camp ARMY DREAMERS —— sick

BUCKFIRE

pray for peace, but i need the thrill
Jul 23, 2024
35
2
8
A peculiar weight bogs the former loner's brain, an ache gripping his throat and weakness causing his hind limbs to wobble uncharacteristically as he got to his paws that morning. Buck knew that he wasn't feeling like his typical energetic self, but this wouldn't stop him from trying to deny it or make up excuses. Maybe he just needed to get some fresh air. He much preferred getting out of camp anyhow.

Stars above, he feels so warm. Heat radiates from the short-furred tom's form as he gracelessly emerges from the edge of the warriors' den, his airways feeling tight. He parts his jaws, breathing shallowly, and when someone comes along to inquire if he's feeling okay he simply shakes his head and dismisses their concern, "I'll be alright, just... maybe slept on my bad side last night." Or maybe there was something going around in the air? That might explain why it felt so hard to breathe.

The black tabby trudges forth toward the camp exit, heavy orange eyes dimmed. A hoarseness befalls his speech as Buck insists, "I just... need a drink, I think." He clears his stinging throat, trying to ignore how horrible he sounded.

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    a horseplace loner, buck is thirty moons. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips. 
 
──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── Wolfsong has watched his clanmates keenly, carefully, for signs of yellowcough. It will spread; it is only a matter of catching its next victims before they reach a deeply affected state, and when he rests his one-eyed gaze on the labored breathing of Buck, he is quite certain he has found another of its hosts. Even though Buck sounds to be quite certain it is something else entirely. "Willful ignorance may suit you, but it does not suit me. You are very likely sick, and water will not cure you." He can admit to some aggravation at the determination of WindClan to press on through their obvious illnesses; their swiftness to write off malaise as anything but the yellowcough he has announced to be among them again.

It is his responsibility to improve their health, but he did not think it his duty to have sense on their behalf.

"It is good that you can still walk— you will join me for the badger set. Come; I will bring you water when we get there." He flicks his tail beckoningly, and though his demeanor is brisk, he is not unkind, even despite his frustrations.
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 46 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.
  • ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.

    ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
  • ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."

    ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
  • ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.

    ★★★☆☆ KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
  • ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.

    ★★★☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.
 
༄༄ Buck is a new clanmate, one who has yet to prove himself to Scorchstreak or to anyone else. His wellbeing means little to the calico, although it seems to be important to Wolfsong and Sunstar. The tom had saved a clanmate from a predator, which makes him respectable at least, but he is not a WindClanner. Nor will he ever be, Scorchstreak thinks—certainly once he is fully healed, he will be sent back to the barn to live on his own once more. He has received his thanks, but WindClan does not need him any more than he needs them. They do not need any more outsiders.

Upon spotting the striped brown tom stumbling uselessly about the camp, the deputy first considers ducking back into her tunnel. If he has what the others have, then he is to be avoided at all costs. But something seizes her limbs, holds her in place, as he makes his way toward the heather-cloaked entrance where she stands. Another clanmate attempts to ask after his strange behavior, but he brushes them off with a lousy excuse. It is only when Wolfsong approaches him, and when he gives a muddled excuse of just needing a drink, that Scorchstreak stalks her way over at last. "You just need a knock to the head for being a harebrain," she states, ears dropping against her head. She, too, shares the medicine cat’s irritation with their clanmates; stubbornness does no one any favors when fighting off a disease that only a year ago swept through their lands and ripped many of their clanmates from them.

Wolfsong orders the other tom to make the trek to the badger sett, prompting the calico to turn her gaze to him. "I can accompany you," she offers. Her daughter is in that den—as well as a number of clanmates, including her own apprentice. "I could deliver some prey to them along the way." Prey that soon Buck himself will partake in as he lies ill, near death, in an abandoned den alongside the others.

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  • SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
    small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
    mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
    mentor to bilberrypaw ; previously mentored pinkshine
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, but may react aggressively
    penned by foxlore
 
Bluefrost watches from the mouth of the nursery, a den growing emptier by the day. Rattleheart is gone, as is little Splinterkit, shoved into the unforgiving hole where cats go to die from disease. Her green gaze flicks from warrior to warrior, lingering on the brown-pelted loner who stumbles from his nest as though wounded.

She recognizes the glaze of his golden eyes. At this point, any cat in the forest would be foolish not to. The silk-furred queen hunkers down, watching Wolfsong and Scorchstreak press to either side of the sickly tom. Just days ago, I was sharing stories with that rogue, she thinks, her paw pads prickling with fear. What have you done, Cottonsprig? You will have damned every one of us to an early grave. She tucks her tail against her flank.

As if on cue, a wayward kit's paw kicks out against the feathery edge of her tail. She closes her eyes as if in great pain. Stay strong, little ones. We will escape this illness yet.

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  • Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
    — “speech”, thoughts, attack
    — 18 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
    — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
    — windclan lead warrior and queen. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
    — penned by Marquette.

    lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.


 
When Bucks dog-tired gait goes towards the camp entrance, Stoatspot is returning from a patrol at the same time. She would have nearly bumped in to him if not for the shallow way he breathed, the hoarse nature of his voice. She steps far away, letting him pass with wide eyes. Her eyes land on Bluefrost, hidden away in the nursery, and as Scorchstreak and Wolfsong come over to help... All she could think of was I should be as far away as Bluefrost is. She takes another big step back, trying to disguise it as giving the medicine cat space to work and talk to his patient.

Scorchstreaks irritated comment earns an amused twitch of her whiskers, but pity quickly floods back in regardless. Scorchstreak and Wolfsong offer to take him to the badger set and her nose wrinkles just the slightest... She would've offered to come with as a flank but her pelt prickles uneasily. Just when will this stop? She hates watching as her clanmates collapse around her, she hates feeling powerless, she hates this all.

She puffs out an inaudible sigh. Perhaps she just needs a little more faith in their medicine team, or Starclan, or more faith in Windclan themselves. She rolls her shoulders and then offers Buck a quick, "Reckon you'll be rarin' to go again here soon. Get well." good luck, lingers on her tongue but it doesn't quite feel right to say.

  • stoatspot ʚ♡ɞ palomino
    cis female ʚ♡ɞ she/her ʚ♡ɞ 24 months
    windclan warrior ʚ♡ɞ mentoring n/a
    fluffy black / fawn tortie chimera with heterochromia ʚ♡ɞ short, but pure muscle
    "speech, bfdb81" ʚ♡ɞ thoughts
    single ʚ♡ɞ pansexual
    smells like straw, fresh rainfall & soil ʚ♡ɞ home on the range
    penned by chuff
 
Wolfsong's stern diagnosis does not inspire any comfort within the new warrior. According to the medicine cat, he was sick and had to follow him to the "badger set". Refusing to accept the circumstances off the bat, Buck quirks his faux brows and scoffs lightly, "Me? Sick?" He gives a swish of his striped tail, clearing his throat with a grunt before raising his head with about as much confidence as he could muster at the moment. "I caught a nasty case of kittencough when I was young, felt way worse than this. I'm still above snakes, ain't I?" The brown tabby insists, not intending to engage in an argument but still wanting to vouch for himself before it was too late. Surely, if Buck were truly sick, he would be hacking up a mess and unable to even walk by now. Whatever Buck had come down with today must not be serious... if it was even anything at all.

Scorchstreak voices her opinions, too; her initial insult cascades off him like water off a duck's back. He finds himself much more alarmed by the prospect of accompanying her and Wolfsong to wherever this starforsaken place was. "Wait, hold on, where?" The brown tabby butts into the exchange between the deputy and the healer, wincing slightly as his skull begins to pulse.

It seems that the clanmates who look on from the sidelines have already written Buck off as infectious, with most keeping their distance and looking upon him with gazes ranging from sympathetic to concerned to outright disgusted. One of the tunnelers, Stoatspot, offers him words of reassurance though Buck is far from pleased at the moment. Frustrated, though not snappish, Buck shakes his head, "You can bet your tail I'm reckonin'. My leg just got better and now I- ACHOO!" He ducks his head in the nick of time, spraying droplets all over the ground. The tom raised his head, eyes watery now, jaws parted as his lungs worked to fill with air. Shit, there wasn't any pretending anymore, was there?

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    a horseplace loner, buck is thirty moons. he is a ruggedly handsome tom, sporting lean muscle and a slightly taller-than-average stature. there is a nick in his left ear as well as a small scratch on his right lip. he smells heavily of hay and wood chips. 
 

"Wolfsong, is there anything I can do? Maybe, uh, get you some lungwort?" Celandinepaw mewed as the familiar song of sickness rustled in her ears, like a paean lamenting in hoarse winters and rasping pleas, of which she had learned to treat as regularly as the cicadas' symphonies. That elegy of coughing and wheezing and hacking and vomiting had become a damned melody. The smell had been harder to get used to, of volatile bile pooling and rotting into the gracious earth. She trotted after the wheat-tinged and braided coat of her mentor, dogged presence like a shadow lauded that which it imitated, false and faulted as it was. These days, Celandinepaw was almost rooted to Wolfsong, perhaps attempting to siphon his vast wells of knowledge by simply being in his presence. At least, he seemed to navigate the situation as though he had lived through it before, and the wisdom of several lifetimes was something only the leaders and their acolytes seemed privy to. "It's okay, Buck. You'll be okay, I promise." She attempted to give the brown-hued tabby a smile, though it faltered at the corners that it once roosted easily within, as though burdened with the pestilence that it had become conversant with. Could she smile knowing the majority of her clan would befall this fate, and there was little she could do but abate this misfortune?

  • ignore lateness
  • ( NOTE: Reference is a placeholder until a drawn reference can be supplied. Credit HERE )​
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  • —— CELANDINEPAW / She/They/He / 12 Moons
    —— Medicine Cat Apprentice of Windclan / Mentored by Wolfsong
    —— A shorthaired golden spotted tabby with yellowish-green eyes. Somewhat pudgy, though lean and able to hold her ground in the wild.
    —— Extroverted and unafraid to speak their mind, she is a friendly and affable face in Windclan. Though ditzy and somewhat cowardly, she tries her best to help her clan.
    —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.