With every shuddering breath, all he could focus on was pain.
It surged through his broken body and mercilessly continued to torment him with invisible claws, sharper than any thorn.
Swiftpaw's consciousness wavered. As a matter of fact, he did not want to stay awake, so he abandoned every attempt of struggling to do so. That way he could block out the world and fall into a slumber that offered comfort by stripping him of the ability to feel pain.
In spite of all these, sounds from what - and who - surrounded him suddenly reached his ears. The sharpness from the unexpected voices would have easily made him flinch and perhaps cover his ears as means of self-defense if it didn't hurt to move his muscles by even an inch.
From all these uninvited matters, he was harshly shaken awake enough to realize his Clanmates crowding around him, exchanging words.
His senses didn't start working quick enough to help the apprentice make out the words. Fortunately. He still didn't care, for all he was truly aware of was pain. Pain, pain, pain. Even if he completely lost his grip on reality, it would still linger in the back of his mind.
"-he dying?" Swiftpaw unintentionally processed his first two words. However, for now he was unable to actually get what they meant. His focus shifted to something he felt on his body. His right eye and ears - maybe his whole head? - was covered by... something. It felt odd and provided an unpleasant stinging effect.
There was a growl.
"-if it's up to StarClan, Swiftpaw will die."
Cold fear stabbed his stomach. Swiftpaw... Swiftpaw will die...
I will die?
"Without being a warrior?" Someone hissed, out of mixed anger and anxiety. Was that Longtail?
His mentor's tongue met Swiftpaw's shoulder, and despite all the warrior's raging emotions, he gave an awfully gentle lick. The feeling was truly strange after how his whole body seemed to be numb.
The injured tom missed a few sentences. Luckily though, he made out, "There is a ritual - thankfully little used - if a dying apprentice is worthy, he can be made into a warrior so that he may take a warrior name to StarClan."
For once Swiftpaw wished he had enough strength left in him to yowl - I'm not dying!
Right? I don't want to die!
"Then do it," Longtail growled. He seemed to be so desperate for the black-and-white tom next to him. Or did that apparent desperation vanish like mist, and started to have the belief of his apprentice not surviving?
With a mental jolt, Brightpaw came to his mind. Was she okay?
He had no time left to ponder about that.
"I ask my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has learned the warrior code and has given up his life in the service of his Clan. Let StarClan receive him as a warrior."
If Swiftpaw had been in a better situation, he'd visibly hold his breath. He waited for this. To make Bluestar accept him as an apprentice who successfully finished his training and be recognized as a warrior.
That's the only reason he went to find the dogs and risked his well-being.
He's going to be a true warrior.
"He will be known as Lostface, so that every cat knows what StarClan did to take him from us."
A true warrior.
Sunlight warmed Lostface's curled up body. The warrior was only dimly aware of Longtail washing his pelt with soft strokes. The former mentor still took care of the injured tom, obviously caring deeply for him.
It had been a miracle that he survived, after all.
Someone moved in the corner of his vision.
Immediately, the black-and-white tom inched closer to his once mentor, wanting to hide himself in the tabby fur of Longtail. Lostface developed this habbit overtime; when others approached him from his injured side, he felt more vulnerable than a mouse trapped between the claws of a hunter.
"It's okay," he heard Longtail assuring him. "It's only Fireheart."
The two toms continued a conversation - that involved Longtail scolding Fireheart - without Lostface listening.
He could only think of one thing.
Brightpaw was dead.
Teared apart by the dogs.
She didn't even get a warrior name.
It should have been me! Lostface found himself continuously wailing. He was the one that dragged the ginger patched she-cat to Snakerocks. He was the one that vowed to protect her, and yet he broke his promise.
It was his fault only that she died.
Some would probably say that he should be grateful. He was alive. He might carry the reminders of this battle, without half a face, scars crossing his flanks and head, but he didn't get killed.
And for Lostface, that was the fact that made his heart break.
He was alive, with Brightpaw being the one who suffered and eventually got life ripped out of her, quite literally.
In his first days, he snapped at everyone, declaring that if Brightpaw wasn't so mouse-brained to go with him, she would have lived. It was nice to believe he wasn't the one who made a terrible mistake, but the thought of shouting such things drove him mad.
Brightpaw was simply concerned for his safety, and he led her to her death.
What did it matter now that he became a warrior? True, that was his sole goal up to that day. But it just simply wasn't worth it without Brightpaw. She should have been with him in front of the Highrock, the Clan cheering their names to celebrate the new warriors.
Everything still hurt.
His wounds didn't catch up to the pain he felt now, though.
It hurt to exist when he carried the thought along that he was breathing and living only because someone selflessly gave her life to save his.