Exiting the medicine den, Ashfur immediately heads towards the camp's exit. Anger boils in him, the need to scream and claw growing with every further heartbeat he has to stay there. Though usually the grey warrior at least externally manages to remain calm, today his usual facade seems to fail him as several cats give him worried or questioning looks as he hurries past them on his way. His face remaining firmly in a calm expression, his eyes betray the feelings of utter discontent and loathing coursing through him, as he rushes out into the forrest. His rapid stride quickly becomes a run, then a sprint. The further from the camp he gets, the more the Thunderclan warrior lets loose, growling as his pace increases to the point that his muscles scream up in pain under the effort. Storming on until he is just by the treeline at the river, the warrior loses his last restraints, skidding to a stop. He rears up on his hind-legs and with a fearsome cry, rakes his claws through the bark of the tree next to him in a mighty downward swipe. Leaving clear marks in the tree, the warrior screams out in frustration before unleashing a flurry of strikes to follow up. Rage surging through the blue eyes tom, pieces of bark fly left and right as he slowly powers himself out on the inanimate object. His assault continues for a whole while, before the warrior ceases, stopped as much by his breath running short as by his lessening fury. Gasping for air to the point of dizziness, the warrior pads a few pawprints further to his spot amid the reeds, before falling off his legs, trying to catch his breath. As he slowly recuperates, he looks over at the cobwebs on his shoulder and flank.
That damned foxdung of an apprentice, he told him to stop, to slow down and in response Lionpaw carried on, claws unsheathed. Ashfur's jaws clamping down in a snarl, he remembers the scene as if it were playing off right in front of him. Even after batting the young golden cat down several times and deciding training to be over, he just carried on. This time was far too close, if Lionpaw had pushed any further… Ashfur looks at his paw, sheathing and unsheathing his claws several times. If his apprentice does not show restraint, he may end up seriously hurting him, but that is not what a mentor is supposed to do. I mentor should guide the young, not maul them. Shaking his head as his snarl slowly fades, his blue eyes stare into the water's currents. What is he to do? It seems the more Ashfur speaks of restraint, them more the apprentice does the opposite. As a pair of fish swim by in the stream, Ashfur's eyes follow them. He hesitates to bring the issue to Firestar, he has been dealt an apprentice, he needs to find a way to deal with it. He could try to speak with Brambleclaw, but how would the tabby take to Ashfur complaining about his son? Either way, he is the dysfunctional one in the scenario, either way the fault will be his. And isn't that at least partially right? He is supposed to teach his apprentice, that is the task his leader and clan gave him and what Ashfur promised to deliver on the day of Lionpaw's apprentice ceremony. A task, no matter Lionpaw's progress in becoming an admittedly great fighter, Ashfur feels like he is increasingly failing.
The grey warrior puts his front paws over his face, his reflection in the water beginning to sicken him. He was a strong warrior, once. He led away dogs during Tigerstar's plots, he fought Bloodclan, he partook in the great journey, he fought off badgers attacking the camp, defended Thunderclan's borders countless times… Now what is left of that warrior? The warrior Hawkfrost seemingly heard tales about, the warrior that once felt the need to help his clanmates in any way he could, where had that cat disappeared to? It certainly isn't the pitiful creature staring back at him from the river's reflection, that cat that struggles to handle an apprentice without losing control, who's eyes are tired and are getting increasingly colder, just to hide the turmoil inside. Is he truly only good for patrolling and hunting anymore? How did it spiral so out of control? His paws slowly sliding off his face, Ashfur scoffs at himself. He knows full well how. How could he not if he is reminded of it every day? His thoughts wandering to her once more, he puts his paw on his chest, the stinging pain heavy with each heartbeat. Can he even blame her at this point? Back then, he was strong, he was more than a match for Brambleclaw in every way. Now, how long has it been since he did anything to stand out? Her mate Brambleclaw, deputy of Thunderclan, father of her kits, what does Ashfur still have to compare to that? He looks at his mirror image once more amid the gentle waves. Surely he must still have something, it cannot be all truly lost. Surely Starclan would not condemn him to suffer like this if there is nothing else ahead for him. Or have even his ancestors given up on him? Growling to himself, the blue eyes Thunderclan cat strikes out at the calm river surface, distorting it with ripples. No, he must have some purpose or other still. Bloodclan is back, he fought them before, perhaps he still has things to accomplish. If Hawkfrost was truthful, that cat stalking around his river spot may be one of these rogues. Taking on a Bloodclan cat alone is dangerous, but what has he to lose at this point? A spark of determination entering the grey warrior's eyes, he sits up. He still has worth to the clan, and grim and unlikely as it may be, he must still have a chance with Squirrelflight. If he can capture a Bloodclan spy and get the rogue to tell the clan whatever dasterdly plans they have now again, surely that would impress his clanmates. If he manages this, he may still have a chance to return to grace. Perhaps the short time, the tom could only have described as wishless perfection he had during his matehood with Squirrelflight could still, may still return, this time to last. And if not… if he fails…. Ashfur looks on into the distance, feeling strength like he hasn't in many moons. If he fails he will die a warrior's death, doing as the warrior code demands, challenging the intruder, defending his clan. If not Thunderclan, perhaps at last Starclan will reward him for his service.
With a new plan in mind, a new hope firing the tom on, he rises onto his paws. But how would he even get to that Bloodclan cat? All he knows is that it returns from time to time to his river spot. Perhaps Ashfur could lay an ambush for the intruder, surely he could outsmart some used-to-be kitty-pet. Looking around himself, the warrior begins planning. The reeds are high and dense here, one of the things that make this spot so secluded and idyllic. It is also how the Bloodclan cat could get so close to him without being noticed. But that can easily be turned against the rogue. Padding around, Ashfur inspects the surroundings closely. If the wind is in his favour to blow his scent the other way, he could easily hide around here, especially if it was dark. With a grin, he nods to himself, making note to himself on where to hide, just on the opposite side of his spot as the intruder must have been hiding all these times. He'd have him at merely a taillength's distance. But he'd need to be here every night if he is to catch this rogue. Starting tonight, he'd spend his nights here, waiting.
Content with his idea, the warrior flicks his ear at the nearby croak of a frog. He should catch some prey before returning to camp anyway. Might as well get started. A hopefully reinvigorated Ashfur thus creeps through the reeds.
Walking throught he entrance and into camp, Ashfur hums quiely to himself, head risen high as he carries multiple pieces of prey between his jaws. Heading towards the fresh-kill pile, the tom notices a light brown pelt approach from the side. Depositing his bountiful catch, he turns to see Leafpool padding over.
„You're back. I'm glad, some cats were worried when you stormed off after I closed your wounds. Are you feeling better, Ashfur?"
With a small smile, the grey warrior nods at the she-cat
„I think I am. I just needed a moment alone it seemed. You shouldn't worry about me anyway, Leafpool. You have more work right now than any warrior."
The tired medicin cat smiles in return sitting down replying with a gentle purr
„Oh, it's nothing. But thank you for the care, Ashfur. Jaypaw is insistent that I don't overdo it, as is Firestar. I was just about to take some fresh-kill in-fact. If you wish to eat with me, I don't mind the company"
Ashfur is a little surprised at the offer, and more yet as he ponders the fresh-kill pile in front of him. He hasn't eaten anything for today yet, he hasn't even noticed till now how hungry he is. Flicking his nicked ear, he nods
„Sure. I'd just need to figure out what I care to take."
„It's good that we can choose so freely already again, so close before leafbare"
The medicine cat looks over the pile for a moment before pawing a plump mouse out from the rest
„The fresh-kill pill was replenished quickly. Thanks to you in part, Ashfur. You have been hunting a lot lately. The queens are grateful for it, they can get a bit picky at times"
The she-cat chuckles before picking up her mouse. Ashfur ponders her words a bit surprised. The clan did notice? He hasn't spoken with many of his clanmates for a while beside Brackenfur, but he'd have thought that he'd notice if he became a topic in Thunderclan. Absentmindedly, he grabs the closest piece of fresh-kill and follows Leafpool, the two settling down close to the medicine den. As they sit there and calmly speak while eating, the warrior feels more at ease than he has for quite a while. Between bites and stories, he even notices that his chest pains don't plague him as much as they usually do. Inwardly Ashfur jests that it is almost a pity that she's a medicine cat, a kind hearted cat like her could have had a beautiful family of her own, yet she never once complained that he knows of. He knows better than to make such jokes out loud though, instead telling his clanmate about several small misadventures Brambleclaw and him got up to during their apprentice days, earning laughter from Leafpool.
Eventually though, the she-cat gets up, Ashfur noticing that it has been a small while since they have both finished their fresh-kill.
„Back to gathering herbs, I guess?"
„And changing Greystripe's cobwebs, unless Jawpaw has done so by now. It was fun talking though"
Leafpool nods her head at the warrior
„I still got a lot of work to do to ready the clan for leafbare. Maybe we can share fresh-kill again some time"
„Sure"
Ashfur nods back at her and watches her leave, Dustpelt, who's been stationed at the entrance so far, following her as guard as she leaves for the next run of collecting herbs. A kind cat, perhaps the most dutiful he knows in Thunderclan. Ashfur slowly grooms his pelt and fixes his whispers, humming to himself with a pleasant calmness to himself. He looks down at the last few remnants of his fresh-kill, chuckling to himself in amusement at the sight. A few bloodied bits of squirrel pelt remain, he hadn't even noticed what he'd picked earlier.
Ashfur waves his tail in greeting as he passes the night guard of the camp, leaving as most of his clanmates retreat into the dens. Tonight's guard, Hazeltail gives him a questioning look, but does not stop the grey tom as he leaves. Ashfur understands the warrior's worries, with Bloodclan out and about, wandering around alone at night may not seem like the wisest course of action. Padding though the nightime forrest to the sound of crickets and the last, quickly disappearing bird song, he breathes deeply. The cold air filling his lungs, he makes his way to his river spot. Perhaps the intruder might not be there tonight, it's still fairly soon after the raid after all, but there's always a chance. A chance the grey warrior is not willing to miss. Encouraged by his plan and his need to prove himself once more, to his clan as well as to himself, he presses on. Before too long he arrives, a calm smile upon his muzzle as he raises his head to taste the air. He can't make out any strange scents yet. The dusk patrol was not that long ago though, so it's no surprise. Pushing through the reeds, the blue eyes tom gets to his self-designated spot, laying low among the high river plants. After he lays down behind his cover, his ears perked and swivelling from time to time, he remains night motionless otherwise. If the rogue shows, he'd need to be ready. He can't make mistakes, not on this. This is his one shot to potentially turn things around. All he has to do is wait and remain vigilant.