YOU MADE IT ! YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH ! ;; yellowcough

[POPPYGLOW]

( tags ) Poppykit had been blessed in quite a few ways, it seemed. They were not made prey by the talons of a ravenous raptor, and their subsequent recovery from the attempt of such had been blessedly, relatively smooth. Poppykit had long stopped bleeding from the talon rips along their ribs, and they seemed to be well on their way to becoming ugly scars. However, the dull throb in their head remained an ever-present issue, one which was exacerbated by the perpetual noise and motion of camp and the too-bright sunlight of outside. So Poppykit remained in the darkness of the nursery these days. It would have been quite lonely, but luckily, they had a friend.

Why hasn't such a thing happened to any of the other kittens?

Well, things like this can't happen to just anybody, you know! Everyone dies, but not everyone can almost die and live instead!

Oh. So it makes me unique.

OOOoo, grown-up word! But yes! I don't talk to just anybody, you know, only the most special!

That makes sense, I suppose. Poppykit smiled at their friend in the darkness of the nursery, contented with their company. The too-tranquill atmosphere was once again disrupted by the shadow of Death which seemed to want to grab ahold of the kitten so badly. Poppykit was wracked with a coughing fit that rattled through their small body and left them gasping for air. The residual ache within their brain flared with fire, the soreness of their only-recently-healed claw wounds burning with the sudden effort. Had breathing always been this difficult? Poppykit could not recall. It was all too possible that they'd tuned out any warning signals their body could have sent them, having grown used to the dull, ever-present throbs of pain from their injuries.

It may be happening again. Poppykit thought, the heavy tiredness that pressed against their body like a mountain of snow was all too familiar. This time was only different in its lack of fanfare. The owl had brought forth a chaotic symphony of sound when it tried stealing Poppykit's life from them. Now, the kit drifted into a frightening sleep in silence, only broken by another fit of weak, unconscious coughing.

I think Death thinks you're special, too!

OOC: @STARLINGHEART . @Magpiepaw unfortunate baby got hit with the plaguebeam !

"SPEECH" ???

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[Frostbite]

Frostbite has been stressing ever since Flintkit had fallen ill. He doesn't care about Granitepelt, but Flintkit didn't deserve to die. The thought of his own becoming sick haunted him, and he debated keeping them confined to the nursery. But that could backfire if the sickness is already in here. He didn't know what to do. It's not like he can keep them all still anyways, they'll be apprentices soon.

He was idling in the nursery for once, keeping an eye on Poppykit. She doesn't look too good... His heart begins to race and he shifts over to her to groom her head. He can hear her struggling to breath, and he hears her cough in her sleep. She was sick.

Was starclan going to take her away from him too?

He was hit with with a flare of anger and hatred towards the stars that were instantly put out by the need to help his daughter.

"Hang on, Poppykit...I've got you. Lets get you to Starlingheart, okay?" He mumbles to her, gently picking her up by the scruff and carrying her to the front of the medicine den.

"Starlingheart, Magpiepaw?" He calls out, but not too loud. He didnt want to disturb the sick. "It's Poppykit....She's sick."

This was going to get worse before it gets better, isn't it. Starclan never liked Shadowclan. He can't hate them completely, however. Were they truly responsible for all the bad things that happen to them? A mystery for another time. He needs to make sure his daughter is cared for.​

 

[COMFREYPAW]

Starlingheart’s own son is sick, and when the charcoal apprentice spots another queen—this time Frostbite—nudging crimson-flecked Poppykit out of the nursery, her heart sinks in her chest. Even their youngest and most innocent aren’t safe from yellowcough. She pads closer, feeling sick herself, sick with worry for her Clan and her loved ones. “Are you feeling bad, Poppykit?” She sits a little too close to the dazed-looking little furball, but not close enough to catch anything from her, she reasons.

Comfreypaw lifts her amber gaze and studies Frostbite. He is tired, worried… and he does not look as though he’s holding onto much hope. She can commiserate. The hope she wants to cling to so desperately is withering away like Halfshade is in Starlingheart’s den. “It will be okay,” she tries to tell him, but it sounds hollow. She wishes it didn’t.

✧ INFO.

• pre-symptoms!
• 
  — 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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[pinekit]

tags. ↟↟↟ Pinekit was vaguely aware that Flintkit was sick now. A lot of clanmates were sick. It was starting to weigh on him and make him worry. He was sitting outside the nursery dribbling a ball of moss without much enthusiasm and more in a leisurely way. He stopped when the large form of Forstbite emerged from the nursery entrance with Poppykit held in his jaws. Their injured and limp body swung helplessly and Pinekit frowned. Poppykit was hurt and they weren’t around to play because of that, however Frostbite’s face was etched with worry that made Pinekit doubt it was something concerning Poppykit’s old injuries.

His ears flickered back when the white warrior headed to the medicine den. Poppykit was sick? So would that mean another kit in the nursery was sick? Fear swelled up in him as he considered the possibility of the sickness getting him. He let the moss ball roll away from him as he stared towards the medicine den.


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[Starlingheart]

Day after day, more and more cats were getting sick and there was nothing Starlingheart could do about it. She does not dare say it out loud to her clanmates, to her apprentice, but she is terrified of how many this sickness had the capability to take from them, and all she could do was give them more chickweed, more feverfew, soothe their worries and give them honey so that their throats did not burn quite so much. Keep them comfortable but never fully healed. "We should go get more feverfew later...." she tells Magpiepaw in a quiet tone.

She looks up from their stores to look at the cats in the entrance to her den, Frostbite holds Poppypaw in his jaws and she does not have to look at the queens face to know what is wrong. She can hear the kits wheezing breaths, can smell the sickness the second they came to her den. "Place her on-on the ground I will take her to-to the back to a- to a nest" she tells him, her voice gentle. It would not be easy for him to leave his kit, she knows, but she cannot allow the healthy into the area where the sick rested.

"Magpiepaw, will you-will you grab us the hebs we-we uh we need- please?" she asks, turning to her apprentice, a test hidden behind the request. How much was he paying attention? Did he know what he needed to grab?

// @Magpiepaw

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[Magpiepaw]

"Feverfew." He repeats, sings, the word drawn out like a he's saying it for the first time and testing it out. He is not sure what to do to help other than learn faster, explore their territory further and further each day in the hopes of something rising from the earth before them; a single purple blossom beckoning. But time and again they come back with empty paws and no closer to overcoming this madness. The herbs Starlingheart used now, feverfew and chickweed, were only stalling out the sickness - not curing it. Who would win in time? Their stores or the illness that burned through cat veins like fire and boiled them up inside? Magpiepaw wasn't keen on making such a morbid bet out loud but inside he trembled with the knowledge that cats far smarter than he was had been struggling to win this battle themselves. The older medicine cats of other clans were equally at odds, equally faltering, the winds were growing colder in time. Soon, leafbare would be upon them once the autumnal leaves had all fallen and withered and then what would they do in face of the seasonal shift that emptied bellies and poured further despair onto open wounds?
Everyone would die.

His head raises from his wretched thoughts, Frostbite's white form like snow piling into the den and he stares at the scrap of crimson swinging from his jaws; Poppykit. Sick. He can smell it from here but does not stand, instead hes glancing back at their herbs before his mentor even asks him to fetch any. Feverfew. Chickweed. Feverfew. Chickweed. His legs lift him up and he turns to go stand before the assorted plants, earpinned back. It takes a moment, he has constantly mixed the feverfew up with dandelion because he often forgot which was the white bloom and which was the yellow and white one but eventually he decided to stop recalling the colors and more the shapes. Dandelion were lumpy, mishapen little thistle-like flowers while feverfew were pristine, petals spread and looking very much like what you would imagine when you heard the word 'flower'. After a moment he grabs up one and then turns to grab a single chickweed as well that does not take quite as long to decipher because he is not overthinking colors again.
Magpiepaw returns and drops them both at the nest Poppykit was to be placed in.
"This nest is empty, Starlingheart." He glances out past the white blur to see Comfreypaw standing there worried and unsure and offers a strained smile in greeting.
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