Berryheart had never been afraid of death- and now he realised how foolish he had been. That morning he had collapsed, and in fading delirium had faced mortality for the first time. Now he lay in his own den a patient, rather than a guardian- as oblivious to medicine as any warrior, as unable as he had been all those moons ago. When his predecessor had been exiled, he had been clueless- utterly so, and had not felt like that since. Until now, laid upon a nest that felt colder than it should, no solution to his predicament dormant in his mind.
I won't give up and die. He had said it with certainty, and though he lay motionless in his nest, wheezing breaths a cacophony around him, Berryheart knew he had to stick to his word. Laid beside his herb storage, green eyes slipped to the plants, thoughtful. Berryheart had demanded his apprentice sleep elsewhere, and not risk his heath- so now, alone he lay beside his collection. He took in a shaky breath, reaching toward some juniper berries and feverfew. He had tried them individually, but together...
Consciousness slipped from him like water through pebbles.
On the second day, Berryheart felt worse. The herbs had not touched him, just as Peepers had claimed. He ordered everyone who wandered too close to stay away, his tone quieter each time it fell between shambolic fangs. Chamomile was strengthening and soothing... perhaps it would embolden him through this illness, if it did not cleanse him of it. His chews were lethargic, juice spreading across his tastebuds, stinging the back of his swollen throat. Honey and feverfew slid its way toward his patients, and Berryheart faced another tumultuous night.
On the third day, Berryheart began to see death in his future. When he closed his eyes he saw inky shadow and dancing lights, pin-pricks of acute pain clamping claws around his brain. Had he lied, then? He was not giving up, or dying as a result of giving up, but he had still never felt so much hatred or frustration. He had vowed to be nothing like the Executioner- never to leave behind his apprentice without a teacher, never to leave his Clan without an experienced healer. There was nothing Berryheart hated more than ignorance and its consequences.
Weary eyes rested on the sleeping, writhing forms of his patients. He missed the sunlight, the warmth, but he lay now unsure of where the sun lay in the sky. There was no night or day- only the waking world and fitful dreams. Discomfort threatened to burst out of his chest, but he kept it choked behind a steel wall and a stony face. If he was to die, he would need to last as long as possible. It was his final bastion, his final bid. Burnet would give him strength.
On the fourth day, Berryheart awoke with a pain in his chest so sharp it felt as if he had been impaled. The night before, he had gone to sleep hopeless- and now he awoke with a regret reverberating from him so powerful that he could barely stand. How could he be so spiteful? So dismissive of those who needed him, to look death in the eye and accept it? For once, he would shrug away the bid of the stars. Staggered, he still did his duty, determined despite the struggle of illness that begged him back to bed. When his haggard gaze fell to the herb store, gaunt features studying them, he went through the names in his mind. Marigold. Chervil. Lungwort.
A white-toed paw reached for the latter, the flecks on the leaves reminding him of his apprentice's freckled pelt. Violet-blue blooms sprawled from them. My favourite.
Five days. Was it the bliss before the end, that he felt better now? StarClan offering him strength? But- for once, for once, he felt as if he was not fading. He had forgotten what it was like to feel strength in one's soul. Curious, near-nauseated by the anticipation, he took lungwort again. Again. Again.
It took three more sunrises for his sight to clear, for the fog to part from his judgement. Berryheart was almost sure, now, that he had not lied to his brother. It would have been selfish to lie down and die, after all. His predecessor had left a bleeding wound, a cat to run ragged around that rend in an attempt to staunch the weeping of claret. He had vowed to the stars, to all that he loved, that he would not be the same. Freckles would not resent him for dying, and he would not live in StarClan as a reminder of an ignorant healer who had let himself die. He would live, and he would know.
After ten days, Berryheart was at last sure he was cured. Before he had left the medicine den he had offered lungwort to his patients, looking toward the gap of sunlight. The dawn was as beautiful as he remembered, and as he faced the light, swept his eyes over the rousing forms of his Clanmates, he looked for Stripes, Freckles and Big Mama in particular. Eyes swivelled toward him, inevitably worried and hesitant- but Berryheart met them with the clearest eyes he had ever bore, an unhitched breath winding like silk down his throat. "The cure is lungwort." Stated clear, a smile settled on the medicine cat's crooked maw. The cadaverous stature he had bore was gone. He took a step forward, unhindered by delirium, nary a cough wracking his shoulders.
"The other Clans must know. Lungwort."
TL;DR — after a fitful bout of illness, berryheart discovers the cure for yellowcough. he demands the other clans be told immediately.
\ @HOWLINGSTAR (is also looking for @LICHENPAW and racconstripe particularly B) ) but no need to wait for those tagged!!
I won't give up and die. He had said it with certainty, and though he lay motionless in his nest, wheezing breaths a cacophony around him, Berryheart knew he had to stick to his word. Laid beside his herb storage, green eyes slipped to the plants, thoughtful. Berryheart had demanded his apprentice sleep elsewhere, and not risk his heath- so now, alone he lay beside his collection. He took in a shaky breath, reaching toward some juniper berries and feverfew. He had tried them individually, but together...
Consciousness slipped from him like water through pebbles.
☾
On the second day, Berryheart felt worse. The herbs had not touched him, just as Peepers had claimed. He ordered everyone who wandered too close to stay away, his tone quieter each time it fell between shambolic fangs. Chamomile was strengthening and soothing... perhaps it would embolden him through this illness, if it did not cleanse him of it. His chews were lethargic, juice spreading across his tastebuds, stinging the back of his swollen throat. Honey and feverfew slid its way toward his patients, and Berryheart faced another tumultuous night.
☾
On the third day, Berryheart began to see death in his future. When he closed his eyes he saw inky shadow and dancing lights, pin-pricks of acute pain clamping claws around his brain. Had he lied, then? He was not giving up, or dying as a result of giving up, but he had still never felt so much hatred or frustration. He had vowed to be nothing like the Executioner- never to leave behind his apprentice without a teacher, never to leave his Clan without an experienced healer. There was nothing Berryheart hated more than ignorance and its consequences.
Weary eyes rested on the sleeping, writhing forms of his patients. He missed the sunlight, the warmth, but he lay now unsure of where the sun lay in the sky. There was no night or day- only the waking world and fitful dreams. Discomfort threatened to burst out of his chest, but he kept it choked behind a steel wall and a stony face. If he was to die, he would need to last as long as possible. It was his final bastion, his final bid. Burnet would give him strength.
☾
On the fourth day, Berryheart awoke with a pain in his chest so sharp it felt as if he had been impaled. The night before, he had gone to sleep hopeless- and now he awoke with a regret reverberating from him so powerful that he could barely stand. How could he be so spiteful? So dismissive of those who needed him, to look death in the eye and accept it? For once, he would shrug away the bid of the stars. Staggered, he still did his duty, determined despite the struggle of illness that begged him back to bed. When his haggard gaze fell to the herb store, gaunt features studying them, he went through the names in his mind. Marigold. Chervil. Lungwort.
A white-toed paw reached for the latter, the flecks on the leaves reminding him of his apprentice's freckled pelt. Violet-blue blooms sprawled from them. My favourite.
☾
Five days. Was it the bliss before the end, that he felt better now? StarClan offering him strength? But- for once, for once, he felt as if he was not fading. He had forgotten what it was like to feel strength in one's soul. Curious, near-nauseated by the anticipation, he took lungwort again. Again. Again.
It took three more sunrises for his sight to clear, for the fog to part from his judgement. Berryheart was almost sure, now, that he had not lied to his brother. It would have been selfish to lie down and die, after all. His predecessor had left a bleeding wound, a cat to run ragged around that rend in an attempt to staunch the weeping of claret. He had vowed to the stars, to all that he loved, that he would not be the same. Freckles would not resent him for dying, and he would not live in StarClan as a reminder of an ignorant healer who had let himself die. He would live, and he would know.
☾
After ten days, Berryheart was at last sure he was cured. Before he had left the medicine den he had offered lungwort to his patients, looking toward the gap of sunlight. The dawn was as beautiful as he remembered, and as he faced the light, swept his eyes over the rousing forms of his Clanmates, he looked for Stripes, Freckles and Big Mama in particular. Eyes swivelled toward him, inevitably worried and hesitant- but Berryheart met them with the clearest eyes he had ever bore, an unhitched breath winding like silk down his throat. "The cure is lungwort." Stated clear, a smile settled on the medicine cat's crooked maw. The cadaverous stature he had bore was gone. He took a step forward, unhindered by delirium, nary a cough wracking his shoulders.
"The other Clans must know. Lungwort."
TL;DR — after a fitful bout of illness, berryheart discovers the cure for yellowcough. he demands the other clans be told immediately.
\ @HOWLINGSTAR (is also looking for @LICHENPAW and racconstripe particularly B) ) but no need to wait for those tagged!!
PENNED BY PIN ☾
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