never the one | shadowclan medicine cat



Lungs burned from the exertion that she puts on her body. To try and hold the kit steady but to also try and get there as fast as she could. What is wrong with her? She should have just swallowed her pride, she should have just went to Windclan for help. They were closer and yet she couldn't bear the thought of going there and seeing Sootstar, she doesn't want to owe any favors to Windclan and so she turns to Riverclan in her desperation. She shoves a path through bracken and foliage, charging forth with the need to get Sparkkit the help that they deserve. 'It's okay, Sparkkit. You'll be okay, they'll help you and you'll be fine. Just hang in there a little bit longer.' Her thoughts are a hurried frenzy as she quickly traverses the ground with the small bundle in her jaws and as she breaks from the tree line to see the river she races down the length of it. The molly knows where there camp is as she's been there before during her visit when she had learned the truth about her own destiny. To tell that she could not join the river colony.

Her gaze of molten red sparks with panic and she carefully drops the kit down upon the ground, nudging and trying to keep them warm before she calls out to the island cats with a sharpness. Sparkkit needs this, they need help. Please don't let her have failed already in the beginnings of something she can not even begin to understand. "HELP! PLEASE HELP! BEESONG! I NEED HELP! SPARKKIT IS SICK AND THEY NEED HELP!" The tall woman of the shade yowls with all her might and all the desperation she can muster into the air before she looks back down to the kit. They haven't moved though and she is unsure as she begins to gently press her nose against their tiny frame. "No, no no, please, please Sparkkit. Come on. Just a little bit longer. I got help so just....please..." She starts to lick the kit's coat the wrong way to warm them, it's all she can think to do.


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A voice cries out for help, risen high in desperation. A new scent, bogged down with something strange. Not quite pleasant. His nose wrinkles at the development, but still he keeps an open mind. He glances between a clump in the reeds, spotting the dark form of Bone with a wriggling bundle at her paws.

Cas blinks, shocked into stillness for a moment. The molly was familiar, just barely, but familiar. He’d taken note of her form slinking alongside camp before suddenly, she was gone. The shadow had come and left, peculiar.

And after Briarstar had seemed to insistent on borders, he didn’t expect to ever see her again.

Um– Hey, hey!” he calls, waving his tail wildly so she knows she has his attention. “What’s going… What?” he sputters, blinking down at the kit she fretted over. Was she a mother, or–?

He shakes his head, deciding that isn’t important right now. “It’s okay, you’re okay, y-yeah? We’re all okay– um, I’ll fetch, uh, Bee-bee?” he volunteers, voice rising with the call of the healer’s name. Red fur rises over his neck in a frenzy, paws nearly stumble as he turns to find them.


Chirping Bird had seen plenty of death in her time. From accidents to murders to sickness. But she felt like she’s seen more of it recently. Since all these cats ended up in the same place, death seemed to follow. Maybe it was because of this Starclan thing. The elder wasn’t sure but she hoped things would get better now that everyone seemed to find their own piece of the wild. That didn’t mean chaos didn’t happen.

She came up just as Cascadesong went off to find Bee. Her eyes narrowed on the kit. Chirping Bird had no clue what was wrong with them or if they were even still alive. She hadn’t seen them more at all but the other cat was trying to warm them. The older she-cat moved to get some wet moss. If the kit was alive, maybe it needed some water. Or, at the very least, the other cat could stay hydrated.

“Just hang on- the both of you. Bee will be here any moment.” she tries to ease the tension a little. Glancing behind herself to see if Bee was already approaching.

− ♱ ABOUT : a sudden, piercing shout is what tears him from from his light slumber by the water, mottled fur mussed and warmed by the sun. he nearly trips stumbling to white - tipped paws, nose tipping skyward and lips parting to take in whatever scent lie ahead only to find a sharp, too familiar marshy tone. a brief panic filled him ; briarstar had been insistent on setting borders and he has only assumed that was partially due to the two - toned woman's disappearance from shadowclan after their moonstone visit. the man had wondered how she managed to explain her time in riverclan away, as the spiky - furred leader could be a force when she wanted to be. the long - legged felidae approached quickly, the fleeting joy he feels at being in the medicine cat's presence again was overshadowed by the small, frail figure she lapped at, desperation rolling from her in waves.

his paws slow as cascade runs to fetch beesong, coming up alongside chirping bird with his gaze locked downward. a kitten. unmoving, its little chest too still. despite the way bone attempts to warm them. had she carried them all the way from shadowclan? from the marshes? then again, their closest neighbor was windclan, and his own incident with sootstar and her lackey hadn't exactly been welcoming, but he was sure she would not turn away a kitten.=, not after birthing two of her own so recently. regardless, sparkkit . . has not so much as twitched since his arrival. a sudden, burning emptiness opens in his heart -- like an ember catching on wind his ribcage catches alight, ripping up his throat and tightening the words he attempts like barbed wire, " bonejaw, liebling, i don't . ." his breath catches for a moment, icy luminaries lingering heavy on the motionless kitten before lids squeeze closed, as if shutting out the light would block the image from his mind. he takes a deep breath, " i don't think they're breathing, honey. i'm so sorry."

he wasn't a medicine cat, but the situation looked grim. cicadastar dips his head a bit, attempting to press against her side as best he could with her desperate movements, glancing up towards bird as the elder spoke. bee would be here soon. icy luminaries look to the distance as if he would beckon the cinnamon tabby forward on will alone, his tail coming to circle the shadowclan medicine cat's side in wait.

  • CICADASTAR ; he / him, roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
    − lanky black smoke tortie chimera with icecap eyes and curly fur, homosexual
    − speaks with a thick german accent, former marshlander, penned by antlers

  • none.

The cries for help, the cries for him, shatter the atmosphere. Beesong's ear drops against his skull, his teeth gritting. With a grunt, he pushes himself onto weak legs, his bobbed tail twitching as he stumbles as fast as he could to... whoever needs his help. The medicine cat snatches an assortment of herbs; cobwebs, dock leaves, thyme... But nothing could prepare him for what he finds.

The ShadowClan medicine cat; they recognize her from the Gathering, and her temporary stay in the camp. At her paws, a kit barely old enough to leave it's mother's belly. There is no blood. There is no trace of any injury. There is only the kitten and Bonejaw, who is trying desperately to rouse them with frantic licks. Beesong falters, aqua eyes widening. Sparkkit is sick, a NPC informs them with a whisper. Sick. No, no, no... They cannot fix sick. They can staunch bleeding, they can clean wounds, they can relieve pain, they can calm those in shock... But sick? They don't even know where to begin!

Eyes turn onto him, and he couldn't be more aware of how helpless he is now. The dock leaves and thyme fall from his mouth. Useless. "I- I don't..." The medicine cat opens and closes his mouth, swallowing hard against the dry lump in his throat. He's the medicine cat. He's supposed to help. With a deep inhale, he hurries to Sparkkit's side. Cicadastar says that they're not breathing. Beesong drops down into a crouch, pressing his good ear against the kitten's eerily still chest-

Nothing. There is no heartbeat, no soft snuffling of breath. Their lack of knowledge doesn't matter now. It's too late.

Beesong pulls away slowly, their expression steeling itself into an unreadable one. "They're dead." Another inhale, and they stand, their weak legs quivering from the effort. "You should've taken them to WindClan." WindClan was closer. WindClan could've helped. Honeytwist; she might've known more about illness than they do. Beesong? They were useless. A waste of time and effort. A waste of a life too young.

He shakes his head, the beginnings of a headache creeping in behind his eyes. "I'm sorry." Beesong looks to Cicadastar with his hardened expression, half-expecting to be punished for his incompetence. He's supposed to be the medicine cat, he's supposed to help. Whatever punishment Cicadastar deems fit for him...

Well, he has no other option but to accept it.

Beesong looks back to ShadowClan's medicine cat with a sigh. "Mint and rosemary; they'll hide the scent of death." That's all I can offer you. "Do you need some?" They know not if Bonejaw has any in stock... But they have enough if she doesn't.
The shriek brings several warriors from their camp, eyes alight with panic as they pull their bodies through the weeds. Fox follows behind Cascadesong and Chirping Bird, gaze settling on a familiar black and white molly. Bone, now Bonejaw, she supposes, from the marshes she'd once called home. ShadowClan's medicine cat. Between her bicolored paws is a tiny scrap of tabby fur, flanks worryingly still.

Fox tenses as their leader pads to Bonejaw and shakes his head at her, offers himself for comfort. "It's too late." Beesong comes, and the herbs he has in his jaws flit to his paws as he proclaims the child is dead, that Bonejaw should have gone to WindClan.

"Oh, no," she whispers, throat closing up. She can't bring herself to tear her gaze away from the kitten, from Bonejaw's frantic tongue lapping at its stiff body. "I... I can help get those things, if..." She trails off, looking at Beesong with grief-clouded eyes. She wouldn't know where to begin -- she's only offering to help because she has no other idea what to do.


The scent of death was almost as suffocating as his namesake-thick and all encompassing: choking almost. He smelt it before he even got there though it was faint, it did not make the sight of the dead kitten any more horrifying for his gaze to fall upon as he stopped alongside Fox with a rigid stance and bristling form. Smokethroat's expression generally lapses into cold neutrality, he didn't often smile nor show much other emotion but the twist of his maw and the narrow of his eyes made his feelings very clear on the matter. Quiet unease, pity, sympathy. Kittens didn't deserve to die drowning in their own sick, kittens didn't deserve to die at all. The younger the life the more precious, to be born but not truly live was cruel. The dark tom turns to the young cat next to him, inkspill of a tail whipping up in a quick gesture for attention, "Go ahead and fetch them Fox. Slowly, so as not to alarm anyone on your way." They would just put the herbs back if Bonejaw refused the other medicine cat's offer, but at the very least sending Fox to fetch them got her away from this scene and the horror of the little still body that could very well be stone at this point rather than a once living kitten. He prompted her to go slow because rushing would lead to clumsy steps and possible accidents, in addition to calling attention to 'something' happening-the last thing they needed was one of Mudpelt or Icesparkle's kits wandering onto the scene and seeing this.

Beesong's comment was a sharp jab, but not unwarranted. While WindClan was certainly not the first place he would want to go either, to put a kitten through the ordeal of moving through the swamp to RiverClan just to avoid dealing with the moorland cats...Would Sootstar be so horrid as to refuse a kitten in need? Well, he wouldn't put it past her honestly-but he doubted. Even the coldest of hearts couldn't possibly turn down an ailing child. So he hoped-perhaps that was too optimistic for this world.

riverclan --- warrior--- tags
( ᴛᴀɢs. )  ❝  The look on Hound's face's far from one of sympathy– he knows enough tact to school it into near-neutrality, but nothing'd be enough to hide the layers'f horror. Disdain is a cruel coping mechanism, but one that there's no ridding himself of. The marshes were some long lengths from them now. When he'd lived there, the trek he'd made here was a welcome one. For a kitten, so young and sick as this one must've been? It would have been hell. Even ThunderClan would've been a safer trek, with that monstrous expanse of black between them. What'd she chosen them for? Familiarity? Kindness? It'd cost a life, that's the only thought loud enough to be heard through the cacophony of confusion and grief. That Cicada comforts her seems– cruel, wrong, when this could've been prevented. He knows his own heart's a brambled battleground, that these thoughts are harsher than they'd any right to be. Still he does not shake them.

Instead, the warrior shadows himself around Fox's back, as comforting a presence as he can offer her with a long tail curled 'round her. As brief as it'd be, her promising to head away in search'f these herbs, he knows she's too young for this sight. Maybe all of them were, in some kinda way. "Go on, then," he murmurs to the young molly. "You've no need to be here for this."

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    ooc: sorry hound is being rude </3
  • ──── hound. trans male, he/him pronouns only.
    ──── 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"
Her eyes flash up at the sound of a cat, stammering and then he runs off. She can feel her own heart as if it is about to leap out of her chest. Looking back down to Sparkkit her mind keeps telling her that they are okay. That they are just resting but still there is no movement and even as sickly as Sparkkit was there had always been a tiny rising of their chest. She hears the words of an elder and she merely keeps her eyes on the child. Waiting is a dangerous game and she had tried her best. She wants to save this child but maybe wanting is not good enough. She's not good enough. A familiar scent invades her mangled sense and she lifts her head up quickly to see Cicadastar coming her way now. She parts her muzzle to try and say something but her throat feels closed up, emotions flowing and she swears that if she speaks she might scream. Yet his words tell her what she doesn't want to hear. They aren't breathing. They aren't moving. He presses his head against her side to try and comfort her and she squeezes her eyes shut. It's her own fault, it's all her fault.

With the coming of Beesong he only confirms what she's been told, what she knew all along to be true. Sparkkit didn't make the journey. They probably didn't even make it out of the territory alive. After they had collapsed, eyes rolled back into camp the woman just didn't think. She ran. She moved to get here and now, she has to take Sparkkit back. She has to face Sandra and tell her. Tell her that her child is....gone. And it's all because of her and as Bee tells her she should have gone to Windclan. It's closer, much much closer. Despite everything she should have gone to Windclan. She's killed a kit today because she didn't want to go there. 'I can't do this. I can't do this. Starclan why, why did you pick me of all cats?' Her head is lifted up to the sky as she tries to keep her tears to herself, they slip back into the darkness of her fur and she takes in a shallow breath. The molly knows, knew that she couldn't heal anything, that she couldn't save any cat and this here proves it all.

Lowering her skull the woman's eyes have become dull and almost far off as she looks towards Beesong then. Her form presses against Cicada's but she seems withered all the same. "I don't....I can get some in Shadowclan. I'll...I need to just take Sparkkit home. Thank you for the information and I'll be sure to remember it. They'll be more dead cats in Shadowclan, more than necessary..." Her words are biting and slicing at herself as she dips her head robotically. Stiffly she moves then away from the warmth of a friend and to the cold barren scape of her life, with care she picks up Sparkkit and prepares to take the trek back home.