This illness has ravaged their Clan so quickly, swept in on a breeze only to dig its claws into all of their hearts, and to say Luckypaw is uneasy about it would be an understatement. These days, he lives in true fear, not like his general nervous demeanor; who would get sick next, he wonders? Every time he spots another clanmate, he can't help but eye them warily, wondering when they, too, would fall prey to yellowcough, just like so many others before them. It's a miracle of StarClan that he hasn't fallen ill yet himself, though it's really only a matter of time, he tells himself. So many of his fellow WindClanners had fallen ill so quickly; no, it's no longer a question of whether or not he'll get sick, it's a question of how long it will be until he slips into delirium, too, set upon by sickness. With the last of their cure gone, too, is any hope he might have had of things working out - with no cure, the cats already sick surely wouldn't last much longer, and getting sick now was a death sentence. He'd been lucky to avoid illness this long, sure, but that luck would run out soon enough, he's certain, and with it would go any chance of living out a life in full.
When it had been announced that Sootstar was going to meet with the other leaders, instead of feeling hopeful, he only felt dread welling up in his heart. What would that do, talking with the other Clans? Even if they all still had any of the herbs left that could make right this illness, there's no way any of them would share it with WindClan; if anything, they'd just sit around and brag about it, while back at camp cats lay dying at that very moment. Still, just like his clanmates that night, he had been restless, waiting for his leader's return, and even as he's blinking blearily awake at the sun just lighting up the morning sky, he catches wind that Sootstar is back. Spurred on by the news and the sight of her, as hale and hearty as she could be given the circumstances, he drags himself up and out of his nest just as she summons them all for a meeting. Looking around for Scorchpaw, he'll send her a worried glance if their eyes happen to meet, and then he's padding forwards, hovering anxiously near the back of the crowd. Luckypaw wants to hear his leader's words, of course, but he also knows now that keeping your distance is probably the only thing to do to mitigate yellowcough - besides the now used-up cure, of course.
The news that Sootstar brings back is shocking, to say the least, and it's clear he's not the only one baffled by the conclusion of the meeting, if Harrierpaw and Bluepaw are anything to judge by. The five Clans...working together? He can't even fathom it - WindClan, working with the other Clans? For once, he almost wants to join in with the raised voices, though what he'd say he's not exactly sure? That's crazy!, or We can't trust the other Clans!, or even Surely the others would just hold us back! He doesn't, though, stewing in troubled silence as Sootstar somehow continues on, announcing that she's looking for volunteers to go out to these mountains to seek out some fabled reserve of lungwort. It's ordained by StarClan, she says, and for once that doesn't provide him comfort, not like it should - how could StarClan ever ask something of them, to work together with their enemies? The very idea is dubious at best, and insane at worst, though he finds a hot flash of guilt washing over him at the thought. Surely he's not about to doubt StarClan, the very cats who watch over them all and possess near-infinite wisdom, at least compared to those living?
Still. The idea of going on some sort of journey with ThunderClan, SkyClan, ShadowClan, even RiverClan, of all cats, seems hare-brained, and yet - and yet. Steadily, clanmates begin to step forward, just as Sootstar had asked, and suddenly, the idea falls into perspective. It's unthinkable to collaborate with the other Clans, but what's the alternative? Waste away, riddled with illness, until finally WindClan is no more? By now, it's clear there won't be some sudden breakthrough, no last-minute discovery of a new supply of lungwort; they're on their own, for better or for worse. Was it really even a choice, then? Surely they'd all perish either way, whether it be languishing in a herb-damped nest or cut down in unfamiliar lands. There was no avoiding this fate, Luckypaw is certain; and, as his chest twinges, it's not as though either of those options are particularly appealing. Since that misstep that had revealed a badger, he's been...well, not quite afraid of entering the tunnels, but a certain new fear has kept him from the familiar comfort they'd only just started to bring. If hiding out in the tunnels is no longer a viable option, well, where did that leave him? To rest uncomfortably in the tunnels, or to risk himself staying in camp?
No, perhaps this journey wasn't as crazy as it had initially seemed - though, of course, he still eyes Periwinklebreeze, Sedgepounce, and Mousepaw uncertainly. They had stepped up so quickly, at least in his eyes, as though it weren't even a choice. No long deliberation, just determination glittering in their gazes. If they went out in search of the cure, would he ever see them again? All three of them were at the very least decent WindClanners in his mind, and to see them step up, to risk themselves for this possibility? It leaves him feeling twitchy, tail lashing with...some kind of emotion. It's not until Scorchstreak steps forward, offering - no, not just offering; there's something more behind her words, some sort of weight there, and it's not until he hears that weight that the world seems to freeze up. Maybe it's just him freezing up, he thinks idly, as he traces the ever-familiar curl of black and red and white that swims along her pelt. The rest of them, he liked them well enough, but Scorchstreak? That's his mother, and his lead tunneler, and somehow, it's not even surprising that things have come to this. How could they ever be in any other scenario, one in which Scorchstreak didn't step up to the task? It would feel even more wrong if she hadn't, even as his gut wrenches at the thought of her leaving.
Who would be next, he wonders? Who would dedicate themselves to their Clan in such a profound way, perhaps for the last time? Luckypaw finds he doesn't even want to know, not in this moment; right now, he only wants to selfishly beg Scorchstreak not to go, to take it back even as he knows she could never dream of it. Just like during the badger fight, he feels helpless - but, unlike that time, he feels something else, too. Frustration, maybe, at having to watch his mother go off to some strange lands while he can only hope that she comes back, that the rest of the family doesn't fall prey to yellowcough - but, it's something more than that, he's pretty sure. There's - he doesn't quite have a name for it, not really, but it's there, and he's pretty sure it's the source of an absurd impulse building up. Maybe it's the way Scorchstreak stands there so resolutely, among his other clanmates; maybe it's knowing that Badgermoon is there, too, no doubt feeling the same confliction they all were; maybe it's Scorchpaw, somewhere in the corner of his vision, somewhere out in the crowd.
Scorchpaw, who's been so adamant that they have to do something, find something more to help the sick. Scorchpaw, who's so much stronger, and braver, and plain better than he is at everything that counts. Scorchpaw, who's surely going to step up right beside Scorchstreak; it's inevitable, and just as he's sure that she's going to follow, going to offer herself up for this insane and dangerous and necessary journey, Luckypaw is no longer seated. Nosing his way through the crowd, he finds himself on quivering paws as he faces the Tallrock, faces Sootstar. Next to Scorchstreak, he stands; not exactly tall, and not exactly as resolute as any of the others; but, it's too late now, and really, there's no other path for him to take but this one, knowing that his kin are stepping forth. "Me too. I - I volunteer to go, too." It's not certain, not nearly as confident as the words voiced by the others, but - there's a weight to his words, one that drapes heavily over his shoulders, curls around his heart. He's going to go along on this journey too; he's going to go, and if he doesn't return, at least he'll know that he at least tried to help, tried to do something, anything other than wait around for the inevitable.
[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]
