I Hate Everything (open)

you were a child who was made of glass, you carried a black heart passed down from your dad.

[attr="class","itdscroll"]Sometimes, if only sometimes, it was nice to get away. It was nice to escape the hustle and bustle of camp, escape the constant voices, the constant prodding and needing. The silence was nice, though Nettleheart wasn't blessed with it often. Surely Riverclan could manage an afternoon without too much fussing, besides, Blackpaw was back at camp anyway.

It had been four moons since Starclan had summoned Blackpaw under his wing. Nettleheart hadn't exactly been looking for an apprentice, but when the starry ancestors called upon him, he had to act (even if he had muddled over it for a few sunrises). Competent as Blackpaw was, Nettleheart still missed and appreciated his empty den. Something about that clever young tom, who took every swipe you gave him with a twinkle in his eye and a honey-sweet smile upon his maw. There were very few cats that could manage Nettleheart's sharp tongue, and he commended the young tom for that. But the medicine cat would be lying if he said he didn't wish to get a rise out of that apprentice every now and then. Did his words sink in at all? Did they find their way into that skull of his? Hm, that was yet to be determined.

So now, as the massive tabby shouldered through the undergrowth, he felt a sigh of relief relax his muscles. Being a medicine cat wasn't easy, at least not for someone of his disposition. A tiny, small part of him wished he had completed his warrior training, at least then he had an excuse to blow some steam when mouse-brains didn't know up from down. But that wasn't the medicine cat way, he was supposed to have a mild disposition, be peace-loving. Pfft. Nettleheart would put anyone in their place, should they deserve it (or at least, if Nettleheart deemed them deserving of such punishment, which was more often than not).

He pushed through the undergrowth and emerged at the edge of the clearing. Almost immediately, the last tabby was greeted with a foreign witness. The tom in front of him was feeble and small, sunken to the earthen floor with his hind leg pulled forward. Nettleheart's ears fell flat against his skull, hackles raised as he squared his shoulders and padded forward in a dominant claim of that section of four trees. "What are you doing here, runt?" He sneered, whiskers quivering as he peeled back just a small bit of his lip to reveal pearly white canines. "You're a long way from home."