private HEARTBEAT PULSING &. hp meeting

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

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this was long overdue. they needed all of their counsel to be upon the same page, and most of all, they needed to know that they were doing the right thing. they know they won't be agreed with always, but... not from lack of trying.

"alright... this... is long overdue. there is a lot we need to talk about and we need to be upon the same pawstep. so. let's talk about the deers in the room, starting with this sickness. starlingheart, magpiepaw... has there been any talk of more treatment? what of this cure berryheart mentioned?"

// I'm not good at starters but here we go . it will go like this... talk of sickness, talk of rats, and talk of sunnday . feel free to have your character bring up concerns at any point.
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[smogstar]

Smogmaw acquiesces to his leader's summons, joining the fray on cursory pawsteps. With his mouth kept clenched in a tight frown, the deputy settles to the side of his superior, his rump writhing restlessly on the dessicated mud underneath. He's given little to bargain on here, and that bothers him. Unless his memory has fallen by the wayside, a council hasn't been called under Chilledstar's headship—not when WindClan forayed into their own lands with their sights set for blood, and not when ShadowClan was stripped of its home by encroaching bears. They all stand in unfamiliar waters now. Will they reach a point of mutual understanding?

Sunken eyes flit in the healers' way once the discussion commences, with the initial topic of the sickness placed directly onto their shoulders. Smogmaw's muzzle would twist into a grimace as he's reminded of the clan's current flavour of existential threat. "We ought to do sum'n about the spread of it," he puts forward, even with his meagre knowledge on the subject. "My mate's sick, and the nursery's packed tighter than a bird's nest. D'you think she could've passed her germs on to anyone? Kits 'n queens aren't known for surviving these things." The tom's expression would blacken as the thought lingers in his mind. It's a grim, pressing possibility that Halfshade and their kits' lives were to be won or lost. He shan't shy away from it, though. It'd do the whole clan no good to overlook the hypotheticals, uncomfortable as some may be.

The very moment a warrior starts hacking their lungs out, he's moving out of that wretched den and into the swamp. ​

 

[FERNDANCE]

Though being a Lead Warrior for many moons, the ticked tabby could not recall a council meeting before this one. ShadowClan worked on pure, unadulterated chaos: to be involved in planning was such a far cry from the norm that it was obvious to Ferndance that something was going wrong in her swamp home, wrong-er than usual. As Chilledstar began the meeting, Fern flexed her toes and groomed the black flecks that'd gathered between her alabaster paw, a singular fawny ear flicked in their direction. Ah, the sickness. She had not seen it affect many, mainly because she had avoided the medicine cat's den and contact with the sick as best as her clumped quarters in the warrior's abode would allow. A polite smile crept past her working tongue, the she-cat mid-blep as she finally devoted her full attention to the Leader and Deputy. While waiting for a reply from the healers, she heard the latter interject with his own worries, her emerald eyes blinking slowly as she processed what he was saying.

"Do you mean we should isolate them?" She leaned forward, voice a wondrous whisper. "Or take them out?" She would be sad to see Halfshade go, but it would be an effective disease control, she thought. Carrion seemed to carry their own diseases, but no cough no problem... right? There was a tilt of a head as she processed this reality then, rather dramatically, she shook her fur out. 'He probably meant isolate them...' "I'm just kidding, I meant take them out of the nursery," she spoke louder if only to assure her peers she had no intentions of executing her clanmates. Letting out a birdsong of a hum, the ticked tabby added on, "Making a space away from camp for our sick might be useful, if there is a place for that." The tunnels were too dank, the Carrionplace too dangerous, the burnt sycamore too open. Ferndance chewed the side of her maw: it was times like this where a bit of exploration in the more isolated parts of the territory could work wonders to protect those who had yet to fall victim to yellowcough.

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[Magpiepaw]

Magpiepaw shares a brief glance with his mentor before clearing his throat to answer the question in her steed, despair evident on his gaze but his expression never faltering from its neutral and complacent frown.
"...lungwort, it is called." The medicine cat apprentice states confidently and then less assuredly he adds on with a hasty mumble of, "...it does not seem to grow within the marshes." ShadowClan's territory continued to act against them, dwindling prey and very few herbs grown, it was a wonder they had made it this far when the earth herself rose up in defiance and refused to submit to them her blessings.
"...we will need to ask other clans...ThunderClan's medicine cats are kind and they offered us safety once..." He remembers briefly the bear's running them to the thunderpath, Howlingstar herself arriving to grant them space on her territory to rest in peace without fear of the rumbling monsters of the tarmac. "...if we remain on good terms with them." They would probably, happily aid them as long as ShadowClan did not tolerate that cream tom longer than necessary, but Chilledstar had already agreed to toss them out - good. A waste of herbs if you asked him, though he was still interested to see what herbs they had been gifted by the forest clan in exchange for that mess. "...that aside, perhaps RiverClan too?" They had no animosity with the water cats if he remembered right. Really the only clan they were at odds with proper were WindClan. They could arrange some kind of trade, the loamy soil of their territory surely grew something no other clan was capable of having.
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[Starlingheart]

She remembers the last time she had been called into Chilledstar's den. She had been much younger then, much more inexperienced. She remembers cowering in fear in the shadows as she watched Chilledstar yell in Smogmaw's face, remembers wishing that her brother was there in Chilledstar's place. it was a selfish terrible thought but it was honest. She would much rather her brother be alive and well and still the leader of ShadowClan.

The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the illness that is plaguing every clan in the forest. Multiple cats had fallen ill now and she was admittedly running out of space to keep them quarantined in the medicine cats den. "Thunder-ThunderClan was kind enough to-to uh to give us three lungwort" it was a kindness she would not soon forget. Though she does know it is not enough, it is still better than nothing. "I have sear-searched all of the uh all of the teritorry an-and I-I have not found anything" Magpiepaw had been with her on many such searches but they both had come up empty pawed. There were many times she had gone out without him though, someone needed to stay behind with the sick, after all.

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[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — Sabletuft had eased himself near Ferndance as they gathered in the den, tail-tip twitching and thudding against the damp earth repetitively. The disease that recklessly spun itself around the forest was hard to ignore and even more to feel safe around. It's quick contagion and intense symptoms would make quick work of their ranks if the aren't careful.

Concerns spoken and potential solutions are provided but Sabletuft's jaw feels wired shut. His mind is somewhere else, his gaze unfocused as his stare is set to the mouth of the den. Ferndance's crude remark of resolving the spread more brutally isn't even enough to draw a scoff or roll of his eyes. It was the long drawl of silence after Starlingheart speaks that brought his attention present.

"Isolating the sick sounds appropriate. There's too much room in camp to spread and contaminate." With two medicine cats in their stock, why not utilize it? It might be safer to risk only one of them catching instead of both, anyhow. — tags​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

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they listened to each one before huffing at ferndance's suggestion. why did she always have to make everything a joke? with a lash of their tail they spoke again.

"riverclan might but only if they have anything to give... perhaps a trade. and we aren't killing the sick. that's ridiculous, stop being ridiculous for once. isolation does sound like a better idea... we don't need anyone else getting sick, especially given the fact that we don't have this ragwort."

chilledstar's gaze fell to sabletuft who seemed distracted. barely speaking, only repeating whats already been told. guess now was a good a time as ever.

"that's settled for now... but we aren't done. we are having a bit of a rat problem around the carrionplace. but also... sunnyday. he isn't staying, that's already decided, but i am curious what all of you think we should do. he isn't exactly fully healed, yet, but he can't stay here. we have our own to worry about and we cannot afford to feed him."

// feel free for the rumor to be brought up next so we can wrap this up with the sabletuft thing !
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[smogstar]

Ferndance's eccentricities are best saved for other occasions. Her motion of doing away with the infected is soon undercut by a blithe 'just kidding', though by then had his lower lip already been punctured by yellowed fangs. It isn't nameless individuals of trivial note whose lives hang precariously in the balance—but rather, it is loved ones, mates, and children who now lie at the mercy of a lethal disease. She herself is aware of this, as established by her proposal of a quarantine. Bitterly, he grits his teeth and contains the bitterness that threatens to overspill. This meeting need not devolve into the petty quarrels which have marred past clan litigations.

A marked absence of arguments means the dialogue proceeds unimpeded, and Smogmaw pivots to view the actual experts on this matter. Both healers make mention of the herb shared by ThunderClan's medicine cat at the border. It is given an official name, lungwort, followed by the revelation there's not a single damn strand of it living in the marshes. "Yet, it grows somewhere," the deputy maintains. A swift tail-thrash bespeaks the dissatisfaction simmering within. It is decently likely, as per his interpretation on this matter, that ThunderClan possesses lungwort than they wish to let on. A strategic decision of that calibre would only prove to benefit the forest-dwellers, and, without pretence, it is an approach Smogmaw would have pursued if he stood in Howlingstar's position.

"If lungwort can be found in ThunderClan's woods, there must be enough to at least supplement ShadowClan while we find another source," tables the tom. Amber hues trickle in Magpiepaw's trajectory, and he studies the apprentice for but a moment before he speaks once more. "Howlingstar has proven charitable, yes, but ShadowClan cannot depend on 'good terms' alone. We have to take responsibility for our own survival, and must do so independently of other clans. Our neighbours are not thinking of us when they pluck those life-saving herbs."

His unspoken proposition: redistribute their excess resources, as ShadowClan has done in past dire circumstances. Yellowcough far surpasses starvation in terms of perilous ultimatums, and Smogmaw is more than willing to shatter the clans' icy neutrality should it ensure the well-being of his clanmates.

At the long-awaited change in discussion, the deputy gives his leader the totality of his attention. Sabletuft lingers just out of focus as the matter of Sunnyday is set before everyone. Already has the lead warrior made his views on the matter painfully clear, yet he stands vastly outnumbered in that regard. "As to why this is even a matter of contention, I'm at a loss," he asserts, and a sharp exhalation lags behind his words. "He's a liability in every sense. Cut him loose, or cut him at the throat. Either or works, so long as he isn't in our camp."

Brows would knit and cause his forehead to crease as he's reminded of one minute little detail that underlines this entire ordeal. "Sabletuft," he says, tone somber, Rosemire's libel weighing heavy on his mind. "Why were you having moonlit escapades with a ThunderClan cat?" The other tom is not naive, or stupid, or a fatal combination of the two. What he'd done is put his pawprints in Flickerfire's path, and in doing so, he has forever sullied the image of loyalty he'd built for himself.​

 

[S A B L E T U F T]

can we leave it behind? — The conversation continued on and onto other things. The rats following the strange activity of sunshine hued monsters on their trail. Rallying a disturbance among carrionplace as if they hadn't enough to worry about. Sabletuft morbidly wondered if the rats were just the next phase, as the Clan so often felt shadowed by their starry ancestors. Perhaps they were expressing their dissatisfaction with the Clan through these trials, and every one they succeeded would only be met with even hungry jaws snapping at their failure to survive.

Chilledstar made a point to mention the predicament of the golden tom they dragged from the Thunderpath. His heart began to ache, knowing there was nothing he could do. For once he felt out of control, overestimating his influence. Underestimating just how stupid his Clanmates must be, his leader- why was he here? Night after night he began to question what purpose he truly felt among the very cats that gathered in this den. A Lead Warrior was a figure of authority, a representation on behalf of their leader. A position to seek for guidance or resolve petty squabbles. Now he truly wondered if that was what he wanted, if Chilledstar is the leader he wanted to stand by. The fact Ferndance still remained among them was another dart at the board. Why keep his only colleague to a she-cat that had more air in her head than a brain?

Smogmaw is quick to cut down any possible misconception; he wanted Sunnyday gone. Dead or alive, it wouldn't matter. He knows Starlingheart and her carrion-sodden apprentice were displeased to waste their herbs on him, ones that should have been saved for their own. He felt the warmth in his chest return to ice. It's comfortable. Familiar. He never should have let his heart thaw in the light of charming smiles and hushed secrets.

His tail-tip had been thumping irritably against cold, damp earth. It felt no matter how much he willed for this meeting to end, it continued on, dragging its belly over brambles. A dull tone calls his attention and he would abide, narrowed sights resting on the tabby he would consider a friend. Would they still be, after all of this? Doubt rang heavy at the thought, but Smogmaw had believed him that night. His suspicions were already made clear and he lied in the face of an ally- but the Deputy had never questioned it after. These rumors Rosemire spoke of were not knew to either of them, they both knew this.

"Why are you asking as if thats the truth? I wasn't aware we were treating every rumor as facts now." Sabletuft surprised even himself keeping his voice level, not so much as a growl edged in his tone. "We've already spoken about this the first time you heard it, my answer has not changed. I do not brush pelts with other Clans. My only crime is wishing for a leader that wouldn't jump at just anyone's command. For looking around our camp for more than ten seconds and seeing more of us are going to die than we can endure."

Burning amber shifted to Chilledstar, his expression blank save for the anger behind his eyes. He did nothing to hide it. "Crawling at the demands of another leader, you might has well have shown your belly to her claws. You don't think she'll use that against you? When we're only moons away to feeling hungry again? How horrible of me to think having another set of paws to work might actually be helpful. Criticized for crying in the face of death, not everyone can face it nine times over like you."

Paws raise to stand abruptly. His mind has been made.

"I will not remain here if my honors come to question over baseless accusation. You have no evidence against me, yet despite the scars I bare from protecting this land you still shine to mere gossip. I will not tolerate it, clearly you have me mistaken for a spineless cat." The light between gnarled exposed roots is calling for him like a siren. He does not fight it. "I'm done. Your council is better represented by the laughing stock that fills this den, and I'll be damned if I lower my standards to join you." Calloused pads do not hesitate another moment more as Sabletuft exited the den, welcoming the fading summer's sun on his pelt. — tags​