#Boragebud needs to question herself because Furledstar sure isn't doing any critical thinking around here

[dawnclan-duskclan]

Heavy rains in the Daylands dimmed the Sun and cast the world in grey, washed out and overcast. It was a gloomy landscape that brought forth gloomier thoughts. Boragebud's uncertainty festered in the silence as she padded out onto the marshes in the wake of the storm.

"Do you think I'm doing a good job as deputy, Mothpuddle?" Boragebud said. A singular drop of water splashed onto her nose, cast far from a Waterwing's feather, and she twitched it off. "I thought I would spend lifetimes reaching Maplesong's wisdom. I thought I would never come close, but now…"

Boragebud paused, recalled the conversation she'd had with her mother before the patrol:

"I don't know why you keep bugging me about this. You're deputy. You already have the answer." "Yes, but I want to make sure I'm not missing anything. Something that you saw and I missed." "Ha! I can hardly see my own nose now, starflower. I assure you: your eyes are far keener than mine." "Mother, I meant in a metaphorical sense." "Literal, metaphorical, rhetorical, take your pick. The only place I have you beat is spiritual, and that's only because half my paws are rooted in MoonClan by now." "Mother!" "Ah, just teasing, flo. But you really don't need my council, you have this under your paw. Show 'em what you've got."

Boragebud shivered at Maplesong's words, wishing it was only the not-quite-fog that settled over the lake which had caused her hackles to rise, her fur to prickle.

In front of her, Mothpuddle stopped on the lakeshore, her paws touching the boundary between earth and mud, and there she started sniffing around at the green shoots poking from the wet, rich soil. How she could distinguish any scent from the pungent lakebed muck was beyond Boragebud's comprehension.

"Do you want to know what I think?" the golden healer finally replied, turning half her face. She had the same authority Maplesong had--maybe that quality ripened with age--but none of the playful softness of her mother's voice, only cold, hard certainty. "I think MoonClan's growls hurt."

"Hurt?" Boragebud asked, confused by the sudden change in topic. "Hurt who?"

"MoonClan. I think the rumblings are unpleasant for the spirits."

The rumblings of MoonClan were what brought life to the Caverns, what made growing all these herbs possible. It was MoonClan's growl that kept the Night away, their purr that led souls to eternal rest.

If that the rumbles of stone were unpleasant, if they were painful to MoonClan, if keeping DuskClan alive caused their ancestors pain…

Boragebud shook her head. It couldn't be.

"It's pain that makes things grow. MoonClan's pain nurtures us, and your pain will nurture you, Boragebud."

The deputy couldn't help it, she laughed. "How is pain anything more than painful?"

"You're feeling pain, yes? Emotional, but obviously that doesn't stop it from hurting. If you didn't feel that pain, how would you ever feel pressured to improve? To question your own choices and biases, and then decide to do better?" Mothpuddle said. Even as she spoke, her claws were gently chopping green stalks, stacking them into piles. "Ergo, pain--or fear of future pains--gives us the motivation to make ourselves better."

"Perhaps for living cats. But what makes you think MoonClan's growl is painful?"

Mothpuddle shrugged. "Nothing. Everything." The golden healer dropped the last mallow stalk onto the pile and walked away, already sniffing through the mud for another patch.

Boragebud shook her head and wrapped the bundles Mothpuddle left behind, tucking the stalks into the hide pouches she wore across her back to carry back. She would never understand MoonClan, not like the old healer did, but at least it distracted her from her own troubles.

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