camp there's something in the air - fever

[Prairiesun]

don’t fear your life boy◈—————————————————————————
It had been hard getting up that morning. His body had been sore and tender, aching with every attempt at a stretch. He had also slept in he thought as he blinked away the mid-morning sun, that was odd. As he stiffly made his way over to the freshkill pile he tried to think of what he did yesterday that fatigued him so much. He had hunted? But, that shouldn't put him into such a state of disrepair.

It was fine though, he would eat and then get on with work and that would loosen him up. But, as he caught a whiff of the fish in the pile his stomach turned in a knot. He shook his head, maybe he'd just skip breakfast. Probably for the best anyway, there were certainly other cats that needed the food more than him. He still had plenty of fat and muscle on his frame, he looked healthy compared to some of the poor souls in the medicine den.

Speaking of cats needing to eat, Prairesun had to hunt. That's what almost every cat was doing in these times, working double time in place of those who couldn't, and Prairesun wasn't going to slack off. The sand of the riverbed flooded over his white paws, the day was warm and the river would be a nice break from it, he especially felt as though he was burning up. The tom slipped into the shallow banks of the water, wading and stalking the fish that twirled around, he caught a couple, he was pretty proud of himself actually. But, he felt awful as he did it, the pain from his back and legs hadn't left him and while the part of him that was above the water was overheating, the fur drenched in water was freezing him. It was getting hard to focus as well, a heavy brain fog was descending onto him. He slinked out of the water with a dull look to his eyes and one last fish clasped in his jaw.

He carried his catch back to camp, it felt like the longest walk he'd ever taken, his legs were weak, and his body was racketed with chills and shivers. The fish's bodies slapped unappealingly to the pile and still the thought of eating made Prairesun choke down a gag. He was having trouble... that was evident, he hardly noticed the cats that moved around him as he let his rump fall down in the middle of camp, he was just a little too tired to make it back to his nest for a nap. He heard someone ask if he was okay, he couldn't tell who though, his eyes were to focused on the hardpacked earth at his feet "I'd reckon I just need to rest a little. Besides that, I'm just peachy." he drawled the words out slowly, and as he finished he dropped his front legs and let his head lull to the ground, it was so heavy.
grow and change◈————————————————◈penned by WriteAboutRadish
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[CICADAFLIGHT]

✦₊ ⊹—— he has heard very little of the sickness spreading throughout the forest; be it by the fortune of his father's paranoia keeping him far from the ill, or the icy disconnect he can feel between himself and his clanmates, he knows very little. he's curled beneath the dependable (if slightly sun-wilted) ferns, half-asleep in their comforting shade—barely a night seems to go by that he's not waking, alternately hot and cold, from dark and forgotten dreams. in the time between his first and now, he's learned how to keep the screams caged between his ribs, sit up in the silent dark and wait for the memories to bleed away into whatever oozing pit forgotten nightmares retreat into. yes, he knows very little of the illness—he hears the occasional bit of gossip, has caught the barest glimpses of the sickly souls with their dull pelts, so thin they look like walking skeletons.

so thin they look like him. his dozing becomes uncomfortable, the thought a cold wash over his bony shoulders, as two-toned eyes find themselves fixed onto the thin wrist of the white limb stretched out lazily before him, the way the joints of it jut out and tent his messy and dull curls. he knows he's not sick, but is something wrong with him? he's always looked like this, though. has he always been sick, sick in a way that nobody can tell? sick in a way that his dad's paranoid eyes and his pa's careful nosing cannot detect? he doesn't like these thoughts but they won't go away and he can't make them as his white paw digs its claws involuntarily into the earth. he's not sick. he's not.

the sound of a scaly body slapping onto the existing pile is a welcome distraction and in moments he's lurching, fawn-like, over towards the pile and the cat near it. a vibrant body is lurching towards the earth, as though he's falling asleep in the middle of camp, and cicadakit manages to choke out, "what's wrong with him? are you okay?" it's a lot of words for the black-and-white kit and he takes a pawstep back, away from the cat whose head now thumps to the ground as well in a disconcertingly limp way. it makes cicadakit shudder and he looks around helplessly for his dad, his pa, anyone.

I AM GOD (✦) 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑬𝑫

• ooc: ——
  
• disclaimer: it's important to note that cicadakit is not always in a stable state of mind. his view of the world may not always be accurate to objective reality, which may include seeing things that are not genuinely there, reading motivations or thoughts from actions that are not actually implied, and making assumptions or jumping to conclusions. this is not an attempt at metagaming, powerplaying, or mischaracterization, and is not legitimately true or correct to reality or what your characters actually think or believe.
  
  it will always be noted in the post if he is seeing something that isn't actually there. all opinions & thoughts are ic only and do not reflect my thoughts and opinions as a writer.
• 
  — cicadakit
  — he/him ; kit of riverclan ; 2 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[salmonshade]

Salmon had risen a few hours ago to get in to an early morning hunt, Ratpaw by her side as always. Now they return, side-by-side again, and Salmon is about to dismiss her again for more rest. Until… She hears the words of Cicadastars mini, limbs too long and she stares, she stares as Cicadakit asks whats wrong. Eyes slide over to Prairiesun, who had practically just slumped over right in front of him.

Her eyes narrow. Sickness, sickness, I fear this may kill all it touches, Salmon is kickstarted in to motion, moving forth to place a paw between Cicadakit and Prairiesun. Anything, any barrier, anything at all would be better than direct contact. “Cicadakit, you might want to get back,” her tone still gruff, but kinder than it usually would be. She cannot change who she is but she can certainly not get on their parents’ bad side. She turns to Ratpaw. “And Ratpaw, can you fetch Ravensong? Anyone? Can anyone get Ravensong?” her tone laces with fear but she hides it well. How many more will fall sick? How much time do they have left?

₊˚.༄ info

• sending ratpaw or anyone to get ravensong :3 | @Ratpaw
• 
  -> salmon ,, salmonshade
  -> cis female ,, she/her ,, 30 months
  -> warrior of riverclan ,, former marsh grouper
  -> fluffy & dainty chocolate tortie smoke with low white and blue eyes
  -> “speech, ff91a4” ,, thoughts
  -> lesbian ,, single
  -> smells like warm flowers & freshly cut grass
  -> image by @wrendoings [ disc ]
  

​

 

[PIKESPLASH]

It doesn't take him long to realize that Prairiesun is ill. Despite their best attempts not to be in contact with the sickness that spread throughout the forest, it seemed to slip it's way into their home regardless of the procautions they took. His own son had be infected with yellowcough, Lichentail as well, and his sister's mate now too was ill. The number of those among their ranks who were ill increased and he was lucky that he didn't get ill, but he was aware that there was definite possibility that he wouldn't be ill either. It was something he couldn't control. Even if he took precautions and decreased his likelihood of being ill, it was not a guarantee. He had returned from hunting as well, bringing his catch to camp. With the number of healthy warriors decreasing, those like him who were not ill were obligated to work double time. Although, he'd argue that now they were starting to work triple time.

Pikesplash pads over to Salmonshade who is shielding Cicadakit. With a glance towards Prairesun, he knows already what must be done. Ratpaw is asked to fetch Ravenpaw initially. While it might be better for him to fetch Ravensong himself, he knows he must get rid of Prairiesun's nest as fast as possible. Maybe all of them would have to throw out their nests to be safe, or at least he would throw out his own too and make a new one. He keeps some distance between and Prairiesun and mews, "You're not peachy Prairiesun. Ravensong is coming to see you, so stay where you are." It's not entirely reassuring, but he is worn from many of his clanmates becoming ill and even succumbing to this wretched illness.

He turns to the trio next to him. "Salmonshade we have to tell Smokethroat and Cicadastar about this. They'll need to watch Cicadakit and the others carefully. I'll go and get rid of Prairiesun's nest." With that, he scurries off to the warriors den. Let's hope that Cicadakit doesn't get sick in a few days. I don't want to imagine how Cidastar or Smokethroat will be if their kits are ill.

 

[BEEFANG]

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳˚❥ The small river princess laid at the entrance of the willow den rather comfortable with herself, she did not occupy herself with play today or going to find her apprentice friends. She had been doing a bit of clanmate watching through half lidded eyes but gradually began to nod off since she had been laying underneath the warmth of the sun, her nose tucked into the curls of her chest as she started to doze off. She's rudely awakened by the unappealing slap of fish hitting against each other that makes her head jolt up and she blinks the remaining sleep from her eyes, Beekit's gaze turning and focusing on the sight of Prairiesun unceremoniously fall to the ground from exhaustion and she can help but feel her insides lurch from concern especially when she sees that Cicadakit has approached the ill warrior. That's when she rises to her paws immediately and scrambles over nearly tripping over her own paws but thankfully does not fall face first.

She bumps her shoulder against Cicadakit to silently announce her presence before bossing to what Salmonshade says, Beekit turns to her brother "Come. Give him space, Ravensong will need room." She remembers when her younger littermate had gotten a bleeding nose and how Ravensong had told her not to crowd him, she could only imagine that he would want the same so she brushes her bottlebrush tail against her brother to lead him away from the fallen warrior and she casts a glance over her shoulder with worry in her eyes. Much like Cicadakit, she had known little of the illness and had been oblivious but it would explain why their medicine cat seemed so tense and stressed all the time. The fact he was doing it all alone too makes her frown, that was a lot of stress on one cats shoulders. ​

[ KILL EM WITH THE MOJO, CINEMATIC SLO-MO ]​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

✦₊ ⊹—— as always seems to happen, cats arrive in a cluster to interrupt him. it's as though his father's paranoia has an unconscious hold over all of his kingdom—whenever the boy emerges from his dependable hiding spots, he is surrounded by his clanmates in a moment. advising him, protecting him, shepherding him; it makes his head spin and his jaw throb dully until he wonders how his fathers can stand it, to be around all these cats all the time. the first is one of the warriors, a dainty she-cat with a smoky pelt who puts herself between him and the fallen warrior, the boy tilting his head to peer around her legs until she commands he steps back. he is not always the most obedient child, the most poised, but the undercurrent of ... some unnameable thing in her tone makes him heed her.

he steps backward, large paws scuffling in the sandy earth as he retreats from the feverish warrior. pikesplash arrives as well, tone thin and worn and over the boy's head as he speaks to his fellow warrior of watching and getting rid of and the innumerable unfamiliar duties of warriorhood. the thought of catching whatever the warrior before him has makes him fearful and cicadakit claps a white paw over his nose and mouth as if to keep the illness away.

his sister's presence is a comfort as she bumps her shoulder to his bony one, her bottlebrush tail ushering him away from prairiesun's limp body - the kit allows himself to be led along, walking stilted with one paw still plastered over his long muzzle. he nods, leaning into the comfort of his sister's curls, murmurs lowly, "okay, bee."

I AM GOD (✦) 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰 𝑵𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑬 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝒀𝑬𝑫

• ooc: ——
  
• disclaimer: it's important to note that cicadakit is not always in a stable state of mind. his view of the world may not always be accurate to objective reality, which may include seeing things that are not genuinely there, reading motivations or thoughts from actions that are not actually implied, and making assumptions or jumping to conclusions. this is not an attempt at metagaming, powerplaying, or mischaracterization, and is not legitimately true or correct to reality or what your characters actually think or believe.
  
  it will always be noted in the post if he is seeing something that isn't actually there. all opinions & thoughts are ic only and do not reflect my thoughts and opinions as a writer.
• 
  — cicadakit
  — he/him ; kit of riverclan ; 3 ☾s
  — "speech" ; thoughts ; attacks
  — penned by dejavu
  

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

How many times must he say it, Ravensong thinks, with whitehot fear and anger existing in a single pulse of emotion when he is told of Prairesun's collapse. As he peels himself from his den, he is greeted with a similar sight—the cats of the Clan coming closer to another who has fallen ill. His eyes, sunken in from exhaustion, find Cicadastar's spawn and namesake moves like a rabbit with a broken foot toward the fallen warrior and he bites his tongue until the only sane one of the litter brings her brother back. Ravensong holds his head up high although he trembles with each slinking pawstep, brushing past the kits and the other warriors.

"Salmonshade..." He finds it so often the warrior is noticing all the ill-happenings around the camp. "Pikesplash is right, you should tell Cicadastar and Smokethroat about this." Pikesplash is smart and has heard Ravensong before, it seems, as he instructs the deconstruction of Prairesun's nest before leaning down to study the fallen warrior.

"You'll be okay, Prairesun," He whispers. "No you're not okay now, but you will be. I promise that. Can you stand? I will help you to the medicine den." His slender, bony frame will not do too much, but he cannot risk the other warriors' health.

"And to the rest of you," Suddenly the exhaustion evaporated from his eyes and his head swings sharply over his collarbones. "Be reasonable and always report if you are sick. This is not a common cold. I do not care if you need to go on patrol that day or it is a little cough, you have to see me immediately." His voice wavers and he shakes, claws digging into the dirt. He glances at Cicadakit for a heartbeat, wild look in his eye before staring right ahead at blank point beyond all the cats. "Do not approach sickly cats so closely!"

He struggles to control his temper, but they do not know that Prairesun will be the last warrior to taste the cure of lungwort until the snow falls.

They can't know. Not yet.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

•  
• 
  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN
  — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them"
  — openly suffers from chronic migraines
  — single, but "it's complicated"

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[Prairiesun]

don’t fear your life boy◈—————————————————————————
Golly there was sure a bunch of hullabaloo around him, it made a little sense he supposed. How would he have reacted if another warrior just slumped into a heap randomly. He was starting to feel a headache start as he laid on the dirt with his eyes closed, the sun was really bright. He opened his eyes though as he actually heard the words being said, his blue eyes shined with an apologetic glint, first at the kits that moved away from him and then to the two warriors who were now trying to deal with him. He began to stand up speaking at Pikesplash as he did "No, no, no, you don't have to do that, I-" he was about to say he could clean out the nest when Ravensong came. Prariesun stopped trying to get up.

He hadn't felt sick when he woke up, he could even try to argue now that he was just tired, that his burning brain and the shiver racking his body were simply just a byproduct of a poor night's rest. But, everyone else had already said the exact opposite, he wasn't peachy and he was to be treated as such. The doctor of all cat's would see past his pleas of ignorance. He finally closes his eyes in resignation as the medicine cat whispers to him, "I'm sorry," he whispers back hoarsely, "and yeah, I can walk." he lifted himself onto weak legs and started walking himself to the medicine den like a dejected kit. Maybe he was sick. As he entered the stale air of the medicine den he looked to Ravensong to tell him where to sit, "I can make myself a nest if need be." he said that though while already laying on the ground as his legs were starting to shake with strain.
grow and change◈————————————————◈penned by WriteAboutRadish
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[coyotecreek]

( ★ ) there's a commotion in camp as coyotecreek pads in, two small fish dangling from his maw. as he navigates around the hubbub, setting his catch down, he catches sight of a similar pelt to his own, cream and ginger, collapsed on the ground. ravensong speaks nearby, salmonshade and pikesplash looking on, worried. something in his stomach lurches. hurrying over as prairiesun is hauled to his paws, coyotecreek feels a knot in his throat. "son!" he gasps, brow furrowed as the tomcat is lead away. ravensong throws words back about yellowcough, about not approaching sickly cats, and the kits nearby seem to comfort each other.

the pieces connect into place perhaps slower than they would to a smarter cat, but coyote is frozen, mind battling between the memory of the body of wolf's howl, and the imagination of the body of his son. "i can help," he calls, hurrying after ravensong, although he attempts to keep a safe distance. "whatever ya need, ravensong, i can go collect moss 'n such." his paws itch to do something, anything to help the medic help his son. ​