#rushtree story

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

What's Wrong? (short story)

Rushpaw stood up and took a step back, inspecting his work and giving himself a pleased nod when he found that he was satisfied with it. 

It wasn’t something he had been tasked to do. Cricketfur, brother to Rushpaw’s mentor, Martenstep–and his unofficial secondary mentor, as the brothers were never apart–was out on a solo patrol, so Martenstep told Rushpaw to relax for now, and that when Cricketfur got back, they would all head out for some training–which would probably end in some play fights, as that was the typical, never planned routine. 

But when Rushpaw stepped into his nest, a puff of dust rolled out, and he realized how filthy it was. So, he changed the bedding and padded it in with some extra soft moss. Then he flopped down again, but couldn’t settle because his eyes drifted to his denmate’s nest and how dirty it was, which left him feeling bad. So he cleaned that as well, then his other denmate’s nest, then another. 

Finally, he was done. He puffed his chest out, already smiling as he thought about how surprised and happy it would make his friends. Surely, it would be comfy, he thought. He lifted a paw, about to step into his nest for the third and hopefully last time for a while–

A yowl split the air, making Rushpaw’s fur stand on end all along his spine. Tail poofed to twice its size, he hurried to the den entrance, about to poke his head out. He was met with Martenstep, standing so close that he blocked whatever it was that had cats outside wailing in a loud, confusing chorus. 

“What’s happening, Martenstep?” he asked, eyes wide.

Martenstep’s head swung to look at him. The older tom’s own eyes were bulging, with a wild, yet far-away look in them. His mouth opened, then closed again like a dying fish, and his sides heaved roughly. Rushpaw was about to yell for the medicine cat, thinking that Martenstep was having trouble breathing, when his mentor spoke. “Get inside.”

Rushpaw tilted his head. What was going on? “I am inside.”

“Stay inside,” Martenstep corrected. His voice was rough, and he licked his lips, as though his mouth had gone dry. His attention turned to whatever it was in the clearing that had everyone freaking out.

“What’s going on?” Rushpaw tried again. He stretched his neck forward, attempting to peer past his mentor when Martenstep’s attention snapped back to him. “Do not look!” Martenstep practically screamed at him. 

Rushpaw flinched, flattening himself against the ground. Fear flooded him. But he wasn’t afraid of Martenstep. No, Martenstep was the kindest, most patient cat in all the Clans. Someone like him never snapped, never yelled–Rushpaw hardly remembered ever hearing him raise his voice at all. So what was going on? Something was deeply, deeply wrong.

“Stay inside and don’t look!” Martenstep repeated his orders. His gaze searched around until it landed on Beechhollow, nearby. “Can you watch Rushpaw for me?” he asked. But he wasn’t looking at her, not really. His eyes kept flicking to whatever it was he wasn’t allowing Rushpaw to see. “Don’t let him leave. Don’t let him look, not one peak. Not until….” Until what? It didn’t sound as though even Martenstep knew. “...Until I say,” he decided.

Beechhollow dipped her head solemnly. “I promise. I’m sorry,” she added as Martenstep raced away, toward that thing that couldn’t be seen. Rushpaw tried to look, but Beechhollow hurried to block him, ushering him deeper into the den.

“Sorry for what?” he asked his mother.

Beechhollow didn’t answer. Her tail drooped, and she dropped heavily in one of the freshly-made nests. 

“Sorry for what?” Rushpaw asked again, watching her. What was going on? Why was no one telling him, or letting him into the clearing?

Instead of answering, his mother reached out a paw and pulled Rushpaw close against her chest. “Oh, my dear kit,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” Rushpaw was getting frustrated. Worse, he was getting outright terrified. “I’m not a kit, I can take it!” he promised, hoping it was true. 

Beechhollow blinked at him, then let out a deep, long sigh. “It’s…it’s Cricketfur.”

Rushpaw’s heart skipped a beat. He broke away from his mother, on his paws in an instant. “What happened? Is he hurt? Does he need help?”

Beechhollow frowned, deep and sorrowfully. “He’s not hurt anymore.”

“But he was hurt? What happened? Was it a fox? A badger?” He gasped. “A monster?”

Beechhollow shook her head. “No, little one. It wasn’t any of that. It was just…” Rushpaw could practically hear the lump in her throat, visibly shifting like a lodged stone.  “Just a bad accident, okay?”

Rushpaw whimpered. “I can help,” he insisted. “I know some of the herbs! I can get anything Owlcliff needs, I can wet the moss, or–or get cobwebs, or–or I could–I could–”

Beechhollow rested her chin on top of Rushpaw’s head, silencing him. “There’s nothing anyone can do for him anymore, honey. He’s gone.”

Gone.

He’s gone.

Rushpaw’s other mentor.

His best friend. 

His older brother in all but blood.

Rushpaw’s heart stopped altogether. He froze, as still as a rock for several, painful heartbeats. Then something horrible rushed up his lungs, filling them, his chest, his twisting heart with cold and ugly thorns that stabbed at his lungs and crushed his ribs. It crawled its way up his throat, finally releasing in a loud, moanful cry. 

Dead.

Cricketfur was dead.

======================

Rushpaw's pov when Cricketfur's body was brought to camp.

He, and specifically this moment, was mentioned in this post.

[residences-of-the-darkforest]

Rushtree becomes the golden mentor.

He was incredibly grief-stricken for a long time when his two mentors died close to one another (official and unofficial), mentors who were like big brothers to him.

But after a long time of working through it and accepting it and feeling happy again, he becomes to apprentices what Martenstep and Cricketfur were to him.

He's patient as a saint. He listens to apprentice's questions without judgement or ridicule and responds to what they need or want. At the end of every training session or lesson, he asks them how they are doing, if there's anything they want to keep working on, if there's anything they want to talk about--related to the lesson or not.

He would be a wonderful mentor regardless of his loss, because that's just the kind cat he is, but he also does it to honour Marten and Cricket and their memory.

Sometimes--whenever he can, really, he tells stories of the brothers. He would talk about all the important stuff they taught him, he would make it clear what amazing Clanmates and friends they were, so much so that on more than one occasion a younger cat would say "I wish I could have met them!"

Too, he talks about all the fun stuff--all the times they played together, all the pranks that were pulled, the jokes that were made--all tales that never failed to make the listeners crack up when he told them.

And every time he talks about them, he can't help but feel their presence with him, warm and loving. And he knows that even if he can't see them, even if they are physically gone, the true part of them, the spirit of them both, are still right there with him.

At least, that's what he believed.