camp all warm blooded creatures || den fortifying

Shalestorm feels miserable right now. Her chest feels stuffy and her head might as well be stuffed with cotton. Her bones ache and her nose is stuffed. On top of that, the blizzard has made something of a... well, not a problem, exactly, but the warrior's den certainly needs maintaining to say the least. Despite her obvious illness and generally just being miserable, it's not like Shalestorm can just ignore when a job needs to be done. So, sucking it up, she pushes herself to her paws and goes to gatherer what she'll need to repair the weaker spots. If she's a little slower than normal, and a lot quieter than normal, well... that's not exactly her fault, now is it?



  • ooc - in case anyone needs a camp bound thread <33

  • #e36f90

  • (img) Shalestorm * she/her* 27 moons
    blue point/blue chimera w/ low white; blue eyes
    Peaceful & healing powerplay allowed || underline for attack
    penned by Neptune. || Neptune on disc, dm me for plots
 
⚛︎₊˚‧ His hacking alerted his presence before the sound of his paws, the steps he took uncharacteristically heavy and loud against the chilled earth. Phlegm sat thick and heavy in his tight lungs like carrionplace sludge, his bodies attempt to rid itself of the rot through his wet jaws futile as he continued to cough with force so strong it caused his whole body to convulse and shake. But he would not allow himself to fall into the trenches of his illness, for if he rested it may mean certain death for not only himself, but his clanmates alike. Against the medicine cats advice to stay bundled within his sheltered nest, he would instead drag himself along the campgrounds, maws laden with materials that would winterize and fortify any untouched dens left remaining.

He passed by Shalestorm on his way back, his typically iridescent ochre eyes clouded and unfocused with disease bearing into her as they attempted to focus and connect the dots amidst his delirium that she was in fact real and not a hallucination. She did not look too well herself, but he would not pass up the opportunity to pass off some of his monotonous workload onto another should they be kind enough to extend their assistance. Setting down his bundle, he would open his mouth to speak, his words being cut off almost immediately by another flurry of crackling coughs. "S-Sorry...Um- c-could you...help me...with this? T-The work might...uh- g-go by...faster if we- we...work together..." His voice was weak and soft, one usually of a higher pitch deepened by pain and strain. His gaze was almost pleading as he sniffled pathetically, yellow-tinted snot threatening to drip freely from his runny nostrils.
° . ⚠︎ . °
  • ooc:
  • whaddahaell3.png
    AMBERHAZE — HE/HIM ・ 19 MOONS ・ WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN ・ PENNED BY SLOANE
    black oriental shorthair. a short but lengthy black cat with a boney build and striking ocher eyes filled with unveiled trepidation.
 
She isn't sure how concerned she should be when Shalestorm trudges by, marching in this miserable little step with a slouch in her shoulders, lifting frosty paws toward bramble dens like they were being held up by a single strand from a spiders web. Uh, all that to say, she looked like garbage. All of ShadowClan did though, really. It was hard not to look like garbage right now between the two battles hitting them back to back. A battering from paws, first. To top it off: why not be raked over the ears by Mother Nature? Fine. Great. Nothing and no one could let ShadowClan have anything too easily, right? It's probably pretty stupid of her to be out here herself... but it's... stubbornness, or something.

Who even cares about Shalestorm though? Amberhaze blows her right out of the water, basically coughing up his damn lungs. Of course she's going to wince... Sharpshadow's already-ugly spine gets more jagged, somehow. The broken mat of his tail gives a jolt. And why would they want to patch their walls with Amberhaze's snot special? Eyes screwed up in their sockets, Sharpshadow looks him up and down. " Uh, no, " he speaks before he thinks, really... " I mean, I think you should like, lay down or something instead, probably? " Rubber-black lips pinch in a frown. " Maybe both of you should? Even better: see a Medicine Cat, maybe? "
 
× Their nose wrinkled in disgust as they approached the scene, ears filling with the wretched sound of Amberhaze's coughs. Milkpaw shot his gaze over to Sharpshadow, nodding in agreement to their suggestion. "I think that is a wonderful idea," the lanky tom would voice as they adjusted their attention back to Shalestorm and Amberhaze. "What are you two doing?" The tom would shift the weight on his paws, leaning away from the sniffling warrior. For the love of StarClan, please do not give me whatever you have. Milkpaw would offer to help the sickly, snotty, disgusting short-haired cat, but there was no way that he would even go near them... not in the state they currently are in. So far, the apprentice has been lucky to remain semi-healthy. Thin, yes, but nothing more than a runny nose and burning eyes from this brutal weather.​
 

dd7bu7q-b4321200-16fb-4177-91c8-a0b0cd978ca5.gif
.·:*¨༺🕷༻¨*:·. Witnessing Shalestorm and Amberhaze feels like watching two sick birds trying to build a nest together; you almost want to put them out of their misery.

Snow was proving the be the bane of Briarthorn's existence, a contradiction to the young warriors shadowy purpose. The stark alabaster terrain left her almost useless in ambushing prey, or utilizing the element of surprise at all. After a frustrating hunt of coming back with nothing, the ebony she-cat had been intending to set her paws on something that she would be successful in. Which is what brings her staring at the duo of her sickly clanmates now, hardly trying to keep the disgust from her gaze.

Sharpshadow, for once, makes a helpful point. "…Before you go spreading whatever that is to the rest of us." The younger warrior pointedly adds onto the others gruff suggestion, jutting her chin in the direction of Starlingheart and Marblepaw's den. To Milkpaws question, Briarthorn has a swift answer; "trying to work themselves to a cold and sickly grave, clearly." If it didn't risk affecting Briarthorn, the warrior could respect it.
  • BRIARTHORN she/her, warrior of shadowclan, 12 moons.
    slender, lean-muscled black she-cat with sharp hazel eyes & large ears.
    daughter of Forestshade && Vulturemask ࿏ sister to Screechpaw && Sweetpaw
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
    penned by Noor@toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

Gigglepaw, luckily, had not caught anything in her time spent outside of the camp, unlike some of her fellow ShadowClanners. She'd returned from a patrol with a chill at most, and Starlingheart had been content that she was fine to go on with her life. Gigglepaw was thankful for that - the last thing she wanted at a time like this was to be bound to the medicine cat's den when she could be forging ahead, even if that would have meant that she could have spent more time with Marblepaw - in any case, both she and their aunt probably had their paws full with those who were sick.

Unfortunately, Shalestorm was one of those who had caught sick, and Gigglepaw had been silently mourning the lack of training she'd been receiving in the she-cat's absence, but there was nothing that could be done about that other than to wait out the sickness.

"I'm sure there's others who can fortify the dens while you two rest." Gigglepaw suggested as she appeared at Sharpshadow's side, eyeing Shalestorm and Amberhaze with a carefully considered consideration. "Like, I could, I guess. It wouldn't be that much trouble, for me." She offered helpfully.

 

" Yes, please rest, " Ribbitleap finds himself begging the sick warriors. He's lucky enough to have not caught anything yet from the swift change in weather, the stark contrast to days prior brought forth in gale force winds and more snow than he'd ever wish for, and he'd prefer to keep it that way, in all honesty. " ShadowClan can't afford anymore sick cats, and we can't afford you two to get worse. " He nears the duo, but keeps his distance, assessing their work.

" Let me take over, yeah? " the brown tom suggests with a flick of a torn ear at Gigglepaw's own offer, " See, there's two of us to replace you now. Just — please rest. "​