Backwritten Oneshot Camp TC And the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own // Oneshot

[Boarthorn Boarthorn]

{$title} Backwritten to December, while Boarthorn was still in the medicine den.

CW // Spiralling thoughts

The young warrior's mind was nothing but a blur of agony. Sure, he'd been injured before, but every breath sending a shock of nauseating pain like a bolt of lightning through his chest was a horrifying new experience. He lay there, still with shallow breaths as he curled pitifully in the medicine den, trying not to move too much, breathe too hard, Starclan forbid he try lift his head.

It had only been a day or so since the attack, and he was finally feeling more lucid now. The herbs and poppy seeds had finally been diminishing his pain, but not by much. At least in the first few days, drifting in and out of pained slumber made it easier; sleep was painless. Unconsciousness was easier than the agony. Boarthorn had shifted slightly to better shield his face from the wind outside the den, only to prick his eyes with tears from a wrong movement, feeling blood bloom from the barely scabbed wounds.

It was a nightmare he couldn't fall asleep to escape from, he felt so weak, so pitiful. How he was looked at like something delicate, even Rowan's gentle reassurances felt like an edge pressed against his pelt when he thought too long. He couldn't stand this helplessness. Boarthorn was a warrior now, and on his first important patrol, he would be sent to the medicine den for a moon long. What use would he be but an herb sink, and right in the beginning of leafbare…

Tears pricked again at the warrior's eyes, not from the pain, but guilt. Useless. Useless, useless, pitiful little excuse of a warrior. Had Loonstar warriored him out of pity? To get him out of her fur? He had already refused treatment in the past, refused to ask for help with the thorns in his pelt, or the growing pains that kept him awake many nights. He couldn't bear to ask for help, cause it was just another sign of his weakness, his dependency. Boarthorn didn't want to burden the clan more than he had in the past, how much he ate, how much of the herb stocks he used when he was sick or injured. That guilt never left its spot writhing beneath his pelt like an illness.

He knew it was irrational. Foolish. He was loved. He is loved. Mama and Papa call him their own; Loonstar trained him with care from his sixth moon, and even Rowanfeather still calls him little boar. He's not a kitten anymore, though; he can't be excused for being helpless, useless…

Alone…

A pang shot through Boarthorn's chest, another strike of lightning, but not from his wounds. It would have been easier if it were from his injuries, but it was that longing ache beneath his pelt. One he'd known was there for a very long time, but one he never liked to acknowledge.

How lonely he felt.

His littermates were nothing like him, his peers were either far louder or crueller than he could bear to be, and his few friends in the clan he loved spending time with, but he couldn't depend on them. The gathering hadn't helped. Even if Mama and Papa explained it all, that didn't stop the looks. The pressure against his pelt from the eyes, he wasn't sure everyone believed the explanation. There had been something that had shifted, and it just made Boarthorn feel all the more alone. Rowanfeather still spent time with him, but she had to; that was her role in the clan: to make sure he survived. Mama and Papa, too, but they were his parents.

It was a strange sensation. Isolation in a clan full of cats. It was some cruel joke his mind played on him. He had companionship in the clan, friends in his peers, the kits who always circled his paws with questions and wanting to play. But it felt as if there was something absent in it all, something he felt he was missing out on. A yawning void he couldn't quite pinpoint what was absent. Who was absent...

Who was he missing?

A muted smile crossed his toothy maw, even as silent tears still trailed down his cheeks as he curled in on himself. A flash of white pelt, a smile he only ever saw on her maw when she saw him across the river, the reassuring scent of the river. Boarthorn wanted nothing more than to see his best in that moment; it was always her, in his lowest, in his most frightened, it had been her he longed to be there at his side. Curled at his side…

A flash of warmth crossed his face, closing his eyes as he felt his heart flutter. If only she were there, everything would be okay.

He had a heartbeat or so in the thought. Before quickly, Boarthorn's face burned painfully hot, the flutter in his chest unfurling into a thumping mess. Did he… Does he?... A breath caught in the back of his throat as it settled in his mind, dawning on him like it was always meant to be there, ears flushing warmer as Boarthorn curled up about himself further, covering his face with oversized paws in some desperate attempt to shield his suddenly flustered state.

Starclan, it was Shimmerstone, it always had been.

Boarthorn felt his heart hammer behind its rib cage at the realisation that there was no way for him to silence the flutter as it tried to escape. At least that's what it felt like. He had to lie there, in an almost daze as it settled across his mind, an undeniable truth that he'd fallen for his best friend.

A strained chuckle slipped from his maw; he was quick to stifle, thinking back to their last conversation. Talking about padding after someone, about relationships and kits… The silver tom's face burned warmer at the recollection. How had he been so blind? She was there the whole time. He'd only thought about Thunderclan, but there wasn't anything wrong with padding after someone in another clan, right?

He couldn't believe it, his spiral utterly shattered by a different life-altering realisation. Starclan, what was he meant to say? How does he ask? When can he ask? The tom's expression faltered, recalling his state. He wasn't meant to leave the medicine den until the next moon, let alone to Riverclan? His thumping heart stuttered, throat tightening. He would have to wait. Until they could meet again- Maybe not even their next meeting, he needed it to be special. Stars, he wished she were there. Not just for comfort, but then he wouldn't spend the next moon overthinking telling her.

Boarthorn groaned a little, his sorry state just causing him more issues. Chuffing an exhausted sigh, suddenly rather exhausted. But, at the very least, he had something to look forward to, really look forward to. His tail thumped lightly behind him, a stupid little grin knitted across his face. It wasn't all bad; it couldn't be. Not if she was still here, in his heart at the very least–and maybe someday at his side.

​

BOARTHORN He/They, Thunderclan Ranger, 13 moons.
A long-haired, blue ticked tabby tom with a prominent underbite, blue eyes and growing vitiligo.
mentored by Loonstar // mentoring no one
littermate to Saltpaw // sibling to Leveretkit, Primrosekit, Nettlekit, Butterflykit, Plumkit, Squirrelkit & Olivekit.
Copperstorm x Dewshine // parent to none // mated to no one
"SPEECH" // "THOUGHTS" // ATTEMPTED ACTION
penned by Pheo ↛ phoenixwashere on discord, feel free to dm for plots.