camp DID I DISAPPOINT YOU? ༄.𖥔 ݁ ˖ "NO APPETITE"

[GENTLESTORM]

༄.𖥔 ݁ ˖ — Despite how past events had altered him to be less friendly towards those outside of his clan, Gentlestorm never stopped trying to be the sacrificial lamb for his clan especially to those residing within the nursery. He could go without a meal and distract himself with his duties so that the growling of his stomach could be ignored, a lot of the time, it came naturally to him. Whenever he overworks himself that's where the bad habit of not taking care of himself had budded from and usually it had been Batwing or Copperfang that dropped for a visit or two to share a meal with him. He hasn't had Batwing for nearly an entire cycle and he knows that Copperfang's busy trying to continue providing for Thunderclan, the prey isn't as scarce but after the omen... He doesn't wish to take any risks especially when they don't know if those across the river would grow greedy once more and try to take what little they had left.

If someone dropped him an offering then he would take it and thank them only to drop it off at the nursery so that the queens would eat or even his own patients that reside within the medicine den, a small frown on his maw as the tomcat rests at the entrance of his den not wanting Howlpaw to try sneaking off again. The wild boy is what remains of those that used to temporarily reside in his den and he glances in the direction of the black smoke then turns his eyes to those walking around in camp, Gentlestorm feels tired from the lack of energy and wishes to rest even if its for a mere heartbeat but he feels as if he can't. Thunderclan needs him to remain attentive, in case, anything occurs that he needs to make right or fix... He ignores the way that some of his clanmates seem to glance in his direction and mumble between themselves, he's grateful that his plush coat hides his thinning form even if it isn't completely fullproof given his face.

The silvery tom rests his head on his forepaws attempting to his his face within the plush fur near his chest and presses his ears flat against his skull, its then when his stomach decides to betray him and growls loud enough that those walking by would hear. Gentlestorm tries not to wince at the sound of it and tries to pretend that he's fallen asleep... Perhaps, they would leave him there and he'd make sure that he got a bite later... that's what he always told himself anyways before forgetting or giving his catch to someone else.

TAKE A SEAT BUT I'D RATHER YOU NOT BE HERE FOR ᨒ WHAT COULD BE MY FINAL FORM

• ooc — TW mention of stravation/hunger & forgetting to take care of self

• 

  MEDICINE CAT KNOWLEDGE;
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ FLESH WOUNDS
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧ INFECTIONS
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧ ACHES & PAINS
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧ ILLNESS
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧✧ BREATHING ISSUES
  — ✦✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧ TRAVELING HERBS
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✧✧ BROKEN BONES
  — ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦ KITTING
  — ✦✦✦✦✧✧✧✧✧✧ POISONS
• 
  ✦ a longhaired blue sepia tom w/low white and copper eyes, several scars cover his body from previous fights that he somehow survived
  ✦ gentlestorm is rarely ever a warm individual and friendly to those who he meets, he proceeds with more caution and he's less likely to trust any strangers that come from outside of thunderclan. he tends to be jumpy if suddenly approached or flinches away from swift movement with his claws unsheathed when it occurs, he apologizes for it. his kindness reserved only for those closest to him otherwise anyone else can expect the cold shoulder from the old tom
  ✦ 62 moons old; ages the 27th every month
  ✦ widowed mate of little wolf ; currently interested in no one...
  ✦ semi-difficult to befriend/interact with ; quick to strike/attack first if he feels threatened ; peaceful powerplay allowed but proceed with caution
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, attacking

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[STORMYWING]

From her perch on the overhanging branch, Stormywing's golden eyes narrow as they fix on Gentlestorm below. The sight of him slumped at the entrance to the medicine den gnaws at something inside her she doesn't want to name. Shes definitely not concerned, nope. But he looks...tired. Thinner, maybe, though it's hard to tell through that thick coat of his. But she sees the way he keeps his head low and his ears flattened against his skull, and the way his stomach growls loud enough to echo across the ravine.

Her claws scrape against the bark beneath her paws, the familiar rough texture grounding her as a flood of conflicting emotions churns within her. Why do I even care? She asks herself. Gentlestorm had all but destroyed her with his words the last time they spoke, tearing into her about her cross-clan kits in a way no one else had dared to. He called her rot, as if she were something disgusting, insignificant. It's hard to believe this is the same cat. Now he looks so...small. For all his sharp words, he's clearly overworked, running himself ragged for a clan that is already struggling in leaf-bare. The blue tabby's tail lashes behind her, betraying her frustration - not just at him, but at herself for hesitating. This isn't my problem, She thinks. Yet she doesn't move, her gaze locked on him like she's rooted to the tree.

She swallows hard, her claws flexing again. Her first instinct is to leap down, land right in front of him, and let him see her watching. Maybe even shove a piece of prey in his face just to shut him up before he can insult her again. But then she remembers the fire in his voice the last time they spoke, the way he looked at her like she was dirt beneath his paws. So she takes a steadying breath. No. Not this time. If he can't even take care of himself, that's on him.

But her paws betray her. She moves closer along the branch until she's leaning just far enough forward that she can make out the faint rise and fall of his chest. She studies him for a long moment, the cold air biting at her fur as she wrestles with her next move. Finally, she pulls herself back, claws catching on the bark. She can't do it. Not yet, when the memory of his cruelty still stings. But as she turns to climb higher into the tree, she pauses. A small, pointed sigh escapes her. She angles herself toward the fresh-kill pile, eyeing a surprisingly plump vole near the top. He won't take care of himself, but that doesn't mean I can't make sure someone else does.

Dropping to the ground in a flash, she moves forward and snatches up the vole in her jaws. She pads silently toward the medicine den, not stopping to look at Gentlestorm as she sets the vole down near his paws - just close enough that he can't pretend not to see it. Without a word, she turns and stalks away, her tail flicking dismissively behind her. If he wants to starve, that's his choice. But she's not going to let him have the excuse that no one tried.
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[SCARKIT]

Gentlestorm is this massive beast of a cat. He lay in front of the foul-smelling den (medicine den, they tell her) like a dragon before its lair. He is hulking, wiry-furred, and awash in scars. Like Stormywing, Scarkit observes him from the distance.

She needs to know everything she can about ThunderClan to make her mother's plan work. So far, she knows that Tigerwing is kind, if air-headed. Specklesong is stern but easily distracted, though Scarkit hasn't been able to deduce what behavior might push her to cuffing ears yet. Next up on her docket is the medicine cat, the clan's healer. He keeps them all safe. He speaks to StarClan. Not just in the way that Redflower had them pray over each measly meal—when he talks to StarClan, they talk back.

Gentlestorm is probably really important to ThunderClan. So it's especially strange that he seems so...ragged.

For a while, Scarkit watches him pace around. He looks really sleepy. His paws are all clumsy and his eyes, beneath their heavy gray brows, seem heavy. Then he finally plops down in front of his den in a way that makes him look a little dead. His stomach growls.

ThunderClan is the land of plenty. They have all sorts of prey to choose from. Plump squirrels, rich mice, tasty chipmunks. Gentlestorm reaches for none of those, though. Scarkit knows that the prey pile is supposed to be for everyone, so...

Out of nowhere, a silvery-pelted molly descends upon Gentlestorm, dropping some animal in front of his nose. Her face is stern. The thing she drops is more fat than any gross, wormy rat Redflower ever fetched them.

From her safe bit of distance, Scarkit waits for Gentlestorm to gratefully sink his teeth into the meal. It's only when he doesn't that she pads slowly forward.

"You're not allowed to eat?" she asks the burly tom, head tilted. Of course a clan of traitors and cowards and murderers would be so cruel to deny food, even when there's more than enough to go around. To their medicine cat, no less! And that molly wanted to rub it in his face by showing him food he couldn't eat...

Finally, things are starting to make sense around here.
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[tigerwing]

The torbie had spent plenty a days stuck in the medicine den, ears flickering towards gentlestorm, learning about the tom- the self sacrificial but helpful and genuine seeming once warrior. He laid and plastered herbs on others and kept his paws busy, but more often then not seemed to forget about himself, or ignore his own needs.

Her head lifted as she watched Stormywing gather a large vole from the pile, merely dropping it in front of him and walking off without a word. She's a strong warrior, even if her heart deceived her- allowing to lead her astray- but could she blame her? Hate her as others did? No. Tigerwing still saw a loyal headstrong warrior, albeit the disloyalty that ended long ago. If she connected gaze with Stormywing, she would offer a smile of thanks, for having the strength she wasn't sure on how to even approach.

You're not allowed to eat?

The kit she had helped bring to camp spoke, confused, and she shook her scarred muzzle. "No he is allowed to eat. He just doesn't, but he needs to." She murmurs as she approaches, lifting green eyes to the medicine cat. A wolf, hidden behind the pelt of a cat, with torn scars of the sacrifices and fights he held. She had witnessed him bringing prey to the kits, bringing prey brought to him elsewhere. Stop sacrificing yourself, she wished she could say. "Gentlestorm, you've been working hard. You've put yourself off for long enough. Eat, please. You deserve it." She murmurs softly, her lip tugging into a small smile as she grabbed her own piece of prey. A small mouse, but she looked to Scarkit first. "I can eat with you.. Scarkit, would you like to take a bite first?" She offered, a gentle smile placed on her maw for the child she sympathized heavily with.

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