camp mulled wine °`••● intro ●••`°

[murkblossom]

"You remind me of my son," she rasps, her voice quiet under the weight of memory. His head tilts, and he leans forward to patiently nudge the uneaten mouse closer to her paws, which rest tucked into her chest. "I have...two sons. And three daughters. They're all with their father— he took them to fish. Oh, you could meet them, couldn't you?" He smiles tenderly and nods, though she does not seem to notice the sorrow nesting in the ridges of his eyes. "You'll get along so well. My Dania, he is quiet like you, and his eyes are–" She falters, blinking, and looks down at the mouse, staring and staring until finally, she's biting into it with her remaining teeth. She does not even eat half of it before she rests her chin on her paws and sighs, falling asleep.

Murkblossom tugs the mouse back, though he does not move until he is certain she is fully alseep. Only then does he touch his nose to the top of her head. He steps out from the temporary elder's den, the partly eaten mouse dangling from his mouth. It's dropped again as he attempts to catch the eye of a passing clanmate, tapping the little body. He does not want it to go to waste, though he knows some tend to avoid his mother's leftovers on account of her breath.

〘 INFORMATION 〙​

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[Burningfern]

Burningfern is busy grooming herself outside of the temporary warriors' den when she spots movement by where the elders are currently staying. She blinks as she meets his gaze, the older tom motioning towards the mouse with his paw. Looks like his mother didn't finish her meal again, a soft frown would tug on her maw as she hoped that whatever the older molly was eating was enough to keep her strong at least physically.

Rising to her paws, Burningfern would nod her head in greeting and smile warmly at her clanmate, "I'll take it only if you share with me, Murkblossom." Her tone is light and friendly, her tail swishing elegantly behind her as she takes the mouse in her jaw and moves to go back to her resting spot, "You're a good son to her, you know." She says lightly, "Making sure she stays fed and all. How is she today?"

Burningfern didn't know any of the elders particularly well, but she respected them and their wisdom. Perhaps next time she went fishing she could bring both of them back something to share. ​

RIVERCLAN WARRIOR ✦ MOLLY ✦ 24 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Clay watches Murkblossom offer a mouse to another clanmate, a frown slipping across his muzzle. Is this another partially-eaten piece of prey from the older tom’s mother? His brows crease with concern even as Burningfern assures the warrior that’s he’s a good son—Clay is inclined to agree. It’s got to be difficult to care for an elder in declining health, especially when said elder is one’s own parent.

The brown and white tom strides over to stand a tail-length away from his clanmates, trying to school his expression into something that doesn’t read as pity. Whether it works or not, he isn’t sure, but he stares down at the half-eaten mouse as he speaks. "I’m sure she appreciates everything you do for her," he offers, nodding in agreement as Burningfern speaks. He’s also interested in hearing how the elder is faring, whether this is a worse day than most. But apart from that, he feels the need to offer his help. The warrior shouldn’t have to do everything for his mother on his own. "If you need help with anything for her, just let us know."
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[brookstorm]

Despite the elders being a typical spot for nosy and curious kittens, Brook-kit does not often visit them. At least, not on her lonesome. She much prefers being under her father's paws, or curled up beside her mother, not listening to an older cat prattle on about days long before her. Maybe in the future she'll respect the elder cats within their Clan, however for now she regards them with little more interest than she does the common apprentice or warrior.

Still, there's something in the air - even the child can feel how tense and sad the situation fairs to be. Brook-kit's gaze flits over that of the older cats, something adjacent to concern settling deep in her gaze when she tries to figure out what could be wrong. It sounds... familiar, maybe? One of them has a sickly mother, like she does, and the other two are attempting to dissuade them from being too sad. Some of Momma's friends do the same, albeit in kittenish ways for their understanding. Brook-kit cannot see how different the two scenarios truly are; she simply tries to understand.

The grey kitten steps closer, the barest spot of curiosity glimmering in her eyes as she gathers herself in the group. She looks up to Murkblossom, wracks her mind for everything ever said to her with regards to Buckgait, and decides, "She'll get better," as a proper response. She knows not the illness that grips the tom's mother, even less how sometimes, cats don't get better. She simply tries, because everyone else is.​

 

[BEESONG]

movement from the makeshift elders' den catches beesong's eye, drawing his attention away from drying herbs. it's murkblossom, a familiar face in the healer's den, offering another clanmate a partially eaten mouse. a frown threatens his maw, the cinnamon tabby having to carefully reel in his uneasy expression to one of neutrality. murkblossom's mother's health has been declining, plagued by an invisible illness that beesong has seen only once or twice before. an elderly feline's memory withers away until they're little more than a husk, nearly unable to move or speak. as if they've forgotten how to do those simple tasks, too. and as far as beesong is aware, there is no cure. the only thing he could do is try to make them as comfortable as possible before death claims them.

there are many facets to his job that beesong dislikes, but he thinks that he hates this one the most. watching as cats die while knowing there is nothing that he could do to save them.

it must be hard on murkblossom, too. it's his mother who is withering. beesong wonders if the quiet warrior is already grieving her, even though her spirit has not yet ascended to the stars.

others offer condolences. beesong remains quiet, finding that they have nothing to say that hasn't already been said. one voice, in particular, causes them to cringe inwardly; brook-kit says that she'll get better, with all the confidence of a naive child who doesn't know better. her intentions are surely good, but beesong's mouth draws into a thin line. she won't. not unless starclan themselves perform a miracle, and such miracles seem to be few and far between.

"some cats don't," beesong mutters, voice soft despite the harsh reality of their words. there's part of them that feels an ounce of guilt, a look that's nearly apologetic sent in murkblossom's direction, but they think it would be much crueler to let another live with false hope only for it to be shattered when the truth comes crashing down.​

 

[meadowheart]

TAGS — Where Brook-kit goes Meadowkit is sure to follow. The young heather-hued kitten trots next to his sister until she pauses, and so he pauses, too, vivid green eyes peering up at Murkblossom with decidedly more interest than his sister presents. He can feel the tension pressing into his soft baby fur. There is a distinct sadness in the air, a scent of gray that he can't yet understand. He recognizes it only in the sense that he has seen it hang over his mother as she recovers in the nursery- but even then, Buckgait's warmth is abundant. This atmosphere is not quite what Meadowkit is used to.

He feels compelled to lighten it, really, though the idea of responsibility has not yet touched his shoulders. He isn't responsible for making anyone smile-- and yet he wants to, gazing upon Murkblossom's stone-wall expression, and listening to everyone's condolences, and feeling the weight of the inevitability in his chest. But he doesn't know how, so he stands in bursting silence at his sister's side, green eyes wide and questioning and brimming with things he feels but doesn't know how to say.

"You're tall," Meadowkit says to Murkblossom, ears twitching as Beesong refutes his sister's point, but unsure how to address it. There is a certain amount of frustration in the downward curl of his lips-- this inability to express himself. But it's not a big deal. He is genuinely impressed by Murkblossom's stature; maybe the path to lightheartedness can be as simple as asking about it. "Why are you so tall?"​

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[murkblossom]

He returns Burningfern's smile with one of his own, although it had not escaped him that her smile comes in the wake of a frown. At the start of his mother's decline, her condition wasn't so readily noticeable to most but Beesong and Murkblossom. It was only when she became reclusive and occasionally misplaced herself that it became open knowledge. But like Burningfern, most are kind, so the vulnerability does not sting.

He sweeps out a paw, inviting her to sit, though instead, she takes the mouse a short distance away. He follows, assuming it's out of courtesy for his mother, forgetful as she may be. Her compliment has him lowering his head bashfully. A good son? No, he does not think so— merely a son. Murkblossom licks his lips —carefully; always carefully— and exhales through his nose. "So-so," he answers at his usual low volume. "Coult be better." There is not enough of his tongue-tip to fully manage the harder consonant.

His gaze lifts to Clayfur, who has lost much. It is a show of great strength to be on his paws, though from personal experience, focusing on others can be an escape from sorrow. He may be doing his best to turn his other cheek to grief while he can. Regardless, the kind offer is appreciated, and he smiles as he nods toward him in thanks.

Small, quiet pawsteps nearly evade him, and Murkblossom almost startles when Brookkit speaks. He blinks down at her, the slight dear offering a naive comfort, and it is a softness that pains him. She should not have to worry about soothing him. Leaning down, he gently touches his nose to the top of her head, eyes closed.

They open when he hears Beesong's mumbling, catching the apology in the flick of his gaze toward Murkblossom. He is right, of course, and though it does not hurt, it aches like an overworked muscle. Like a heart resigned. He does not blame the medicine cat for it, and hopes the tilt of his chin conveys as much to him. It is only pragmatism.

Blinking, he smiles down at the kitten. Like his sister, Meadowkit has caught him off-guard, but it is a welcome change. A gust of air leaves his mouth. A laugh, though it may not sound as such, and one broad paw gently passes under the kit's chin. Such responsibility belongs neither to Meadowkit nor Brookkit. "Kittens," he murmurs, and ducks to playfully close his teeth around the air near Meadowkit. "Very goot to eat."

〘 INFORMATION 〙​

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[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

There is something quite remarkable about Murkblossom’s gentle demeanor that shines through his intimidating exterior. It would be so easy, Snakeblink thinks, to turn bitter; to rage against the unfairness of a world which takes more than it gives. Especially for a cat of Murkblossom’s build: violence comes easier to such a build than, say, to Snakeblink’s underfed limbs. This life of theirs leaves little softness behind; it’s hard work to hold on to it, to cultivate it even, and it’s the kind of hard work that he admires in great part because he is incapable of it. It’s worth protecting; and worth encouraging in kits, while they still can.

”Considering your size, you might find it a better use of your time to move on to eating full-grown cats,” he notes in response to the pale tom’s joking threat towards Meadowkit. ”Leave the small ones to those of us who still have growing to do, hm?”

Padding up to the small group, he keeps his eyes downcast as if in secrecy as he leans close to Beesong. ”Can anything be done?” He asks the medicine cat in a low voice. ”To alleviate her struggles, if nothing else.”
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 40 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[BEESONG]

beesong's grateful that there is no bitterness conveyed in the tilt of murkblossom's chin. pragmatism seems hard to come by in this clan, where emotions flow too freely like the raging river. he hums, a thank you hidden in the reverberating sound, as he flicks his gaze away from murkblossom. to meadowkit, who cranes his neck and steers the conversation towards a lighthearted topic that's easier to digest; you're tall, the kitten points out to murkblossom. beesong snorts at the large warrior's teasing answer, eyes crinkling as he hides a smile. "snakeblink's right; save this one for me, will you?" the small tabby jabs a paw in meadowkit's direction. "i'd like to grow a couple of claw-lengths, myself."

the threat of a grin dissipates when snakeblink ducks his head, murmuring a question into their ear. can anything be done? beesong's mouth dries as if they'd tried to swallow cotton. "i'm doing all that i can to make sure she's not suffering," they mutter back, watching snakeblink from the corner of their eye. "but there's no herb i know of that can restore her mind." they check on her consistently, offer her herbs for the aches and pains that come with a deteriorating body. but they couldn't do anything more.​