– I don’t. Harebolt’s explained some things to me. I should say thank you.”

Coniferstar purrs. “No need. I’m only glad to see you so alert again.” He tips his head, studying her for a moment. “Has Harebolt told you what brought us here?” “I– your healing?” Coniferstar laughs; a soft sound, like water over rocks. And he’s such a young tom; younger by far than Snowstreak and Harebolt. But his manner is so strange- steady, and calm. “No– I don’t suppose she’d mention it. It was a higher power by far than that.” He meets her eyes. “Your mate doesn’t believe it yet. But I think you might.” “I might?” “Yes.” Coniferstar turns, to look up at the sky; clear, bright blue, almost painful to look at. “I come from a place far south of here. A warm, and lovely place, where the cats have grown as soft and easy as their land." He shakes his head. "The spirits of our ancestors frowned upon them. Upon us.” Snowstreak blinks; her head, still thick with fever, spins. “Spirits?” “Yes.” His voice is distant. “I know it must sound strange to you– but our dead, in Starclan, talk to me.  They led me here– to you, and to your mate. We can start anew, the three of us. With cats like you…” He turns back to look at Snowstreak, and something in his eyes makes her puff up her chest, lift her chin, despite the stiffness of her long confinement. “You, who survive in this hard place... where there is no room for softness. You will be the key, to building something better.” Coniferstar blinks at her; eyes wide, suddenly, a little insecure. Looking, for once, like the young cat he is. “You believe me, don’t you?” Snowstreak’s chest squeezes; what else can she say? “Of course.” She nudges Coniferstar’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, if Harebolt’s said anything. She’s a good cat, truly, just…”

“I know. I won't ask you to speak ill of your mate.” Coniferstar’s tail whisks the air, thoughtful. “Properly– a medicine cat should be among the clan’s most faithful. But– if we are to change things, let us change them. I suppose there’s no reason a warrior can’t be, instead.” “And that’s… me?” Snowstreak turns the word over, silently. A warrior. It has a strange sound to it; heavy, like all the new clan words. “Yes. You’ll be my very first warrior.” Coniferstar purrs, and looks over Snowstreak with a gleam of obvious pride. “Once you’re fully healed. And we’ll do great things, together.” Something in Snowstreak’s chest kindles; a feeling like swallowing sun-baked stones. Heavy, but… warm. She squares her shoulders, and does her best, level, to meet his eyes.