camp I WILL ALWAYS THINK OF YOU — sick club

[COMFREYPAW]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXAt night, Comfreypaw seems to experience a ritual, her body stiff and shaking with cold that will not leave her and the light beginning to leave the cave. The shadows creep in, and where once they’d been normal—where once, her brain had been healthy, her mind clear—they grow teeth and eyes. They flick to her bedside and stare down at her, and then the cold takes its leave and she’s on fire, her paw pads slick with sour sweat. She can’t move a muscle, she can’t say a word, knowing if she does, they’ll strike her—and she tries to sleep, because when morning comes, the delirium will leave her and the dark shapes will go with the night.

XXXXXWhen it happens this morning, she finds herself blinking tired, yellow-hewn amber eyes that focus on an unfamiliar pelt in an adjacent nest. She rubs at the sandy tip of her nose, stifling a yawn and wincing at he ache in her throat. “Who are you?... Where are you from?” Her voice is hoarse, and she clears the phlegm away, sitting up in bed. Her lungs are sore, seemingly, from exertion, but there’s clarity in her gaze again as it sweeps across new patients, non-ShadowClanners. Comfreypaw has never gone to a Gathering before, and anxiety begins to creep along her spine like melting ice.

─────────​

open to any cats with yellowcough!
​

 

[Shinebug]

Shinepaw hadn’t said a word since stepping into Shadowclan’s medicine den, half due to the pathogen which pierced his being, and half due to being petrified with fear. Anyone curious about the stranger would have seen a pelt of sunlight, occasionally shaking with silent tears. The apprentice was scared of lots of things right now. The rouges had driven them away from their home, the saviors they’d sent to the mountains still hadn’t returned, but what ate away at the boy the most right now was his own isolation.

He was in the belly of the beast, and his mentor was nowhere to be seen. Flycatcher was at the burnt sycamore, too far to provide any comfort for his ailing apprentice. The boy was extroverted by nature, despite his anxiety. He felt best when talking to others, so it was only a matter of time until starving him of such contact made him accept alternatives.

He almost ignored Comfreypaw, content to languish in torpor alone, but the idea of distracting himself, however briefly, from all that surrounded them was too tempting to pass up.

“I’m Shinepaw, from Thunderclan.” The shaft of sunlight gave a stiff introduction, not sure how much he was allowed to share, especially with a Shadowclanner. They were evil, right? Not as evil as Windclan, sure, but the name was all but confirmation. If that was the case, why was he receiving treatment? Never one for subtlety, the anxious apprentice decided to ask outright. “Don’t you guys eat people you don’t like?” A question born of an overactive imagination and nursery stories, no doubt. Still, his voice dropped to a whisper as he continued. “You shouldn’t eat me, since I’m sick and all. Also, I’m pretty sure all the Thunderclanners taste terrible, so you shouldn’t eat them either. Okay?”​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He had not felt like himself, before he was taken. Sickness wraught devastation all around it. Eye in the storm; a stone that would never— or should never waver in the midst of it all, that is what he was. But even like that, he was not immune. Constant rain would weather the thickest of stones, and he was no exception. Subdued, forced into idle sadness. He had but a shell of himself. And now...

What had he even been thinking about?

He is craggy, dumped into a nest amidst the rest of the common folk. Just another patient, within the confines of ShadowClan's walls. And oh, does he loathe it. At times, he finds himself weeping for reasons he cannot remember, perfect visage marred by tears— It disgusted him, the moment he arose to his senses. Now— he was only frustrated. Once, he could have slept long past noon, now, his sleep was woefully unrestful, irregular. He hardly understood why he lay amongst these sorry sort. Sickness could not take him. He was not delirious— far from it. There are voices coming in waves, all around him; and he wanted nothing more than to slice the throats that uttered such nonsense.

His head snaps abruptly, to meet sthe gaze of some sniveling ThunderClanner. Shinepaw, a name he now knows against his own will. " No one was talking to you, " the tom growls. This -paw prattles on; prattles on. Dawnglare can hardly understand a thing he says.

Dawnglare flops in his nest, eager to make a show of just how much of a displeasure listening to Shinepaw's voice was. The grit of his teeth is unsettle. Herb - litter flutters with the irate thump of a tail against the grown. " Can't— c-could not taste worse than WindClan, No— not even a dog would snap them up. I'd leave that meal to waste... " half - consciously, he grumbles; and he is frustrated by how much his very own voice takes from him, like it had whims of its own. Dawnglare clears his throat, and it only makes it hurt further. He cannot understand. " You would be easy. We'll all be hungry soon... " A lie. He has not felt the gnaw of hunger in... how long has it been? Where was he? All he cares about is bothering this insect as much as they were bothering him.

He doesn't even know what the first she - cat had asked. But certainly, she had been speaking to him. Dawnglare blinks, more than a few times. " I'm me, " is his helpful response, in the end.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 9.16.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

•  

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 56 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  You may find him kinder to others than is typical, exhausted from the yellowcough blight and heart heavy in a way he has never felt.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

​

 

[FALLINGLIGHT]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ⸻ His memories are fuzzy and dull, as though filtered through layers of sand and dirt. He remembers Saltsting speaking, more urgent than usual, his dark eyes swallowing Fallinglight up, but how long ago was that? Yesterday? A moon? Two? A few moments ago? He blinks, rolling over onto his side— or maybe he was always there. It's possible Fallinglight isn't doing very well. He's always been more sensitive to afflictions, hasn't he? He's always sneezed twice as hard, coughed twice as often, and squinted through pollen-swollen eyes at the height of greenleaf.

They feel crusty now. Prying them open is like pressing a paw against a layer of dried mud. "ShadowClan doesn't eat people," he mumbles, voice quiet and almost amused, because that's absurd. "There wouldn't be any ShadowClanners if they did. Not everybody likes everybody." Exhaling heavily, he hides his face below a paw. Awful, awful, he feels so awful and he can't remember being anything else.

He wants— he wants his mother. He wants Saltsting. He wants someone to tell him he'll be okay even if it's a lie.

He blinks hard. "I'm Fallinglight. From RiverClan." His gaze rolls over fo Comfreypaw. "If he's Shinepaw and he's Me, or...I'm me, but he's Me. Uh. Then what's your name?"
​

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁 / / \ \ 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚃 𝙰 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙴𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 / / 09.08.23 \ \ 𝙵𝙰𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙴

• —ooc:
• — FALLINGLIGHT / / 13 moons old / / amab and uses masculine pronouns; will be startled by the use of any others.
  — warrior of riverclan / / earned warrior name early at 10 moons / / skilled but not experienced / / mentoring [n / a].
  — npc parents / / father died in the great battle and mother left when he was apprenticed / / no contact w / siblings.
  — flirtatious & disastrous bisexual / / fairly indiscriminate (even when he should be) / / closed to long-term romance.
  
  a fairly trim, athletic cream tabby and black chimera with high white. fur is thick and a bit sharp, though tends to soften and curl primarily around his face and tail when wet. eyes are a bright, gleaming blue at home with the river on clear, sunny days. he is rarely without a devil-may-care grin, though despite his daring personality, has yet to accumulate noticeable scarring.
  
• blurb goes here

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[falcongaze]

❝ CALLIN' IT QUITS NOW ✧°.☀ ————————————
His body fucking ached.

He had learned that curseword from Zappaw, at some point, and it pretty much described how he felt right now. His body trembled with the effort of breathing, and his ears were pressed against his skull, as if it could drown the pounding of noise out. Being in this place, with scents he couldn't smell, unfamiliar shadows in every corner, it was biting into his anxiety and dragging it to the surface. And not to mention the talking of those still in a better shape.

Maybe Falconpaw would've been better off being left in the depths of Skyclan for rogues to eat. Maybe he wouldn't feel so awful now. Maybe his body wouldn't rack with coughs and sneezes, maybe he wouldn't he assaulted by the sunlight's rays. But as conversation sparked, the apprentice slowly picked his head up. How long had he been sick? He didn't know, but he spoke, voice raspy and thick with phlegm. "He's Dawnglare." Falconpaw whispered.

The move had definitely declined Falconpaw's state severely. "M' Falconpaw." He managed before his head settled back in the nest he had been given. It was fresh moss, but coming from the swamps, it was more damp then he had expected. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he'd lost weight, and thus- the moss was making him cold. Oh, how he missed his father, and the sewers. He never got cold there.

"SPEECH"

[penned by dallas - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ BABY, I'M A WRECK ❞ ​

​

 

[leopardtongue]

It seemed as though the second Leopardtongue had gotten to ShadowClan camp it had finally caught up with her that she was sick. Maybe it was the stress of... everything going on currently that she hadn't realized sooner, but now she was resting with the others sick and dying from this illness. She had been trying her best to sleep and stay away from others that were ill - it was little help with the nests already packed from ShadowClanners, let alone the other four clans suddenly here - but still she tried her best to not get more sick if possible. At least until after her kits arrived... she could hold it off, she had to. Once they were here if she needed to get more sick then she would, because that's how it had to work for her. It's at least what she kept telling herself.

Sniffles were heard around her and the queen's ears pricked slightly as she lifted her head, listening to the soft introductions that were shared around. There was talk of ShadowClanners eating other cats and a slightly amused snort came from her as she listened to the explanations from others. There had been a time when she would have done anything to be back in the swamp, but now she just wished for the warmth and dryness of her nest back in ThunderClan camp. "Leopardtongue." She offered to those around her. For all she knew they'd all die here so really there was no reason to not share names, they'd all end up in StarClan together anyway. Warm and tired head laid down in damp moss once more as she listened once more.

╰┈➤ ⊰❣⊱ info

• 
• "speaking" // thinking // action
  Leopardtongue - 35 moons - she/her - Queen of ThunderClan
  heterosexual - taken by Batwing
  penned by tikki
  ​

​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

The medicine den feels much more cramped. Roosterstrut is no longer able to splay out across the ground and make himself comfortable, now that he was sharing a space with many other sick cats. Some he vaguely recognizes from the days of the Marsh Colony — he had tried spotting a certain red and black she-cat among them, but perhaps fortunately, she does not inhabit the den.

The red tabby tom, already awake, turns his head toward the charcoal-colored apprentice. If his nest were any closer to Comfreypaw's, he would lift his tail to touch to her shoulder in a comforting manner. Roosterstrut can tell that she feels startled by waking up to clusters of unfamiliar faces. "Rogues have taken over." The warrior gently explains, having been informed of the situation when the visitors initially arrived in ShadowClan's camp.

"Chilledstar -cough- is letting the clans stay in our territory for now." Roosterstrut is welcoming of the concept; it was nice of Chilledstar to allow this, knowing that they probably weren't very pleased to do so. However, he cannot help but wonder how ShadowClan will possibly be able to feed everyone. Hopefully the clans would recuperate and come up with a solution soon. For now, Roosterstrut is intrigued by the possibility of being ( temporary ) denmates with these strangers. "I'm Roosterstrut." The red tabby introduced himself, mustering whatever strength that he had to converse more than he had in a long while. "Sorry to hear about everything that's happened. Those rogues sound -cough- vicious." There must have been a lot of them too, to overwhelm all of the clans combined.

✰ INFO

• 
  
• 

  ✰ ROOSTERSTRUT
  —— he/him; warrior of shadowclan
  —— heteroflexible; single
  —— red tabby tom with long hair and pale green eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

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[MOORBLOSSOM]

Plucked from one den and placed into another, Moorpaw's blessings are scattered and scarce. She strives to count them even so, howbeit their sum is meagre and it seems that each night, the WindClan apprentice is left with fewer.

Weaselclaw, may his memory be forever a boon, is dead. His absence puts a great strain on her heart, and that his killer continues to fester inside the bodies of so many is no balm for her grieving. Heightening this burden is a profound, newfound loneliness—even if the cats at the Burnt Sycamore were allowed to enter the pine-girdled hollow, she holds a steadfast belief her mother and her littermates would not be among them. The day the stars fall is the day ShadowClan deigns to Sootstar's presence in their camp.

Mud dried by Leaf-fall's cold cradles a willowy cheek. The advent of conversation prompts it to lift somewhat from the cool ground, dark furs mantled by grungy specks, and the dregs of a yawn leave the molly's mouth warm and wanting. Head upholden and slung over a shoulder, the apprentice regards her company with the same solemnity with which they cast upon her. Glassy green eyes pursue Mintshade's form, but she cannot glimpse her aunt amongst the riffraff. She must still be asleep. Or, she died like dad had. Here's hoping for the former.

"My name is Moorpaw," the girl aptly offers, tail thwumping against the firm floor. "I used to be the fastest runner in all'a the moors... 'til I, uh... started dying." Puzzlingly enough, her tone is both dry and wet simultaneously. Coughing fits unending have left her throat raw and tender, though her words are awash with phlegm. It's about as uncomfortable as it sounds. "ShadowClan cats don't eat people," Moorpaw echoes, sparing an eye-roll towards the ThunderClan wimp. "But that's 'cause they don't eat at all! Probably why the rogues are leaving them alone—they prefer cats with meat on their bones."​

 

[SPIDERLILY]

to be reborn , you have to die first .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He felt downright awful, slipping in and out of consciousness with his mate’s lingering scent, but even he didn’t have that now. In a camp he hadn’t been aware of moving into with scents that smelt rancid on his tongue, Spiderlily kept to himself, watching the ill converse through half-lidded hues.

Where did his kits run off too? He frowned, lifting a wobbly helm to peer around in search of them, but they were old enough to venture away from him. The paranoia creeping in, no doubt. He let out a ragged breath, chest shuddering with a sickly wheeze, resting his helm against the unfamiliar nest.

“Perhaps we’ll use your skulls as warnings to the rogues. Wouldn’t that be interesting?” He muttered, delirious. Hadn’t they been talking about eating each other? The queen scoffed. “Eating each other.” He snorted, rotating his frame away from the talkative crowd, body groaning in protest. ​

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thought speech​

 

[DUSKBIRD]

✦　　. 　 ˚　.   There are so many of them. Even in this state of weakened exhaustion, Duskpaw knows that. The clamoring of their voices, all so tired, the same as he is. Their warriors went away. They were going to get something. Something that would help, that would let them live. But what could possibly be enough to fix all of them? There are so many that he doesn't know. Dawnglare. Fallinglight. Falconpaw. So many others. He memorizes their names as if taking in pieces of them; as if he can save some part of them, even if the others never come back. Even if they all die just like this, curled up together and breathing hard. The apprentice curls in closer to himself. Like what Comfreypaw feels, there is a deep anxiety within the sickly feline. But it's not from the unfamiliar faces.

He wants his mother. He wants Nightbird. He wants things to go back the way they were. Training, curling up in Berryheart's den– not for sickness, but for comfort. This is so far from it now. It stinks. This place. Sickness, herbs, unfamiliar clans. "We're not dying." It's a blatant lie, but one Duskpaw says with force. "We're not– we're gonna be fine. They'll come back." His voice begins to fade and rise in tandem, weak but desperate. "You'll see. We'll be okay." Leopardtongue. Roosterstrut. Moorpaw. Just in case.

𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐𝘍 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘐𝘔𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘚𝘚𝘐𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘔𝘌 𝘐𝘚 𝘞𝘙𝘖𝘕𝘎 ﹖  ╱╱ 9.14.2023 ˊˎ＜

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  DUSKPAW. HE - HIM OR THEY - THEM. APPRENTICE OF THUNDERCLAN, NEARING WARRIORHOOD. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ———
  
  
  ——  a lanky apprentice with mostly dark brown fur that fades just slightly near the chest, throat, and ears, while the tip of their tail burns with the bright orange tabby flame. his eyes are a deep, rich amber-brown, seeming red, often somewhat critical and cautious but not unkind in expression. he is not terribly tall, but his shoulders are broadening with age and training.
  

  ✦ BLAZESTAR x LITTLE WOLF. LITTERMATE TO SKYPAW, PART OF HOWLINGFAM. MENTORED BY NIGHTBIRD. DOES NOT KNOW ABOUT HIS SKYCLAN HERITAGE. —

• "speech"

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[MALLOWLARK]

"Cats do eat each other if they hate each other. Or they shhh-sure try...!" It was hoarse effort for Mallowlark to speak, a shadow in negative at his mates side. Staring eyes of silver had flicked to all of them, stuck in these walls from all different walks of life. Comfreypaw, from here- Shinepaw and Leopardtongue of ThunderClan, Duskpaw from that forest too. Of course he knew Falconpaw- and of course of course of course he knew Dawnglare. The fleeting idea of a world in which he didn't brought a burst of laughter from him then, sudden and inexplicable and deranged.

Bursting from within, ephemera gone as soon as it arrived. In that world, Moorpaw wouldn't have had to introduce himself. Not to Mallowlark, anyway.

"I've seen it... on those moors, y'try and rip each other to bits..." Silver eyes flared wide, glassy with the haze of illness. Attention stuck fully upon Moorpaw, unmoving and unblinking. The stare was as cold and empty as an eyeless statue. "So... try not to go crazy." Though it all, he smiled. As if it was mere nature, the most normal thing in the world. And it was, wasn't it? It was simple... simple for the moor-cats who'd stolen his him, who'd tried to shred Dandelionwish and Emberfang.

We'll be okay, said Duskpaw, that-was-his-name, and Mallowlark nodded cheerily as if he had not just insinuated the opposite.​

☺PENNED BY PIN​

 

[COMFREYPAW]

◇────────────【☆】★【☆】────────────◇​

XXXXXThe cat she’d first spoken to had stirred, blinking eyes rheumy from sickness and fear in her direction. Shinepaw, he says, from ThunderClan. “Don’t you guys eat people you don’t like?” Comfreypaw manages to snort, indignation flaring in her amber gaze. The next to speak is a cat she should recognize, but never having been to a Gathering, she does not—his fox-red pelt is matted, though, and his voice is both wheezy and self-important, somehow. He says, I’m Me, as if she should know who that is.

XXXXXIt’s not until Fallenlight from RiverClan speaks that she adds her voice. “He’s right. ShadowClan doesn’t eat cats,” she says, her voice still a scoff that devolves into a cough derived from her aching throat. “My name is Comfreypaw. From—from ShadowClan, obviously…” She diverts her gaze, back to her charcoal paws that uselessly knead the worn-thin bedding of her nest.

XXXXXThe other cats begin to stir. Perhaps boredom and apathy have clouded all of their minds for too long. She tries to remember, to put faces to names. Falconpaw, a pale tom with a striped face says, and he introduces Me as Dawnglare. They must be from SkyClan—through the stench, she detects an odd, piney scent flavored with something metallic.

XXXXXThe spotted queen beside them, her belly round with kits, introduces herself as Leopardtongue. Comfreypaw blinks her sympathy toward the rosetted molly—surely it must be extra uncomfortable to be pregnant and sick. “When are you due?” She asks the ThunderClan queen with a frown.

XXXXXRoosterstrut lifts his head from nearby, and Comfreypaw feels the brush of his tail to her shoulder, a comforting gesture she sinks into just for a moment. Her friend tells her about the rogues who’d taken over the other Clans’ territories, about Chilledstar’s generosity. She feels oddly proud of her leader’s kindness—surely the other Clans would owe ShadowClan after this, though the implications of this are more or less lost on her. She nods at the red tabby tom, grateful. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful,” she echoes.

XXXXXThe next cat to speak has black fur, though the snow-bright white of her muzzle is visible through the dimness. Moorpaw, fastest runner in all’a the moors… ‘til I, uh… started dying, the she-cat says with a wheeze. Comfreypaw’s eyes narrow at the ebony-pelted WindClanner’s next words, though. “More like they know better than to mess with ShadowClan,” she declares—had she felt better, there’d be a spark of pride in her gaze, brightening her voice, but as it is she sounds as defeated as the rest of them do.

XXXXXAnother queen, this one with milk-scent, speaks about skulls. Eating each other again. Comfreypaw’s pelt ripples uneasily, when another ThunderClanner, this one naming himself Duskpaw, assures him that no one is dying. She looks his way miserably—aren’t they all dying, aren’t they? She turns to the white-pelted SkyClanner, though he speaks of WindClan cats in the same biting manner as Dawnglare had. “I’ve seen it… on those moors, y’try and rip each other to bits…”

XXXXXComfreypaw rests her chin on her paws. “Good thing we’re all here, then,” she says, to no one in particular. “No one’s going crazy in here, right?” She’ll wait for a pause to stretch before asking, smile strained, “…Right?”

─────────​

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[Swansong]

( ☁︎ )　 The discussion of eating cats is an interesting one. Swanpaw is perfectly content to rest their rough voice, lie in their half-dreaming haze and listen. There's so many cats here, now. Their introductions slide off his ears, quickly replaced by a much more interesting topic. But the silence following Comfreypaw's words is thick, and Swanpaw is just as content to fill it with blithe reassurance. "Ohhh, no... Certainly not... Or, ah, hh - hhhope not," he mumbles, voice a soft rasp. "'M too tired to rip anyone -- to, to eat anyone, not hungry at all..."

Though, someone else said something... Who was it? One of the apprentices said something about not dying... "We, ah - are dying, thh - though..." He's died a few times now, he thinks. Or, he thought? He's seen the stars, at least. Seen his mother."'S not suh - ssss - so bad... Maybe if you wanna eat suh - someone, wait 'til after..." His voice peters out, each word straining further and further into nothing. Swanpaw hacks drily, half-choking.

Swallows thickly. This is the trouble with talking, these days. Still, he continues, "Don' think the dead mind, ha - ahhh...." A weak laugh to finish, head lolling to the side where it rests on his paws, glassy eyes casting across the gathered cats. He doesn't think he'd mind, if they ate him. He'd have better places to be, then.

I WANNA BE HAUNTED ☁︎ I WANNA BE LOVED ! 【 10.30.23 】

• //
  ​

• "SPEECH"

• ☾ 　⁺　₊ 　⋆　SWANPAW.　APPRENTICE OF SHADOWCLAN.　HE / HIM / HIS.
  7 MOONS & AGES ON THE 17TH.　PENNED BY SATURNID.
  
  

  

  ☾ — A PALE, ELEGANT CREAM TABBY WITH PERIWINKLE BLUE EYES.

  
  
  HALFSHADE xx SMOGMAW. LITTERMATE TO APPLEPAW GARLICPAW & ASHENPAW. OLDER SIBLING TO HALFKIT BIRDKIT TANGLEKIT & DREAMKIT. MENTORED BY SABLETUFT​

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