private DEATH SHOWS MERCY ;; dawnglare & mallowlark.

[Fireflyglow]

One of the first cats he rushes the Lungwort to is his mentor, setting the plant down in front of him with an excited wag of his tail. His first instinct is to prod his mentor awake, but he settles for using his tail to sweep long strands of charcoal fur over his face to gently rise him from his sickened slumber. The high priest could scold him later, but he wanted his mentor to eat the plant now. Now, now, now.

"Dawnglare, they came back. We have Lungwort. After you eat this, I'll give some to Mallowlark and Falconpaw. So eat." Fi chirped as he pushed the herb closer to his mentor, giddy in his place. Then, he turns his head to the high priest's mate, picking up another bundle and gently prodding the black-pawed tom with his own dark paws. "Here. For you, too." He didn't expect a thanks; after all, he wasn't the one who'd found the lungwort, but now that he had it in stock.. With three sick, he would have one left, wouldn't he? Just in case, just in case..

"Do either of you need honey to swallow it down?" Hopefully they could muster up the strength..

@MALLOWLARK @DAWNGLARE ​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE ✦ 15 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[MALLOWLARK]

He'd never die, not with Dawnglare looking after him, but Dawnglare wasn't looking after him anymore. No, no- Fireflypaw, still a trusted healer (he thought), owned the paws in which his fate lay. And Fireflypaw was not Dawnglare, and thus- thus, he could die. And Steepsnout, that Riverclanner, had been loved and had still died. And death came to them all, wandering toward them, tottering tottering tottering, sending them all mad...

Mallowlark's tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth then he heard the call. It was a tacky taste, like sleep and old blood. Beside him, the velvet fur of his mate, his cherished phantom, ribs still rising and falling. He felt for that movement every day, hating how he feared that he might die. Because surely... for all the power nature had, it would not kill Dawnglare. On a whim it could kill anyone else, but not- not Dawnglare, never Dawnglare.

And it wouldn't. Lungwort- the word was like a song. The herb smelled like mercy. "Don't need the honey," he asserted, and grinning fangs gnashed at the herb, gulping it down like it was a final meal. But it was a saviour, and silver eyes slipped to his mate, looked at him with unwavering urgency. They would be better, they would live, the both of them. "Thanks, he said through chews, gaze flicking back to Fireflypaw. It was rushed but earnest, cheeriness struggling through the haze of plague. "Thanks, thanks. Won't die, now," because nature and StarClan and whatever else, it'd all spared him. Spared him and spared Dawnglare, for some reason or another. He'd listen to the whispers tonight to gather one, but maybe that they loved to live was enough. ​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He hears his name. It sends a surge of something through him. Because when his name was called, it was always to heal; to fix. Only through giggling jaws would it ever be something good. Once upon a time, there had been a second chance. Through the sun's gaze— through sky - blue eyes; through faint stripes and too - big paws. Now it was only laughing, laughing; and that familiar crowing was brought to a wheeze, and then to tears, lungs crushed by sickness.

Woeful, that he cannot move in the way he wanted to. He is weak, with heavy eyelids and a heart that may or may not still beat. He is startled, by the rousing through fur and nothing else, and yet has not the energy to show it. Lungwort, one of his own theories, and yet now, it rings hollow. The form of his apprentice is dream - like, the scribble of a new moon atop tawny fur. Confusion is spelled clear with a questioning grunt. Broken stems are pushed toward him and his mate, both.

He has only ever given medicine. This was never supposed to happen.

Dawnglare laps the herb into his mouth, anyways. The question of honey is one ignored, but he wonders at himself, when bitterness floods his tongue. Distantly— he remembers. He remembers uttering warnings of bitterness, to young cats. He remembers being more uncomfortable than he should've been, pushing stems of salvation to Dandelionwish. He swallows it. The bitterness never ends.

He would bury his face into Mallowlark, mumbling something that could have been thank you.

He ought to tell Mallowlark that he need not worry for him. That he'd live forever. That he could never be sick— much less die. He ought to, he really ought to.

Mallowlark worried, even though he shouldn't. Fireflypaw did not worry enough, even though he certainly should. An eye, slick with feeble wetness, cracks itself open. If only to look upon his apprentice, and ponder what has happened.

A WISE WOMAN SAID I'M ALIVE 🍷 NOBODY'S EVER TOLD HER SHE'S WRONG

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• ( I'M AS ALIVE AS HER BEARD IS LONG ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  𓆩♡𓆪 He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  𓆩♡𓆪 Currently 59 moons old as of 11.20.23. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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