private IT APPEARED ON THE WALL 𓆩♡𓆪 SPARROWSONG, FIREFLYPAW

[DAWNGLARE]

A cure has been brought to SkyClan, clear as day. Nevermind the cryptic shroud that has hugged it tight for many past sunrises. Berryheart is the one to bring the solution to light. Sure, sure. Everything would resolve smoothly and all, no need to worry. Simply, no need.

The disgruntled expression contradicts what should have been a joyous moment. At once, Dawnglare had turned tail on the cats gathered to slip into his den. Once his place of serenity – it was now foggy with uneven breaths and delirius faces. He begins digging through his stock, plucking across disorganized bundles in search for the thing that would strike a match in his mind. Vaguely aware of his apprentice’s presence, he speaks. " Allegedly... " His tail flicks in irritation, sending smatterings of herb floating across the ground. " Our friend in ThunderClan has found a cure. Lungwort, but I am not… "

He uncovers a flowering herb, though the petals themselves have long since wilted. This was not the season for it. Pale - and - green spotting itches at a memory though… " This is it, " I believe. He quickly casts a frown to Fireflypaw, his blindness inconvenient, for this scent has likely gone stale some moons ago. A sigh. " Let us try it. "

Dawnglare wishes that either of ThunderClan’s “chosen ones” could’ve shown their own faces on the patrol, so that Dawnglare could receive more information than “Lungwort” …Not as if he needed it, but–

Chosen at random, Dawnglare would drag himself to the nest of a brown spotted tabby. Sparrow… something, he believes. He must remember that he cannot beckon Fireflypaw wordlessly any longer. " My faith in this remedy is not great. " Surely, something from anyone else could not be so grand. " We will see, I suppose. " He looks upon the herb with disdain, before nudging it before his apprentice. " Give this to them, carefully. …Discern if they will need help getting it down their throat,. " he adds with a sigh, by far the most contemptable part of this outbreak.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 8.22.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: @Fireflypaw @sparrowsong!

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 55 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.
  

  Currently in an era of questioning; upset and uncomfortable by things he should not be.​

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

​

 

[Fireflyglow]

Fireflypaw listens as his mentor directs him to a wilted herb, Fireflypaw's toes poking at the herb subtly to get a feel for the shape of it. But alas, it was much too crooked and worn for him to get a good idea of it. "Color?" He asks softly, knowing that it could help others who could see. In the far future, when Dawnglare was long gone, no longer upon Mother's lands, how would he cope with the lack of sight? When he so desperately needed to see the colors, the shapes of herbs placed in front of him. He would have to work harder, find new ways to cope. Others around him could be of aid, couldn't they? He wasn't alone in this world. Let us try it, The high priest says, and Fireflypaw nods his head along in agreement.

Their first guinea pig is his best friend, wheezing just at the edge of their nest. Fireflypaw sticks close to his mentor's side, tail tapping along the ground as he listens to every word the high priest says like moss to water. Herb is pushed to charcoal paws, and Fireflypaw takes it delicately in his jaws- tasting it, savoring the odd flavor for a moment, before he walks closer to the edge of the nest.

"Songbird," Muffled voice calls softly towards the chocolate tabby, eagerness in hauntingly blue eyes. His paw gently strokes over their head, pulling them from their fitful sleep in favor of passing the herb off to Sparrow's own jaws. "Chew, then swallow. You can do that for me, can't you, Sparrowsong?" You will not die today. I promised you, didn't I? He thinks to himself, tail tapping along their spine to keep them awake. ​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE ✦ 13 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[sparrowsong!]

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.

Time passed relentlessly, leaving the sick to do little more than wither away in their nests, life ebbing by the moment. Sparrowsong was no exception. Breath and energy, snatched aggressively, each rise of sunken flanks a shuddering struggle.

At some point, perhaps, they had stopped being quite so aware of their pain, their exhaustion. Food turned away, herbs and water a fight, the tiny feline seemed to shrink into themself over time, impossibly smaller than before. Lifting their head was becoming a fight they were no longer sure they could win.

The medicine cats had left the den at some point. They weren't sure when, just as they weren't sure when the two returned with haste. Sparrowsong was tired. In and out of sleep they drifted, had been drifting, and they had only just slipped back into the muffled dark when a large paw gently brushed their head. For a moment their flank tenses as if to hum a query, but nothing comes out.

He's speaking to them, they belatedly realize. He had been speaking to them for a while. They were no longer sure of time, but they knew that he had perhaps periodically spoken to them for days. Often times, now more frequently than not, they found they couldn't muster the strength to respond anymore.

Something was being pressed into their mouth. No, no food... Not hungry, they wanted to say. Too tired. Sparrowsong's head shifted ever so slightly in an attempt to escape it. The paw, however, was persistent. This time the whine escaped, thin and soft. A plea, to leave them to their rest.

Their mouth was dry, their throat ablaze with each cough that seized them. No food. They couldn't.

For a moment their mouth opened to suck in a breath, and in the lungwort went. Dry leaves stuck to their tongue, Sparrowsong's eyes scrunched shut and ears pinning in distress of the horrid bitterness that now coated it. No- bad- stop― please―

The struggle was brief, the warrior nearly choking and sputtering, but down it went to the best of Fireflypaw's ability. If they could, they would cry, then, but instead the tabby shivered in their nest, unfocused eyes downcast.​

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