COME UP FOR AIR || MOUSE BITE

[Thriftfeather]

When Thriftpaw catches the mouse, he doesn't kill it.

It scrambles in place, not strong enough to slip from the firm paw pressed onto its tail. Flank heaving, rapid pulse strong enough for Thriftpaw to feel down its tail and through his own moor-roughened pads; Thriftpaw is overwhelmed into stillness. He does nothing, if inaction could be considered nothing. Thriftpaw likes mice, and not just as prey. He likes their small ears and ever-twitching whiskers. He's endlessly charmed whenever he finds their woven nests in tall grass.

This is the first time that Thriftpaw has been so close to a live mouse for longer than the scant few moments it takes to kill them. Thriftpaw should kill this one too; killing prey should be as thoughtless and automatic as breathing. It is normally, but sometimes breathing isn't thoughtless and automatic for Thriftpaw. He shouldn't let it struggle against his paw — he should do something, at least. He shouldn't stare, too rapt and caught in mindless wonder to consider anything more than the smallness of the mouse when compared the growing bulk of himself.

The mouse halts completely, and Thriftpaw comes out of his stupor just in time for the mouse to round on itself and bite his paw. Thriftpaw inhales, thoughtless and automatic, and then hooks his claws into the mouse's side and carries it to his waiting teeth in a single, fluid motion. Noise reaches his ears at the same time as the mouse drops from his maw, dead. Not a heartbeat later (and for Thriftpaw, this is a short amount of time indeed,) the sting from the bite makes itself known.

Thriftpaw hadn't cried out when the mouse bit him, but he cries out now and presses his paw to his tongue to assuage the steady bleed.

"It bit me," Thriftpaw's whine is muffled — he pulls his paw away from his mouth for long enough to inspect the bloom of deep red rising from his second toe and staining the surrounding white fur.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​

 

[SEDGEPOUNCE]

Hunting is as easy as breathing; so is fighting, running, jumping. These things are simple for Sedgepaw and always have been, so he pays little heed to the small, scampering things which bleed life from between his teeth. They're inconsequential in the grander scheme—a task to be completed, a thing to be dealt with.

He has not wondered if his fox, perhaps, thought of him the same way.

Nor has he wondered if his clanmates harbor any sympathy for the roving beasts that they chase after in the grasses, so he doesn't think twice when Thriftpaw's incredulous exclamation draws him nearer to the younger apprentice. Just scrutinizes his nicked paw and hums thoughtfully.

"Y'could use a bit of cobweb for sure," Sedgepaw surmises. The cut looks small—anything from a mouse-tooth would be—but it seems intent on staining Thrift's whole pawpad. A part of him wishes he'd picked up more on all the salves and poultices and bandages that Vulturemask and Wolfsong had smothered him with while he was injured...if he could remember much of anything at all after his fever. "Buuut you should see Wolfsong, just in case you need to take the whole paw off," he finishes, just somber enough to be nearly convincing.​

 

[HEAVY SNOW]

Heavy Snow is not a cruel cat, when he had been Thriftpaw's age the idea of killing something so defenseless had left him weak as well. He had lamented about it to his mother 'But it's wrong' he had said 'There is no glory in killing something like this, can't we hunt something like a hawk instead?' but his pleas would fall upon deaf ears and he would soon come to learn that hawks were not as easy of prey as he had once believed them to be. It had been a harsh lesson, but one that he had needed to learn. They had needed that mouse then, WindClan needed the mouse now. "If you had killed it swiftly it would not have had time to bite you." he observes, though his tone is not cruel, it is as if he is simply stating a fact. Thriftpaw needed to learn to not be afraid to take the life of prey. The bellies this mouse would fill was important. But still, he does feel his features soften in sympathy for the tom when he notices the blood dripping from the wound the creature had inflicted upon him.

"Sedgepaw is right" he says with a nod "We should find your mentor and get you back to camp to be seen" He has to remind himself that Wolfsong is the medicine cat now, not Vulturemask, or Dandelionwish, or Honeytwist. It felt like they had gone through so many in such a short amount of time it was difficult to keep track of who held the position now. He looks around for the golden toms mentor now, eager to be off lest the scent of blood attracts a predator like a fox.
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[Badgermoon]

Badgermoon had never thought much about prey creatures beyond the lens of food, though he occasionally, he marveled at some element of them - the strength and swiftness of the hare, for instance, or the power of a lark's flight. Otherwise, though, he had never experienced a moment of hesitation like Thriftpaw endured now, had never lingered long on the lives of creatures he regarded as little more than meat-on-legs. Of course, the black and white tom didn't see the young apprentice's conflicted feelings, trotting over only after Thriftpaw cried out. Badgermoon's yellow eyes shifted from the child's wounded paw to the limp figure of the mouse - presumably the culprit - and clicked his tongue in sympathy.

"Bad luck. Sometimes they get'cha before you can get them." he had never been bitten by a mouse before, but he'd certainly been kicked, pecked, and gnawed on by all manner of creatures. Badgermoon peered more closely at the blossom of blood on Thriftpaw's injured foot; it certainly wasn't life-threatening, but it was bleeding somewhat prodigiously. He nodded in agreement with Heavy Snow and Sedgepaw, glancing around in the hopes of spotting Ghostwail's distinctive white fur.​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I FEEL SCARED AND I'M STARTING TO SINK ❀❀​
periwinklebreeze | 12 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically medium (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff

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Peri steadfastly ignores exactly who thriftpaws mentor as heavy snow speaks, instead pale blue gaze stays upon the golden furred apprentice. "w-with rabbits too, you g-g-g-gotta be careful they d-don't kick," he adds, his own advice stilted and awkward. He doesn't want to see the boy looking like himself - covered in a plethora of scars within only a moon of his ceremony. The moorland is home to many dangers - prey and predator alike, he thinks. 'And clanmates too' adds that niggling voice in the back of his mind, though he stomps it back down easily enough.

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[GHOSTWAIL]

She appears, a white snake from the grass, to assess the boy. Her burning gaze slides from his face to his wound (what a pitiful excuse to cry) to the mouse he has caught. A typical catch, unworthy of praise and unworthy of struggle. She leans down to inspect the wound, her muzzle finding the child's ear.

"A warrior's worth is measured in silence." She murmurs, her voice lowered into a facsimile of motherly concern. Snake venom disguised as cough syrup. "And their ability to hunt should be more suitable than a kit's..."​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftpaw doesn't startle when Sedgepaw speaks, but he does straighten. His bloodied paw returns to his mouth, a poor attempt to stanch his wound. Despite his moons in WindClan, Thriftpaw doesn't think he fully understands what it is Wolfsong does. He needs cobwebs or his paw is coming off — Thriftpaw's nose wrinkles at that. He's being teased. He's probably being teased. Thriftpaw presses his tongue to the bite a little harder and he doesn't worry about how he'll be able to run with only three paws.

"It's already stopping," Thriftpaw lies, because avoidance is far easier than no, I don't want to, "Or it's slowing down a lot. So it's not really anything that needs looked at." The right? isn't said out loud, but asked with uncertain eyes that flick Sedgepaw's way.

Heavy Snow has his own advice. If he had killed it swiftly it wouldn't have had time to bite him — Thriftpaw nods, too quickly to be true agreement. It was often that Thriftpaw imagined himself as some kind of prey. It was easy for him to see himself smaller than he is now, his tail pinned to the ground by a white paw. Holding that mouse himself, Thriftpaw felt both like a predator for the first time and like nothing at all. The mouse had been afraid and Thriftpaw should have killed it, he knew this even in the moment, but instead he had lingered on it trapped.

"I was just trying to look at it," It doesn't make sense to Thriftpaw so he doesn't dwell on it.

Badgermoon and Periwinklebreeze offer their own encouragements. Thriftpaw nods once more to Badgermoon, sharp and automatic. It hadn't been bad luck at all, it had been all Thriftpaw, but the least he can do is show Badgermoon that he had been heard. Periwinklebreeze is more complicated. Thriftpaw likes Periwinklebreeze; he was among the first of cats in WindClan to be kind to Thriftpaw. Periwinklebreeze had even been the one to gift Thriftpaw his first feather.

But Thriftpaw isn't supposed to like Periwinklebreeze. He doesn't understand why, not fully, but that feather had been a gift from Periwinkebreeze, and Ghostwail wouldn't have concerned herself with it if there wasn't something about it that she didn't like. Thriftpaw looks away and down, as if he could ignore Periwinklebreeze out of his presence. He hopes Periwinklebreeze understands.

It was the right choice. It must have been, because without warning Ghostwail is here, and Thriftpaw is once again straightening his steadily slouching stance. He should have done better. He knows that now. Thriftpaw nods once again, and this time the motion isn't too stiff or too quick. It's slow and careful and practiced, lasting just long enough to cover his snap assessment of Ghostwail's words.

"I understand," Thriftpaw doesn't. His rabbit-heart wants out, "I can keep hunting." He glances at Badgermoon then — suddenly the medicine den doesn't sound so bad.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 5 MOONS​

 

[Badgermoon]

Badgermoon knew precious little about healing, but he felt reasonably confident that walking on an injured paw was asking for trouble. He would be fine with an apprentice feeling some hurt while going about their day - that happened often, when you were a warrior - but the wound seemed to be bleeding with enthusiasm. "No." the bicolor tom decided, as Thriftpaw declared himself fit to keep hunting. "I don't want that to get infected or something and put you out of commission. Besides," he wrinkled his nose, "I don't want you tracking blood all over the territory, luring foxes or badgers. Let's go find Wolfsong." he doubted that Ghostwail would appreciate his co-opting of her apprentice, but WindClan's warriors and apprentices needed to be at their best at all times, and Badgermoon knew from experience that small injuries could turn into big ones, and that meant one less body to defend the Clan.​

 

[SEDGEPOUNCE]

Sedgepaw really does mean it as a joke, but Thriftpaw goes all stiff and weird and quiet and Sedge is instantly reminded of Sunflowerpaw, equally reactive to his teasing. It makes him falter.

He doesn't actually want anyone to feel slighted by him—maybe that's surprising, what with all his constant jabbing, but it's true. So he kind of has to sit with this nagging feeling of guilt while a menagerie of warriors parade in, suddenly much more aware of Thriftpaw and his obvious discomfort than he would've been otherwise. The other apprentice wilts under the eyes and words of the crowd around him, nearly physically compressing with each additional comment. Sedgepaw didn't mean to start the deluge. He'd only meant to...

Well, he doesn't really know what he meant to do. He just says things. Doesn't usually even think about them beforehand. Or after, really.

"C'mon," he offers, a more earnest smile slotting against his face. "Wolfsong's been drawing these weird pictures on the walls in the medicine den. We can go look at 'em before he bandages your paw up." It's not really an apology, but Sedgepaw doesn't usually do much of those either.​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── "I will take that as a compliment," Wolfsong comments dryly after he has lowered his small bundle of goldenrod to the ground. His gaze scours the amassed WindClanners, noting Thriftpaw's slightly muted demeanor and Sedgepaw's smile, which is not quite as casually blithesome as Wolfsong has come to associate with him. The warriors present —Heavy Snow, Periwinklebreeze, Ghostwail, and Badgermoon— prompt some thoughtful consideration as well, and his eye narrows slightly. Had I arrived sooner, I would not be at so great a loss for the situation.

He dislikes being uninformed, and he has most certainly missed something. "Yes, I will see to your paw. It should not hinder your training, though you will likely need to refrain from your duties for the rest of the day," he says finally, the dissatisfaction lingering as he retrieves his herbs to begin the trek to the medicine den. He does so without glancing back at them, though his pace is intended to accommodate a paw wound.
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 36 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ 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: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ 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.

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[GHOSTWAIL]

Her nostrils flare ever so slightly at Badgermoon's insistence and for the briefest moment, the hunger rears its blackened head, coiling in her stomach. For a moment, a vision of the deputy's face marred by her claws flashes before her eyes. Only a moment, though. A heartbeat later, the hunger settles back and the vision is gone, replaced instead by Wolfsong tending to the boy.

Another nose flare. He did not need coddling, he needed to get back to work. He needed to continue his training. He needed to push himself harder as obviously, Gravelsnap was not doing a good enough job (if the child could be so easily distracted hunting a mouse, what else was he being distracted by?)

But she says nothing. She allows herself to step away from the boy, her burning eyes mellowing from faux-maternal concern back into monotony. "Very well." She drawls and with a single flick of her tail, she is back within the shadows of the tall grass. There were other matters to attend to.

//out​

- you call for peace when it suits you​