pafp FOR WANT OF A NAIL — MCA ANNOUNCEMENT

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── Not long after his return from the medicine cats' meeting with troublesome news, and after his ill-spent dawn with a roiling stomach, Wolfsong went to speak with Sootstar below a canopy of stars. Privacy is an elusive creature in WindClan, but they had distanced themselves from camp, and Wolfsong had kept vigilant of their surroundings while speaking, while listening. It was an obvious solution: an apprentice, trained by his paw, bright-eyed and curious. He had proposed many candidates, all of them young, and yet a consensus had seemed unreachable. He went to Sootstar for advice and left their meeting torn between the gravity of his decision and WindClan's future.

He should have expected StarClan's interference, and yet as he beholds the white, prickly bud of cotton blowing down into the medicine den entrance, he is...thrown. Cottonpaw, he had said. She is not what I would consider studious, but she is earnest, and she is your blood. That is no small blessing. So too had he spoken of many other apprentices, and yet he has found no mysterious mouse, no stem of heather nor blade of sedge. It could reference Whitepaw, and yet he would expect StarClan to leave a sign far less contended. Cottonpaw, it must be.

He ventures slowly out of the den, scrutinizing nearby faces for any evidence of tampering. But surely WindClan would be above such behavior— surely, as the clan open to the skies, they understand the significance of meddling with StarClan's affairs. Whatever the other clans may think of them, they are not without reason. Wolfsong exhales slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. If she is the one you would speak with, then she will be.

It may have been some time since last he hunted on the moors, but he still has a nose and a keen eye— and a voice. He finds her fairly quickly, fortunately within the bounds of camp. "Cottonpaw," he greets, and again, despite his conviction that none would dare tamper, he searches her face for feigned surprise, for odd apprehension. But he does not find it. "StarClan has spoken," he continues, louder now, enough for those nearby to hear. "I have asked for a student, and in return, the winds brought me this." From the thick fur at his neck, his claws snag the cotton bud. "I need no clearer sign."

//please wait for @cottonpaw :)
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 36 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[cottonsprig]

Cottonpaw knows today to be no different from the last. She wakes from the mass of apprentices and joins her mentor in the usual - be it patrolling tunnels, carving out new ones, or even checking the borders. She wants to prove herself to Scorchstreak, especially after the several fumbling messes she's created. The sun lazes across the sky and Cottonpaw takes her midday break, as per usual. The unusual occurs, of course, and it takes the grey furred apprentice heartbeats too long to process.

She spies Wolfsong as the tom strides towards her. Instinctively, she turns to look behind her, to see who he must be approaching with fervor. Cottonpaw turns back and finds him closer, now, with his one-eyed gaze set on her. He speaks and she runs through everything she's done in recent days to possibly upset him. Maybe she made a comment about his growing roundness without thinking, or maybe she's accidentally stepped on some crucial herb, or -

Huh? Blue eyes widen as he declares StarClan's decision. Cottonpaw can only stare as he tugs a cotton bud from his ruffled fur. Her? It's almost an incredulous thought, though she would find it a blasphemous one to try and deny its validity. Wolfsong decided he needed help - maybe he said something at the Moonstone, spoke with the other Clans' medicine cats, stared at the stars for hours upon hours. Regardless of who he confronted, if anyone at all, StarClan sent him a sign. One of her. It's as clear as their open skies...

And she cannot help the spot of disappointment.

It's only a moment wherein the shine in her eyes dull. She wonders if StarClan guides her away from her current path out of embarrassment. She thought she was doing right by Scorchstreak, by all of the tunnelers, and yet their ancestors think her better off within the medicine den. It should be a fact of pride (and it is, though it only shows after the rough and tumble of her adolescent emotions,) and she can only see the failure for the moment.

Perhaps it's the finality of his words that brings her out of her momentary funk. StarClan made a decision for Wolfsong and he will abide by it, and so would she. She, daughter of Sootstar; a cat blessed by the stars, who's blood runs through Cottonpaw's veins. It must be destiny. It's only seconds ticking by of awed silence before Cottonpaw sputters a, "For real?" to the tom. She heaves in and out a single breath, her gaze flicking over the lingering cats, before landing on Wolfsong again. Her hesitation halts and she pulls on a tamed version of her usual grin. "Okay... okay! If StarClan wills it," the cotton bud in his possession says it so.

"If you'll have me, Wolfsong," she dips her head down in a partial bow, "it would be an honor to be trained by you."​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Bluepaw is not far from her sister, enjoying their brief reprieve from the darkness of the tunnels, when Wolfsong approaches. The sun feels warm in her thick, dust-clotted fur, and despite the ache in her paws from digging, the blue-gray she-cat feels at peace. Her work has more purpose than ever, and she has to admit she’s enjoying her moment of leisure with Cottonpaw. The time her littermate spent in the medicine cat’s den, away from her duties, has stolen their closeness, but the two of them are WindClan tunneler apprentices and share close quarters, near as close as their mother’s womb.

A golden shadow blocks the sun. Bluepaw looks up with a polite dip of her head, but there’s only cool curiosity emanating from her. Cottonpaw seems puzzled by the new medicine cat’s approach. Bluepaw wonders if her foolish sister is in trouble somehow; this would not surprise her. What does surprise her is what the one-eyed healer says next. Bluepaw’s fur tingles at the serious expression on his face, the newfound wisdom silvery in his blue eye. “Cottonpaw. StarClan has spoken.” Bluepaw looks at her sister, dread dawning over her. What could they have spoken about—what about her is StarClan-worthy? “I have asked for a student, and in return, the winds brought me this.”

Wolfsong plucks a cotton bud, white and soft as a rabbit’s tail, from the mane of fur about his throat. “I need no clearer sign.”

Bile coats Bluepaw’s tongue, burning holes in the flesh of her throat. “What?” She looks at Cottonpaw with dismay, with shock—with scornful, searing jealousy that pours in biting droplets from the acid-green of her gaze. “StarClan sent you that?” Her jaw clenches, and it’s all she can do to hide the displeasure ruffling her fur and desiring to contort her pretty features. Her sister sits, dull-eyed and dispirited at first, before she brightens and accepts Wolfsong’s ludicrous offer.

Bluepaw runs her tongue along her teeth, willing the envy to die and her throat to stop aching. “So that’s it? You’re going to give up on being a tunneler? A warrior?” She thinks of the medicine cats who are dead to WindClan, names like rot in their mother’s mouth. Honeytwist. Dandelionwish. She thinks of Vulturemask, pawfuls of warm dirt shoveled over his stiff black body. She thinks of Wolfsong, once a dedicated and fierce warrior on Sootstar’s council, now sequestered into quiet solitude amidst rows and piles of leaf litter.

Cottonpaw had been chosen by StarClan. Bluepaw’s tail tip twitches in frustration. How could this be so? Bluepaw is the good daughter. She is the one who has never gotten into trouble. She is the one who is Sootstar’s student, who emulates WindClan’s leader in all she does, who is careful and poised and pragmatic. So why is it her cotton-brained sister is the one StarClan has chosen to bless?

Some of the feelings inside of her, smoking and hot and twisting-black, begin to ebb as she realizes what this means. Cottonpaw is no longer a threat to her. She will be Sootstar’s greatest successor someday, the she-cat made in her mother’s image, the warrior crafted by her mentor’s paws. She will ascend the Tallrock when her mother has left for StarClan, and she will rule in her name, and Cottonpaw—Cottonpaw will play with herbs and dream of the departed. Cottonpaw will never lead WindClan, and she will never be a tunneler. She alone has those paw prints to fill.

She exhales, slowly, deliberately, and her muscles relax. Bluepaw rises to her paws and brushes her ivory muzzle against her sister’s smoke-colored ear. “So it is. You will make a fine medicine cat someday.” Her eyes are cool again, devoid of those frightening feelings that had threatened to overwhelm her, to crack the porcelain exterior she has melded into once again.

// BIG CONGRATS ILYSM

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

Seeing as Wolfsong did not intend to keep his personal matters private, Snakehiss ( along with many other clanmates ) drew his attention to the medicine cat as he addressed Cottonpaw directly. She was to be his apprentice, as indicated by StarClan themselves. A chill nearly descends down Snakehiss's spine — StarClan... they were present here, in this very camp, communicating their desires to Wolfsong in his den! And they had chosen Cottonpaw to be his successor, no less. Personally, the tom couldn't come up with much of a reason why Cottonpaw had been selected over anybody else; perhaps they didn't think her to fit as a tunneler? Or maybe they wished to enhance Sootstar's bond with StarClan; she was the Moor Queen, and the moors nested closest to Silverpelt, after all.

"This is wonderful news." He glances toward the cats around him, briefly gauging their reactions as if daring them to challenge him. Was this not great news? After so much sore luck with maintaining healers, it seemed that WindClan would finally get back on its feet. "WindClan will finally have a strong and capable team of medicine cats." A former lead warrior and the daughter of a leader; surely they, out of all cats, wouldn't betray their clan like Dandelionwish had.

Plus, Cottonpaw's new position as a medicine cat apprentice was only advantageous for Snakehiss; the two were rather close, after all. And the closer he was to Cottonpaw, the closer he would be to Sootstar. Now, he could even be closer to StarClan.

Should she meet his gaze amongst a flurry of congratulations and approving murmurs, viridian would meet cool aqua blue, though a certain glisten in his eyes would invite her to perhaps talk later, in private away from their clanmates. What kind of friend would he be if he didn't offer his support?​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

The tunneler thinks that she’s misheard Wolfsong, somehow, at first. Surely he doesn’t mean to make Cottonpaw his apprentice—she’s already got a mentor. Perhaps he meant to say a different name. But no, the healer approaches a young smoke with bright eyes, and the weak flicker of hope within her chest is smothered. Tricolored paws carry the warrior closer, ears shifting to hear the tom’s words better.

This cannot be happening.

Two months ago, everything was fine. She’d had an apprentice, and her daughter had been on track to become a tunneler like herself. Now, she can only think to ask herself where she went wrong. Is this some kind of punishment, or was it always fated to be this way? She’d been given a great honor, to mentor one of her leader’s kits, only for the opportunity to be ripped away before they had been able to make significant progress.

The calico doesn’t consider congratulating her—Wolfsong’s apprentice. There are no words she can offer that won’t turn to ash upon her tongue. She turns on her heel with a huff and stalks away, dissatisfaction rolling off her in waves.​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw had chanced upon the tunnelers writhing from their holes to rest in the sunlight, and he bounds forward to touch noses with his daughters. Cottonpaw has become quite the industrious little apprentice under Scorchstreak’s tutelage—he leans down to press his nose first to Bluepaw’s nicked ear, and then to Cottonpaw’s soft gray cheek, when he’s interrupted by the medicine cat’s approach. How odd it is to call him that, or think of him in that capacity—he still struggles to reconcile the fierce lead warrior he’d battled beside with the healer, herb-scent spicing his pelt. Still, Weaselclaw dips his head in respect and waits for him to speak.

When he does, the tabby feels his tongue dry up as though he’s left it on the riverbed. He eyes the cotton bud he fishes from his golden fur, and he feels sick. StarClan had sent him a message—about his daughter? Fear claws at his belly, and he has to force himself to look the seer in his one blinding blue eye. What do they want with Cottonpaw, when they have sent nothing but threats to her mother and leader? The StarClan he had once worshipped had been fierce as the cats they’d been in life, warrior blood still in their veins. Did they intend to make a point, to draw Sootstar’s suffering out further?

Weaselclaw’s paws are cold, despite the earth that burns beneath them. “But what about your training?” He flails, trying to catch Scorchstreak’s eye—but she is as astonished as he is, angry, and she leaves in a huff before he can plead his daughter’s case. She will be lost to him, lost to Sootstar, the plaything of the gods who would seek to haunt her mother.

After a moment, the lead warrior murmurs, “Maybe…” Maybe. Maybe it is only his newfound pessimism. Maybe StarClan has forsaken Sootstar, but—but Cottonpaw has done nothing to risk their wrath, besides share her blood. Perhaps this is a good sign for his family, for WindClan. Weaselclaw struggles with his mental battle, but in the end, he knows he cannot argue with fate. He watches Bluepaw seethe, sees the strange glint in Snakehiss’s eye, and finally murmurs, “You must work as hard at this as you were meant to as a warrior.” The tabby completes his loving gesture to the daughter he’d named, bussing her cheek with his tongue and thinking of the day he’d licked her still-damp fur until it fluffed up like her namesake on his tongue. “You will be a credit to WindClan.”

His fears must be kept secret—but he searches now for Sootstar, panic still glowing in his pale blue eyes. If Bluepaw is here, she must be nearby… will she know what he’s thinking, will she feel the same way?

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── Her disappointment, however brief, is...comforting, though it should not be, and he chides himself for it even as he understands that he still seeks evidence to ease a stubborn doubt. But he can rest easily now, even though he understands that this may not be a path she had envisioned for herself, just as Wolfsong had once thought of his own as purely a warrior's. Fortunately, her crisis does not seem long-lived— or at least, it does not prevent her from rallying herself to accept what Wolfsong had not quite meant as an offer. "They do, and so do I," he says with a slight smile, unable to resist it in the face of her bow. An unnecessary display of respect, but appreciated.

His apprentice, now. He had thought to see Sunflowerpaw a warrior under his tutelage, but it seems fate —and StarClan— have chosen otherwise for them all. Bluepaw seems to wrestle with this; he fixes her with his one blue eye, watching her muscles tense, frustration clear. But he does not speak of it, waiting for Bluepaw to continue, as it seems she will, and after a moment, she congratulates her sister. He hums noncommittally. "There is much to be done before that day, but the stars are certain it will be." He hopes Cottonpaw does not take her sister's outburst to heart, nor her former mentor's disapproving silence as she leaves without a single word. Perhaps Scorchstreak will not handle this with the aplomb I had expected. We shall see later, when the world has settled.

Surprisingly, the most approval comes from Snakehiss. It is far from what Wolfsong had thought events would unfold, and he does not believe for a moment that mutual animosity has lessened, but he's certain Cottonpaw will appreciate another vote of confidence. "Careful," he begins, amusement clear, "That sounded dangerously close to a compliment, Snakehiss."

Weaselclaw, too, appears unbalanced by this news, but he masters it much more quickly than some of the others. Wolfsong steps back to allow a father and his daughter space, and realizes that such an image could be Wolfsong and his own daughter in a not-so-distant future. "We should not waste time beginning. My kits will wait for nothing, and StarClan must agree if they have chosen now."
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 36 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Sootstar was found near the fresh-kill pile grooming herself at the time of the announcement. Her green eyes were half-lidded and her ears drooped ever-so-slightly in a tired fashion. ’StarClan has spoken’ Tufted ears perk up now and ember eyes brighten, she looks to the medicine cat who stares down upon her Cottonpaw. He reveals the bud of cotton snagged between his claws, Sootstar bears a grin. Rising onto her forepaws she makes her way over. As she walks past Weaselclaw she brushes her pelt against his, for merely a moment they lock gazes. The tabby looks to share a knowing look, but he does not get one, the lithe she-cat doesn’t seem to have a worry dwelling in her mind at the promotion of their daughter. Eventually she takes a close stance next to Bluepaw, looking upon her last-born kit she smiles. ”We’ll miss you in the tunnels, but StarClan knows best.” Unlike the others, she’s swift in accepting the news and verbalizes no doubt.

 

[Bluepool]

When she hears the announcement, the blue tabby feels a different rush of emotions. Excitement for her niece is at the forefront of her mind but it is tangled in apprehension and dread. She was convinced that their medicine cats were cursed, doomed for failure whether it be treason or death. In her mind, Wolfsong was not an exception and she had quietly made peace with the inevitable the moment he had taken up the mantle. It is not so with Cottonpaw, however. This was different, the gray-furred feline was family, someone Bluepool was fond of. She grits her teeth and silently sends a curse to StarClan. How could they be so cruel? 'Please.. spare her' she begs, her golden eyes trained on the sky for a good long few moments. To the onlooker it would look like she was merely praying and in a way, that is true. She prays for her nieces safety, for protection from what she is sure is to come out of her new station. Nothing but heartbreak and misery...

She turns her gaze to her sister, who strides forward confidently. Her own features press into a thin line and she worries her bottom lip with her teeth as she looks on, waiting for her turn to 'congratulate' the gray furred she-cat. The water that fills her eyes can be mistaken for tears of happiness as she approaches and with one paw she reaches out to gently ruffle the fur on the top of Cottonpaw's head. "You'll be the best damned medicine cat StarClan has ever seen kiddo" she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft and the smile gracing her features is sad but filled with as much pride as she can manage. Despite it all she really truly believed her niece rising to such a standing was the best thing for WindClan.

​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I AM SORRY THIS IS ALWAYS HOW IT GOES ❀❀​

---

periwinklebreeze & 12 moons & demi-boy & he/they & windclan moor runner​

---

Another day, another medicine cat, another medicine cat apprentice. Its strange, he thinks, how fast they go through them - the position is certainly cursed. Or maybe that's just windclan as a whole, being punished for one another's sins. He can't quite find as much enthusiasm as he normally would, but he makes sure to say something anyways. "Y-you'll make a good medicine cat, starclan ch-chose you for a r-reason," its the least he can do - he likes cottonpaw after all, even if the sight of the wolfsong or his den leaves the young warrior feeling sick to his stomach with grief.

— the wind blows loudest when you've got your eyes closed ❀

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a lithe figured black and white tom with a false-pointed pattern and clear blue eyes that gleam periwinkle in the right lighting. he seems perpetually worn and exhausted, with heavy bags beneath his eyes and a slouched figure. he has a speech impediment which leaves him with a stutter and sometimes even completely non-verbal, and his fluffy tail is adorned with daisies.
  
  — physically medium && mentally easy && pacifist
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ccccff]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[LEMONTONGUE]

If he thinks back far enough, Lemontongue can remember a moment when his mother had brought forth an announcement of her own - a student to share the ways of healing herbs and star-traced messages within the form of a pointed-furred tom, with mismatched eyes and strange sounding words.

Lemontongue was barely an apprentice back then, small and wide-eyed, holding envy that someone else had been chosen for such a role, jealousy that someone else would be living in the medicine den he'd grown up in. If only he'd known back then that moment would be part of a happier time in his life - that everything would so swiftly change.

If only he'd known how quickly Honeytwist would step down soon after, how quickly she'd disappear from his life. If only he'd known what would come of her apprentice's takeover of the rank - that Dandelionwish would be imprisoned, that he'd make his escape from the moorlands in the middle of a night of bloodshed. Perhaps he would've made certain to cherish his childhood memories more, to take note of every detail he could.

Both are long gone now, of course: merely names to leave a sour taste in WindClan's mouths. Even Vulturemask too, is gone - a new medicine cat standing in place of Dandelionwish's replacement. Lemontongue wonders if it's for the best that his mother didn't enlist him as her apprentice, wonders if she'd known something he didn't, something written in the stars somewhere - if Honeytwist had been shielding him from the unfortunate demise of WindClan's healers.

A yellow gaze watches as Wolfsong strides over to Cottonpaw, cinnamon-tinged ears listening as a conversation is held in the form of a new announcement. A new medicine apprentice, another name to bury his mother's own with. The fact that the name belongs to one of Sootstar's own is not lost on him - suddenly he's small and wide-eyed once more, a protectiveness of his childhood home rising, one that he hadn't felt in a while.

It feels like a cruel joke.

The frown on his face grows as Snakehiss' comment reaches his ears. A strong and capable team, the new warrior notes of Windsong and Cottonpaw. He wants to shout, wants to ensure that the dark-furred tom knows how strong his mother was in her role. But he knows not to protest, knows what happens to those that do. Instead, he bows his head in acknowledgment to the new medicine apprentice - a tinge of hope that this one will last, even if she is of Sootstar's blood.

"Congratulations," he mutters out to the gray-furred molly. StarClan chose her, after all. The same cats who had chosen Honeytwist, they must have a good reason for this decision.
​

 

[SEDGEPOUNCE]

Sedgepaw is—as he almost always is now—near the medicine den.

He loiters there, a chore-slacking scarecrow, taking refuge in the slanted shadow of that gorse-lined burrow. Always under the guise of chatting with patients, keeping them company, or leading young apprentices with thorns in their paws or burrs in their ears to Wolfsong's watchful eye. Or, as is most expected of him, hiding from Badgermoon's scorching scrutiny when he should be doing things considered a better use of his time. He lingers there. A bramble that can't quite be shaken off, for reasons that even Sedgepaw can't really discern.

It's a quiet sort of hope. Something sourceless and unspoken, whispered along the dredges of his mind and waiting to finally be named. There is no medicine apprentice, so maybe, Sedgepaw thinks. Maybe.

Wolfsong has a way of looking regal regardless of the situation. Maybe it's the scar on his face, making him seem mysterious and untouchable and cool. Most likely it's the fact that he always carries himself with such wisened grace. He steps out onto the parapet now, looming on the edge of the medicine den and the rest of camp with a contemplative look; Sedgepaw is merely one of many that fall beneath his thoughtful gaze. Sedge freezes. It's a moment he hadn't even realized he'd been waiting for, and yet his whole frame seizes with sudden anxiety and anticipation. This is it! Finally, all his worrying and doubting and agonizing can be over and—

It's... Cottonpaw.

Of course it's Cottonpaw.

As soon as the announcement settles, Sedgepaw's pelt starts to burn. He casts a furtive glance at the crowd, afraid that everyone can see the redness heating up his face, but thankfully no one's paying him any mind. But his heart has plunged to his feet and he feels so...stupid. And he doesn't even know why.
Murmurs of congratulations are sweeping through the crowd. It's all a blur. Cottonpaw's been chosen by StarClan. Sedge's paws start to sweat. Of course, it's...of course.

He's been reduced to muscle memory, now. Adrenaline and good manners fuel his actions and flood is mind as he sits, taut as a bowstring amidst a tumultuous crowd. Heart yammering so harshly in his chest that it's a wonder his words don't shake as he says them. "Congrats," Sedgepaw says, feeling foolish as he does. Like he's a kitten too nervous to talk to strangers, or like he's been caught fishing feathers from someone else's nest.

Once he's offered his affirmations, there's nothing else keeping him tethered—and opposite of his prior run-ins with adrenaline that had him barreling head first into a fight, Sedgepaw cannot help but to run. He scurries away. A bit too quickly to be strictly professional, yet quiet as a mouse and overall unobtrusive as he weaves through the sea of his clanmates. Whisking away to, for now, literally anywhere else.

/ rae once again I'M LOVE U CONGRATS GIRL!!!!​