sensitive topics the sickness you've got in you ] overexertion

[whitepaw]

Whitepaw stands in a secluded corner of camp, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he focuses on his training. The sun is beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the ground, but he refuses to stop. Each leap, each strike, is calculated, precise—yet something feels off. His chest burns with every inhale, the air seeming too thin, too scarce to fill his lungs. He pushes through the discomfort, refusing to acknowledge the weakness creeping into his limbs. For the first few moons of his life, he had been frail, constantly battling sickness while other kits played and grew stronger. Those memories, the constant sense of falling behind, gnaw at him even now. He’s fought too hard to prove himself, and he won’t let a little breathlessness stand in his way.

“Just a bit more,” he mutters to himself, his voice rasping in his throat. He lands another strike, but it’s weaker than before, his limbs trembling slightly as they hit the ground. Sweat mats his usually pristine fur, but he ignores it. His appearance can be fixed later—he has to push himself past this, be strong. The burning in his chest intensifies, a fire that refuses to be quenched, no matter how hard he tries. His vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges, but he shakes his head, forcing himself to stay focused. He leaps again, putting every ounce of his remaining energy into the move, but his body betrays him. Whitepaw stumbles as he lands, nearly collapsing onto the hard ground. He catches himself at the last moment, but the effort leaves him panting heavily, struggling to fill his lungs with enough air.

Frustration and anger churn in his gut. He’s never felt this weak, this vulnerable—not since those early moons when sickness clung to him like a shadow. He takes a shaky step forward, determined to keep going, to push past the weakness, but dizziness overwhelms him. His vision swims, the world tilting dangerously as he’s forced to sit down, his sides heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Why now? he thinks, panic lacing his thoughts. Why can’t I just be strong? His heart pounds in his ears, drowning out the sounds of camp around him. The tightness in his chest feels like claws digging into his lungs, and he can’t shake the growing fear that something is terribly wrong. He’s always been able to push through, to overcome—but this time, his body refuses to cooperate.

As he sits there, trembling and breathless, Whitepaw can’t help but feel the weight of those early moons pressing down on him again, the fear that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be strong enough. But he refuses to accept that. With gritted teeth, he forces himself to stand, swaying slightly as the world spins around him. He has to keep going—he has to prove to himself that he’s more than the weak, sickly kit he once was. But as he takes another step, his legs buckle beneath him, and Whitepaw crumples to the ground, his breath coming in shallow, labored gasps.​

 

[dimmingsun]

When Dimmingsun leaves camp and sees the black-and-white blur of Whitepaw somewhere in the back, he does not think much of it. In fact, he deems it a comforting sight, confirming that WindClan's young are all working hard. The knowledge that others around you share a certain enthusiasm for upholding the Clan's strong image makes the ever-typical training sessions feel just a tad bit easier... a tad bit shorter, time fleeting amidst good and willing company.

Dimmingsun does not keep track of time when he's outside, but the passing of it is evident: the sun dips below the horizon and paints the moors with broad, darkened strokes.

There would be a satisfied hum brimming within his chest... if it wasn't for Whitepaw still going hard at it. Dimmingsun watches in awe as the little thing continues on, striking in quick successions at imaginary targets — not stopping for even a single breather. There's a green gaze thrown skyward and a concerned question of whether Whitepaw has been stuck to that same spot for hours on end or if he had taken a well-deserved break at some point.

"Hey, Whitepaw, maybe you should-"

Without muttering a single word, Whitepaw answers Dimmingsun's unsaid question with a thud. Those no doubt exhausted limbs do not obey their master anymore... and they buckle under the weight of such physical exertions.

A tail sweeps over Whitepaw's form; Dimmingsun stands over him in a flash. There is little more he can do. "Just breathe, for StarClan's sake." The faded flank heaves with the effort it takes to drag oxygen into a pair of lungs. Is it just the lack of taking care of himself, or has yellowcough gotten to Whitepaw as well? "Are you feeling sick? Should we bring you to the badger set?"
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[Brackenpaw]

The tortoiseshell sits perched on her haunches, head tilted with curiosity as the apprentice goes for strike after strike. There's a tremor to him, the wheeze is audible in every breath. There's a concern, didn't the others who wheezed have yellowcough or whatever? Whiskers twitch as they give him a pointed frown, he keeps going though so who was she to try and stop that? Yet despite the fact she had only came over to watch him in the final stretch of this training she figured something was clearly wrong enough to flag.

“You should rest” it's a suggestion yet the blunt delivery feels more akin to an order, they don't move though. Curiosity sinking it's claws into her as they remain a bystander to watch as he sways while he remains seated. Only to push herself up when the inevitable occurs, the sound of the apprentice making contact with the ground caused a grimace. Maybe it being timed with Dimmingsun’s suggestion would be funny if she wasn’t concerned for his health. That shallow breathing continues and once again she has to wonder if this is a yellowcough thing.

“Oh- uh. Hang on Whitepaw.” Panic settles within their chest as they realise they don't actually know what she's supposed to do right now. They look to Dimmingsun for answers, for some kind of direction. The question of if he is sick brings them to stand by the lead warriors side, trying to keep a good distance from the apprentice just in case. “Should I- I’ll go get Wolfsong and Celandinepaw. It would be good to check, right?” She asks in a hushed tone, uncertainty lacing her voice. It was weird, to be so unsure. In this moment Brackenpaw decided to do what they do best, which was not waiting for an answer and charging off to go do what she thought was best.

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‎‎ ‎┌── Im just a dog ⸙ with no bite ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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  ooc. fetching @WOLFSONG and @CELANDINEPAW
  
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• Brackenpaw
  ✩ they/she, tunneler apprentice of Windclan, 10 moons (ages on the 22nd)
  ⭃ a lithe and fragile looking calico that looks like they still need to grow into her ears
  ⭃ Speech, thoughts, attacking
  ⭃ NPC x NPC, mentored by Bluefrost
  ⭃ easy to befriend other kits, gradually harder to befriend every rank after that
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Juice ↛ @/ouijeejuice on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  ⭃ All opinions are IC!! Bracken is a little hater
  

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[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── He expects, as Brackenpaw fetches him, that this will be another yellowcough patient to escort to the evergrowing crowd within the badger set. In fact, that certainly seems to be the case when he arrives to the sight of a concerned Dimmingsun standing over the prone, shuddering body of Whitepaw. His pace quickens until he reaches their sides, where he pauses to study the apprentice's face for any nasal or eye discharge associated with yellowcough. He finds none, but it may be that Whitepaw is still fairly early in the onset.

It has not, however, escaped his notice that this particular area of camp is heavily tracked over by repetitive motions. Pale fur is damp with sweat, and it seems that his muscles tremble. Surely if he is not showing clearer respiratory distress that the rest of his body would not be in more advanced stages of yellowcough? Unless the blasted disease has changed course in its choice of battle strategy. "Whitepaw," he says, hoping that the apprentice hears through whatever haze he may be in. "How long have you been practicing here?"
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 46 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.

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[TIGERSTING]

Tigersting is no stranger to pushing herself to her limits, but Tigersting knows nothing of what it means to feel held back by a force within yourself like asthma. She would not pretend to know the frustration Whitepaw may be feeling. To her, all she sees is a motivated apprentice trying to get ahead of their training. Sure, Whitepaw's method was a little extreme- just as Dimmingsun, Tigersting returns to camp to see Whitepaw has not moved from the corner of camp he trains in. It causes a brow to raise as she notices Whitepaw does not move as he did before she left camp, now he is sluggish and breathes shallower... Tigersting admires the persistence to improve his skills but truly Whitepaw would be of no use if he drops dead of exhaustion. Golden eyes widen as the black-and-white apprentice collapses. Guess I should've seen that coming...

White paws guide Tigersting hastily towards Dimmingsun and the mound of fur just as Brackenpaw departs to retrieve her ðir. In the meantime Tigersting wanders close with her head tilted curiously. "I'm sure he will be fine." Tigersting murmurs to Dimmingsun, her small paw extending outwards to brush damp, sweat drenched fur out of Whitepaw's eyes.

She snatches her paw back as soon as Wolfsong arrives and shuffles back to give her ðir space to check up on the poor apprentice. Tigersting is confident Wolfsong will heal whatever Whitepaw has fallen ill to and will give him some sort of magical substance so he can get right back to training to be a strong warrior, like herself.

MINE IS YOURS AND YOURS IS MINE 𓃮𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𓃬 THERE IS NO DIVIDE

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  daughter of SUNSTAR and WOLFSONG, moor-runner of WINDCLAN, 13 moons, she/her 𖤓𓃮

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