pafp MY SIMPLE SIR ☀︎ OUT OF BREATH

[dimmingsun]

@SNOWGLARE ​

There are no tall tufts of grass brushing his belly, but he runs anyway. Runs anyway, without the smell of flowers or prey on the breeze, without a beautiful backdrop- and without breath.

Dimmingsun steels himself as he comes to an abrupt stop. It almost sends him flying over his own limbs and into the ground, but he manages to change his run into a trot first, letting himself crouch when his paws find stable footing. A terrible cough wracks him, body seizing briefly with the effort, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. He knows he needs rest, but he's already been resting, safe in the copse when his Clanmates ran from the nearest water source to camp to kill the fires. A moor-runner needs to be on his feet.

It's only by some miracle that he is still standing. His lungs are still stubbornly refusing to work properly, threatening him with a lack of air whenever he does more than simply walk. Pupils vanish when he forces his eyelids shut, willing the black spots in his vision to disappear and stop tormenting him.

What a disgrace.

At least nobody's around to see... right?
​

 

[SNOWGLARE]

જ➶ The fire is gone. He doesn't have to worry about the incredible heat that had caused him to collapse. The time he had to spend recovering in his nest had been short but restless. All he needed was rest and water and so he prioritized that for the moment. Now that he is able to move about he is easily fulfilling his duties once more. His steps are light upon the moors as he tracks, maw parted as he breathes in the scent of bird. He can at least catch that but a flash of movement catches his eyes. Pale hues shift to follow and he allows a smile to grace his muzzle. It seems Dimmingsun is out for a run. He looks better and he watches lightly before he sees the way that he abruptly stops. His tail stills and worry creases his brow before he makes his way over.

The pale soldier tries not to startle the other as he approaches. Snow had seen the way he stopped and his wracking coughs. The way he struggles for much needed breath. The consequences of the fire are still strong and worry appears across his gaze. "Hey, are you okay? I can lend a paw if you want it." He knows that some do not like being coddled and he glances around before a frown pulls at pale lips. "Perhaps running needs to wait for later, you could strain something..."]/color]​

 

[dimmingsun]

Snowglare's voice reaches his ears, and it feels similar to fur getting buffeted by relentless winds. Oh, no, is his first thought, a gut reaction, one that is immediately followed by guilt. He tells himself that the snowy warrior is just worried, he's just being nice - Dimmingsun can at least see reason in that, even if he feels hot with embarrassment. He himself would stop to fuss over anyone in his own position. It'd be hypocritical to turn his nose up at that.

"At this rate," he rasps, "I might as well retire and become an elder." There's a humorous grin pulling at his lips, one that he raises his head to. Finally, the lop-sided warrior is feeling good enough to joke around. That has to count for something.

He knows he's just being dramatic. Surely he will get over this, get himself used to physical activity without having to stop in the middle of it. It just takes time, he reminds himself, but deems impatience to be an itch that never goes away, that spurs him into action against his (and Wolfsong's) better judgment.

Dimmingsun shakes himself like a wet dog, willing to repel all the inner turmoil. "Thank you for the concern." Really, he is. And just for good measure, he counts his own whiskers like little miracles; he has all his limbs, both ears, both eyes. This is simply an unforeseen obstacle. "It's just... I can't stay cooped up in camp for too long, you know?"
​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── There is no comfort to be found on the moors, but there is none to be had in camp, either— and nor does he deserve it regardless. The fields of ashes serve as a grave reminder of twolegs' power, though Wolfsong knows he himself is not without culpability, and with each coughing or burned warrior, he grows more solemn still. Perhaps they would have evacuated sooner and spared their clanmates the damage if Wolfsong had shared his dream with Sunstar.

Was Bearflight's death punishment? Could StarClan be so cruel to rob his son of life simply to send a message to Wolfsong? Or is it merely the natural consequence, and he seeks to place blame elsewhere?

Whatever the cause, WindClan will not recover easily or quickly, and he worries for the likes of Dimmingsun, whose lungs will no doubt struggle for the remainder of his life. Of course, it would certainly help matters if he rested, and the medicine cat approaches the pair with a stern eye. It is fortunate Snowglare was here, or else Wolfsong may not have noticed; his pale pelt is in stark contrast against the burned landscape.

"And so instead you have strained yourself further," he says, frowning. "If you must stretch your legs, listen to your body. Pressing your limits will only lengthen your recovery."
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 42 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
  — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
  — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
  — ★★★☆☆ KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
  — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[gracklestep]

˚₊⋅───────── /ᐠ - ˕ -マ ─────────⋅ ˚₊

Wolfsong has not seen so few moons as to be called a fool... but Gracklestep thinks his advice to be futile. Moor runners, as described in their name, were destined to run. With so much of the territory still in feeble-hearted recovery, the fewer paws they have to hunt and rebuild is an added burden to the pile. He is tired of carrying the dead weight of others, especially those younger than himself. With a sort of superiority, he thinks that if he could do it after being there to witness Sunstar's death and overcome the flames that had nearly swallowed the group of them whole, anyone else should be infinitely better off.

A prying glance moves between sun-bright fur towards emerald-shine eyes- he'd never known Dimmingsun to shy from a challenge. To allow himself to exist as something akin to 'pathetic' in the eyes of his peers. He'd do better... and he'd do better at hiding his struggle if he intended to be useful.

"You're no use to us dead," he offers flatly, flicking an ear in agitation. The time for Sootstar and her stringent need for power had died out moons ago now, but its roots ran deep. A warrior who could not hunt or fight may as well not be one at all... and Dimmingsun seemed to understand that in the half-hearted laugh that suggested he join the elder's den. "Do us all a favor and don't be an idiot."

This nose twitches, realizing the words a little bit harsher than intended. "None of us want to see you buried yet."​

 

[dimmingsun]

Dimmingsun wonders if his own thoughts had summoned Wolfsong. That one eye rakes across his fur, and he almost feels the need to wince — medicine cats heal others, not hurt them, but that withering gaze can easily make one think they are burning up from the inside. Maybe it's just guilt from having been caught like some sort of naughty apprentice.

"Right," he says, because there is no use arguing with Wolfsong. The question weighs on his tongue; of how many patients try to overdo their first days free; of how one can be expected to sit still and wait for recovery to finally spare him a sideways glance; of just how long it will take for his lungs to behave... Dimmingsun thinks of Slateheart, his own chest wheezing with each in- and exhale, partners in crime.

Patience. He will just need to be patient, regardless of how restless (and useless) it makes him feel.

Gracklestep all but pops out into the vicinity, dark stature easily hidden amongst the charred backdrop of the moor. Dimmingsun takes that moment to straighten himself, to show Wolfsong that he is serious about keeping all that advice in mind, and to rise to the challenge of Gracklestep himself. "Not even you? Aw. I'm touched." A paw rises to the center of his chest to punctuate.

Anyone who knows Dimmingsun is perfectly aware of his need to yap away. Almost like he enjoys listening to his own voice, rumbling and chattering of joy... even in moments like these. Or, perhaps, especially because of moments like these.

"I'm sure you'll let me know when you change your mind." Him and Gracklestep always do this — teasing and trading words that might feel more heated to onlookers than they actually are. It's a simple dance.
​