private ❝ hiraeth ❞ ── sparrowsong

[Fireflyglow]

@sparrowsong!

A soft hum sounds in the medicine den, deep vibrato ringing out like a lullaby. He's singing to a patient, curled up beside a specific nest as he waits for the Lungwort to take affect. His best friend, his precious songbird rests in the nest beside him; slumbering away like a kit next to its mother. Every few seconds they shift a bit, and Fireflypaw's head lifts from his paws to listen for more wheezing. His head presses into their fur, bumping against their shoulder. They've grown skinnier, scrawnier from lack of food- they cannot swallow anything much. Anxiety riddles the young tom's pelt, keeps it ragged from lack of proper cleaning. Does he smell bad, he wonders? He smells like death, he bets. Like death and herbs.

"Hmm-mm.~" He hums aloud, standing from his place next to Sparrowsong in favor of going to check on his other patients. One by one, he checks them- presses his nose to their ear, to their paws. Checks their temperature, checks their heart rate. Quillstrike was already healed of this illness, Sparrowsong shouldn't be far behind if they took to the herb properly. His tail drapes over
a patient to comfort them through their coughing fits, dropping a wad of wet moss at their lips to make them drink. If they wouldn't eat, they at least needed something to drink.

The sound of whines causes Fireflypaw to shift his head once more, owlishly turning back before he corrects his posture and walks back over to his friend. Greeneyes had worried for him, had checked on him to make sure he hadn't fallen to the curse he believed he had. Green, green, green. Bad things come in threes. But Green was only ever good to him, only ever brought fortune- like a four leaf clover, ever so lucky. He shakes his fur out momentarily as he walks back over to his friend's bedside.

"Can you wake up for a moment, songbird?" Fireflypaw calls out to the chocolate tabby, leaning his head down to gently prod at their cheek with his muzzle. In moments like these, he wishes he could see them- curled up in the nest, occasionally kneading the moss bedding for comfort in moments of bare consciousness. "Do you want me to sing for you?" He asks, though his smile on his face is shaky at best. They would be just fine, he knew it.​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE ✦ 13 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[sparrowsong!]

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Mere days ago, the small tabby had teetered on the precipice of death, loose stones beneath their paws threatening to slip out from beneath them and send them tumbling into the yawning abyss below. Delirious, weak, barely able to muster a sound and struggling for every breath. Lost weight left them shrinking into their own frame, their once pure and soft voice reduced to a croak, if any sound could escape at all.

The cure had saved them. Whisked away from that precarious edge into the embrace of recovery, even if the journey to health was long. Undoubtedly, they were far better now than they had been, but the exhaustion still clouded their eyes, weighed down their body, their voice. Whereas before Fireflypaw had begun speaking to an empty shell, slowly but surely his audience returned.

It was his presence, his gentle and rumbling hum, that had lulled them back to sleep to begin with. Sometimes, it felt that sleeping was all they could do. Fireflypaw brought them comfort. He had promised they wouldn't die, and with each passing day, he made good on it. Their fever, reduced. Breathing less labored, deeper, easier.

Sparrowsong had even begun to accept food again, to the joy of the pointed tom― even if it was just once or twice. Their appetite was still miniscule, and their ever-sore throat made it more than unpleasant, but it was for him. His smiles were contagious, and they couldn't help but reflect them, weary as they were.

A muzzle nuzzled into their cheek, then, drawing the small tabby from their sleep with a soft mrr of query. Gray eyes blinked once, twice, from where they peeked out beneath their paw, and they turned up to him. Fireflypaw asked them a question then, and while there was significant pause while they seemed to process it, Sparrowsong offered a hoarse hum of affirmation and a small nod. That sounded nice.

Shifting in their nest, as they tried to gather their mind, they noticed that he was close, nearly in the nest with them. It wasn't long before they had worked their way into nearly pressing to his side, head resting on their paws and eyes closed.

He was comfortable, soft, and they found themself hoping for the day they were no longer sick, when even such a simple shift didn't drain them of their energy. They wanted to play, to sing, to share tongues. They would, they assured themself.​

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