shining like a black swan [ sick ]

[GRAVELSNAP]

They should have seen this coming. They should have known better, anyway, than to stand a step too close to the cats of other clans. Gatherings have only ever served or gray their nerves, to make their chest feel tight and their paws tremorous. But when the leaders began their announcements, when voices amongst the crowd began to rise—the black-patched tom had known that going to the gathering was a mistake.

The itch in their throat started days ago, after returning from the gathering, but as the days have progressed the itch has become more of a fiery burn. They have ignored the glass shards tearing at their throat for as long as possible—they witnessed the shouting, the insults, at the gathering. They cannot be sick. They are not sick. "Shit," they grumble to themself as another cough shudders through their frame.

Perhaps they are sick.

The trek to the healer’s den is not one that Gravelsnap is familiar with, having avoided Vulturemask at all times except for when they had visited Periwinklebreeze. They make a point to avoid the clan’s medics, first due to their distrust of the traitor-trained Vulturemask, and now due to their nervousness about the possibility of illness. When they reach the threshold of Wolfsong’s den, their shoulders grow tense, anxiety clear in their posture. They need to take the next step, to ensure that they aren’t going to die. But they… can’t.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Word from the Gathering had impeded their camp like wildfire. Sootstar had shaken, furious, as the Kittypet King himself admitted to bringing plague to all the Clans in the forest. Weaselclaw had been just as bitter, just as angry—and truthfully, the tabby now walks with trepidation around their Clanmates. He does not know this enemy, but he does know it is one he is powerless to fight. He bitterly remembers the greencough that had destroyed them last leafbare, while SkyClan hoarded bundles of precious catmint, remembers the cats sickening and dying in the badgerset. He is not eager to see a repeat.

Gravelsnap’s breath rattles in his throat. Weaselclaw watches him move slowly toward Wolfsong’s den. His own throat tightens—their medicine cat, once a lead warrior he served proudly beside, is heavy with kits, and his daughter sleeps in that den now, too. His blue eyes glitter with fear, but he shoves those unsightly emotions away with a calloused paw. He approaches the white-splashed warrior, his tone stern. “You’ve got the illness, don’t you? Don’t hesitate. The longer you linger out here, the more danger there is of you spreading it.” Gravelsnap is young—Weaselclaw can only hope Wolfsong is smarter than the kittypet fool letting cats die in SkyClan, can only hope Gravelsnap’s age and vigor are enough to fight the diseased demon digging claws into his short pelt.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I AM SORRY THIS IS ALWAYS HOW IT GOES ❀❀​

---

periwinklebreeze & 13 moons & demi-boy & he/they & windclan moor runner​

---

No. No - this can't be happening.

Periwinklebreeze feels like he cannot breathe as gaavelnap hovers before the medicine den, feels his chest squeeze tight and this throat close as though he is choking. it can't be - his friend cannot be sick, they're not sick. And then weasleclaw speaks, and blue eyes water as the hope he'd clung tightly to all but shatters. It's happening again - starclan is taking them from him, one by one, and he feels powerless to stop them.

"P-p-please, let w-w-wolfsong t-try to help," he mumbles - panic flickering across his face There is no cure for this sickness - no stopping it. but they can try - prolong it. Maybe... maybe someone will find an answer. But gravelsnap cannot end up like snailstirde - like witseriapaw - refusing treatment, letting it linger until it takes them so suddenly there is no stopping it, no time to help.

He'll drag them in there himself if he has to.

— the wind blows loudest when you've got your eyes closed ❀

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: —
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a lithe figured black and white tom with a false-pointed pattern and clear blue eyes that gleam periwinkle in the right lighting. he seems perpetually worn and exhausted, with heavy bags beneath his eyes and a slouched figure. he has a speech impediment which leaves him with a stutter and sometimes even completely non-verbal, and his fluffy tail is adorned with daisies.
  
  — physically medium && mentally easy && pacifist
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ccccff]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[Thriftfeather]

Worry visits Thriftpaw often enough that he should be used to it. He shouldn't feel it as a new thing ready to swallow him in a bite, his rabbit-heart shouldn't beat in double at the arrival of some uniquely terrible news. But then Weaselclaw mentions having illness and Thriftpaw's head turns with the same abruptness of a startled bird and he finds that the one being accused of such a thing is Gravelsnap. The thoughts come all at once: Is Gravelsnap actually sick? Will they die? Is Thriftpaw going to get sick?

Then comes a thought, quiet in his mind but big enough to drown out the rest with a hollow ring in his ears: If Gravelsnap can't train him, who will?

He hurries to his paws and then hurries to Gravelsnap's side, green eyes wide. Thriftpaw already suspects an answer — he can already imagine the first to volunteer herself for the job, if she isn't chosen outright from her already existing apparent closeness to him.

"Weaselsnap — Gravelbreeze, ah — Weaselclaw," Thriftpaw's voice is tighter than he normally lets it. He remembers all the things he is supposed to be in that moment, all the ways he is a bad WindClanner and all the ways he is supposed to improve himself — and squares his shoulders. When Thriftpaw speaks next, he could be almost mistaken for calm, "Gravelsnap doesn't look bad. They, ah, everyone coughs every now and again."

Ghostwail had called Gravelsnap and Periwinklebreeze and so many others that Thriftpaw isn't discerning enough to tell yet vultures. Thriftpaw isn't supposed to be around them anymore, but Thriftpaw still needs his mentor. He still needs — "Gravelsnap," Thriftpaw finally looks at them properly, "Tell everyone you aren't sick," He glances at Periwinklebreeze, "Tell everyone you don't need help."​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 6 MOONS​

 

[WeepingWillow]

Ice blue gaze shadowed by bangs at the forefront of her helm shot daggers at the golden apprentice. Attempting to convince someone who was clearly outside of the medicine den that they were not sick. Foolish, mouse brained idiot.

"I would not attempt to get him to convince himself he is just fine. To pretend it does not exist would put the rest of us in jeopardy. You and everyone else could get sick. It could cast the entire clan to the plague. It would be foolish. It's better to be safe then sorry."

Her thin small frame would sit out of range of them, head lowered and hunched under her shoulders. she was just listening at first. But with the close proximity in the tunnels, she'd rather not get this sickness, and it would spread. It was a threat to their health more and more. Diminishing their numbers.

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Clanmates draw near—exactly the opposite of what Weaselclaw had wanted. The tabby turned, a frown etched into his pale muzzle. Hard blue eyes watched Periwinklebreeze stutter and simper over Gravelsnap, begging him to get treatment. He remembered the dark leafbare Moonshadow had lost her other kit, the other graves they’d all had to dig. He remembered, too, the catmint SkyClan refused to part with so that they might save a few lives. His ears angled with frustration.

Then Gravelsnap’s apprentice appeared, golden head hung low, gaping at his mentor with big green eyes. The lead warrior’s lip curled softly as the former loner butchered not only his name, but every name in the near vicinity. “You were not here when our Clan was nearly wiped out by illness. If the kittypet Clan is not lying, then he needs to get treated now.” Weaselclaw had been one of the cats doubtful of greencough’s power, but he no longer held that simple-minded view. His tail swished; he flicked an ear, in agreement with Weepingwillow. “Think of Snailstride.” Another cat he held no love for, but a Clanmate was a Clanmate, and they’d been too young to succumb to disease.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

As they hesitate, Weaselclaw and Peri each approach, urging them to get treatment from Wolfsong. Of cpurse, they have no love for the healers of the clans, near-trembling already at the thought of being touched with herb-coated paws, of being treated as though they can’t help themself. But this time, they truly can’t help themself. "Stay—stay away," they grumble, shuffling their paws closer to the den’s entrance. Weaselclaw is right, they should go inside already before they spread SkyClan’s sickness all over everyone else. But Peri’s voice is weak, pleading.

Periwinklebreeze has lost so much, so many cats, to illness. Just recently they’ve lost Snailstride, too—not a friend to Gravelsnap, but a friend to the frail black point. "I will. Wolfsong will… fix it." His words are firm, but they taste like ash in his mouth. A lie. "I fear this sickness will kill every cat it touches." The SkyClan leader’s words echo in their mind, a promise of doom for every cat who was to catch the disease. And now… they have it, surely. "I’m sorry," they whisper, attempting to meet Peri’s gaze. Their head swims, unable to hold a single idea for a moment. Panic claws its way into their chest; delirium, Blazestar had said. Is this what delirium feels like? Is it coming on quicker than they’d hoped?

Their apprentice’s voice breaks into their swirling thoughts, and it warms their heart that despite the recent (and very public) disagreement between them, the cream tabby has still come over to check on him. A small smile shifts across his muzzle, but it just as quickly dissolves into a frown. "Tell everyone you aren't sick," the apprentice says, and guilt floods through them. "Thriftpaw," they murmur, unsure of what to say. "Thriftpaw, I am sick. And you could get sick, too, so… stay away." They hear Weepingwillow’s voice, see the she-cat glaring icily at their apprentice, and their lip curls at her. The tunneler is right, but Thriftpaw deserves to be treated more kindly. His mentor is going to be dead within the month, and…

Who will train Thriftpaw, when I’m gone, he wonders, dark ear flicking. The ache in his throat has grown impossible to ignore, his thoughts scattering in favor of focusing on how much he needs to cough. But he can’t just cough, because what if his breath gets them all sick? He won’t be the reason any other clanmates fall ill. He can’t be. So he clears his throat with a wince and a grimace, and turns to fix tired eyes upon the only lead warrior present. "Weaselclaw, who will train Thriftpaw?" Hazel eyes flick to his black-pointed friend, hope rising in his chest. He is not sure at all that Periwinklebreeze could handle the golden-striped apprentice, given the recent (and very public) falling out that the two had. But, still… anyone but Ghostwail. That wicked she-cat claims Thriftpaw as her own, as her kin, and her pale gaze is as unsettling as Cygnetstare’s. Anyone but Ghostwail.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Weepingwillow is quick to scold Thriftpaw, with Weaselclaw not far behind. Thriftpaw puffs his tail and then, remembering himself, wills it smooth. He understands the concept of illness well enough — he gets that it can spread from a single point like a strawberry and its endless runners. What he doesn't understand is how Gravelsnap could have gotten caught in the tangle of it. A small, riotous part of Thriftpaw thinks that it is Weaselclaw and Weepingwillow who don't get it; Gravelsnap is going to explain the misunderstanding, and Thriftpaw will be vindicated.

But Gravelsnap doesn't explain what they are supposed to. They tell Thriftpaw that they are sick, and Thriftpaw is wise enough to stop the instinctive step forward his body wishes to make, white paw poised a mouselength above the ground.

"But—" Thriftpaw starts, but there aren't any buts he can think of, "You..." He trails off. Think of Snailstride, Weaselclaw had admonished, and Thriftpaw is. As much as he's known loss, Thriftpaw has never seen its approach before; this isn't anything he can accept.

It isn't until Gravelsnap is asking the very same question that Thriftpaw had been thinking that he feels his worry morph into a panic. Everyone seems to think that Gravelsnap is going to die, Gravelsnap included, "I don't need a different mentor," Thriftpaw insists. No one else has taught Thriftpaw as much as Gravelsnap has — he couldn't possibly trust anyone else's word, "I don't need a different mentor because Gravelsnap is going to get better. That's what you do when you get sick, you get better, right?"

Now that he's been told to think of Snailstride, Thriftpaw can't seem to shut the thought down.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 6 MOONS​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── There is a slight...commotion outside of the medicine den, which Wolfsong does not immediately investigate. It is not especially loud— merely the clamor of conversation, though he does not miss the concern, and from the carrying of Weaselclaw's voice, he knows what to expect. Still, he does not yet approach, finishing the task he had begun earlier. To keep moss moist for as long as possible, he has made small holes in the sandy floor, and lined the inside of those holes with thin stones. The moss rests nestled atop, and stone, he knows, will not absorb the water as greedily as substances like dirt and sand.

He rises slowly to his paws, acutely aware of each plodding step to the entrance, though the burden is not only his belly. "I have prepared a nest for you, Gravelsnap," he says simply, his gaze falling to Thriftpaw and Periwinklebreeze, the most clearly distraught pair of those gathered. He does not have the energy to assuage the apprentice's fears; blind optimism is taxing, even for a skilled liar. "Come. I will help you get comfortable, and we shall see about tending that cough of yours."
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 36 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (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: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ 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.

​

 

[Badgermoon]

Gravelsnap was a friend of Badgermoon's. Or, if nothing else, Badgermoon considered Gravelsnap a friend. Whether or not the young warrior returned the sentiment was beyond his understanding. His care for the bicolor youth meant that his throat felt tight as he watched the conversation just outside the medicine den, sitting several tail-lengths away, yellow eyes keen as they looked each cat up and down. Worry creased his once-easygoing face into a grim mask, and he sat in silence as Thriftpaw tried to convince...someone, anyone...that his mentor wasn't sick. Sympathy for the golden tom flickered in his chest, and Badgermoon called out, attempting to project an easy certainty. "You're right, Thriftpaw. We need not assign you a new mentor, because Gravelsnap will recover. You can come along with Scorchpaw and I while they get better."

He glanced at the patient in question and added, with mock sternness, "And you're not allowed to die. That's an order."​

 

[WeepingWillow]

It's not like she meant for her tone to be blunt, but it was always there. Always cold, indifferent. Her gaze dropped from the apprentice rather quickly, but her ear still was aimed towards the conversation. Waiting.

And when Wolfsong came through to further bring the warrior inside, she would tread off, the moment of solace she craved no longer desired. Ruined. Though the warrior did not mean to be so harsh, her actions spoke loud. And she knew all too well she stepped out of line.

But the warrior would be fine, in time, and that is all she cared to see. She had no extra connections to any cat, that she knew of. She just lived to survive.

//out

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I AM SORRY THIS IS ALWAYS HOW IT GOES ❀❀​

---

periwinklebreeze & 13 moons & demi-boy & he/they & windclan moor runner​

---

The boy hardly hears the words spoken through his haze, eyes watering - blue meets hazel, and suddenly he can no longer stand it. Head jerks, gaze averting as he all but slumps - more and more faces arrive, and yet all that rings though his head on repeat is 'I'm sorry'. Gravelsnap has done nothing wrong, and yet they are apologizing - when really, it's peri's fault. He's... not sure how exactly, but it must be - everyone he loves, everyone he cares for, they all die. Wolfsong and badgermoon shuffle their way forwards before he's foolish enough to say those thoughts aloud, and instead he only glances up through lowered lashes as his friend is herded away. "G-g-... hng," the words he wants to say fail him, voice falling silent before he can even start - his unspoken 'Get better soon' echoed in his features nonetheless. And then he is gone - turning tail and running away again, like the coward periwinklebreeze knows he is. Because he can't - can't stay here, can't look at his friend, cant even think right now. He... needs to be alone. And so he goes, and if his pawsteps are a bit to quick or his eyes a bit too damp, well, it's not as though he pauses long enough to allow the others to comment on it.

— the wind blows loudest when you've got your eyes closed ❀

• Actions && "Speech," && ' Thoughts/Quotes '
  
  ooc: out <3
  tw/cw: —
  
• 
  — a lithe figured black and white tom with a false-pointed pattern and clear blue eyes that gleam periwinkle in the right lighting. he seems perpetually worn and exhausted, with heavy bags beneath his eyes and a slouched figure. he has a speech impediment which leaves him with a stutter and sometimes even completely non-verbal, and his fluffy tail is adorned with daisies.
  
  — physically medium && mentally easy && pacifist
  — non-violent powerplay allowed && healing powerplay allowed && minor injury powerplay allowed
  — please attack using [b][color=#ccccff]action here[/color][/b] and tag account

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

Thriftpaw asserts that he doesn’t need a different mentor, because Gravelsnap will not die, and the black-patched tom wishes that he could offer any sort of reassurance. He wants to tell his apprentice that everything will be okay, that he will push through this as he’s pushed through every other struggle in his life so far. But… there is no guarantee that he’ll survive this plague. Blazestar had said so himself, and as untrustworthy as the SkyClan leader is, they had seen Snailstride’s still body, succumbed to illness. Thankfully, though, Badgermoon steps in before Gravelsnap can say anything more, anything damning.

The deputy says what they cannot, tells Thriftpaw that his mentor will be fine and that the golden tom can go along with him and his daughter. And then the deputy’s yellow gaze settles on them, and Gravelsnap can hardly find words to respond to his order. Not allowed to die? If only disease could be fought off in such a way. "I…" Hazel eyes flicker to Thriftpaw, and his stomach twists—due to illness or the stabbing of sympathy, he can’t tell. He doesn’t know what he can say to fix… to remedy this, in any way.

Wolfsong appears from the den, looking every bit the healer that he’s become, and Gravelsnap is surprised that they don’t immediately recoil at the sight of him. Vulturemask’s presence had always made them shrink away, as had Dandelionwish’s, but this is different. Wolfsong is no secluded healer, offputting and strange. Wolfsong is a warrior and a trustworthy clanmate, despite his relatively new position. So the young warrior nods once, turning back to look at the gathered cats one more time. It could be the last time.

Thriftpaw will be fine without them, they think. He has Ghostwail, rancid as she may be, and Badgermoon is an excellent mentor. Badgermoon and Weaselclaw will be okay as well, each of them powerful warriors in their own right, and he’s certain neither of them will fall victim to the SkyClan plague. And as terrible as it may be, Periwinklebreeze will recover as well, despite losing more friends, with Azaleafrost there to support him. "Peri…" They trail off, watching their friend retreat without another word. Panic surges in their chest, a weight resting somewhere around their lungs, but they can’t look away as Periwinklebreeze’s form disappears from sight.

Their vision blurs and they blink sluggishly, an attempt to clear the mist in their eyes, before turning to Wolfsong with slumped shoulders and a fractured grimace. Their trudge into the den is hesitant, pale paws dragging across the floor until they reach the nest designated as theirs—and collapse into it.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​