Hate, or Love? (Sequel to Me, or Her?)

Part 3: Dubious Uttering

I glare at him for a long moment, contemplating whether I should give a truthful reply to him or not. He's a kittypet - does he really care about all this? For all I know, he could be daydreaming about that disgusting, infamous slop his kind stuff their bellies with all day. But as I look once again into his eyes, I see something that looks like concern. Something shifts inside of me, but I do not know what.

Fine. Why not? It's not like I will be able to sprint away from him, considering it seems that we always run into each other one way or another.

A strange pang emits in the depths of my belly. What was that? Fear? Excitement? I have not a clue.

"Well, first of all," I begin monotonously, "there are different roles each cat has. I am - err, was a warrior," I stutter, "so I would have done the hunting and fighting for the Clan, like when a badger or something strays into the territory. There is a leader, and they have their deputy to help them with decisions and such. Apprentices train to be warriors once they are ready, and elders are great entertainment for kits when the queens want to rest. Lastly, there is a medicine cat, who takes care of those who are wounded or sick." I choose not to tell him about StarClan and potential prophecies; I figure a cat like him would find all that hard to believe.

"Seems all very organized," Scamp comments simply.

And you seem very nosy, though I have the kind heart to not say that aloud.

He then muses, as if to himself, "If I were in a Clan like that, I think it'd be pretty neat to be a medicine cat."

But it is not to just himself, as I hear him. My eyes widen with surprise and I turn my head to stare down at the cobwebs on my leg. "You mean - you know how to use herbs?" The shock is plain in my voice.

He takes a step closer to me to admire his work. "Who else would have done that all the way out here? Unless you did it while you were unconscious, or another group of cats similar to yours lives around here." I glance up at him and see humor glinting in his eyes, like always.

How is he always so lighthearted, after I have snapped and hissed at him so much? However much I am curious, I brush it away for now and turn back to the shocking matter at paw.

"How did you learn of how they work, or have access to the forest to gather some?" I am too awed to keep the surprise hidden.

Scamp snorts. "Do all you wildcats think that we 'kittypets' are trapped in our homes?" He doesn't give me time to reply, though I don't feel like giving him an answer, anyhow. "My housefolk and I lived right on the outskirts of the Twolegplace, where the forest stretched almost immediately once you left the gardens." I have no idea what these so-called 'gardens' are, but I leave it be. "They usually allowed me to go into the forest as long as I came back not long after." His gaze slowly drifts away from me as if in some sort of reverie, and his head droops in a kind of longing, I assume.

After quite a while of him doing so, I clear my throat and repeat, "How did you learn their uses, though?"

Snapping out of his thoughts and shaking his head to clear it, he perks up again and answers, "Oh, yes! A - rather old - she-cat who lived with her housefolk a couple houses away from mine would go into the forest, and she taught me how to use all the herbs we found for healing. No one really knows how she herself learned about herbs, but it's been a rumor for quite some time now that she was once a wildcat." He pauses, staring at me with round, mischievous eyes - much like a kit's. "Like you."

The sudden, uncalled-for insult causes me to hiss and bare my teeth at him, rage returning in my bones. "Will you stop calling me a wildcat?" I screech fiercely. "If anything, call me a warrior."