Upon her return to camp she had made a beeline straight for her den, the precious lungwort clutched in her jaws. Three leaves. That is all ThunderClan has been able to spare but it is still better than the nothing ShadowClan had before. When she gets to her inner sanctum the first thing she does is sit in the dim light and look at the patients at the back of her den. They were all sleeping soundly, a sickness induced rest but rest all the same. Her eyes linger on her son the longest. His gray fur is dulled by fever and by the way his limbs twitch she can tell he is in a deep slumber.
A heavy sigh escapes her lips. How could she be expected to make the decision on who should get treatment and who shouldn't? The power to decide who could live and who could die… It was almost too much. But if she were to give in now, if she were to abandon this life the same way her aunt had then it would be Magpiepaw in her place instead and she could not- no- she would not do that to him. Still, it would be nice for another cat to take such a weighty decision out of her paws, for it to be someone else's fault for once. She knows all too well who the finger will be pointed at when cats start dying.
"StarClan give me strength" she murmurs softly.
When she looks back at the herbs under her paws she can feel the weight of the decision she is about to make weighing heavily upon her shoulders. The first dose is a no brainer. Flintkit of course would be getting one. He was a child after all, Poppykit too. But when she looks at that third leaf and then she looks back at the cats who had all fallen ill she knows it'll be a difficult decision. Realistically, it is the kits and the elders who are most at risk. Halfshade and Swanpaw are young and they are strong. Flintkit, Poppykit and Heavybranch are the clans most vulnerable. But there is a voice in Starlingheart's head that tells her that the elder isn't that badly off. Maybe he would be fine, maybe he would pull through. Maybe…
Before she makes any final decision on what to do with the third cure she takes the two leaves that had already been decided in her mouth, chews them into a pulp and then makes her way to the two youngest patients, starting with Poppykit. Gingerly, she parts the kits jaws and with one snow capped paw she scoops the chewed herb into her mouth then closes it, massaging her throat so that she swallows. Satisfied, she moves on to Flintkit.
Her son. How is she expected to just sit back and watch her son suffer like this? For a moment, she stares at him, green eyes filled with misery as she replays the words of her mate in her head. He had said this was her fault. Maybe he was right. If Flintkit had not been in the medicine cats den maybe he never would have gotten sick. Either way, she had promised him she would protect him. She had to. She was his mother, after all. She would fix it, make him better. She had to.
She does the same for him that she had for Poppykit. Takes the chewed up herbs and places it in his mouth. Not once does he stir. When she is finished, she places her nose on her sons forehead. It is hot to the touch and a chill of fear runs along her spine, making her ebony fur stand on end. 'What if he doesn't get better? What if it doesn't work?' Flintkit was very ill. It didn't take a medicine cat to see that. Would one dose really be enough? She looks at the rest of her patients, her emerald colored gaze flitting over each of them in turn and then in that hushed moment, she makes her decision.
Determined, she takes the last bit of lungwort, laps it up into her mouth and chews it until it is a pulp like the ones before. Then she takes it in her jaws and she makes her way back over to Flintkit, giving him the last of the cure. "It'll be okay, my love. Everything will be all better soon." she whispers to him as she licks between his ears, gentle loving rasps that promise brighter days ahead.
forgive me for what I have done
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