// cw: lots of thoughts of sickness and dying, retro to the journeying party returing!
There's been a thick fog, ever since they got sick. Over their eyes, and their nose, and their mind. A confusion that never seemed to cease, punctuated only by the aching of their lungs each time brutal coughs tore free from their chest and crawled up their throat. So much had happened, and yet it all just felt like a blur - a blur of sickness, and tragedy, and death. Death that they had never expected, Weaselclaw's battered body defeated by sickness one of the only solid images that remained in their mind. Haunting them each night that passed as they wondered if they would be the next to go. They didn't want to die - they still had so much they wanted to do with their life - but wouldn't their loss be preferable to someone like Mintshade? Or even worse, someone like Moorpaw? Still so young, and still with so much ahead of her?
The sickness held their mind in a crushing grip, resulting in a stubbornness that had made them want to push everyone away, particularly Venomstrike. It wasn't that they didn't appreciate the visits, or the care - they did, probably more than anyone would ever know - but they didn't want to get him or anyone else sick. Didn't want to shove their agonizing fate onto the shoulders of anyone else. That idea had only become more prevalent when the rogues had attacked, making things that much worse not only for Windclan, but for all of the clans. None of them could afford to have valuable warriors out of commission, and they had only just barely managed to scrape by and drive them all out.
Finally they were home again, but what now?
Windclan as a whole could rebuild, but Rattleheart still spent each day with their lungs aching and their body heavy, paws occasionally refusing to move even when they so desperately wanted them to. A huge chunk of their family was still gone, having vanished over the horizon what felt like many, many moons ago. The tunneler prayed for their return for selfish reasons, of course. They wanted to live, even with the horrors and the guilt and the pain that life could bring with it. But they also desperately wanted to see their sister and her children - along with all the rest of their clanmates - safe and sound once again. Rumblepaw and Frostpaw were really the only ones that could fully understand, but Rattleheart wouldn't dare risk hanging around too long and getting them sick as well. They'd already done enough condemning Venomstrike to their fate.
Ragged breaths poured forth from their muzzle as they sat at the very edge of camp, trying to regain their strength enough to hopefully return to the badger set once more. For the moment they just stared, hazy gaze scanning the horizon for any sign of a returning journeying party. Any sign that they and the others would be okay - that they would be able to help with the clan's reconstruction. Each minute that passed added another weight to their shoulders, and eventually they couldn't help but question the empty air. "Do you think they're ever coming back?"
[ PENNED BY EO ]