a new dawn awakens | cleaning medicine den

[BONERIPPLE]

Seems like she is locked on this path. Forever pushed and pulled by the stars that twinkle coldly from above. Her sister is up there with them and she isn't so sure how to feel about Starclan. They have effectively created cats to believe in them and need them. Forcing themselves to be important. The long legged molly knows she shouldn't hold too much disdain for them but it ks hard for her when all of this suffering she can easily pin point back to them. With a frown on her muzzle she has been sweeping up brittle and dried out leaves since this morning. Trying her best to get them onto leaves to get them out. Much of her store, what she had meticulously found and gathered is gone. Not the best time but she is sure she can get some of these things back. With leafbare around the corner it'll be taxing work and a lot of time through the territory.

She moves another bundle of old and useless torn leaves outside of the den. Her burning gaze narrows and she takes a look at the moss and cobwebs she has and at least she has poppy seeds. Couldn't tear those up even if she wanted to. A humored laugh trickles from her muzzle before she shakes her head and keeps cleaning up.​

 

[† rookwhisper]

❝  It seems that a disdain for StarClan has become their prerogative. He has grown accustomed to his own hatred of them– not for their machinations, but for their abandonment. For this must be abandonment, is it not? A leader, felled in one as the others rose from their rests. A medicine cat who has no interest in healing them. They starve where they live, held to the smallest land and fed the weakest of prey. It was punishment for those that they had lost or killed in the battle. What else could it be? Whatever loyalty there may be in Rookwhisper is not to the dead, but to the living. Perhaps that is why he had taken Bonejaw's disdain for her path so poorly. To him, it had not been a refusal of StarClan, but a refusal of ShadowClan. She is back, now, and still he does not know what to think.

Uncertain, to say the least.

He steps before her with his eyes unreadable, stepping over the piles of discarded leaves. Herbs, he assumes. Those that she had given up on not so long ago. Rook does not judge– he tries not to, even despite the bitterness that comes up from the old wounds of his throat. With time, their medicine cat might even heal them. "Do you need another set of paws?" The breath of his words is barely audible to those not accustomed to searching for them. Rook tries to project more than his typical. "It seems you have much left to do. I have time to spare. Should you want it."

†  ooc notes information †

• 
  ooc: —
• rookwhisper. named for his dark pelt and quiet voice.
  ──── uses he - him, will accept they - them or it - its.
  ──── around four years old.  a warrior of shadowclan.
  ──── single; sexuality unknown. presumably pansexual.
  
  a tall black smoke tabby with high white mapping the entire right side of his body. though his fur is thick and dense, it covers a rather lean, nearly gaunt physique that suits him despite its typical discomfort. his right eye is blue, while his left is a warm orange.
• "speech"

​

 

[FOGTHIEF]

When Bonejaw had damaged her workplace and went off to the warrior den, her son kept an eye on the place as best he could from the bramble bush. He shooed away the bugs looking for residue and sopped up leaks with moss but for the most part, left the cove as it was. Even though it felt a bit like his home from all the time he had to stay in it, it was ultimately Bonejaw's domain. Her decision was her decision and though he disagreed, his loyalty did not waver. He saw the torment she suffered and trauma of her failures and the terror of failing again that culminated into an act of selfishness but it was all redeemed by the dedication she put into him when anyone else would have seen him as a lost cause. She could let everyone in this clan rot from the inside out, including him, and he would ultimately forgive her. Maybe even defend her for it. She is his mother, after all- even if not by blood.

As for Starclan, he doesn't even want to bother thinking of them.

There's not bitterness or hesitance as he gets to work helping clear the mess and he hopes that sentiment speaks for itself. He sets a relaxed pace, batting his thick tail along the familiar cracks and bumps of the cave floor. He repacks nests up tight with an automation clearly from muscle memory as his paws don't slow as Rook enters the efforts. Fogpaw nods in ambiguity, either in greeting or permission, then turns his head to make it more clear. He points his nose toward a mess of leaves not yet reached in the corner before turning his attention back to the bedding with cool efficiency. He might take a break soon or he might keep working until his muscles burn, it doesn't matter much to him either way.​

 

[Starlingheart]

Starlingpaw watches her aunt from the bed she lays on top of, paws idly messing with the dirty moss beneath her as she wishes there was something she could do to be of more use. She hated being confined to her bed, she wanted to help but she knew what Bonejaw and Rookwhisper would say, they would tell her she needed her rest. But still, she wanted to help! She watches the three cats go about their business for a moment longer before she pushes herself to shaky paws, tucking her injured leg close to her body.

She knows that some cats do not think her aunt is capable of healing anymore, not after what had happened, but she trusted the black and white she-cat. She could forgive because she was family, her mother's sister. And besides, she had healed her, that had to count for something, Starlingpaw is certain of it.

She grabs the corner of her nest with her teeth and begins to drag it to the entrance of the nest, going slow and carefully. She didn't want to accidentally put pressure on her injured foot after all.
​