camp WITH OUR SHIVERING WINGS ✧ yellowcough

[COMFREYPAW]

When she wakes this morning, the pale sunlight filtering in through roof of the apprentice’s den causes her eyes to shrink back and her head to throb. Comfreypaw stirs, wondering why it feels so cold already when leaf-fall had been so warm so far. She had thought the frost would bring the chill, and she hasn’t seen any yet. But right now her body practically aches with chills, and she wonders for a moment if she should crawl into Applepaw’s nest and share her warmth. The idea is so appealing that she actually attempts to push herself to her paws, but when she does, the pain in her head becomes fierce and sharp, like little pricking claws sinking into the meat of her mind.

“Ugh…” She sniffles, then places an ebony paw over her nostrils, puzzled. Her nose hadn’t been this sopping wet yesterday, had it? She’s made sure to check herself for symptoms… but now her fur begins to prickle with dread. Comfreypaw had brought food to the medicine cat’s den, to the nursery, and Poppykit had fallen sick… Halfshade… she’d shared a den with Swanpaw, it could’ve come from him, too…

She begins to tremble, sinking back down to her nest and resting her head against the thickest part of the moss. She won’t go to the medicine cat’s den, because she’s not sick, she can’t be sick. She’s fine, she’s okay…

When she wakes up again, her throat is dry and her ribs ache with her coughing. “Mother… Mother, can I call you Mother now?” She shakes, cold fighting with heat, her fever building with every labored breath. The cat standing on front of her couldn’t be Betonyfrost, but she thinks if she stares long enough, they will become her.

✧ INFO.

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• 
  — comfreykit . comfreypaw
  — she/her, apprentice of shadowclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — short-haired charcoal tabby with amber eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meadowllark

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[hitch]

Rosemire prefers to work during the hours of weak daylight or late evening, when he's less likely to roast in the sun. It's not the best system for other people, he knows, including his apprentice, but she's the earnest sort and hasn't overslept their early meetings yet. Until today, that is. He thinks maybe she's just a slow riser this morning, that it's merely one of those days when even he doesn't wanna drag himself out, but it doesn't take very long for him to become worried. Yellowcough looms over them all, with no voice of its own but the hacking gasps of the ill.

So he makes a beeline for the apprentice den, where his pale gaze falls on the disheveled silhouette of Comfreypaw. His heart plummets below his lungs even before she speaks, calling him Mother— no, asking to call him Mother, and the sudden rage that shatters dark sparks across his vision nearly unbalances him. The ground beneath his claws is too malleable for what he wants to tear, too— too bloodless, too painless, and when he stumbles to her side, the mud weeps jagged, crescent craters.

"It's Rosemire," he murmurs, and his voice shakes because he wants to hurl it hoarse. "Let's get you to Starlingheart, yeah? She'll fix you up, get you back to work on practicing your pounce." He reaches over with a paw, touching her shoulder so gently his pads burn. "If your mom's not here by then, I'll find her for you."
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[betonyfrost]

Betonyfrost doesn't hide the shudder of revulsion that runs down her back. She doesn't need to, sick as Comfreypaw is. Betonyfrost doesn't push her way between Rosemire and Comfreypaw — she doesn't come as close as she should. Betonyfrost doesn't want to get sick. If Comfreypaw is sick, she'll need Betonyfrost healthy.

"We are family," Betonyfrost assures, in the absence of what she cannot say: Of course you can call me Mother.

It should be enough to be family. Betonyfrost needs it to be enough. Family is a big word, it holds plenty of weight on its own, but Comfreypaw has always wanted more out of it. There is nothing worse for a daughter than to have a mother, Betonyfrost knows, and yet Comfreypaw wants it in the same way a kitten wants those bright red berries without understanding that they are poisonous.

"We are family," Betonyfrost repeats softly, and chances closing the gap, if only a little. She wants to be closer, but not as much as she wishes to remain well, "I loved you from the moment I first felt you. Just remember that, and then the fever will break and you will feel better again." She doesn't glare at Rosemire, but she stares at him with an intensity that will surely be felt the same. It was Betonyfrost who carried Comfreypaw, birthed her, and raised her. It was Betonyfrost who Comfreypaw asked after — Rosemire isn't needed any longer.​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 22 moons | tags​

 

[Magpiepaw]

Oh, to be named for a medicinal plant and yet fall ill still while your namesake could not even aide you. Comfrey would not fix this, they had used chickweed and feverfew until lungwort was discovered and now they had none of that. Not a drop to offer.

"The cure is a mother's love, of course. To think we sought plants this entire time." It's hard to tell when his words are purely observation or mockery, even the most cynically muttered commenary was spoken so matter-of-fact that it might as well be how he truly viewed the situation or felt rather than what it seemed to come across as; a snap of vehement sarcasm and wit like the bite of predator. Magpiepaw's expression does not betray how he feels one way or another but what he sees is Rosemire willingly touching the ill and Betonyfrost keeping her distance and that is the deciding factor of his next comment, "Rosemire, help her to the den please."
His crooked tail raises up behind him, bent bristle center and limp like a wilted flower, he does not wait to see who would take initiative to assist Comfreypaw after all. He wishes he could, but her weight in his side would have him walking off course easily, he alredy moved in a light zigzag with each dancing step; she would crash them both into the nearest tree most likely.
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[hitch]

It's a close thing, but he manages not to bristle when he hears Betonyfrost's voice. To Comfreypaw, it might sound like permission, but to his ears, it sounds like she can't —or won't— say it outright. He remembers with sharp recall the way little Comfreykit's eyes had welled with tears when her mother refused to reveal her father, and it's not any business of Rosemire's what cat Betonyfrost rolled around with, but shit, a little tact would've gone a long way. He hadn't thought it was possible to string your own kid along, and watching Comfreypaw struggle to breathe while Betonyfrost stays a careful distance away just gives another set of fangs to the gnawing thing behind his eyes.

His pale gaze roves over his apprentice's stuttering side, her crusty eyes, and he grinds his teeth when Betonyfrost begins speaking again. He catches something between them, maybe a thread of self-control, maybe a rare fuck to give, and it's ashes in the back of his mouth. Betonyfrost doesn't glare, but he does, and it's like the sun's eating away at his retinas for the pulsing burn that blazes all the way down to his jaw. The tabby's figure blurs and his breath harshens, and he doesn't immediately register Magpiepaw until the apprentice is saying his name.

"Yeah," he answers roughly, his voice strained through glass and gravel. "Yeah. Up we go, Comfreypaw, c'mon. Bet it smells better in the medicine den." He steps behind her to gently lever his shoulder against her back to urge her upright. If she struggles, though, he should be able to manage to carry her there with a bit more maneuvering.
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[APPLEJAW]

For a kit, Applepaw had been a light sleeper, and it’s only become more true since her apprenticeship. Maybe it had come from the bears, maybe it had come from somewhere else.

Either way, it lets her open her eyes when Comfreypaw is struggling. She blinks an eye open to see the final moments of her struggle, the apprentice slidig back down in her nest. A bad dream? Oblivious to the signs of sickness, and in her sleep - addled state, content to continue sleeping by her friend, Applepaw says nothing.

She is startled, when Comfreypaw begins to cough, disbelief replacing the haze of sleep over her eyes. She is slow – Rosemire is here, the pink of his eyes unnatural, pushing his way into the apprentices den so that he could nose her pelt – treat her better than her real mother ever would. The talk of Starlingheart disappoints me, because that means that Comfreypaw was sick.

Applepaw trusts Magpiepaw most of all. If anyone can save her, it him. All three of them would be fine, Halfshade, Swanpaw, and Comfreypaw. It isn’t fair, that Betonyfrost gets to stand healthy above them all so that she can keep speaking nonsense.

Applepaw moves so that Rosemire can do what he’s told. She is silent as her friend is helped to the medicine den. Mentally, she promises that she would visit soon – all of them. Please be okay.

ooc ༊ 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂

•  

• 

• ( I'M OBSESSED WITH THE MESS THAT'S AMERICA. ) APPLEPAW. kit of shadowclan. eldest sister to swankit, valeriankit, and garlickit.
  —— she / her; confused by the use of others
  —— currently 5 moons old as of 9.3.23. ages every 17th.
  
  longhaired blue torbie with a white chest, paws, and underbelly. A young cat you would describe as " bossy, " Applekit is quick to take charge of any situation she sees herself as the probable head of. A rule - follower to a T, and thinks herself better than the majority of her clan for this. Not ignorant enough to think herself above a warrior, but seeks to gain that status as quickly as possible. Intensely self - motivated to be the best in a mixture of blind, childish desire, and never wanting to be afraid of anything ever again.

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[COMFREYPAW]

A voice breaks the delirium, reaches her and drags her back to a bitter and painful reality.

The cat who speaks to her is not Betonyfrost, of course—the tips of his ears are long, frosted with white fluff, and his expression is so scared, so sad. “I’m okay,” she mumbles, suddenly regretting her cry for her mother. Now they will think she’s sick, they’ll think she’s—she’s going to die, and that’s not the case. She searches for Applepaw’s face in the crowd, tears beginning to gather in the rich amber corners of her eyes. “I’m okay,” she repeats, but it's so soft it turns into a rasp.

Betonyfrost does come, and Comfreypaw’s chest rumbles with a cough she cannot suppress. “We are family,” her mother tells her, twice. It’s not enough, but it’s almost enough that she’s come to see Comfreypaw. She does not notice the difference the burnt-eared gray tabby puts between herself and her daughter. She only takes sparse comfort in her presence. “I will remember,” she tells her hoarsely. “Thank you… Betonyfrost.” Because she hadn’t said Comfreypaw could call her mother. It’s a rule, she thinks, no matter how bad she’s feeling right now.

She rises at Magpiepaw’s command, ignoring the mocking words he throws her mother’s direction. A mother’s love. Perhaps it would cure her if it were given in plentiful doses. She uses Rosemire, staggering toward Starlingheart’s den with another bout of coughing.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — comfreykit . comfreypaw
  — she/her, apprentice of shadowclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — short-haired charcoal tabby with amber eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meadowllark

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