private FLOW OF MILDNESS ♡ BERRYHEART

[DAWNGLARE]

The way back home is not quite lonely.

Her maw yawns north to them all, and so, the faces drop off one by one. Strange, how those closest were most deluded in their beliefs. Was there such a thing– such a way of being too close? Perhaps for untrained minds... Perhaps it was maddening. Perhaps an impure soul could not help but react adversely, to shirk away, or to find themselves blind in Her light. Lost from the start, those few. The madness would kill them slowly.

Eventually, it is only him and the ones who were bound by blood. One face mottled, and another modeling the new moon. Quaint, it must be to them. Did it bring him comfort, to pretend that nothing had ever changed? To pretend for a moment, that they could merely be family again? Dawnglare worries, worries; both his lip and in his mind, the pressure is sharp. The twitch of his tail is erratic behind him. He has more than one reason for it. Far more than one. Such atrocities have been left unsung. He does not consider it quite a victory, no.

His steps slow, and with a click of his tongue, his pupil would be told to run along. Just barely did that toe the line of the border. Scents mingled, the sap held a different sort of bitterness. Surely, he could find his way. It was only a hop skip and a jump... Just a moment. And his voice would trail... His form would sway... The water bubbles. Impatient eyes; he comes closer on a whim. "Have you heard? Surely you must've." His eyes narrow curiously upon that face, shrouded in night. Quiet, this one, his ears strain for a moment. "The atrocities by our 'fellow medicine cats'," A hint of mockery, his voice lilts strange. "Scared of their sickness... D-do you have it in ThunderClan? The wheezing, the... phlegm." His nose wrinkles at the thought of. Hacking coughs, the drip of their insides, suddenly where it should not be.

[ @BERRYHEART ; set after january's medicine cat gathering :)! ]​

 

[BERRYHEART]

Bidding his nephew goodbye, Berryheart made a mental not to update Shady on his wellbeing- his new position. She would be proud, no doubt... though perhaps it was best to keep it a conversation between them. Others were disdainful of Sootypaws' defection from ThunderClan. Such strong feelings of betrayal, that you could spit a name out of your mouth and never repeat it- he understood, even if he could not exactly empathise.

Peepers, though... peculiar in some ways was at least interesting, and firmly did he believe that Sootypaws was in good care. StarClan had chosen them both, after all- beneath their skins must lie some similar quality, slumbering but tangible in his own case. Keenness of mind, eagerness to learn- as their paw steps halted, Berryheart stole an askance glance at the mahogany-brushed tom. Jaw knocked ajar, his breath bloomed into mist in the night, a slow blink overtaking him. His attention wavered not, however- ears swivelled ever-so-slightly to intent attention, something difficult to gain from the tortoiseshell tom.

Prompted, he nodded slightly solemnly. What was the point of thievery? Immoral, and surely unwanted by the stars... as healers, was it not their duties to find their own remedies for ailments that seemed incurable? Odd-eyes had generally seemed kind- dedicated. Perhaps it was under the dictation of the yet-unseen replacement, or of the acid-eyed moor queen, that such an attempt had been made. Survival sent so many into a frenzy.

"Not much, thankfully." he murmured, attention lingering upon Peepers' face. A small sigh weaved through his shambolic formation of fangs. "But those few cases have been deadly." Under interrogation he was ever unlikely to lie. To hide his struggles when asked- it would be no way to learn, to succeed. The use of the few plants he had access to were useless in Foul-maw's cases, the first failure he had stricken. With Peepers being the one asked after for illness, well-versed... perhaps here, he would receive an impromptu lesson.

Any knowledge was, as always, appreciated.​

PENNED BY PIN ☾​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

With the answer, Dawnglare searches the other's face. Not yet, had he been given any reason to detest ThunderClan's chosen one, and now, certainly would be a time for him to show what he truly was. He sees not any defiance, not a morsel of sympathy for those wretched few. (Truly, he did not see much at all, but the lack of an answer could be good as any spoken word. Somewhat satisfied, somewhat, he flicks his tail.

Lucky then, to be safe from the plague. Lucky that it seemed to avoid those who did not have all of the needed tools. It was not complete avoidance, though. Such a thing would be impossible. Only those blessed by Her earth would truly be safe from worldly dangers. Though She loved all upon her land, not all could be guaranteed such safety. And he pities this, pities him. Both his mind and body shudder at the thought of sickness. And this one, new, inexperienced, (Whose fault but the fools who came before him?) would have to lay witness upon that shivering affliction.

Without further word, Dawnglare strays from his face. Though, noticeably, it is not in the direction of his own clan. Shuffling under the deep night, he hums as his form ghosts across the earth. His mind is open, jaws parted slightly. The tang of something, something useful sits nearby. And it's there peeking between the crevices, moonlit and waiting to be taken. Quietly, he whispers a hello. To it, he sings a song. Something short is all time allows for, but something short is all it needs. Clasp after clasp, Dawnglare gathers a number of something. Newleaf encroaches, and so, ThunderClan is blessed with new growth, it seems.

When he returns, his jaws are full of able stems. Tansy, bright-eye, and feverfew. There was another, outlier; a small weed alight with orange buds. His mind fails him in this moment. Remembrance does not come suddenly, but he feels as if they are important. Mother rumbles to him quiet confirmation

He drops them without eloquence. Plentiful bugs; parasites, in the end. They deserved no such thing. "Which of these would you think it is?" Leaning close, his words are low-spoken. "Which of these do you think they would die for?" No dignity, those few. barely worms, those few. Eagerly, he awaits the day a great storm would rage across their moors, and their moors only.​

 

[BERRYHEART]

There was a few moments of anticipation- silence, and then movement. For a moment Berryheart wondered if he had accidentally misspoke- if he should have opened up more, for his calmness might have driven the other away. But- logic overtook quickly, as it usually did- for Peepers did not turn toward his own Clan. Patiently, Berryheart sat in wait, watching as the cinnamon-painted tom moved through the undergrowth, disappearing into the darkness. He could still hear his presence in the lull of night, the silence that had long descended. He would be a fool to lose his awareness now.

His patience paid off, as soon Peepers returned, a collection of herbs poking from his jaws. Some bloomed mildly, some did not; and placed at his feet, Berryheart dipped his head in acknowledgement and appreciation. He would be remiss to not be thankful for this time- at this hour, many would not extend the same attention. The night stretched late, languid, and yet... precious time was offered to him.

Which of these do you think they would die for? For a moment he was confused by the phrasing, and almost asked the dawn-painted SkyClan medic to repeat himself- but then he realised he was speaking of WindClan, not his patients. For the latter, death was the worst outcome, yet for WindClan... in their act of thievery, death was a risk they were willing to take. Nodding in confirmation, Berryheart's attention fell to the plants upon the ground; feverfew he knew by name would remedy fever. Could the others follow the same logic? Bright-eye was perhaps something particularly soothing for eyes... therefore...

"The tansy?" It was a question- only during a lesson such as this would Berryheart ever dare to speak with uncertainty. Correction was welcomed, if he was wrong. "It's unfortunately a guess." Maybe an educated one, but without much education... a guess was simply plain.​

PENNED BY PIN ☾​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Patience, this one practices it well. Perhaps this is all he is good for in actuality. Dawnglare can see his mind churning, a subtle blankness settling in those, rather unfortunately-colored eyes. Focused as he was, for a moment, Dawnglare considers gouging them out while his attention was elsewhere. The pain would only last a moment. A moment that could easily be wasted away like this.

He hesitates for too long, and an answer is brought to him. Wrong, though. It is wrong. He doesn't know this one to be frustrated in the face of unknowingness (At least, not outwardly, for mind-reading was not something Dawnglare concerned himself with. It was pointless, the whole of them was). Still, he announces this very wrongness high and sweet. He would welcome any annoyance, but alas... "Wrong! Wrong, it is none of these," he purrs. "I'm sure if you had any, WindClan would have tried to seize it, already. Listen here–" He leans close, tail jittering strangely behind him. There's a giddy excitement to it all, offering something he would offer to no other. And that decision was his own. His teachings were his own. "If a clanmate of yours is wheezing or coughing dry– maybe their head even aches, maybe they say their stomachs are full... Listen, It's whitecough, and there's but a single cure..."

He gestures to the herbs sprawled across the ground, chin tilted upwards. In this moment, he regarded them as insects, and they were hardly anything more. Something bad could help you still, if you knew what you were doing... "Catmint, it's called. Leafy green and the sweetest thing you will ever live to smell They will kill you for it. Best you don't get sick, altogether..." And his voice lowers into a whisper; half-lidded eyes, his grin is crooked as he mews. "But, here's a secret. So long as you are good, I will provide what you need." Giddy giggling, his chest hammers excitement. Wouldn't WindClan ache to hear those words? There was only one– One exception.​

 

[BERRYHEART]

He almost chuckled as Peepers' eyes flared wide, a thrill thrumming from his expression. Was he enjoying this lesson, unorthodox and moonlit as it was? Berryheart himself felt honoured, but it meant all the more if a teacher revelled in the art of instruction. His expression brightened that slightest bit, a smidgen more of crooked fangs revealed in a smile. None of them. Of course, of course- it had to be a trick question. It seemed so obvious... but didn't everything, illuminated by hindsight? Green eyes lifted, wholly and absolutely enraptured as he listened to the true answer.

Catmint, for greencough. Knowledge that would have saved Foul-maw, had he known it. Odd-eyes had mentioned Catmint before, hadn't he? He'd asked after it an had been refused, likely weighed down by the crimes of the Clan he was attempting to cure. He had never encountered it before, not in the wild- but given this description it seemed distinctive enough that he might be able to recognise it. Thoughtful, the ember-flecked tom nodded, askance features furrowed in the midst of pondering.

His brow furrowed at the notion of being killed for a herb- WindClan's wildness under Needles was not to be feared, he reminded himself. His ears swivelled at the offer- one that was quickly met with a smile. "Thank you," he purred- level, calm, but still noticeably pleased. "If I can return the favour any time, let me know." It was the least he could do, after all. The very least that he could give, when he wished to be able to give so much more. But... that knowledge would come. Diligent study and experimentation would take him to the realms of knowledge he desired. And with the generous offer, laughter waltzed in Peepers' voice... Berryheart found himself unsure of its source, unable to join in- though his smile (barely recognisable as such with the mess of his jaw) remained upon his snow-splashed face.

He let his eyes sweep across the other plants, some he recognised from his den. "Do these others help with anything at all?" Surely they were not useless, used properly... his expression remained hopeful, interested. He hoped he was not overstepping- though he was sure his tutor would be clear when he desired to leave, seeming a more direct type with his feelings... ​

PENNED BY PIN ☾​