- Aug 28, 2024
- 24
- 10
- 3
The fever has been sweated away, the infection all but gone. There's nothing but indifference felt by Tigersting in regards to her blindness, all the tabby feels is a strange sense of detachment from her reality. She accepts she can't see as others do and knows that this will require some patience to adapt to. Her anger does not arise from her blindness but more so from the fact she allowed such a thing to happen. The fact that she would rather suffer from the throes of an illness than cope with her fathers' departure and of Rivewhisper's own journey to Starclan- though now she doubts such a thing exists. Instead of striking out from her anger, as she normally would, the chocolate tabby grumbles nonsensically at the two medicine cats from her nest. She thinks they have grown tired from her, but she's just as stuck with them as they are with her.
It is hard for Tigersting to track time in the den, instead of the light peeking through the entrance she relies upon the activity of Cottonsprig and Celandinepaw; the two awoke just a little ago and left her to be alone. The sound of fur against the hardened sand of the tunnel walls leading into the den is surprising for her to hear as the medics left just moments ago. "Missed me so soon?" She rolls over in her nest, limbs splaying out of its confines as she pointedly directs her head towards the entrance. It brings in a draft, hums with activity from the camp. Quickly her limbs pull back into the moss, protectively, as the pawsteps stop in the center of the den. Her ears twitch back nervously as her nostrils flare, searching for a familiar scent which could tell her who has the specific gait she hears coming closer to the nest.
"Brackenpaw?" Though posed as a question Tigersting is confident in her assessment. If she had not been able to pin the calico to them then Cottonsprig must've done something wrong; but alas, Brackenpaw's scent is secured within Tigersting's memory and awfully familiar (and comforting) to breathe in now. So strange she finds it to be a comfort now when just a few nights ago she'd complain to Brackenpaw how her stench clung to their nest, going so far as to suggest Brackenpaw should roll in mud before returning to the nest. Their advice was not taken. Her head tilts back, ears returning to an upright position, as she fixes the apprentice with a murky glare. Tigersting shifts uncomfortably and presses to the furthest edge of the moss, temporarily uneasy to have someone outside of the medicine cats so close.
"Tell me something," Tigersting mumbles, her striped tail sweeping closer to her flank. "Check your ears for me, could you... are your ears still bigger than you are? I just can't seem to... see them anymore!" As the words leave her mouth the tabby winces, not on behalf of Brackenpaw but for herself, stung by her own insensitivity targeting herself.
Sincerely, almost shockingly so, Tigersting sighs, "I'm really glad you came." She's struck by a sense of deja vu which causes a small smile to cross her russet features, how funny to think they're positions have changed and now she's the one being checked up on. "Don't be daft, Hare-ears." Tigersting's head dips, her nose pointing to the room she has made in the moss nest by shifting closer to the gorse wall. She won't tolerate any whinging from the calico this dawn and so she preemptively mumbles wearily, "Shut up please and keep me company." She knows they want to, deep down.
When Brackenpaw is closer Tigersting sets their head on the edge of the nest. She whispers quietly, her breath disturbing the spare wisps of wool weaved within the nest, "Are you excited for this so-called celebration, Brackenpaw?" Their nickname is avoided, dropped to emphasize their sincere curiosity. She'd rather not discuss the 'affliction,' and instead opts to try and enjoy the feeling of being close to another again.
It is hard for Tigersting to track time in the den, instead of the light peeking through the entrance she relies upon the activity of Cottonsprig and Celandinepaw; the two awoke just a little ago and left her to be alone. The sound of fur against the hardened sand of the tunnel walls leading into the den is surprising for her to hear as the medics left just moments ago. "Missed me so soon?" She rolls over in her nest, limbs splaying out of its confines as she pointedly directs her head towards the entrance. It brings in a draft, hums with activity from the camp. Quickly her limbs pull back into the moss, protectively, as the pawsteps stop in the center of the den. Her ears twitch back nervously as her nostrils flare, searching for a familiar scent which could tell her who has the specific gait she hears coming closer to the nest.
"Brackenpaw?" Though posed as a question Tigersting is confident in her assessment. If she had not been able to pin the calico to them then Cottonsprig must've done something wrong; but alas, Brackenpaw's scent is secured within Tigersting's memory and awfully familiar (and comforting) to breathe in now. So strange she finds it to be a comfort now when just a few nights ago she'd complain to Brackenpaw how her stench clung to their nest, going so far as to suggest Brackenpaw should roll in mud before returning to the nest. Their advice was not taken. Her head tilts back, ears returning to an upright position, as she fixes the apprentice with a murky glare. Tigersting shifts uncomfortably and presses to the furthest edge of the moss, temporarily uneasy to have someone outside of the medicine cats so close.
"Tell me something," Tigersting mumbles, her striped tail sweeping closer to her flank. "Check your ears for me, could you... are your ears still bigger than you are? I just can't seem to... see them anymore!" As the words leave her mouth the tabby winces, not on behalf of Brackenpaw but for herself, stung by her own insensitivity targeting herself.
Sincerely, almost shockingly so, Tigersting sighs, "I'm really glad you came." She's struck by a sense of deja vu which causes a small smile to cross her russet features, how funny to think they're positions have changed and now she's the one being checked up on. "Don't be daft, Hare-ears." Tigersting's head dips, her nose pointing to the room she has made in the moss nest by shifting closer to the gorse wall. She won't tolerate any whinging from the calico this dawn and so she preemptively mumbles wearily, "Shut up please and keep me company." She knows they want to, deep down.
When Brackenpaw is closer Tigersting sets their head on the edge of the nest. She whispers quietly, her breath disturbing the spare wisps of wool weaved within the nest, "Are you excited for this so-called celebration, Brackenpaw?" Their nickname is avoided, dropped to emphasize their sincere curiosity. She'd rather not discuss the 'affliction,' and instead opts to try and enjoy the feeling of being close to another again.
