Laughter filled the air as a slovenly figure encrusted over in a coat of mud materialized from the dingy depths of a trench. It sloshed its way a path through the thick muck, a suction noise like pop sounding each time it forcibly snatched a grime laden foreleg out of the brown sludge.
The foul smelling filth clung to the being's body like a new layer of skin. The muck weighed its form down in the most disconcerting way possible as the being painstakingly struggled to use their dirt caked claws to scale up and out of the swamped gully. All the while merry laughter sang through the air directed at it.
This desperate and annoyed swamp creature was me. The one baring the full brunt of mocking laughter was sadly me as well.
This was the unfortunate reality of what transpired when someone was careless enough to camp out the night in a sewer pipe whilst sharing the company of a mischievous she-cat. The irate expression plastered across my face, along with goops of mud, was evidence enough of what particular mood I was in.
I've been off on my own for nearly eight moons now, and incidents like climbing out of pools of mud seemed to be the highlight of my day as a wandering healer. No outbreak of sicknesses or cats in need of aid, unless the cat in question entailed me, though truthfully it was probably a sign of good fortune that I've yet to encounter someone needing my help.
Besides her, of course.
At least my herbs are still clean, I acknowledge in a fleeting thought of goodwill. My mind jumped to the bulging bundle of cobweb clasped tightly in my jaws. It contained my livelihood, or to be more exact, nearly every single herb that was a necessity to my craft as a medicine cat.
Ex-medicine cat, a sardonic voice sounded off in my head. I snorted out loud to myself. That was true, I suppose. If we were going by present time the title of medicine cat was not something I would readily stand up to claim currently.
With a grunt of exertion, I was able to dig my claws into the dirt and heave my way out of the ditch. I crawled onto level land, pausing momentarily to catch my breath, and cast a last parting glance down into the dark hovel I'd just haphazardly clawed my way out of.
The only question that now remained was where the one responsible for my tumble into it was?
I didn't have long to wait before I got my answer in the form of a bemused, slender she-cat that lay awaiting me some pawsteps away on the bank of the ditch. Everything about her radiated smugness. From the amused twinkle in her eye to the way in which her soft creamy fur puffed out and tail twitched, there wasn't a thing about her that concealed the merriment she got from watching me trudge around in mud.
"You're a plague to my life and every creature that walks this land," I growled, spitting out my bundle of herbs and plopping down onto my muddy romp in disgust.
Grinning, she flashed her fangs which gleamed bright under the sheen from the sun. "Is that anyway to speak to your mate, Whitepaw?"
"I don't recall ever agreeing to that," I replied grimly, beginning to roughly scrape scoops of goop out of my fur, visibly reeling at the gunky taste. "You're liable to give the wrong impression to others if you continue saying that."
"And what would that be?" she purred slightly, rising to her paws and slowly slinking to my side. "We're traveling together, correct? We offer each other company while keeping the other warm at night, don't we? We also look out for each other. You're an exceptional healer and I'm an incredibly skilled hunter that keeps you fed day by day. To any outsider it would appear only obvious that we're in a relationship. Why else would such a beautiful cat like me be caught following around such a sour and baleful tom, if not for love?"
I buried my head in the dirt, sighing heavily as I wearily glanced up to meet her amused gaze again. "Would you remind me again why it is that you love me?"
"Why, because you're my hero," she seemed to recite for the umpteenth time, smiling at my annoyed expression. "The selfless and courageous, heroic white savior that appeared from the heavens and braved sure death to rescue me from an untimely demise without batting a single eye the entire time. I owe you my life. You're my peace of mind. My one and true hope in this world."
"Why do I feel like you're mocking me when you say it that way?"
"Oh, but I mean every single word of it, Whitepaw," she stated matter of factly. "I love you."
I frowned. And that was the problem. As much as she said and did things to get under my skin and drive me mad, it was always when she allegedly professed her love to me that I couldn't determine whether or not she was joking. This was troubling for someone in a position like me, especially since she was a cat that did nothing but joke and endlessly tease me.
"I've explained this before to you already, Canary," I spoke tiredly. "I'm a medicine cat, so you know that we can never be anything more than what we are now."
She hummed softly, her tail twitching back and forth slowly as she observed me. "From what I remember you said that you were no longer that kind of healer, so that excuse doesn't work. And beyond that, only a fool would deny someone their heart's desire, Whitepaw."
"Despite my absence of title, I still abide by the code of the Medicine cats," I responded hotly. "So I'll continue to deny you all I want."
A smile split her lips. "So you're admitting that you're a fool?"
"Wah, no! Weren't you listening to a thing I said? I'm-" The words died in my throat the moment the implications of her own words slid into place for me. I'd been led straight into a trap.
Feeling my spine stiffen and fur begin to heat up in embarrassment, I silently busied myself with trying to remove the rest of the mud from out of my coat. Four moons I've had to put up with this and it only seemed to grow tougher as the days grew longer.
Fidgeting with laughter, Canary lowered herself so that the two of us were now sitting eye level. Being this close, I couldn't help but notice just how the corners of her lips involuntarily twitched as if she was constantly trying to fight back a smile. Knowing just how much she loved to torment me, I wasn't too surprised to see this as I stared back sourly.
"You really are cute when you pout like that," she said much to my own continued displeasure. "I'm going out to hunt. I should be back shortly, so try to have yourself cleaned up by then. I'd hate for someone to come by and think I let you go around playing in the mud."
She said this sweetly, like a mother to her kit, and then rose up to go. As her body turned, I caught sight of a jagged scar running down the side of her body like a bolt of lightning. It stuck out tremendously against her otherwise soft and spotless creamy coat. Such abhorrent harshness contrasted against a backdrop of benign tenderness.
For me it was a brutal reminder of the first time I'd met Canary, and for her an apparent symbol of the cat that had saved her life. I hadn't thought about much of anything the moment I drug her sodden and bloody body of that rushing river, only that I had a desperate desire to do everything remotely plausible within my ability to save her.
It wasn't a memory I tended to like to linger on for reasons I'd rather not discuss. The only thing of note that I could speak on was after the fact she had felt indebted to me for rescuing her and after fully healing decided on her own that she'd tag along with me, despite my best efforts to detour her away.
I silently watched her retreating form as she padded away, the way in which her ears swiveled slightly outward, how her tail arched in the air, and how she didn't even react to the presence of the cat sitting on the bank of the ditch as she walked directly right by it. But of course, I wouldn't have expected her to. She hasn't the entire time we've traveled together. And for that matter never has the cat ever reacted to her walking pass it. No, its attentions always been focused entirely on me and nothing else.
Just like always.
The little kit inspected the pile of leaves before looking up at me with questioning eyes.
"What's this?"
"It's medicine."
"What for?"
"To make you feel better."
"I don't want it."
A snicker sounded from my side as I felt my smile strain. Patience Whitepaw, I chanted. Stay cordial and don't get angry. That's the best way to handle these sorts of cases. Yes, of course.
"But don't you want your paw better?" I pleasantly inquired. "You'll be able to run and play with no trouble."
The kit gave another glance towards the herbs as I waited with abated breathe, hope rising in my chest that I had actually gotten through with my reasoning. Her eyes shot back up to me. "No."
The snickering transitioned into outright laughter now and I cast a disgruntled glare in the direction of Canary's smug face. She wasn't helping the situation, appearing more and more amused by the second, but to be fair neither was the kit's unwillingness to let me apply the dock leaves to her injured paw.
While passing through this small twoleg settlement, we ended up venturing across this young cat limping. Heralding her down, I followed up with a quick inspection to reveal a few light scratches on the pads of her left foreleg, making it a bit uncomfortable for her to place any real weight on it.
It was a minor thing really. A bit of dock rubbed over the cuts would've set her right after a brief rest to let it set in. However, since going to retrieve the dock from my reserve of herbs, the kit had become quite resistant to any sort of aid, despite my best attempts to coax her otherwise. And truth be told, I was starting to lose my control of the situation.
"Look," I began testily when, all of sudden, Canary stepped out in front of me.
"You want to see something amazing?" She asked the kit with bright eyes.
She nodded enthusiastically in response.
Swiveling to her left, Canary turned to display her scarred side. "Do you see this?" She cheerily indicated to the severe blemish on her creamy flank. "This is what happens when you don't let others apply medicine to your wounds. Your paw will look just like this."
My stomach dropped the exact same moment as the kit's mouth did. Canary fixed us both in her sight, eyes dancing merrily with pure delight.
The kit allowed me to work from there while Canary sat back in watch, humming quite pleased to herself. I ripped the dock apart and then chewed the pieces into a ready adhesive that I then applied to the cuts under her paw. It was short, efficient work that didn't arise a single mewl of protest out of the kitten.
Before setting her off on her way, I gave a strict set of instruction to follow regarding her paw and then watched as she slowly departed, leaving a bit more traumatized then she had been before we'd arrived.
With that matter settled, I now turned my attention to my other problem. "Was that necessary?"
Canary glanced my way with wide innocent eyes. "What do you mean?"
I could feel the sigh building in my chest even before I'd begun to inhale. "You didn't have to step in like that. I had it well enough under control without you terrifying the kitten into a moon worth of nightmares."
"It doesn't work when others know you're pretending to be nice," she said slyly. "Your face is much too open, Whitepaw. It's easy to tell what you're really thinking most of the time with just a glance."
A long frown creased my face.
"Don't be too put off by it," Canary continued. "I personally enjoy that quality about you. It's impossible for you to ever be deceitful. So in that sense you're the most trustworthy cat I've ever met."
"I'm honored," I replied dryly.
"You should be." She flicked the tip of her tail across my nose while grinning. "Usually someone as dour as you would never have garnered my attention."
Lucky me, I thought, choosing not to verbalize this in favor of avoiding a quick rebuttal from Canary.
Although mentally I acknowledged Canary was just teasing me with her usual bout of banter, the fact that my emotions and intent were so readily evident on my face bothered me. A lot more even then I was willing to admit to myself.
I quickly relieved myself of these thoughts, acutely aware that it wasn't worth the psychological baggage that would surely fall like a hailstorm if I allowed any further exploration down that morose path. Improving is what was most important. This only meant more time to do so was necessary is all.
What I wasn't aware of, while collecting my straying thoughts, was Canary silently appraising me. To suddenly find her inquisitive gaze rifting across my face made me immediately uncomfortable. Awkwardly, I shifted my weight from my front paws to back before hastily clearing my throat.
"Am I really all that interesting for you to be studying so intently?" I'd asked, trying to cover my own discomfort.
It wasn't often that I witnessed an expression not derived from merriment, concerning Canary. Actually, it was next to never. Her emotions were tightly reigned in for the most part. So to be the focal point of her attention now, in a manner absent of jokes or teasing, changed the entire dynamic of the natural order between us.
Canary blinked twice, her green eyes glimmering briefly before the glint gradually receded.
"Calling you interesting is a bit of a stretch," she replied. "Mildly appealing, maybe."
She was back to normal, I see.
"So, how did it feel?"
I looked at her in confusion. What was she talking about? "How did what feel?"
Canary shook her head disparagingly, as though I'd just disappointed her. "Your more oblivious than a kit. I'm talking about you finally getting the chance to treat someone. The last chance you got was me, and that was quite awhile ago."
She was right. In the heat of the moment, it had completely slipped my mind that the kit was the first cat I had gotten to actually treat in moons. How did I feel? The difference between when I'd had to save Canary from near death and the light scratch on the kit's paw were so drastically polarizing in every way possible, except for one thing. And it was that sole singularity that persevered through.
"I guess it made me feel useful," I answered with some reluctance. Being deliberately transparent like this still wasn't something I was comfortable with, most of all with someone like Canary. Though I felt embarrassed, it still felt liberating in a way to voice myself in this way. "I hope I get the chance to do it again. No matter how serious or minuscule, I want to help any and everyone I possibly can."
"I'm sure you will," Canary said. "And on the subject, why don't you try remembering this. Gloom doesn't suit you well, Whitepaw. I prefer my toms optimistic. The sort of type that doesn't allow careless remarks to worry them." We locked eyes. "Understand?"
The look she gave me sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn't one of uneasiness. Mesmerized by the will pouring out of her eyes, I could only nod my head in compliance. It was the only thing it seemed I was able to do.
"Good," she answered, bypassing my still form without another word. Watching her march on, my mind was still abuzz with what she'd just said.
That was...surprisingly nice of her. Canary had chosen to do it in her own way, but still, the sentiment had made its way through. I hadn't expected that of her, but then again, I had to remind myself that there was very little of her that I did know about, which got me to thinking as I hastily picked up my herbs and rushed after her.
What had Canary's life been like before we'd met? I had never once built the courage to ask in fear that she would then poke a sharp nose into my clouded past. That was not something that I was ready to address. Especially not with the thing following after me that was basically blind to all eyes except mines.
Falling in step besides Canary, I cast a quick glance at the coarse patch of skin where the scar resided on her body. I'd always known how, but never ventured to ask why she'd been injured so severely. The scar on her body was inflicted by the claws of another cat, that much I knew, having personally tended to the wound myself.
The reason behind why though, was something that she had never mentioned, and chances were that she never would. At least not in the time being. I guess we both had our own secret traumas. Her's being visible for the world to see while mines lurked just outside my sight, making sure I always knew it was present.