famous last words ~ injured joiner

How many days had it been? Everything was so blurred together…Where was she? Had she passed this tree before? Her paw steps were so heavy that she could barely stumble through the undergrowth. The world around her seemed to spin as she passed what seemed to be cat scents.
The ginger she-cats jaws parted as she panted painfully. On her shoulder was a festering wound. Heat radiated from it, and there was a little bit of leaves on it, but there was no doubt it was the wrong medicine.
She could hear voices, and see faint outlines of something in front of her, but when she tried to respond, the tabby fell to the ground and drifted into unconsciousness.

The smell of blood hitting his nose had made Flycatcher recoil in surprise. It was not a smell he was particularly fond of, but with his youth being as unpredictable as it had been it was a scent he was unfortunately familiar with. Injuries from training, wounds given to his parents by other loners, the cut on Moth's shoulder when she had fallen from a tree....

When he detected that familiar scent, his hackles raised in alarm. Although he had not fought in the Great Battle it was still fresh in many memories and something didn't seem right that they should find a potentially injured cat now, especially after how frosty the first gathering had been. Flycatcher pulled ahead of the patrol he was on to follow the scent, ignoring the calls from his clanmates to use some caution. He was surprised to find an injured ginger she-cat standing in front of him. He tried to ask her if she was alright but she fell to the ground and slipped into a state of unconsciousness before he could even ask. The blue tabby padded over to her swiftly and gave her a once over for any serious injuries, only spying the festering wound on her shoulder as the sign of injury. It definitely looked infected to him but at least the young she-cat had made some effort to try and treat it. "She's injured," Flycatcher would mew to the first cat who emerged after he did. "Can someone get Cinderfrost? Her shoulder looks pretty bad."


Apart of the same patrol Flycatcher was on, her watchful and observant eye watches him slip away. Well... nosy Twig instantly grow intrigued, had he scented something they hadn't? Prey? Her stomach rumbles... she could use a good mouse!

Stepping forward in the direction he had set off in, she tastes the air.
As he had, she recoils when the smell hits her senses. Blood... a cats blood, most certainly not mouse.
Again, every muscle in her body tells her not to follow... what if danger was nearby? She didn't want to DIE!

Yet her nosiness takes over fear, her paws swiftly move and carry her through foliage.
When she emerges at the scene eyes immediately settle upon a flame colored she-cat, blatantly wounded... and well- unconcious.

"What happened to her?!" She meows with alarm as if Flycatcher would have the answer to that inquiry. But with a gulp she nods and turns around to fetch Cinderfrost... would she be in her den or...? Gosh... how did she go about finding the medicine cat?!

// @cinderfrost ! please assume everyone that twig returns to the scene when cinder does <3


He was not used to that metallic scent, pungent, putrid. It reminded him of terrible things, and meant only loss- so he was not surprised when greying paws carried him to the crumbled body of a young tabby. Pity filled his gilded eyes immediately- she was dead, surely, for why would there be blood and someone cold upon leaf-blanketed ground?

Flycatcher, however, appeared calm at the sight- and upon closer inspection Trufflepelt was enlightened to the rise and fall of her chest, and a sunlight gaze flickered open wider. Twig voiced her shock at the sight, earning only a vague shrug from the tom; however, she was soon to turn on her heels, before his brain could formulate a response. Really, he could not have offered anything useful anyway... he was no star-destined medicine cat like Cinderfrost, who he assumed would soon be upon the scene. "May the Stars be on your side," a wistful whisper wound from his throat, delivered in quiet prayer to the fainted tabby and the calico who had fled on her mission.
The recluse would be found where she always was. Which, sadly, wasn't even much of an exaggeration. As per usual, the blue molly was tucked away in the depths of her den where the shadows gently embraced her and shielded her from the judging eyes. Twig's frantic calls caused her to warily poke her head out into the light of day, the drastic brightness contrasted with the dimness causing her eyes to narrow in irritation.

At first, she thought something was wrong with Twig herself - after all, they had discovered the former loner injured. Nothing was ever that simple, though. StarClan tested her new (and still largely lacking) knowledge with what sounded to be a task too big for her paws. She kept any reservations to herself as she told Twig to grab moss and soak it in water. Meanwhile, she gathered cobwebs and marigolds from within the cave that had slowly, yet surely, begun to resemble an actual medicine den.

With Twig leading the way (hopefully with that watered-down moss in her mouth), it didn't take long to find her soon-to-be patient. Stars, you couldn't ease me into this, could you? She looked down at the bright yellow flowers now resting besides the orange tabby. Her nose crinkled, brows furrowed, as she stared at the happy-go-lucky-looking petals. If the others were to be believed, these pretty little flowers would help with infections and bleeding but... They looked far too dainty to suffice.

Unfortunately, she had no option but to blindly trust the words of her fellow medicine cats. "Dab her wounds with the wet moss... and get those damned leaves off of her wound." They were probably doing more harm than good but now wasn't the time to examine and criticize the injured's handiwork.

While the wound was being cleaned, she plucked petals from the stems of the gathered marigolds before thoroughly chewing them. This felt stupid but it was the best bet she had. Once the area had been cleared by whichever helper stepped forward and the petals chewed into a fine pulp, she spread the "poultice" onto the female's wound. Good thing the she-cat was unconscious. Or, well, maybe it wasn't good but it meant the pain wouldn't be felt. Cobwebs were firmly pressed down after the poultice had been properly applied... At least, she prayed to the stars that she had done it properly.

She tried to settle her racing heart as she sat next to the tabby, a practiced poker face hiding the fear that caused her heart to skip multiple beats. What did she do now? If the moss and pain didn't rouse the molly then there was only one option, "We need to transport her to my den. It'll be safer there." Relatively speaking given some of the cats still thought she would skin them while they slept.​
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