In here again. (Skyy)

Night couldn’t come soon enough for the black tom His paws itched with the anticipation of it, the cool shadows that would blend into his pelt. More importantly, a gateway well and truly free of the camp, and out into the territory where he could roam without need of hiding his true self. He had several goals planned, practicing his hunting and finding that interesting mandrake root that Riverstorm had once pointed out to him at the far end of the territory. What he’d use it for he wasn’t sure, all the old medicine cat had warned of was that it could be dangerous if used over a long period. But, if he brought it back, maybe he could find a cat worthwhile to try it with. A hum rumbled in the medicine cat’s throat at the thought.

Yet, night was not there yet, and in the setting sunlight that snuck into his den and figure appeared. For a moment curiosity drew him from organising his berries in the quiet that a lack of Flurrypaw caused. However, soon, the familiar scent of Fallowpaw brushed under his nose, and he fought an eyeroll. Was she really there again? "Hey Beetleberry." The medicine cat didn’t skip a beat though, and as Fallowpaw’s voice rung out, he’d slipped into his façade, a smile gracing his lips, eyes bright, and an internal roll of frustration rumbling in his chest. “Good afternoon, Fallowpaw!” He meowed brightly. What in StarClan’s name has you in here bothering me again. “How did training go? I hope your splinter’s wound didn’t cause you any trouble!”

He turned away from his stores and toward the apprentice, flicking his tail and gesturing for her to take a spot, even if he’d rather she just left. He didn’t know apprentices could be such a bother. It was times like that his appreciation for Flurrypaw run true.

Of course, Fallowpaw made herself right at home, and it was only when his head was well away from sight that he rolled his eyes. Pah, what use were cats who proved themselves to be so pathetic at maintaining their own condition. While he cared little for their training or upkeep, there had to be some sort of limit before it just wasn’t worth keeping them around. Especially if all they did was soak up his valuable time with needless injuries and questions. Yet, try as he might, he was stuck with them, sitting in his den, taking up his moss and time, talking at him with their petty problems that meant nothing to the way the world worked. It was all nothing in the end, not when leaders who only knew how to fight continued to run things and insist on such measures to keep the useless.

"Training was fine, and it didn't sure at all! That’s so cool." What did she even mean by that? Apprentices spoke their own language that he had no interest in knowing. Yet, Beetleberry lifted his head and gave a small nod to the she-cat, appearances as friendly as ever. "The only bad thing is. My claw is broken." Oh fantastic, another pathetic, useless injury from a cat who couldn’t maintain her won strength. He needed strength himself at the rate Fallowpaw was coming into his den and out again. “Oh dear, that’s not good at all, how did that happen?” he meowed, voice lower and full of forced concern. The black tom blinked at her a few times, before moving to his stored. Could he just amputate the paw? Maybe the whole limb? Maybe it would stop some of the useless ways the apprentice managed to hurt herself. Ridiculous.

Unfortunately, given her consciousness and his previous techniques, he couldn’t even get away with not giving her poppy seeds and inflicting pain in revenge for her time wasting when he looked at it. She knew the routine too well, and he didn’t feel like more complaints in his face. It was enough to get the medicine cat scooping up with poppy seeds in his mouth, and taking them over to her, sitting them down at the apprentice’s paws. “Now, let me take a look-see?” Beetleberry crouched down, and studied the paw. Pah, he’d seen worse. It seemed like the broken half of the claw had torn off in the movement, though he could clearly see where it was bleeding and the dirt mixed in with it.

Stepping back, he forced his shoulders to relax. “Ah, it should be nice and easy to patch up, not a worry!” The medicine cat turned, and grasped a pieces of moss, piled neatly to one side, he carefully carried it to the small puddle of water in the corner of the den, dampened it, before coming over, and working on washing down the paw. “What were you training for?” He asked absently, feigning interest. Patients seemed to keep more out of his fur if he kept them talking.