The old crone--Dahlia can only imagine she's double her own mother's age, if not triple--jabs her paw into the soft place between Dahlia's leg and her belly. The young she-cat hisses and jumps up onto her wobbling legs, her body aching anew with the sudden movement.
"What?" Dahlia croaks, her dry throat as painful as every wound on her body. The poultices and patches of woven grass-strands keep her blood in her and her body generally on the mend, but she should probably avoid further sharp movements.
"Dreams, girl! You were thrashing like you were chasing someone." The crone steps around Dahlia, her dry nose shoving itself into the fur next to every aching wound.
"Ahg? I mean, its a common dream, right? Two kittens running off, and I chase them."
"What colors?" The crone bites a patch of Dahlia's fur and tugs it to make the young she-cat sit down.
"Ow! You are such a bad healer. Spirits above... A white tabby kit and an orange ticked kit. They never say anything, but I knew I had to follow them."
The blind old she-cat doesn't respond. She snuffles at Dahlia's belly, growling softly at it before nudging the younger cat back into a laying position.
"What? What are you even doing, you hag?"
"... Checking something. You should eat more. I'll bring you a mouse. Too thin."
---
"Stop that. You're mixing them wrong."
"Then actually tell me how rather than just expecting me to know how."
The crone huffs in response, simply smacking the herbs out of Dahlia's paws. She sits in front of her young ward and shows her how to make a simple poultice for shallow scratches. The crone applies it to the healing wounds on Dahlia's haunches, her movements oddly gentle.
"... You'll learn fast. I thought you already knew this. Didn't I tell you?"
Dahlia cocks her head as she rises to her paws to wash them off in the river around the island the two mollies live on. "No, you didn't."
The crone's eyebrows furrow, and she settles in a small pile of moss and focuses on the ground, though Dahlia knows her gray eyes see nothing. Dahlia pauses, but only comes to settle at her side after washing the poultice off her paws. She leans down to nuzzle the sagging, graying head of her mentor.
"I could have sworn... I..." The crone shakes her head a bit, slowly, sighing deeply. Dahlia wraps her tail around the smaller, older she-cat and allows her a moment of peace and support.
"It's alright. You're old. You just forgot."
"No, no I didn't forget, I have the distinct memory of showing you just like how I showed you."
"Hm. Well. Uh." Dahlia looks up and away, clenching her teeth to keep her non-answers off her lips.
"It's alright. Let's get back to teaching."
---
"Briar?" Dahlia calls out, head high and ears tucked back in worry. The voles she had caught sit at her paws where she dropped them in her hurry to make her presence known. "Where did you go, hag?"
The pathetic breathing deep within the den under the maple tree was all Dahlia heard in return. Her eyes widen as she leaps over the prey she had gathered to rush into the den. The crone--Briar, as she had eventually named herself--barely breathes in a sad lump against the back wall. Dahlia's fur puffs in shock and worry as she practically throws herself down in the dirt to nuzzle at her side.
"Girl." Briar croaks, her tail twitching oddly as it rises to smack at Dahlia's side. "Girl. The Spirits... My mother... They're here. Can't you see them?"
"What?" Dahlia swallows her apprehension as she crawls on her belly closer to the only cat that had ever shown her kindness, even if it was punctuated by the old molly's endless crankiness. "No, Briar, it's just us. It's Dahlia."
"Mrrrh... girl. Listen. My mother has words for you. My siblings, too. Listen. Can you not hear them?"
"No... I can't. Can you tell me what they say?"
Briar blinks slowly, her breathing shallower and shallower every second that ticks by.
"They were showing me things... The future. Things I needed to know. Things about you."
"Me?"
"You. Your kits, your duty, your strength in the face of it all. Your dedication, and what you would do to make life good for as many cats as you can..."
"That's... very nice. Kits? Briar, that's unlikely."
"Shush. I see you helping to create a community, I see you face down dangers with the fury of a thousand cats, I see you bare your teeth at injustice, I see you speak for the Spirits when they cannot. I see all you can do with what I have taught you, and all you will invent in your own many moons."
She takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Dahlia presses her nose into the space between her neck and her upper leg.
"I see how you die. I see what legacy you leave. I see the love you were too scared to give rotting on your tongue. I see you grow, I see you change. I see you lead."
"Lead? I wouldn't--"
"... The dhaoine who sits with me now will not lead a clan that will form, years from now."
Dahlia relaxes a bit.
"... The last thing I see. I see you with your newborn kits. I see you decide to do everything in your power for them. I see you whisper them their true names... I see you tell them your own, little Claws-up-from-the-Ashes. I see the title you took when I am gone. I like it. Though, it is a little... too sweet to me..."
Briar breathes out, and her body slowly goes limp. Dahlia sits in silence for a long moment, keeping the slowly cooling body of her mentor warm as long as she can. After an hour, she knows it'd be unwise to leave a corpse near precious herbs and goes about the awful business of burying the only cat who ever treated her kindly. She cannot find it in herself to shed a tear. She feels so... empty.
After a final odd dream, Dahlia wakes up and decides to fulfill one of those prophecies. Dahlia, in the rainy silence of a cold, dewy morning, decides she is Dahliabriar. And with that quiet, stone-hearted conviction, she rises and prepares for what the rest of that odd dream promised: more mouths to feed, and the genesis of a community.
