holes in my butterfly wings || medicine den

Aug 1, 2022

A S H P A W.

She's been too scared to leave Beesong's den.

The days since her capture and subsequent return have been tumultuous at best. The twolegs have run RiverClan ragged. Ashpaw has barely seen the half of it, holed up in the little den as she is, curling up with Pumpkinpaw or Beesong at night when she's scared the dark will suffocate her. Her body's slowly healing, bruises already a little better, though the bloody gash down her flank is far slower to mend.

Spiderfall came to... "check" on her again this morning. There's a fresh bruise on her cheek that aches every time she smiles, but it's not noticeable under her fur, so that's good. And no one's... really expecting her to smile much anyway.

Even so, when Houndsnarl ducks into the den, Ashpaw's eyes light up a little. She used to see all her clanmates every day, and she misses them, even if the thought of leaving the den is... is too much right now.

"H... hi Houndsnarl," she says, in a shaky little voice still hoarse from screaming. Hope burns in glass-green eyes as she looks up at him.

She knows he might not be here to see her, but maybe he will stay a tiny bit anyway.

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

( ᴛᴀɢs. )  ❝  The oldest'f clear memories Hound has locked away in his mind is of a night on asphalt, slickened and dark. He knows something of pain. Bad memories have been seared to the very depths of his heart– every beat's a reminder he'll never truly lose. Perhaps this'll be how Ash sees the world once these wounds have healed. As much's he may hope for a clear recovery, there're no such things in this life that they lead. She will carry her trauma, as he carries his.

It's reason enough as to why he avoids those in this den. His troubles atop their own seems a mountainous burden. The second he lifts his ducked head to greet those in the den, Hound is consumed with every unwilling urge to get out. Ashpaw looks at 'im with this kind of plea, like he's the best news she's gotten all day, and he feels abruptly guilty for even thinking of leaving. The chocolate tom clears his throat, slowly lowering a lightly bloodied paw to the ground. A wince that tries to flicker across his face is summarily smashed to bits. Not a fraction of it escapes, except for perhaps a flicker past his eyes.

"Ash," he greets softly. "Good to see your eyes up. You managing all right? Resting up well?" Vibrant eyes flicker around for any sign of Beesong, hoping less for help to him, but more...supervision while in contact with a child not his own. (As if he had any children at all?)

  • 50335651_ibz4tSApItgOjRI.png
    ooc: looking for @BEESONG
  • ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
    ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
    ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.

    ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
  • "speech"

A S H P A W.

He stops to talk, and she brightens further, green eyes wide and tail lashing behind her in excitement. Houndsnarl is always nice, and he's nice now, too, voice soft and words kind.

"I'm doing a lot better," she scrapes out, throat sore but determined to talk anyway. "Look! I can even do this now."

Little orange paws scrabble at her mossy nest, and with a bit of straining against her injuries she manages to... climb? out of it? "Fall" is a better word for what happens.

"Oof," the kitten grunts as her face flattens against the sand. She struggles back onto her feet. "See, I'm really strong and getting way better. S-soon I'm gonna be training again and everything."

Her nose twitches, faint scent of blood on the air, and a little fear creeps back into her voice.

"You're... bleeding," she says slowly, uncertainly. "Did Sp- someone hurt you?"

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

There is movement in the den's entrance. Beesong's quiet humming ceases, pausing in his sorting as his muscles go rigid. He expects to turn and meet the cold stare of Spiderfall, hear the threats crowd his ear again, reminding him of his promise to keep his mouth shut in exchange for Mandrakepaw's safety.

But he turns, and there is only Houndsnarl. The breath he didn't realize he'd been holding is released, and Beesong smiles wearily at the tabby tom. "Hello," he greets alongside Ashpaw, his nose twitching at the faint tang of blood. (The scent of blood seems to permeate his den a lot now.) The medicine cat comes to stand next to the young she-cat's nest, raking his gaze over Houndsnarl until he finds it; a lightly bloodied paw. Ashpaw distracts him from his visual prodding momentarily, Beesong's eyes turning to her as she scrabbles and falls from her nest. A small laugh is exhaled, his smile growing genuine.

The happiness that swells in their chest doesn't last, though. It never does. Ashpaw notices the blood, too, and the scent of fear now mingles in the air. They swear that she nearly asks if Spiderfall hurt Houndsnarl, but Beesong pushes the gnawing worry aside. They're imagining things, aren't they? They shake their head.

"Can I see your paw?" Beesong gestures towards the bloody one with their own. It doesn't look bad, from what they can see so far. But if left untreated, it could quickly become a problem.

− ♱ ABOUT : things were slowly beginning to return to normal. after ashpaw’s capture and his own death ( still a concept he fights to wrap his brain around without curating a migraine for himself ) shortly following, the rivers wrath seemed to begin subsiding. spirits were tremulously lifting, recovering, leaning upon eachother for support. he fights still to keep the tremble from too - long limbs, but to keep his sloped muzzle tipped skyward, leading. perhaps that’s why he finds himself heading towards the medicine den, a plump salmon hanging from his loose jaw. the smell of herbs, of comfort . . perhaps he just wanted to see his medicine cat fed. if the cinnamon tabby had been on his mind as of late, cicadastar could hardly be blamed. they’d nursed both ashpaw and pumpkinpaw back to health, doted on them as he had him upon their first venture to this drained island — when he was wild with terror and scorn, snarling and biting his distrust to the world. the youngest of the two still remained in his den, her voice ringing out from within the stone hollow as he nears the gaping entrance.

the mottled tom stands tall in the mouth of the medicine den, icy luminaries adjusting to the semi - darkness and making out forms all hauntingly familiar. a feeling kindles in his chest, something warm, something golden that wraps its clawed fingers around his ribcage and pulls. houndsnarl, ashpaw, beesong . . he would protect them with his life, should it come to it. in a sense, it already had. though as he steps forward, brushing his river - sleek and curled pelt against hound’s dark tabby own in greeting, he would do it again — however many lives he had, blood would run from his veins eight more times before that cautious, curious light fades from ashpaw’s eyes, he would make sure of it, “ oh, is this where the cool kids hang out now? ” the man speaks, grinning goofily around the gleaming pink scales. the phrase ages him and he knows it, even as he settles the fish finally at beesong’s paws, “fresh from the river, just off a patrol. foxpaw caught one all herself. “ pride shines in his words, in the way his chin tilts upwards just slightly, as if he needed the extra height. the rushing falls were a sure place to catch the ripest salmon, but it difficult. she’d come back tired, damp, but beaming, “ i figured you could use the meal, yes? “ and company, them and ashpaw both . . but if he simply wanted to make sure the medicine cat was taking care of themself too, he would not admit it.

speaking of, he finally turns his frigid gaze to the molly, “ashpaw, my brave kleiner! “ he purrs, aiming to book the kitten upon the forehead with a dark nose, smelling fresh of waterfall and damp stone, “ so glad to see you up and about. are you behaving for beesong? “ the man teases, settling finally upon his haunches. did someone hurt you? his nose twitches, pale gaze flitting down towards hound’s paws. they were, indeed, matted with fresh blood, “ he’ll be alright. i’ve seen him in much worse shape. ” cicadastar states with a smile, his ear twitching at the sudden hesitance creeping into the young mollys voice. he leans down to her after giving hound a brief, playful nudge with his shoulder, stage - whispering as if the two older felines aside them couldn’t hear — hopefully distracting her while the beesong could get a look at the dark tabby’s paw, “ seen him take down a bear once. knocked it out cold. he’s a fighter! “ the man says, giving her a quick wink, “ no need to worry, liebling.

  • CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
    − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
    − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers

  • none.



To say the least, Frostpaw was relieved to know her friend, and partner in crime (sort to speak) was okay but, she had been quite hesitant on visiting the young she-cat but...Ashpaw was her friend and she felt bad if she didn't visit the other. So Frostpaw took a deep breath and began to make her way towards the medicine cat den when she noticed that she was not the only one who had come to visit the other troublemaker and she let a wary sigh out before making her way over, attempting to wiggle her way between Houndsnarl and Cicadastar before she looked at Ashpaw with a warm smile in her gaze. "I am so glad to see you're okay Ashpaw, when you're all healed up we need to totally catch up, I miss you" she said warmly towards the young molly, unaware of what trouble her own older brother had caused.

Her gaze drifted towards Houndsnarl who had seemed to of harmed his own paw but Beesong was swift to begin looking at it and Frostpaw wondered to herself if she should watch? Just in case...if Beesong wasn't on patrol and someone got hurt and there was no chance of getting the cat quickly to their medicine cat... she quickly shook her head. That would never happen but she decided to keep her gaze on the two. Just in case right? Her ear flicked towards Ashpaw and Cicadastar unable to pick up on what their leader had whispered to the other but...Ashpaw seemed quite worried over Houndsnarl and even asked if someone had harmed him.

Her heart dropped slightly, who would do such a thing though? Bi-color eyes broke away from Beesong and Houndsnarl before fixating back onto Cicadastar and Ashpaw, now having her full attention while her gaze filled with worry. Did something happen for Ashpaw to inquire about such a thing? Their leader was quick to distract her friend but something did not settle right with her at Ashpaw's inquiry and she had to silently note to herself to bug Ashpaw about what truly happened when she could. "Hey, Ashpaw, want me to get you something from the fresh-kill pile? Or...maybe I can tell you about what Smokethroat has been teaching Iciclepaw and I?" she said a bit softly, not wanting to step paws over Cicadastar though, so she will just ask instead.
The medicine den was perhaps the location Dewkit was most familiar with. When she was rescued, she had spent a lot of time there as Beesong nursed her back to health. It felt like more of a home to her than even the nursery did. So, when she heard voices from within, she didn't hesitate to poke her head inside.

Her eyes widened when she saw just how many cats crowded the small space. Winced at the tangy scent of blood on the air. Beesong was tending to the wounds of a tall tom who she had yet to memorize the name of, bearing a bloodied paw. Of course he was, she thought. Beesong was nice, she liked Beesong.

Hesitantly, she slipped inside. Slipping under the paws of another tall tom she didn't know the name of yet, this one with black fur, to get a glimpse of the molly taking up the nest that had been hers so recently. Her head tilted curiously.

She blinked in greeting.