Waking up (Briar/Ember)

Emberfang's ears flattened when she heard someone trot towards her, but she recognized the herbal scent of a medicine cat. She didn't bother to turn around, her tail flicking irritably. Briarheart was one of those cats who was constantly excited. She's cheery and friendly and the kind of cat Emberfang felt especially jealous and inferior towards. How in Starclan's name did the she-cat manage to stay so up-beat when she dealt with the ills and injuries of the clan? 

She paused in her grooming, clenching her jaw. Normally, if it was any other cat, she would ignore them. Most cats rarely bothered to approach her in the mornings; she was notoriously bad tempered when she just woke up. Even Sorrelcloud avoided her until the sun was at least above the horizon. Emberfang frowned, shivering as a slight breeze eased past her thin coat and tickled her skin. But Briarheart, though not much older than Emberfang, was the medicine cat. She had to be respected, deserved to be respected as she'd saved and healed nearly every cat in the clan. Which meant, Emberfang couldn't afford to brush her off.

She didn't look up, didn't even pull her chin away from her chest, but pulled her tongue back into her mouth and slid her eyes to the she-cat. They were nearly complete opposites physically. Briarheart was well muscled, thick broad shoulders, with a near solid brown pelt. Emberfang wondered how they looked, so close together; probably comical. 

"What?" She asked, voice low; she could hear the rough edge of pure petulance in her tone. Sometimes it slipped in there without her permission. She didn't say anything else, but went back to grooming, starting on the inside of her left leg. 

Emberfang knew she wasn't very approachable and she liked it like that. Cats never bothered her with silly things and that was good for her; the less fun to be had around her the better. She felt less out of depth then, when she didn't have to try to understand the jokes and affections. They were too complicated and just so -pointless. It wasn't that she didn't have a sense of humor, or that she didn't understand affection -she loved her sister- but the rest of it seemed so arbitrary, so fake. 

She knew she was making Briarheart nervous, could tell from the stumbling questions and in the increasing apprehension in her scent. She didn't understand why the she-cat would be anxious though. She was a medicine cat, was older than Emberfang, and besides, Emberfang was blunt, grumpy, and anti-social, but she would never refuse a cat help. If Briarheart had a request, then Emberfang would concede to it. She must have known that, so what could be making her nervous? Emberfang was unapproachable, yes, but she wasn't ever purposely cruel. 

She stopped grooming, sitting up fully to give the other she-cat her full attention.

 "Do you think you could teach me how to hunt? I mean, like, properly hunt. I just ask because you're one of the best hunters in the Clan and I feel useless in my den without any herbs to cure anyone and I figure the best way to help out, even if I can't do my usual duties as a medicine cat, is to help with hunting and filling bellies!" Briarheart gushed.

Emberfang felt a rush of pride zing through her pelt warming her chest. It was nice to be recognized. She tried to be the best or at least, be the best she could be. She wanted to contribute to the clan in the best way she knew how. Hunting. It was easy for her. She'd struggled at first, but once she got the hang of it, she really got the hang of it. Now it was her favorite thing to do. And she could help Briarheart, she liked the medicine cat well enough, and every fresh kill brought to the clan would be good. 

She frowned then, swishing her tail back and forth. But... "What about your duties? Can you really ignore them to learn something you should've learned as an apprentice?"