way out in the sun !! sick

[lichenstar]

Free of the cage that had gently been clasped closed, the bird had learned that what you sing, as well as when you sing it, mattered. Not even the most well-meaning tweet or hum could be dismissed in the face of poor timing, a decision made in arrogance and over-confidence; one that would not be made again. Talons gingerly scrape the earth as they hover along the side of the river, scrutinizing eyes taking in every detail of the wavering waters- the shimmer of fin-crested prey is an invitation in itself and with an open-mouthed dive, they accept it. It is nothing terribly impressive, no hulking bass that might feed half the warrior's den... but it would do well enough to keep a belly full, a humble black crappie.

Leaving it to sit a few paces from the shoreline, they take no pleasure in allowing it to suffer, wrapping delicate ivory fangs near its head and making sure that fruitless wiggling and writhing ends. Maybe it is a heightened sense of fear, with what ever-looming threats remained for RiverClan, but the blue point offers a silent thank you to the star-littered ancestors above. Surely, if anyone could spare the island-dwellers some pain, it would be their spiritual overseers.

The burning at the back of their throat proved an annoyance but one dismissed quickly- it was probably from swallowing too much water while fishing or maybe the opposite, not enough water during the heat? The sun beat down on them relentlessly and it wasn't until that thought that they realized how uncomfortably warm they felt under its rays... more so than their thin fur usually allowed. It was probably nothing, they insisted, clearing their throat to dispel the tickling that had moved down to their chest in recent days.

As they brushed past a group of wild-hearted clan-mates who had taken to sprinting out of camp (probably to chase some sort of joy from running), the dusty kick-back they left behind became overwhelming near instantly. Struggling to stifle a cough around the meal they'd returned with, the air they looked for remained wanting, another struggling cough and an off-kilter step before the fish found itself unceremoniously dropped on the floor.

As if it might be a cause of some of their current anguish, the lead takes a bewildered step back ... and another, wheezing to try to catch their breath through the rapidly dissipating cloud of loose sand.

Though it was fairly short lived in its dispersion, the sought-for relief remained in flux as Lichentail hunched over to gasp with dirt-gripping claws buried firmly to hold them up between fits of coughing. When was the last time...?

Smaller then... just children. Was it new-leaf? When the air was heavier... It hadn't been so severe then. Stubbornly, they insisted in their head that this wasn't just the crux of age finding them... They were still in their prime! It would be... absolutely ridiculous... Was it the dust? The questions pile up as they straight on unsteady legs to march towards Ravensong's den, hoping not to have caught a moment where the feather-furred tom was out hunting for herbs. "Raven-," hardly a word to be said before another wheezing breath.

Choking on some dirt in the middle of camp... how ridiculous, they chided, sitting roughly to raise a paw to their chest for some kind of relief. That burning from before, worsened by their exasperated breaths... The tickle of their chest evident in the raspy tone of each cough. "Ravensong?" Eugh... they hoped they didn't sound nearly as hoarse as they thought they did...


-- looking for @RAVENSONG .. showing early signs of yellowcough combined with outstanding asthma , characters who interact are at risk of infection --​

 

[brookstorm]

Brookpaw stays behind by the water, unwilling to follow her mentor just yet. The water ripples and distorts her own visage, yet she stares indefinitely, wondering what parts of her resemble her mother. Maybe if she watches for long enough, she would see Buckgait again. Is that something she wants? To see her mother in herself? She's unsure. Most would say the strained effort is a clear yes, however... nothing is black and white like that.

Regardless she's soon to follow her mentor, a much smaller catch between her own jaws. The waterlogged undergrowth gives away to dryer sands and they're back to camp in no time - however Lichentail is nearly doubled over in pain, wheezing, and the fish they caught discarded onto the ground. "Lichentail...?" concern paints the edges of her voice, and she moves to pick up the prey the other dropped.

Lichentail suffers her own madness and Brookpaw makes sure that their measly catches join the fresh kill pile (it seems to be shrinking, yet her stomach is full,) before returning to her mentor's side. The other is hobbling to Ravensong's den and concern clutches the apprentice's chest. "You sound awful," she huffs, taking up the other's side and offering support without much else to add. Her tail sweeps the ground behind them, and she simply hopes that their medicine cat can help Lichentail; the other surely will become more insufferable if left like this.​

 

[Cindershade]

A scrutinizing stare beams atop of the back of the blue point, akin to observing the smallest microorganism under the lense of a microscope for studying. Cindershade watches as sand filters in the air, spreading of loose dirt and grit that seemed to take Lichentail by their very vocal chords. The lead warrior spits and coughs, hacking as she fights her air—more than any mere sand could. Perhaps she had ingested the brunt of it? It was hard to say.

She remains silent as the grave, watching mentor and apprentice as they come to the mouth of the cavern to Ravensong's den. Her curiosity grows, taking a silent step forwards to better hear of Lichentail. It was then that she appeared beside of Brookpaw, her own shaded tail lightly brushing the ground. "She is right, Lichentail." A rumbling voice would speak, a tone of light concern playing in her voice. "You do sound—as if something could be wrong. Unless sand got the best of you?" A brow raises in question, her helm tilting just the slightest. Whatever it was, Cindershade could only hope that Ravensong could quell such an atrocious hack.

​

[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[RAVENSONG]

"Back! All of you!"

Ravensong hissed, pushing past the two she-cats to get to the wheezing lead warrior. His foam-colored eyes flashed back at Brookpaw and Cindershade. Their words well-meaning, but until he knew for certain what was the cause Lichentail's illness, he would treat it as if it were yellowcough. The raspiness of breath, the way illness wracked her to her core. No RiverClan cat would die from that plague—Ravensong had adhered himself to that mantra. Less presence around Lichentail would mean less of a chance to get it.

"Neither of you take patrols out for at least until the next sunset so I can be sure you have no symptoms. If Cicadastar has an issue, he may speak to me himself." The ferocity shown by the normally cool and somber medicine cat would surely be a sight to see. The strained breath could easily be something like Crappiepatch had suffered from—but again his mind whirled and he would prefer to err on the side of caution.

"Come here, into the den." His voice quivered now—he had not been lying to the lead warrior when he indicated that he respected her diversity of thought among Cicadastar's team. Her disappearance from such a council would be like removing the cornerstone of sanity. "And," He blinked away stress-induced tears, "You will not be able to leave until I tell you."

☾₊ ⊹ 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"

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"Are you all alr-"
Smokethroat had been making his way over slowly, curious as to the gathering of cats but he stops short as Ravensong bursts forward to descend like a swooping hawk down upon the sick lead warrior and shoo off her concerned clanmates. His fur prickles, he stops where he stands and moves no further, only raising his voice to be heard.

"Do as he says. Step back." His voice lacks its usual intensity, forsaken instead for a careful admonishment and uncertainty. He's nervous, he can't help but be after hearing of the sickness and all it entailed and that Lichentail may possibly have it was the realization of the fear he'd been smothering down. It was in RiverClan, their little island was no longer safe from it, how it had reached them he didn't know but it could not be given the opportunity to spread.
The medicine cat seems so weary, harried and shaky in his movements and display and the deputy only nods in assertion to his demands, "Cindershade, Brookpaw, you're pulled from patrols for the next few days. Sorry to say I'll be putting you on guard duty for the night." It was the safest option, touching nests, hunting, it all risked whatever sickness that might cling to their pelts being passed along to others. He hopes Lichentail, stubborn as they were, would listen and sit quiet in the medicine cat den for once in their life - to not risk their clanmates and do their due diligence by abiding by the healer's instructions.
Tight lipped and shoulders tensed, he turned to go and find Cicadastar to let him know of this unfortunat update...
​

 

[lichenstar]

Why are you like this, they wonder briefly as their apprentice quickly hurries to catch up to their floundering mentor. 'You sound awful,' is that really the best she could do? Casting the young she-cat a discontented frown, the glower was incredibly short lived as Cindershade practically materialized out of the shadows to agree with her. It may be a true enough statement but good Stars, could the two not find a more polite way to say it? Lichentail wasn't terribly fond of the rough, scratchy tone their voice had when it wasn't being worsened by a stampede-formed dust storm.

Why did it sound like an insult then, when Cindershade asked if the dust (a reasonable and normal suspicion!!) was the one that had caused her sudden troubles with breathing. "It's probably the dust," they grumble, ears pinned back as they offered a feeble defense. They'd had issues before, just never so severe.

They aren't given the chance to elaborate on the ancient history of their childhood struggle before Ravensong is ordering them all back in a panic. Smokethroat's slow and cautious approach is halted near immediately at the request and he too seems to show the same silent consensus. It's not just the dust... The deputy is quick to reassign the potential risk factors to camp-based duties and with some internal groan, Lichentail gives the gray apprentice an apologetic blink before slinking past the anxious medicine cat.

"I'll make it up to you soon, Brookpaw," a reassurance they were sure would be met with a tight-lipped retort and lots of complaining. The black tom offers a sharp reminder then, that she won't be leaving anytime that soon either and with a sheepish nod, the blue point can agree for once not to go running off. If the scrutinizing gaze of the deputy was any confirmation, they were all thinking the same thing.

The newly named yellow-cough was probably here... and they couldn't risk it spreading further.

"I'm going," the lead protests, hoping to interrupt further prattling that might insist they move faster between held breaths in hopes of stifling more coughing.​