camp dead weight ] return from a hunt

[SHAGGYDOG]

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the moorlands with a warm, golden hue as Shaggydog pads through the tall grasses, the scent of fresh prey clinging to its fur. Its hunt has been fruitful, the rabbits plentiful and slow, their scent trails easy to follow in the fading light. It carries its catch—two plump rabbits—toward camp, the prey dangling from its jaws, their lifeless bodies a testament to Shaggydog's skill and efficiency. It prefers hunting alone, away from the chatter and noise of other warriors. There is something satisfying about the silence, with the only sounds being the rustle of grass underpaw and the rhythmic thud of its heart in its chest. Out here, Shaggydog can think, plan, and reflect without the distractions of camp life. It doesn’t care much for small talk or the subtle social dances others seem so eager to perform. Actions speak louder than words, and in Shaggydog's world, what one does is far more important than what one says.

As it nears the camp, the familiar scents of WindClan territory grow stronger, mingling with the earthy smell of the prey it carries. Shaggydog's sharp eyes flick across the landscape, noting the distant figures of its clanmates moving about their duties. It will return to camp, drop off its catch at the fresh-kill pile, and then retreat to a quieter corner, away from the noise and bustle. Crossing the threshold into camp, Shaggydog feels the shift in atmosphere immediately. The low murmur of conversation, the occasional yowl of kits playing, and the scent of gathered cats all mix together into a familiar, if somewhat overwhelming, environment. Shaggydog moves with purpose, ignoring the curious glances and murmured greetings as it makes its way to the fresh-kill pile; it drops the rabbits unceremoniously onto the pile, the weight of its completed task lifting from its shoulders.

Without pausing for acknowledgment, Shaggydog turns away, its mind already shifting to its next course of action. It prefers to keep to the edges of camp, where it can observe without being dragged into meaningless conversations. There is value in knowing what is happening, even if it doesn’t involve itself directly. Finding a shaded spot near the edge of the camp, Shaggydog settles down, laying down and resting its head on its paws. From here, it can watch, listen, and stay informed—just the way it likes it. After all, while others might be distracted by chatter and pleasantries, Shaggydog knows that staying informed is the real key to surviving in a world that doesn’t care for the weak or the oblivious. Its eyes are sharp, even if it stays silent in its secluded spot.​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── Following Cottonsprig's disappearance (kidnapping?) Wolfsong is drained, to put it lightly. It is not physical so much as mental, emotional— her absence is a pressure that builds behind his ribs each time he expects to see her over his shoulder, or sitting before their herbs with her back to the den entrance. Both of his apprentices are gone from WindClan. Sunflowermask and Cottonsprig were whisked away like their namesakes in leafbare, and he wonders if this is yet another sign. Such paranoia haunts him since his failure with the fires, and his empty belly folds in on itself anxiously.

He stares down at the freshkill pile, distantly conscious of the tangible weight of someone watching him, but he does not yet look. The rabbits appeal to his hunger, but not to his mind, and he is sick with warring desire. His belly growls, but he still does not move except to search for his observer, and— ah, it is Shaggydog. He should have expected that.

Wolfsong paws a small mouse out of the pile, thinking that he might reach a compromise within himself. It does not work, and he grimaces as his stomach lets out another plaintive rumble.
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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.

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: 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.

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