6. Art of Conversation

Rainsplash and Eaglestrike can collect the thorns, while Frostfeather and Death collect the wet moss.

While Frostfeather and Death collect the wet moss.

Frostfeather and Death collect the wet moss.

Frostfeather and Death.

Silverstreak's words rang in his ears, and he blinked up at her uncomprehendingly. She was putting them together? To collect moss for the Clan? Together?

A chill of anticipation ran down his spine, and he turned to see Frostfeather looking at him. He gave her a bright smile, and she turned away, the fur on her shoulders ruffling. Death turned to see that Silverstreak was still talking, but he wasn't listening. Was that a gleam of amusement he saw in her blue eyes? Was she aware of how happy she'd just made him?

Time for the two of us, alone! He thought brightly. I can finally impress her! Maybe I'll catch her something. The biggest mouse the forest has ever seen! That will impress her!

Silverstreak let out a yowl, startling him, and she sprang down from the HighBranch. He bounced towards Frostfeather eagerly.

"Ready to go?" he purred cheerily. Her eyes narrowed.

"Just don't talk to me, and we'll get through this just fine," she mewed, acting as the ice queen, as always. He just smiled, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

Remember now, smooth, he thought. You have to be cool to impress them, but you've got to be smooth, too. They love the smooth toms. I bet Brightfire is smooth.

He didn't know the ginger tom very well, except that he was the father of Frostfeather's kits and scared the living daylights out of the skinny black tom. Still, he'd managed to seduce Frostfeather somehow (or perhaps it had been the other way around).

"Well, let's go then," he said, wiping the smile from his face and trying to sound bored, as if he wasn't wanting to jump up and down because Frostfeather had to be with him whether she wanted to or not, for a few minutes at the very least.

"Let's," she snapped, and led them into the forest. Death moved quickly, trying to stay in front so that it looked like he was leading.

"Get out of my way, furball!" Frostfeather spat. "You're going the wrong way, anyway." Death paused to see that Frostfeather was pointing her tail in the other direction, away from the river.

"I knew that," he blustered.

"Of course you did," Frostfeather meowed, letting out a growl as Death moved in front of her again.

I'll impress her with my leadership skills, that's it, he thought. I don't know where the moss is…but I'm sure we can find it, right? Easy peasy.

"Death, have no idea where you're going, and I don't need you showing me the way. Move it or lose it."

Death turned to see that Frostfeather's claws were unsheathed; she was more on edge than he would have guessed. He didn't even want to think about what it was she was intending for him to lose. He moved out of the way quickly, allowing Frostfeather to plunge into the brush.

He trailed behind her, thinking quickly. Okay…she has enough leadership skills for herself. That won't work. What might?

He frowned, trying to come up with an idea. That mouse I was thinking about earlier! The biggest mouse the forest's ever seen! That will impress her.

He stopped, but Frostfeather didn't notice, or perhaps she didn't care as she continued into the forest. Death lowered himself into a crouch, sneaking over the forest floor, mouth opened to catch the available scents. His golden eyes glinted as he picked up the scent of a mouse, and he grinned.

Perfect, he thought. I bet it's the biggest mouse anyone has ever seen…ever! Frostfeather will be impressed then, I just know it!

The scent grew stronger, and Death was trembling with anticipation. He could already taste the mouse, could already see Frostfeather's look of surprise as he dragged the colossal creature towards her, could hear her voice ringing in his ears ("Oh, Death, it's so big and juicy! This will feed our whole Clan forever! Come over here, you big, amazing, handsome, strong, talented tom-cat, you!"). He let out a thrumming purr, then crouched. He couldn't see the mouse through the brush just yet, but he was certain that he was close enough; he could hear it scrabbling its little mousy paws over the leaves ahead.

He sprang forward, paws outstretched, only for his eyes to widen in horror as he realized what he had just thrown himself upon. He landed paw-first in the middle of a giant thicket of thorns, which plunged into his paws and fur. He let out a yowl of pain, drowning out the squeak of a terrified mouse that had been foraging within the thicket. The mouse darted away, but Death found himself unable to move, trapped by the thorns snagging his pelt.

"Help!" he bleated like a kit. "Help! Ow, ow! Help!"

"Death? Where are you? Is something attack—" Frostfeather's voice was growing nearer, but suddenly broke off. He turned his head, narrowly missing a thorn to the eye, and saw her white face peering at him through the tangled mass of thorns. Death let out a low whimper, and her eyes narrowed.

"Furball? What in StarClan's name were you thinking?" she hissed. "I should just leave you there, you stupid tom!"

"Please, get me out!" Death begged. "It h-hurts!" He realized that his voice was breaking and he sounded like a kit, but he didn't care. The thorns felt as though they'd gone straight through his paws, and he whimpered in pain and fear. "Don't leave me, please!"

Frostfeather sighed quietly, and Death knew her big, beautiful heart couldn't just leave him trapped there. "Hang on," she growled, and began to pull the vines back with her claws. They were brittle, dead from the chill of leaf-bare, and snapped away easily. Frostfeather slowly cleared a path for herself, then reached in with her face to grab Death. He felt her teeth fasten on his scruff, sending another chill running through him at her touch, before she began to pull.

Death let out a shriek as the thorns pulled back, unwilling to let his fur go. Frostfeather gave a strong tug, and Death came loose, sending the black tom tumbling to the ground. He whimpered in pain, staring at the thorns poking into his paws. Two were in his hard pads, but one had managed to avoid the pads entirely, sinking into the soft, delicate space between his claws.

"Honestly," Frostfeather sighed, gripping one of the thorns with her teeth, and pulling it out. Death yelped with pain, drawing away from her as blood bubbled out where the thorn had been.

"That hurt!" he mewed, and Frostfeather's eyes narrowed.

"Of course it hurts, mousebrain, it's a stinking thorn lodged in your paw!" she snapped, snatching out another before he could move. "You've got them all over you, idiot. What were you doing?"

She pinned him down with one paw despite his protests, and began plucking out the thorns one-by-one, each one sending a new tremor through Death's body as he struggled not to whimper.

"One more," she growled, moving for the one between his claws, but Death shrank away.

"Please don't, it'll really hurt," he begged. Frostfeather drew back, watching him, obviously tired of pulling thorns out from his pelt.

"Fine, but you'll have to just suck up the pain as you walk," she mewed. Death nodded quickly, and Frostfeather turned away, continuing towards wherever the moss was. Death quickly rose to follow her, only to let out a hiss as the thorn dug deeper into his soft flesh.

Just suck it up, like she said, he thought. Maybe you don't have good leadership or hunting skills…but you can have good tolerance skills, right? That will impress her for sure.

He began limping after her, wincing with each step he took, although he tried to hide it.

Frostfeather led the two of them to GreenRocks; Death blinked, seeing the large boulders scattered about the rocky slope. Every rock was covered in moss; it was a good place to gather the green stuff.

She might not notice your paw, though, he realized, so you've gotta impress her some other way…let's see…compliments! Everyone likes compliments, but she-cats really really like them lots. She'll love some, and then maybe she won't totally hate you!

He sidled up next to her; she glanced at him.

"How about we split up?" she suggested. "You gather your moss, I'll gather mine, everything will be great. Okay?" Before he could reply, she padded away, heading towards a large boulder. Her expression suggested that if he followed her, he'd quickly find himself underneath it.

He hobbled off to another rock instead, scratching the moss off of the rock with his uninjured paw and gathering it in his jaws. He'd managed to collect a pitiful amount, before he trotted towards her.

"Frostfeather," he called; she glanced towards him, and sighed.

"Yes, Death?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest fur? It looks like…new fallen snow. And, um, your eyes are nice. They're like…new leaves, before they die and get all brown and rot on the ground and stuff. And your fur is very thick and puffy, like clouds. It looks very nice, I'd love to just bury my face in it and—" He realized he was getting a bit carried away as Frostfeather cut him off.

"Look, Death. You say one more word, and I'm stuffing you into that tunnel and leaving you there, understand?" She flicked her tail towards a small tunnel in the slope, hidden by boulders and filled with moss. Death gulped, nodded, and limped away.

Way to go, genius. That didn't work either. She totally hates you. His ears flattened as he scratched half-heartedly at the mossy rock. She hates you even more than you did before.

"Come on, Death, we've got enough. We need to get to the river and wet it," Frostfeather called. He turned quickly, limping after her as she disappeared into the forest.

He didn't say anything as they reached the river. Frostfeather dropped the moss, then dipped it into the water, holding it with her claws.

"Do it like this," she ordered. Death's ears flattened.

"I know how," he mewed quietly.

"Well, I figured you were dumb enough to hold the moss in your teeth while you tried to wet it, and you'd end up drowning or something," she growled. "It would take care of my problem, but of course I'd have to explain it to Silverstreak, and that just wouldn't be pretty. Hurry up, I want to get back to the Clan."

Death obediently dropped his moss onto the bank, pushing it into the rapidly-flowing water and holding onto it with his claws so it didn't float away. His injured paw burned in the ice-cold water.

She really thinks I'm that dumb? He wondered sadly. This hasn't turned out at all like I thought it would…I thought everything would work out so nicely…but I failed at everything. I couldn't be a good leader, I couldn't hunt for her, I couldn't compliment her right, and even my trying to be tough hasn't worked…I'm such a failure. His heart seemed to sink in his chest. She hates me, like everyone else. Why do I even bother trying, when I'm such a failure?

"Death!"

Death blinked, coming out of his reverie. He turned to Frostfeather, puzzled by her expression.

"What?" he asked gloomily, his thoughts still dark and stormy.

"Get your paws out of the water right now," she ordered. Surprised, Death yanked his paws back, blinking as his moss floated away. Frostfeather quickly snagged it, but Death's eyes widened as he saw a trail of red running through the water.

"Your paw is bleeding, furball," Frostfeather meowed, putting their moss to the side. "You left that thorn in? It's even deeper now. What were you thinking? I thought you wanted to take it out yourself so you didn't look like a mewling kit in front of me, like you were!"

Death's ears flattened. "I'm sorry, Frostfeather, I was trying to be tough," he whispered. "I was trying to show that I wasn't a softy. I wanted to impress you today, so I tried to show you how well I could lead and how well I could hunt and how I was strong and tough and that I knew how to compliment a she-cat well…but all I did was fail. And now you hate me." He looked down at his bleeding paw; the thorn was barely visible, and it throbbed like mad.

"Death."

Frostfeather's almost gentle tone made him glance up, and he was surprised to see that her green eyes had softened just a bit.

"Look, Death, I don't hate you. I'm just…irritated with you. You've tried hitting on me since the day we met, and it's getting really old really fast, okay? I'm kind of sick and tired of toms, to be honest…." She shook her head. "In the end, they're all the same. They all think they're smarter than me; they think that I can't just lead myself and go where I want to without a tom's strong guiding paw. They think that just because I'm a she-cat, I'm incapable of hunting for myself. They think that I want to see them swaggering around all mousebrained and refusing to be helped because they think they can tough it out. They think that just because I'm a she-cat, I have to be vain and like anyone who says something nice tome. And I'm not that kind of she-cat, Death. I like compliments and someone hunting for me as much as any other cat, but it isn't because I'm a she-cat, and I don't like it when toms decide that they have to take it upon themselves to win me over doing stupid things. Believe me, I've been with more 'macho' toms than I can count on one paw, and they all seem to turn out to be noble sexist idiots, in the end." She sighed softly. "I don't want anyone like that, Death. I want someone with a little class, someone I can talk to rather than just slip off into the forest with. Because that's what we really want, at the heart of the matter; someone we can talk to, someone who understands us."

Death blinked at her. "I can do that," he meowed quickly. "I'm a good listener. And a good talker. I can do whatever you need."

She shook her head, obviously frustrated. "You're doing it again, but you don't even realize it! I don't want someone who has to change who he is just to impress me or win me over. I want someone who is comfortable being himself."

"I can—" Death broke off, realizing his mistake. I'm just doing it again, promising to change to be someone I'm not to become someone who is comfortable with himself…how confusing is that, huh?

Frostfeather sighed. "I don't even know why I would try to explain that to you, of all cats. Come on, give me your paw so we can get this over with. Okay?"

Death held out his paw, golden eyes fixed on her face. Frostfeather reached forward to grab the thorn in her teeth, but paused, her green eyes caught by his.

"I'm sorry, Frostfeather," he said quietly. "I didn't realize how much I was…bothering you. Making you feel uncomfortable. I'm trying to be someone I'm not when I'm around you, I know that…because you're right. I don't like who I am. I mean, I'm scared of kits and I can't hunt worth a mouse tail half the time and I seem to fail at—ow!" He let out a yelp of pain; Frostfeather had gotten the thorn while he was distracted. She spat it out, and Death winced at the throbbing pain in his paw. For a moment, he wanted to pretend it didn't hurt, to try and be tough. Then, he saw that Frostfeather was watching him, her expression guarded.

He licked his paw slowly, like a kit would, with a quiet sigh, giving up on his tough persona. To his surprise, Frostfeather smiled.

"Maybe you aren't so hopeless after all," she mewed. "At least you listen. And listening is half a conversation, you know; perhaps you'll get there eventually, to where you really understand how to talk to a she-cat, huh?" She bent to pick up her moss. "Come on, Death. Let's go home. Ravenwing will need to look at your paw."

Death picked up his moss as well, wincing as he took a step. "It really hurts," he meowed, trying to stir up some pity in her defrosting heart.

"Don't overdo it, Death."

AN: This obviously takes place before Robinkit's accident…but I thought it would be interesting to see from Deathy's point of view again, and it kind of justifies why Frostfeather forgave Death so quickly (besides the whole leaping-into-a-burning-den-to-save-my-kit bit).

Plus, it is yet more evidence that Deathy is just a walking ball of fail. Yay.

Also (and I know someone will ask) the reason Frostfeather said that Death didn't hit on her when she spoke with Silverstreak later after coming back to camp is because she didn't want to get him into trouble, and it was kind of a nonissue at that point, but if she'd said that Death had hit on her but she didn't mind then Silverstreak would have thought she liked him back, which is the last thing that Frostfeather wants anyone to think. And Deathy obviously promptly forgets this lesson when taking Buck's advice to try to be 'dangerous yet compassionate' to impress Frostfeather later. But maybe being true to yourself while your actual self changes (like going from a total coward to a cat that can leap into flames to save a kit, even if it only ever happens once) still counts. I dunno.