The wind around MistClan's camp was a somewhat swiftly moving breeze, swirling around the area with a soft murmur sent to the grasses. The grasses passed the mutters off toward the skies, which passed it to the clouds, which passed it to the very ground of the camp.

Murmurs swirled upward from the ground and all around the camp, traveling with a slight edge. Despite this, it managed to reach many cats, including Dandelionpaw. Though, of course, he could never answer back. That was the world he was doomed to.

I don't think Dandelionpaw could ever be a healer.

Hawkspirit's words echoed in his head and he shivered momentarily. In a realistic world, there was no way in which he'd be able to know that the prime had ever said that. So he had to try and ignore the words pressing at the back of his head.

Dandelionpaw ducked into the healer's den, lemongrass in his mouth. The words that the prime had said pressed more and more at the back of his skull, but he only shoved them back further. He couldn't let her know that he'd heard what they'd been discussing. After all, that would only get him in more trouble, and that was the last thing he wanted.

The healer within the den didn't notice him for a bit. Her gaze was clouded with a far-off expression that he hadn't seen many times before. He could only assume that she was thinking about Yarrowpaw. Thinking about replacing him with Yarrowpaw. But he pretended to not see it, he pretended as if he didn't know. Nobody could know that he'd heard that conversation.

If he could speak, he would have called her name. But he couldn't. Instead, he lightly nudged her with his paw, carefully holding the lemongrass in his mouth. His eyes were slightly rounded and he shifted. The tabby dropped it in front of her and let his head dip momentarily.

The grey she-cat barely acknowledged him. From her muzzle escaped a soft thanks, and from there, her words were lost to the soft breeze that swirled around the den. At first, he doubted if she'd even heard what he'd said. Then she picked up the lemongrass and padded into the back of the den.

When she was done storing the herbs, Mintbranch glanced back at Dandelionpaw. Then she let out a sigh. She padded over and sat down in front of him. She appeared to be almost tired of his presence, as though being around him made her tired, and she wrapped her tail over her paws.

"I need to talk to you, Dandelionpaw," she began. The tom sat down, wrapping his tail over his paws. He knew what was coming. He just didn't want it to happen, now or ever.

She sighed once more, and she closed her pale orange eyes. She glanced away from him, reopening her eyes, and she started, "You're doing wonderfully with knowing herbs. You're an excellent apprentice, Dandelionpaw." She looked back to him before hurriedly glancing away again. "You're doing great, I promise... but I don't think you'll make it as a healer of MistClan."

No.

She looked back at him, and he could detect sparklings of worry within her pale orange gaze. "MistClan expects perfection," she explained in a soft tone, "only the perfect cats for their ranks can exist. MistClan has always been this way, and it isn't changing, and that's just how it is. I can't do anything about it, the prime can't, and nobody can. And you aren't the perfect healer."

It was as if someone had clawed his muzzle without a scrap of regret. That hurt. He'd tried so hard to be good, to be an excelling apprentice under the grey she-cat's mentorship, but it just wasn't working out. But he couldn't say that she was being rude. He couldn't ever say anything. He just kept it to himself. Like always.

Dandelionpaw shifted his position slightly, and she glanced away once more. Her pale orange eyes flickered with dark and light shades, mixing and swirling in an odd pattern that appeared to show that she was guarding her gaze. She seemed to focus on something random within the den, and he glanced toward it.

The den was boring and basic. Well, what she was looking at was just a random splotch of shadow. It wasn't special or cool at all. The den's structure just fell about in a certain way that allowed there to be a shadow falling over the

But as she continued, she still didn't look at him. Her tone was no longer soft. Instead, it took a matter-of-fact quality. "You'll never be able to train the next healer of MistClan, and that's already something that makes you imperfect for this rank. You can't talk, and you can't call out for help if you need to get help. You can't tell a cat why or how they got sick, and you can't explain what you're doing during healing."

Her tail flicked. "You won't be able to explain to your apprentice how to do things. You're unable to do any of the basic tasks of communication, which is vital for ensuring that cats are healthy..."

And from then on, he blocked out her voice, and he didn't have to hear her anymore.

He didn't understand. He'd always thought that his inability to speak wouldn't get in the way. It'd been his mantra of sorts. He wouldn't let it get in the way because he needed to be helpful to the Clan in someway. And being a healer was that way, right? I can heal cats just as well as any other cat can. My inability to talk has nothing to do with it.

Dandelionpaw remembered the millions of times he'd told himself that. He remembered telling himself that every time he sorted herbs. Every time he watched Mintbranch help out a patient. Every time she told him new herbs. Even when she'd trained him a little bit regarding fighting and swimming, which admittedly hadn't gone well.

All throughout his apprenticeship, he'd told himself that it wouldn't get in the way. It wouldn't ever be an issue. It wouldn't have to be or need to be an issue because his job was to heal, not to talk. But now it seemed more of an issue than ever. I'm being told by my own mentor that I'm imperfect for my job. The job that I've worked so hard on... suddenly I'm not good enough.

He didn't want to listen to his mentor anymore. Her mouth was moving and he could only imagine the things that she was saying, but he tuned back in. Luckily, she didn't seem to notice that the tom had been ignoring her for a little.

"There are other cats who could take your place and be better," she explained, "Yarrowpaw always has wanted to be my apprentice. You're taking up space in your current rank, but you could be a warrior while Yarrowpaw becomes a healer. Besides, that blind one could be a much better healer apprentice," she added with a flickering of her ear.

That blind one.

That was what Hawkspirit had said earlier. In the conversation that he wasn't meant to have heard. A spark of irritation lit up the tom but he quickly banished it from his gaze, attempting to ensure that it didn't break his mold. He was irritated. But he couldn't let her know, and perhaps that was something that came along with his inability to talk.

"A warrior rank would do a lot better for you anyways. It really only involves fighting, as I'm sure everyone would let you off the hook for hunting since I'm sure you'd be unable to do that, and if you die in battle, there's always cats to replace you."

Shock scorched him. It was as if her words were a blaze of fire, and he was the simple and wooded forest nearby. Terror climbed a stairwell inside of him, and despite the clamor of fear that was quickly spiraling up and up within him, one thought broke through the madness.

I don't want to be a warrior.

Immediately and without a second thought, he violently shook his head. He didn't want to be a warrior. He was meant to be a healer, under Mintbranch's training, and there was no other solution other than that. He couldn't and wouldn't be a warrior. Not if he had any sort of say in it. I don't need to have a say. I need to tell her I don't want to be a warrior. But I can't-!

She stopped speaking to look at him and watch him as he struggled to get his point across. He wanted to scream at her and shout at her but he couldn't. He never could. He could only make minimal noises and shake his head 'yes' or 'no' and hope cats would listen.

He continued to shake his head, and he tried to scream no. But only a half-noise escaped his muzzle. They were twisted and broken, sounding like coughing or gagging, but they just weren't the same. He continued to try and get her to understand.

It wasn't going to happen, ever. He didn't want to be a warrior. His head jerked from side to side, and he squeezed his eyes shut after a few moments. His tabby-marked had also been whipping back and forth in a swift and hurried manner, and he managed to calm that down.

Though his movements didn't stop, and neither did his attempts to tell her no. But of course, every time they failed. Though, the healer just simply watched as her apprentice panicked over the situation that she had laid out in front of him. She said and did nothing. All she did was simply just watch, with her two light orange eyes that scorched fear and shock into him.

When she reached out with her tail, he jerked backward with surprise at her touch. His neck ached from shaking his head for so long; it felt like it'd been moons since he'd stopped moving his head. Gently, she brushed her tail against his neck, and he stopped shaking his head back and forth in such a violent manner.

"Just think about it," she told him, and the tom looked up at her. "You'll never be the perfect image of a healer to MistClan... being a warrior is probably your best bet, anyway."

He didn't want to listen anymore. Not to her, not to anyone saying something similar. She was wrong, and he knew it. She had to be wrong, right? He wasn't about to quit this entire job just to become a stupid warrior. He wasn't about to throw away all of his training in order to be a stupid, stupid warrior.

With a swift motion, the brown tabby tom drew his lips back as if to growl at her, and the she-cat's expression shifted quickly. She patted her tail against the ground, looking up to him to meet his gaze. "Come on now, sit down Dandelionpaw, no need to get upset-"

The lithe apprentice sprung up to his paws, and he couldn't ignore the pale grey she-cat's voice that now echoed behind him. It was a little firmer than last time, though it was overall still mild.

"Sit down, Dandelionpaw, calm down-"

With a swift motion, he stormed out of the den, his tail whipping behind him. His tabby fur was spiked with fury and sadness, each emotion mixed within the other to create a swirling mass of horrible feelings that he hated but he couldn't get rid of.

As he charged for the camp's entrance, he could feel all the gazes scorching into his pelt. He could feel their eyes burning into his soul as if they were all simultaneously laughing or glaring at him. It didn't matter. It was the same feeling that he got from it. His pelt prickled as if it was to burn off at any moment from all the fiery gazes.

And as he continued, their voices became even clearer to him. He heard all the mutters of the warriors sitting at the edges of the camp. He heard the high-pitched snickers of the cats at the fresh-kill pile. He heard the small, kit-like laughs from someplace in the camp. His ears burned as though they were to melt away from all the words of the cats around camp.

But he didn't bother to stop. It was useless to stop. If he was really as his mentor said he was, imperfect in the eyes of the Clan, then why would he even attempt to talk with any of them?

With a swift motion, he pushed himself out of the camp and into the territory. He shoved MistClan out of his mind. He shoved his mentor out of his mind. He shoved Yarrowpaw out of his mind. He shoved being a warrior out of his mind. Because that wasn't what he wanted to be and that was what everyone thought he would be.

Right?

He assumed that they thought that he would just submit to the idea because of the pressure. But he didn't want to be a warrior. The very idea made him angry and upset to think that he'd be so easily replaced. And that he wasn't a "perfect" healer. He didn't have to be a perfect healer, did he? Couldn't he just be himself and be an excellent healer as he was?

Shaking his head a little bit as if to clear his mind from the anger that was now beginning to cloud it, the lithe apprentice kept his bright green gaze pinned ahead, not caring about anything else in the entire world except heading forward.

Just like a warrior, running from battle.

His lip curled at the thought, and he hurriedly sprung forward to head off into the territory.

Written by Lamb
Edited by Jackal