#sparrowstrike

Finchspots ignored her old friend's sour tone. She knew, from Gatherings, that the ex-TreeClan warrior was with a twisted leg now, which likely made her a bit testy about her own confusion. She tried to remember the names Brown had called out during the Gathering, but nothing came. "Are your kits... okay?"

Sparrowstrike was quiet, for a moment. "They're fine," she said eventually. "I should've had two more, but they're fine."

Finchspots opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could a tantalizing scent swept over her taste buds. The den seemed to vibrate under the thump-thump-thump of paws as BurrowClan's medicine rabbit entered, standing up on two paws. In his teeth was a mouse.

"Ah, good. You're awake." Hemlock dropped the fresh-kill unceremoniously at her paws. "Are you up to discussing the damages?"

I'm not a broken den! She thought, but could feel Sparrowstrike's eyes burning into her, daring her to argue. "Is it... always this dark in here?"

Hemlock's ear twitched. "Oh. Duh. Sorry." He hopped over to the side and pulled back some moss, revealing a tangling of roots that led outside. Fresh air blew in like a sigh from StarClan, heralding the new moon in the sky. "I keep it closed up when my patients need sleep."

"We're closer to the surface than I'd thought," Finchspots admitted. She'd never been inside a burrow before, let alone a BurrowClan burrow, but it seemed like any warrior could step up to the base of a tree and find themselves tumbling into the den.

"TreeClan intake den," he replied, shrugging. "How's your pain?"

"I feel like a monster ran me over, but..." Finchspots tried to sit up again, trying to get a glimpse of her sandy yellow fur in the light. Her back was covered in cobwebs and bark. "...What is that?"

"A splint! It helps bones heal."

Fear roiled in her stomach. Why won't he tell me exactly what's wrong? "Which leg broke? Why is it all over me?"

Hemlock tsked under his breath. The rabbit touched her back, dragging a paw down her spine. He stopped at the splint, then climbed it, settling a few inches in. "Right about here. I reckon you hit something fierce when you landed. Maybe a thick root or branch?"

Finchspots flinched. She pulled desperately at the ground with her front paws, trying to sit or stand or anything. Move! She told her back legs. Twitch! Do something!

Sparrowstrike began to stand, but Hemlock shook his head. "She needs to try," he explained. "She won't believe me if she doesn't."

Panting, Finchspots slumped against the ground. This time, her muzzle was saved by the dusty fur of her mouse. She sniffled, ears flat, and asked, "....Can I get them back?"

Hemlock paused, contemplating. "...Maybe? I've got plenty of exorcises for you to try when you heal. Water's helped a lot of cats get their strength back. Worked for your friend here."

Finchspots shuddered, imagining the sucking cold liquid against her pelt. It has to work. I can't go through all that for it to not work. "What if... what if it doesn't?"

"Well," he said, "you have a couple of options. You could be a BurrowClan warrior, or a medicine cat. You could do that in another Clan. Or, if you'd like, you could go to the Twolegs. I know a lot of them have mini-monsters that'd make walking easier."

"I can't be a warrior without my back legs," she snapped, incredulous.

"Why not? Cats do it all the time. You think every loner and rogue has at least three feet working? It'll take time, but you'll get strong enough to heft yourself up on the front two." He gentle touched her shoulder blade. "Don't listen to TreeClan for advice on disabilities, okay? They're kind of fluff-brained."

Pawsteps echoed just outside the den. Finchspots noticed, with a detached weariness, that hearing where cats would be coming from was a lot easier in the tunnels. "What now?" she asked, half-expecting it to be a patrol to take her away.

"Now, you take a few days to relax and heal. We'll have a long conversation about the dangers of hot spots and matted fur later." Hemlock withdrew, putting himself on two paws once again. "Your sons have been asking for you."

Finchspots mind swirled, confused. "But... they're still TreeClan," she meowed slowly. "Did they... they didn't fall off, did they?"

"No, not at all." Hemlock stuck his nose out to wave someone on. "They demanded we bring them with."

There was a blur of yellow and orange, and then her sons were on her, muttering apologies and sniffing at her pelt. Cardinalpaw's pelt was streaked with the kind of rich soil one only got from digging, while Hummingbirdpaw just looked unkempt, fur frizzing out everywhere. After them loomed a large brown molly.

"Brownstar," Finchspots meowed, dipping her head. Her paws shook with barely hidden fear.

"Just Brown is fine, dear." The BurrowClan leader sat down, touching the splint with an air of worry. "You took a nasty fall, you know. You're lucky your sons found us as soon as we did. It could've taken us all night to spot you while hunting."

"What?" Finchspots turned to her boys. Cardinalpaw jutted his chin out defiantly. "You... you climbed down after me?"

"We weren't gonna leave you to die," Hummingbirdpaw scoffed, tossing some dust up with a paw.

"I'm a Digger now," Cardinalpaw boasted. "Take that, dad!"

Brown shot her an apologetic look. "It's not normally our way to assign 'paws without consent, but they insisted. They wanted to make sure they could bring you food and care for you."