BLONDED LIFE | howlfire

[BIRDY]

TAGS — It feels like he'd landed in some alien world. Or, maybe it feels like he's stumbled across some alien colony trying to settle the Earth, creatures that acted like cats, but... different. Birdy doesn't get it. They have strange names; they wield strange medicines; they hold council with one another in ways that loners never had. Each time he rolls his shoulders, it mostly hurts like hell, but it also feels sticky. Some red-velvet pelt had whirled about him until his blood had stopped running and fed him poppy seeds for pain. Now, Birdy tries to analyze the feeling of dressing against flesh.

If he'd been younger, his housefolk would have just taken him to the vet. Or... he thinks they would have. Maybe they would've just left him, excited to take the opportunity to get him out of the house for good. A small and nervous animal resides in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about it. Back then, he would've gotten his stitches and a cone stuck on his head, and then he would've been golden. Now, he's not so sure. If the wounds don't kill him, he thinks the cats might.

Fortunately, neither seems likely. In fact, most of the colony cats are curious about him, and he's curious back. He's lucky that a cappuccino-pelted molly passes into view right as the thought forms. "Hey. You," Birdy calls from the mouth of the medicine den, brindled face dappled further by the sunlight passing through the hazel branches. His ribs ache with each inhale, but he is admittedly desperate for conversation. Hazel eyes implore the warrior to stray closer. When she dares to approach, Birdy gestures minimally to his wound dressing. "Do you all know how to do this? Or just that one guy?"

/ @Howlfire
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[Howlfire]

Howlfire had been planning an impromptu visit to see her brother when she is caught off guard by someone calling out to her. She pauses mid-walk, amber eyes landing on Birdy, who was calling out to her from the mouth of the medicine den. For a moment, she believes he is trying to get the attention of another cat, but a quick glance around confirms she's the only one nearby.

Despite the strange circumstances of his arrival, he doesn't seem like an untrustworthy cat so Howlifre pads over, curious to know what he wanted. When Birdy gestured to his wound dressings and asks if everyone knew how to do it, she quickly shook her head. "It's just the medicine cats who know how to treats wounds and illnesses," Howlfire explained to him. "You might find some in the clan who can tell you what certain herbs and plants do, but it's just the medicine cats who know how best to treat you."​

 

[BIRDY]

TAGS — Howlfire is kind enough to entertain his questions. As she approaches closer, his squinting smile grows wider, showing off more of his milk-pointed teeth. Her answer to his question seems simple, but implies a much more interesting dynamic between this medicine cat and the cats that he allegedly served. If nobody else knew how to dress a wound (including Birdy), then they just had to trust that some old coot wasn't leading them astray by slopping half-spit half-herb concoctions on their wounds. He would almost prefer the vet to that, even knowing that his experiences there often showed up in his own nightmares. At least he knew that he would always come out the other side alright.

His confidence is shaken slightly, but maybe it's an uncharitable reading of Dawnglare's role in the clan. Maybe the verdant-furred tom really did know everything there was to know about wild-cat medicine. Hopefully that scope of knowledge was enough to keep Birdy from death's door. His tongue clicks after Howlfire finishes delivering her response. "Okay," he hums, chewing his cheek, nodding slightly. That line of questioning seemed through, though — onto other matters.

"What's your name?" he asks, notched ear flicking. "All your names are in two parts. Is yours?" He squints, leaning forward as if to hear her better, then rocks back onto his haunches once more. "I don't get it."
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