pafp SEVER THE BLIGHT 𓆩♡𓆪 LESSON

[DAWNGLARE]

Dawnglare does not understand the foolishness that has so suddenly overtaken StarClan's collective consciousness. It occurred to him that day, when he met eyes of amber and wanted nothing more than to rip them from a bleached skull and fumble with them between his claws. A killer. Only for the will of others, has Dawnglare always refused this urge. Has he been wasting his time? Could he have lived stress free, knowing he could go so far as kill and the stars would still look kindly down upon him? A killer dares to call him wrong, when Dawnglare was far from what he was. That night– the one where he slept, pressed snug against the earth's soul is when he realized the nightmares were not his own.

He does not own them. Why would his own claws grip incessantly at such fantasies? His face is brightly weary between dull trunks; trees deserted, both by SkyClan and the One they rooted themselves into. Aimlessly, he always wanders. And always, he finds nothing, or something. Sometimes, he catches glimpses of a new moon's face; other times glints of a dying sun. He is furious now, and his screams echo, as if the sky had been torn away. At the same time, his screams are nothing– soundless between his own ears. All he can do is feel the strain of his voice. That's how he knows he is screaming.

He wakes, and midday streams through the sealing. His teeth are clenched, and his fur is ruffled as he rises, lurching suddenly forward, limbs inconsistent on remaining within his nest or not. There is a sliver of spit at the corner of his maw, and he swipes his tongue across it the moment he truly comes to. His head lifts and cracks in unnatural motion, snapping toward his apprentice. His apprentice who was here, blank - eyed and foolish as he always was. Not far, far away, ignoring the cry of the one cat he should listen to. (Of the one cat he'd promised he would listen to). He'd breathing heavier than he ought to. He considers burning his own eyes shut by the sun.

Dawnglare is out of his nest in one foul swoop. Quickly now, quickly he scoops up a bundle of herbage, unceremoniously mashed into his mouth before he is pushing towards the entrance of his den. " Fireflypaw, " he snaps, frustration betrayed by the twitch of his tail-tip. " Today, you learn something. Get cobwebs and come here, "

A fox - like complexion breaks the surface, and quickly, he is heading for a dark warrior, their gaze like a burning sunset. Perhaps his steps were heavier, and perhaps Dawnglare would never admit this. Slinking toward them with a scowl on his face, Dawnglare would round the round the lead warrior, canting his head to level an aggravated stare. " You did not listen to me, " he drones, in reference to the order for the warrior to have come to him for treatment. So the inversed situation now had to be in order. Annoying. " So I am coming to you, instead. " A sharp look would be aimed at any faces around them, daring them to think that this would become a common practice. Lucky them, that the Medicine Cat craved fresh air.

He casts a glance to his apprentice, presumably coming up behind him. Dawnglare would greet him with narrowed eyes, and offer his patient a side - long glance through the corner of his eye. " What is the most common thing you will have to deal with in your position, Fireflypaw? "

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 7.18.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: TL;DR: Dawn wakes up pissed and decides to take his anger out on fireflypaw and slate instead, i mean he is distracting himself with a lesson. Coming over to harass @SLATE with @Fireflypaw in tow. ALSOOO fluid timing a bit to where skirmish injuries were a bit fresher!!
  
  Pls wait until slate replies :3

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 54 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

​

 

[SLATE]

As a tom who once roamed the streets and fended for himself for most of his life, medical treatment wasn't something he sought out or was necessarily used to. Slate had been in many scraps before joining SkyClan and he had always bounced back from any injuries he received, so he was determined that would never change. Against Dawnglare's wishes, Slate hadn't received his aid after the battle party had returned to camp. Seeing as no consequence had amounted from his decision, the lead warrior figured that he would slip by under the red-hued man's radar and get back on his paws in no time.

A dull glare (or perhaps it was just his resting face) lifts toward the healing duo as they directly approach him from his place on the sidelines of camp. He furrows his brows once Dawnglare speaks, suggesting that he was going to do some sort of "treatment" on him. Why was he so insistent on this? "I don't need help. I'm fine. Don't waste your lil' leaves on me." Those herbs wouldn't help his wounds heal better or faster; Slate had scars littered across his body that hadn't been treated by a medicine cat... and they were just fine!

Defensively, the Maine Coon curls his bushy tail around his scratched stomach and shrinks back, ears pinning against the back of his skull. He hadn't the energy to put up a giant fight, but Slate wouldn't submit to anything so willingly.​

 

[Fireflyglow]

With a tight-knitted brow, Fireflypaw follows his mentor out into the sun at his call. They circle around a bulky tom, eyes staring off into the distance with haunting blues. Slate makes his complaints, says he doesn't need any help- Firefly snorts in response. "Don't try to struggle, friend." He chuckles low, though his attention is soon drawn back to Dawnglare at his question. What would he have to worry about most...

"Infection, maybe? Cats can be so stubborn sometimes.. Slate here risks more infection because he refused to get help." His eyes wander for a moment, staring sightlessly off before he smiles- as if discovering something interesting. "What do you do if the patient is moving? Hold 'em down, make 'em bite on a stick?" He asks curiously, circling the larger tom with a wolfish smile. ​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE ✦ 12 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[M. MOUSER]

Mouser had learned early on to avoid Dawnglare. One of the first cats he'd seen in this camp, actually– not the best of introductions. Still, he's much like the twolegs that'd cared for him the many, many moons he remained in that stinking metal nest. They too spoke strangely and stood above all others, and gave him medicines that he did not understand. At least Dawnglare stood about his own height, not a mountain above. Really, though, that's about all the strange tom has going for him. Mouser watches him from a distance, resting beneath the patchy sunshine and stretching out his tired bones. He cannot help but laugh, a loud, raspy noise meant more for Fireflypaw than his mentor. "I'd like to see you just try and hold him down. Just the same as I'd like to see you dodge these two in a state like yours." The elder nods to Slate, blind eye crinkling with dry mirth. His scarred tail swings slowly behind him, its missing patches of fur catching the sunlight on glaring pink skin. "You'll turn out like me in a few more moons."

˗ˏˋ《  OOC 05.06.2023 》´ˎ˗

• 
  ooc: —
• 
  ──── monsieur mouser, casually known as mouser.
  ──── elderly shelter cat. dmab male, and neutered.
  ancient as he is, life alone is a miracle for mouser. but when one takes in the extent of his scars, it becomes even more so. his dark, silvery-tinged fur is broken up by heavy scarring along his back leg and tail, with one bright yellow eye turned glossy with blindness.
• "speech"

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[DAWNGLARE]

Resistance at once, and Dawnglare is sighing through his nose. He can hear his apprentice's laugh as he rolls his eyes, teeth clenched into an unimpressed sort - of grimace. Dawnglare gives the lead warrior a withering look, " I personally could not care what sickness you open yourself up to, but the orders are not my own, " he tells him, pawing at green stems and sundrop petals as he does.

Infection, Fireflypaw guesses. Dawnglare huffs. " Yes, well... " mumbled low, agitation not kept from his voice. Lucky them, that they listen, or Dawnglare would have been more than glad to drill them on their own stupidity. He rolls a blossom of marigold beneath his paw, not blind enough to its illusion of beauty to have any qualms in doing so. What do you do if the patient is moving? Dawnglare smiles at that, ample suggestion, if it were not such a waste of effort. And a crotchety old tom remarks that there would be trouble on both sides. Perhaps Fireflypaw would indeed stand a chance while the wounds are fresh. " What indeed? Perhaps we should put him to sleep, " he ponders aloud. Alas, it is little more than that.

You'll turn out like me in a few more moons. Dawnglare would swing his head to catch sight of what should be seen, before promptly turning back, making a sound like he's choked on bone.

" Infection... Yes, fair enough, " he mumbles at last. To the dark-clad warrior, Dawnglare would attentively look, claws tapping at the ground and regarding him far from kindly. " Do you know of infection? If you're lucky, something nasty will sink inside your undone flesh, And you'll ooze with liquid plague until you die. " He supposes, if this sounded enticing to him, the warrior was free to fight the both of them off.

Dawnglare sniffs. " We have some ways to account for this " he continues, and he would ease the bundle of marigold out from under his paw, nudging it toward his apprentice so he may identify it by touch and smell. " If you would rather be ahead of it, which– you would " he adds sharply, fixing his apprentice with a glare that they would not see. Once, before, he has seen the green oozing, and he vowed that he would never see it again. " then you will use marigold, which we have much of. Oak leaves work fine, as well. "

As he allows Fireflypaw this time, he would look witheringly at the warrior curled protectively in on himself, noting that at least from here, he could not smell the telltale twinge of sickness. " If it ever progresses so far... " Dawnglare says carefully, and he realizes the warning glare he may offer would be insufficient, so he lays it bluntly, " –And it should not, or I would have your head, but hypothetically I am telling you this: you will want stinging nettle. And in another world, I would tell you that you can smell when this is true, but I will not, because it will never be true in my presence. " Dawnglare would push the sprig of stinging nettle toward his apprentice, nudging the marigold blossom away.

" Familiarize yourself with these, I will take care of the rest, " he says, only to clip out a growl when he spots the bushy tail still curled round the warriors belly. " That is, if this fool will let me do what I must, " he suddenly snaps, teeth clenching in a grimace. " Don't be ridiculous, " he grouses, looking to nudge the dark warrior's tail away.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 7.18.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• OOC: —

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 54 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

​