camp but you do enough talk, my little hawk ; morning sickness

[DOEBLAZE]

// content warning: emetophobia, grief, general angst :(

She wakes from muddled dreams, from empty plains littered with half-buried things that hurt to touch, from black and empty skies. She breathes in sharp, tastes hazel and cold pine instead of copper, breathes out sharper. She looks around and it's dark, black and vacant like the world of her dreams.

She feels heat on her face. Tastes fire.

She shakes her head and sees no flame blossoming into the darkness with her one eye. She's on her feet, unsteadily, joints aching with lack of motion. Vaguely she's conscious of bile climbing her throat. She knows she should stay in her nest, in the den, but oh, the darkness is choking her. She should not throw up in her nest besides. There are many things she should not do.

Bobbie staggers outside of the medicine den, stomach roiling. Heaving and hurting. The world is blurry and a little bloody—she suspects all the motion may have irritated one of the smaller scratches the stranger had inflicted upon her. The suspicion is dangerous and it opens the gates to a world of thoughts about the stranger, about him, about an absence of him. An absence that aches like a final breath, like the memory of a limb.

By the time she throws up, she's crying, too. Bile—because she has not been eating well, has not had the appetite—and tears mingle on the earth before her. She's coughing and sobbing, and maybe she would worry about how this would look to everyone, how Slate or someone else might judge her, but she simply can't. She can't care about these things when she hurts like this. It hurt less to have her eye taken, because that was less vital than he was.

She's half - curled on the ground, eyes and throat burning. She should get up and go back to her nest. There are many things she should do. But she can't.

// Tl;DR : Bobbie woke up in the middle of the night with morning sickness, then threw up and had a bit of a breakdown just outside the medicine den.

"speech"

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[Ekat]

Perhaps it's for the best that the first cat to stumble upon the queen is a near-stranger, someone who the older she-cat can't worry about her image being tainted for — Ekat has no impression of Bobbie to begin with, still not truly a warrior of SkyClan unless she manages to pass her assessment a moon from now. In the meantime, the former loner has hardly laid eyes on Bobbie, considering she never steps foot in the medicine den. She doesn't usually even approach it, but does tonight when she re-enters the camp and finds the queen curled upon the ground and suffering.

Ekat hurries over, movements stiff with panic as she stands above the tabby for a moment. Perhaps it isn't for the best after all that Ekat is a near-stranger — she has no idea what to do, and she can feel her mind spinning in her uncertainty. Another few agonizing heartbeats pass, and then the young she-cat finally remembers how to function. She hurries off and returns with a mossball in her jaws, dripping with chilly water, and drops it in front of Bobbie's face. "Are you... okay?" Ekat says eventually, because she doesn't know what else to say.​

 

[TERMITEHUM]

⁺₊ ⋆✩ Termitehum is awake late, as she often is. Insomnia has its benefits, though she's not certain if this should be called that. Still, the cat lying outside the medicine den is clearly in need of someone to help, as poor as Termitehum may be for the job.

The second cat to find Bobbie is as much stranger as the first. Termitehum knows of her, of course, but does not know her. It stands as frozen as the other molly for a moment, hesitant and feeling nerves choke its throat.

Ekat brings a soaked mossball. That's a good idea. Termitehum should do something too. "Bobbie... Um." The buzzing cacophony of its thoughts chokes it before long, and the young warrior goes silent. Someone else should do something. Dawnglare or Fireflypaw or someone who knows her. Not Termitehum. She's overstepping. She should leave. She doesn't know what she's doing.

But Bobbie is just lying there and sobbing and the scent of sick is making their stomach squirm.

...It settles on sitting itself down beside her. Hesitates for a moment, before calling to mind bouts of panic, words of reassurance from clanmates. "Mmm, bre- e- eathe, breathe. In, out. Ss- slowly." She murmurs shakily. She knows she's not the right cat for this, but she's here so what else is she to do? "Do you th-think you can do thh- thuh- that?" Stupid question. She says it gently, entreatingly, head tilted down so she can just barely peek up at the lilac molly. She keeps her distance.

‎‎┌── TALK TO ME BABY, GET TO KNOW ME 𓆦 YOU CAN TAKE IT RIGHT BACK! ──┐‎

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  "SPEECH"
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• 
  TERMITEHUM 𓆣 she / they / it, warrior of skyclan, 21 moons.
  ➳ a willowy black molly with white patches and golden eyes.
  ➳ superstitious and cowardly, quietly kind despite their fear.
  ➳ dragonflywing xx earwigtuft, littermate to chrysaliswing.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[✧ Mottledove.]

SPEAK EVERY WORD
AS THOUGH IT WERE UNIQUE ​

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mottledove & 25 moons & female & she/her & skyclan perma-queen ​

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Blazestars death had hit skyclan hard - but none harder than Bobbie. Mottledove had never considered herself close to the leader, her interaction with him limited to only breif conversations about her joining, her kits, her rank. But the queen knew very well just how much he'd meant to her friend. It'd hurt, seeing bobbie return bloodied and bruised, carrying the weight of her mates dead body upon her shoulders. Nobody deserved to go through something like that - and certainly, not someone Mottledove cared about. She's up and about thanks to some fussing kits, stepping out into the night air for a moment to breath when it happens - teal gaze warm and pained.

" Oh... oh bobbie, " she breathes out, and while there is pity in her tone it comes from that awful place of knowing. She knows well what it's like to be left alone and mateless, with kits to raise who will never know their father. Their circumstances were different, but certainly she can at least offer a shoulder to lean upon when things get hard - like now. Cloud-like figure wobbles her way over, moving to try and rasp her tongue across her friends head in a soothing manner. Caring for cats i no different than caring for kits, she thinks absently. " Let's get you some water hm? Surely that'll be easier to keep down, " she offers, word gentle and hushed. She pares not a moment of attention for the others around them, instead waiting patiently for her friends response.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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I F - Y O U - M U S T - L I V E , - D A R L I N G - O N E , ━ J U S T - L I V E

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