camp YOU'RE LONELY IN THIS CITY // return

[cottonsprig]

⸻❥ cw for descriptions of grief and emetophobia and some suicidal ideation. please skip to ❥ as it will be when she arrives!

Cottonsprig finds their den. The threat of predators no longer scares her, not as she passes her bedding and dips into the shallow cavern. She does not afford the milk-scented moss anymore than a tearful glance, the days of halcyon delight already behind her. Days, she reminds herself pitifully. Three sunrises, and her paw scoops the single sprig of parsley she has, leading it straight to her tongue without a second thought. She needn't wait. She hasn't a choice.

The rest of the morning passes with little consequence. The mother does not leave her den - not when hunger inevitably gnaws into her gut nor when a moonbeam's glow lights a path towards her former nest. It is empty, now, as she turns painfully away from it. She rests on the cold, dirty floor, nose pressed to the chilled wall of their den and eyes clenched closed. Wait. It's all she can do, now, with brief bittersweet memories clouding her mind.

She dozes off at some point, tears staining trails onto her cheeks - but she wakes to crying. Phantom wails of kittens no longer beside her. Pain radiates through her body and she grits her teeth, choking back a fatigued sob as she does. They're okay, she tells herself, but it does not calm the nausea that swells in her stomach. She gags, her crying forcing her body to convulse, but nothing more than stomach acid spills from her tongue. She does not react to Peonybreeze should the tom try and comfort her. She simply cries.

The moon does not leave the next day - it hangs in the cloudless skies as the day's warmth spreads across the arid landscape. Cottonsprig wakes to a new numbness in her body, stiff and unhappy, but she still does not move. There's a mouse by her paws, and its scent makes her mouth water - but determined to punish herself, she shoves it away. Determined to right her own cosmic wrong, she suffers. StarClan has willed this, she agrees with her sister, bitterly, hours after the other has spoken it.

The second day passes with little consequence. She does not leave the den, looking no different than a corpse when sun descends once more. The sky is stained hues of vermilion and Cottonsprig cannot even enjoy the view. Again, she faces the wall. Again, she wakes in the night to cries that don't exist, cheeks soaked with tears and a twisting pain in her gut. And again, she somehow wakes once more, this time with the sun already finding its peak in the sky.

Today, she pushes herself to her paws, grimacing at the ache that comes with the simple action. While not gaunt, her sadness has pulled her rounded features downwards - more wistful in nature, now. Her softened stomach hides beneath a layer of matted fur, and whatever milk scent that had once clung to her is now lost to acid and bile. Cottonsprig looks to her friend, the very tom who kept her safe all this time - and bitterly wishes that Snakehiss had taken her life instead of letting her live through this.

She sulks as she walks away from him, tail dragging through the grasses of the lonerlands. The barn appears quickly, but she does not wait at its foot for Pollenfur to find her. There is no warmth in greeting the barn cats, no excitement to show the other mother her new brood. They aren't hers anymore. Perhaps they were never meant to be. Who wins, here? Is StarClan cruel enough to push their descendants to suffer endlessly? Or is this a novel pre-written, ink already dried far before the stars have rested eyes upon it?

❥ She passes the border. Cottonsprig has no excitement in her shambling jaunt, her paws only pressing forth on necessity. Exhaustion weighs heavily on her shoulders, and she hopes briefly that the tale she has spun in her mind's eye will be enough. Some rogues chased her, she decides. To the outerlands - scraped her up horribly and... she had to wait out infection, lest she die. She'll say she left with some herbs she had gathered. That it was some divine guidance that finally brought her home.

Cottonsprig spies the gorse tunnel, but light does not spark in her gaze. She wants to rest again, close her eyes and sleep for moons more. She fears seeing her own kittens, having to call them Bluefrost's and keeping them at a foxlength. Cruel, cruel. The she-cat blinks when she hears calls, cats who stand guard at the camp's entrance spying her approach.

"Hey... hey, it's Cottonsprig!" They call, surprise evident in their voices. "Someone get Sunstar, she's back - she's alive!" Cottonsprig sways on her paws, a breath heaving from her chest as she presses forward for the final stretch. With the approval of the cats standing nearby, the medicine cat makes her way into WindClan camp.

Cottonsprig is home again.

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

• ooc // this thread is dated two days after bluefrost and thriftfeather arrive. please keep that in mind!

• ❥ MEDICINAL KNOWLEDGE
  ♥♥♡ WOUNDS ; can confidently stop bleeding and mend lacerations. will often request that you keep your injury clean and wait it out first.
  ♥♥♡ INFECTION ; as a side effect of likely her own doing, very dutiful with technique and treatment shortly thereafter.
  ♥♡♡ ACHES & PAINS ; will defer to a dark tunnel and rest. if pain persists, maybe she will offer something.
  ♥♡♡ BROKEN BONES ; has never dealt with a broken bone. likely will ask that you never move. ever again.
  ♥♥♥ TRAVELING HERBS ; learned well from her previous mentor. will pile even too many remedies to tough the wilderness with.
  ♥♥♥ KITTING ; having kittens of her own and helped several others with their litters, she is very well versed with calming techniques and quelling pain.
  ♥♡♡ POISONS ; she knows what they are... but that isn't enough, isn't it?
  ♥♥♡ ILLNESS ; having worked through two yellowcough bouts, she is confident in her remedies. much else... she's operating on trial and error.
  ⸻ cottonsprig is a dutiful and excitable medicine cat. she enjoys company and loves conversation. she'd rather not have too many curious noses snooping around her den... but who is she to quell curiosity?

• 

  ⸻❥ cottonsprig is the primary medicine cat of windclan. a former princess to the moors, she harbors many guilts for her actions throughout her short life. she has no consistent partner, unwilling to commit and settle, and she is training celandinepaw in medicine.

​

 

[heatherpaw.]

( ⊱✿⊰ ) "another intruder!" the sing-song, fiercely defensive vocals of the young lady ring out as yet another unfamiliar scent floods camp's walls. she's getting tired of all these trespassers, their flagrant disrespect of windclan's rightful borders a disgrace. she perches outside the nursery again, setting herself as a second guard of her aunt and the queen's kittens, moonbeam bright eyes affixed upon each that passes, as if they'll be thriftfeather come to steal more kits away. she doesn't care what bluefrost and vulturepaw may have to say- sootspot said the yellow newcomer was a kit-stealer, and heatherkit personally trusts her dad over anyone else.

a broken-looking figure enters camp, shoulders hunched, smelling of a far off place heatherkit can only imagine the location of. the kitten jumps to her paws, striding over to confront this seemingly virulent stranger when her eyes catch on the white paws, the speckled nose. an npc shouts the obvious as heatherkit gets closer, and her bottlebrush tail springs up. "cottonsprig?" her voice is small, timorous, suddenly uncertain what to do. this is not normal, cats returning from the presumed dead. the she-kit stares up at her aunt, again the first upon the scene.

she freezes, halfway between her nursery outpost position and the trembling figure of her aunt, before her opalescent gaze sweeps camp. "papa, cottonsprig's back!" she shouts, should she see him. father must know first, after all - she's his sister. then, she seeks out sunstar, beelining for the windswept leader. "sunstar, cottonsprig is home!"

SAY WHAT YOU WANT ⊱✿⊰ BUT SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT

• // welcome home cottie <3 fetching @SUNSTAR "#b2a0bc"
• 
• HEATHERKIT ⊱✿⊰ SHE / HER, WINDCLAN. DAUGHTER OF SOOTSPOT, SISTER TO BRAMBLEKIT, NIGHTKIT. 3 MOONS, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  
  a longhaired blue lynx point with blue eyes. her body is cloaked in pale snow-white fur, a storm of blue flooding her face, tail, and paws. stripes of darker blue accentuate her eyes nose, and band around her legs. shining eyes stare out from the angular shaped face, a deep, faded blue color.

​

 

[LUNGWORTKIT]

The world is unfriendly and unkind, Lungwortkit has recently found. Watching Sootspot's brood play together and Bluefrost's newborns knead at her belly, she finds a newfound depth of bitterness in her childish heart. It would surprise an older cat, were they to part her chest and gaze into the windswept, rain - beaten world within. A tragedy in perpetual motion, a scene playing out over and over, unchanging—the characters move mechanically, the small medicine cat scooping the kitten away from the prone figure of the tragic mother, only to dissolve into the downpour. With each cycle of the sordid play, its acts set in stone, her soul curdles from bittersweet dew to arid desert.

You're sick, Vulturepaw had said, his blunt words plunging into the center of her chest. You're still . . . Different. Wrong, somehow. The eyes that cut away from her as she plays alone in front of the nursery, the way the cats ripple away from her every step as if she were a towering beast, the bitterness of their words when she asks questions. It all makes sense, now; she is the agent of a death, the genesis of a plague, a bad omen on four small paws. The halcyon days of her earliest memories, tucked against Cotton's side, were only the precursor to a greater tragedy.

At three moons old, Lungwortkit feels utterly alone in the world. She is without playmates, without friends; Sootspot's disapproval keeps her clear of his pack of kittens, and Bluefrost's glacial eyes drive her away from her too - young clutch. Even Vulturepaw, the sacred one, has been abandoned after she glimpsed the fear in his eyes and the shuddering in his breath. She bats at a lonesome mossball, her limbs heavy with a fatigue she cannot name, her head spinning in protest each time she aims to rise. So she merely sits and taps it listlessly from one paw to the other.

Heatherkit's peal of recognition is a summoning cry, a childish bell's toll that makes Lungwortkit raise her dizzy head. A blue - smoked figure appears through the gorse, and for a moment, the girl fears her malaise has made a return, that this is another silver - trimmed hallucination. But calls of joy, surprise, excitement, ripple through camp around her, and she knows her eye does not deceive her.

" Cotton! " she yowls in a hoarse voice beyond her moons, crossing camp in fervent bounds that make her world list wildly with dizziness. She is not to be dissuaded by her own body, and the child aims to crash haphazardly into Cottonsprig's forelimbs in a starved gesture of affection. Her split eye stares up at the medicine cat, willing her to press her nose to her tufted ear, trusting and yielding in a way Lungwortkit has not encountered since.

" I missed you, " she mrrows plaintively in an act of unknowing heartbreak. The puny child appears to have grown scarcely an inch in her absence—physically, at least. There is a shine of health in her eye despite her trembling forelimbs, but so too is there a twinkle of bitterness. It promises revelations to come.

OOC : —

❀

​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Even sequestered away in a guarded nursery, even bogged down with the aimless, searching cries of her many kits, Bluefrost hears the strains of triumph echoing through camp. Cottonsprig is back, Cottonsprig is alive," her Clanmates mew, surprise thick in their mews. Among them is little Heatherkit, bristling and self-important; among them is Lungwortkit, her little voice a congested rasp; among them, now, is Bluefrost, who takes only a second to nose five bundles of fur together into the nest and slip free from her guards.

Cottonsprig is a shell of the she-cat she'd been two sunrises ago. Her sister then had still worn the plumpness of new motherhood, the glow of newfound joy, even as haunted by her choices as she'd been. There is none of that present now — she is like a flower stripped of its petals. Her face is shadowed, her eyes wide and almost blank with exhaustion and grief. Bluefrost's mouth trembles, but she catches it as though it's an unruly insect dodging a kitten's paws.

Smile. She does. It's a practiced, stoic expression of relief. "Cottonsprig," she murmurs, and she sweeps past Heatherkit and Lungwortkit and toward her sister. She leans close, close enough so that Cottonsprig will smell kit-scent and milk and shame on her littermate... and then she pulls away, but not before briefly pressing her muzzle against Cottonsprig's.

It is StarClan's will, she had said. Perhaps it had been, but Sunstar has not looked her way in two days. The rest of the Clan has followed suit, their expressions twisting with anger, disgust, when she emerges from the nursery. She is kept a prisoner in the den, and the kittens drain her vampirically. She is left bloodless at the end of every evening, and there is no turning to Thriftfeather for comfort — there is no turning to anyone.

"I am so glad you are home safe," she says, pulling her muzzle away. "My kits came while you were away. They are..." She forces her smile again. "They are so beautiful. You will love them." Quiet stretches between them, and then she says, her voice brittle, efficient: "You must have a lot to explain. I shall let you be. I... I shouldn't leave the kits alone for too long."

She tears herself away, every strand of her fur burning her. She knows Cottonsprig can hear the cries of her sons and daughter from within the nursery walls. It sends chills racing through her pelt.

Not her sons. Not her daughter, she corrects herself, pushing her way back into the nursery. Five squirming bodies greet her, as ever; five sealed pairs of eyes, five gaping, hungry mouths. Mine. Mine, and his.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — 18 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring Brackenpaw ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan queen. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue smoke she-cat with white and emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.

​

 

[bramblepaw -]

✦ Bramblekit had missed the arrival of her cousins, her age and self-imposed confinement to the nursery a hindrance in meeting her family, and she was determined that it wouldn't happen again. What if papa and Heatherkit forgot to tell her about one of the kits, and she grew up not knowing her true relation to one of her clanmates? No, that was silly - they tell her everything, because she loves them, and it was rude to think so lowly of them, even just in a hypothetical within her mind. The dark tabby was outside the walls of the nursery and the world was big.

Her sister's voice drew her attention first. The other's could have been screaming about a fire and Bramblekit likely wouldn't have noticed, but the blue lynx point's voice was high and clear like a bell over the din. The call of kinship. It's only as she was making her way toward her sister that the contents of the words registered. Another intruder? So Bramblekit was right to leave the nursery! Cottonsprig is yowled shortly after her revelation, from where she doesn't know, and her resolve was only further set. To think she'd almost missed the return of her aunt. Er, again.

She steered clear of Lungwortkit, papa's whispered caution filling her with a sense of malaise if she ever got too close, and planted herself between the growing group and Heatherkit's retreating form. The kitten watched her aunts reunite. Wasn't it brief, for how long they'd been apart? She knew she'd never leave Nightkit or Heatherkit if they'd found each other after some split. "You're leaving already?" She asked Bluefrost, but the question was quickly forgotten when she focused on Cottonsprig. More than the once familiar form of her aunt, the returning woman looks like a different memory caught beneath ice, but Bramblekit can't quite pull it ashore. Her aunt (her aunt,) was back, but it begged the question, "Where did you go?" spoken with a curious wobble.​

​

 

[brokenpaw ♠]

————————————————————⊰♠♠♠⊱———————————————————
Another miracle.

Another miracle.

Another cousin returned, though this one had been absent far longer, with far more danger left in her disappearance. Brokenpaw's first thought isn't if Cottonsprig had simply been lost or ran off to get away from the chaos that was this tattered Clan repeatedly attempting to fix itself in vain. His first thought was if this meant Celandinepaw's newfound role was void. What Clan held three medicine cats?

EMPATHY - FAILURE

Bluefrost's greeting is not the bitter-toothed, fawning worried form he would expect to see her as. Ever a stone solid figure in the face of emotion, he would have thought she would be far more than softly pleased her littermate returned from near certain death, considering the length of time she was gone.

If Honeysucklepaw were like their older cousin and had seen and lived an entire moon beyond WindClans fields he may have no longer been within these borders himself. He would have fought away every tugging paw and pleading stare to go looking for her himself. But Bluefrost only coos over the kits she returned with, leaving out some rather important details that may explain her hasty retreat. Would she not rather Cottonsprig hear it from her than a gossiper?

INLAND EMPIRE - SUCCESS

It doesn't feel right. The twisting in his gut as he watched another lie omitted to another, secrets kept for just moments longer only to be spilled by someone who will undoubtedly sully the truth. Would that ever happen, if he were to be found out? That one day a storm unearths the berries he buried, and they're swept towards Wolfsong to grow suspicious from?

"You made Honeysucklepaw sad." Brokenpaw sharply pulled himself away from the awaiting spiral to turn on his kin instead. His accusation is hoarse, but his hurt genuine. Cottonsprig had went out of her way to show kindness to his sister, to him, how could she have been so careless to endure whatever kept her away? With Sootspot set on never resting a moments glance on them, and Bluefrost forbidden due to the societal standards set for them, and their mother... Who else would they have?

♠ i swear to god, i did what i could ———— ♠ i practically begged you

•  
• 
  
  
  Brokenpaw
  —⊰⋅ apprentice of windclan | 6 months
  —⊰⋅ he/him
  —⊰⋅ mintshade x gracklestep
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ sh solid black tom with yellow eyes
  

 

[SEDGEPOUNCE]

He's day-dreamed about the day he might see Cottonsprig again. Muddled contemplations; nights spent awake and alone, staring at the moon through the murky, nebulous sheen of the sun-warmed pool. Foxglare was so certain that it was rogues. A splatter of blood here, a tuft of fur there. Were they the same ones that attacked Orangestar? Were they DuskClanners? Was it..?

In the first days, he imagined her trotting up to the border—a little ruffled, but overall whole. She'd give a self-deprecating smile at all the concerned faces flapping around her and confess that she'd simply gotten lost! Then she'd tuck into her work, help soothe the clan of its sickened malaise. All would be well.

Then a few sunrises melted into a week or two. His contemplations drew darker. He thinks of Cottonsprig trapped somewhere, inhibited by the claws and threats of rogues far beyond WindClan's border. They'd be keeping her as leverage, somehow. Perhaps to heal them. She'd spend her days tending to the wounds of her captors, unaware of the concerned search parties hunting her down. Then, one day they'd find her. They'd raid the hodgepodge camp serving as her cage and liberate her from their clutches.

Neither hide nor hair was found. The bloodstain at the border smothered; rogue-stench, which he wasn't even perceptive enough to observe, long faded.

At his worst, Sedgepounce retreated to the sun-warmed pool in the tenebrous and susurrous night and let fervent thoughts consume him. He pictured Cottonsprig—her sooty pelt greasy, wrought with filth, strewn on the floor like a limp marionette. Bones peeking through sallow skin; eyes glassy, unseeing. A slash of red against her throat. Or her chest. Standing above her, blood-drenched and sneering—Snakehiss.

It keeps him awake at night. He agonizes over each known detail. Foxglare's wounded face is burned against his eyelids. He's the last to have any idea on where she could be and now he's...Now Wolfsong's sick. Celandinepaw knows so little of what she needs. Should things truly turn for the worse, good bedside manner and a dose of lungwort will only go so far.

They need Cottonsprig. It's a truth that's loomed like storm clouds until now. Of all cats to go missing, Cottonsprig has to be one of the worst. Her kindness is missed, sure. Her humor, her presence, her warmth. But her knowledge. Her experience. Now, these are things that WindClan cannot go without.

But day after day passes and he can see—in the small, quiet of everyday—how hope begins to wane. He physically recoils from flashes of Snakehiss' bloodied maw and Cottonsprig's crumpled body. He wakes in the night in cold sweat. Foxglare is not beside him. He may never be again if—if.

If Cottonsprig didn't leave. If she wasn't taken away. If she wasn't dead. If, if, if.

It's a balmy midday. Greenleaf is still slow to fade, leaving a lazy sun and silvery sky to jaunt overhead. He has nothing in him to rest; heavy paws drag across camp, carrying prey to the freshkill pile. He casts a long stare toward the medicine den and ruminates in the jolt of agony which it sends through him.

He should be angry. He is, in a way. Bitter toward whatever force stole Cottonsprig from their camp and left them with sick, dying, failing remnants. Will they survive without her? Is this what StarClan chose her for?

He turns away. Then, voices.

She doesn't look so different from the corpse he imagined her as. She's thin; eyes wide, nearly unseeing. He sees her and stares.

"...C-Cot," Sedge chokes out. Voice trembling, eyes wet. There's joy, disbelief, relief, but the agonized fear over her absence swiftly vanishes. He immediately understands with absolute certainty that it doesn't matter what Cottonsprig has to offer. It's her, and she's here. That's enough. "Stars, Cot. You're...you're alive."

​

 

[DIMMINGSUN]

A B C​

Long gone are WindClan's halcyon days of little trouble and pacified heartbeats — though Dimmingsun wonders, with an onslaught of kitten cries behind his back, if those even really existed in the first place. Perhaps it had been born out of desperation, rose-colored glasses adorned after tumultuous times... the lull deceptively dressed as a period of peace.

Dimmingsun peers at others with mistrust; it has always been the case, except he's kept it to himself, easily veiling his true feelings underneath fervent-tipped masks. The reveal has disrupted his inner equilibrium. At least with Sunstar ordering guard duty, he can put on the stoic, statue-like disposition without much bravado. His narrowed eye following his Clanmates can easily be chalked up to how serious he takes this job. He does not allow himself to ponder too much on it all; that he is shielding Bluefrost like she is a threat to all — herself included.

Maybe it's true, anyway. If she had found it this easy to cozy up with a rogue...

Heatherkit's announcement of commotion at the forefront of camp alerts him. Dimmingsun is stuck between two; should he investigate, in case they are under attack? But Sunstar had willed him not to leave his post until specified otherwise.

Ironically enough, it is Bluefrost herself who saves him from this predicament. She passes him without a care in the world, and the only reason he sticks to simply following her like a second shadow instead of snarling is for Cottonsprig's sake. Dimmingsun tears his gaze away from the bittersweet reunion... despite everything the sisters deserve that much privacy.

"Cottonsprig," he offers as greeting. The way a smile finds its way onto his face feels akin to dawn breaking — though it does not last long with the lack of anything similar mirrored on her face. "I'm so glad to see you alive." Sincerity enunciates his every word. Some are flooded with relief, while others grapple with the fear that had gripped them all after her sudden departure. He does not ask what happened; others will surely ask, Sunstar at the front, so he does not wish for her to repeat everything unnecessarily. She looks exhausted.

Dimmingsun turns then to Bluefrost. "You're right. You should go back to them," he says, voice eerily stripped of the affection he's showed Cottonsprig just moments prior. Bluefrost should know he will not hesitate to get more aggressive if she lingers outside her designated prison for too long.
​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

Few things were kept sacred from the campbound tom, no sooner did Bluefrost slink away, the older of the two siblings took her place, standing between two of his kittens with a mawkish smile etched upon his muzzle. Cottonsprig looked worse than he had seen her last. She looked tired, old injuries plagued every step. She was thin. He blinked more rapidly than usual as if trying to communicate in morse code towards her, letting her know that he knew her jaunt had been productive (to others, they would lament that the wind battered his eyes). It only raised the question of where they were if they were not dangling in her maw, if she did not spin a tale of lost kittens that conveniently just happened to look like her. He supposed with a plan like that, even the most beningant cats would struggle to suspend their disbelief.

His pupils darted between Lungwortkit and Cottonsprig, his posture tensing. "Ah, sister, how convenient it is that you return to us now." Toying with the secret gave him an illusion of power, something Sunstar had never let him have until he turned his ire upon Bluefrost. It was an ode to what should've been and what still may be, the fact they shared a mother had long stopped mattering. "A lot of clanmates need your fulgent touch, they have fallen ill with the same disease your little..." 'Rat? Abomination? Daughter you'll never have?' No words seemed quite succinct enough to describe Lungwortkit. "Friend has." The corners of his muzzle stretched wider, as if it were the only way to force himself to say a compliment about the kitten.

Dimmingsun told her to rest and the tom tilted his head towards the medicine cat. "Will you keep them waiting?"
​

 

[STOATSPOT]

Cottonsprig is back! It's the hot new word around camp, spreading like wildfire as cats shout in jovial joy, greeting their long-gone medicine cat with smiles and sentiments of I missed you. Stoatspot was never close, but theres a huge sense of relief that rolls down her back as she gazes upon the blue-pelted feline standing in camp. Celandine, you don't have to be alone anymore. A selfish thought, but the apprentice would no longer have to be alone anymore... She lingers on the sidelines, waiting for voices to die down just enough so she could welcome her back.

Theres a wary glance at Bluefrost as she emerges, brushing past Dimmingsun and beelining straight for her sister. Despite Bluefrost's sordid actions, she was still owed time with her sister that had been missing for quite some time now... She looks away and levels Dimmingsun with a look instead. He's harsh with her, but perhaps... For the better... She looks away, focusing back on Cottonsprig.

Cottonsprigs eyes do not coruscate the sparkle, the liveliness that Stoat is used to. In fact, shes begun to feel a general sense of malaise the longer she looks at her. Stoat has to tear her eyes away. "Well, you were sorely missed." she puffs out a forced laugh, uncomfortable with the way that Sootspot speaks to her. Honestly, that might just be Sootspot, the tom never fails to unnerve her...

More cats greet her. In a softer, kinder tone, she utters, "Welcome home, Cottonsprig." because truly, home was probably better than... wherever she had been, whatever had zapped her light out.

𝖫𝖨𝖥𝖤 𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖣 𝖴𝖲 𝖠 𝖯𝖠𝖸𝖢𝖧𝖤𝖢𝖪 ‧₊˚🍎 𝖶𝖤 𝖲𝖠𝖨𝖣 𝖶𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖪𝖤𝖣 𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖲

• 
  ❥ stoatspot ʚ♡ɞ palomino
  ❥ cis female ʚ♡ɞ she/her ʚ♡ɞ 24 months
  ❥ windclan warrior ʚ♡ɞ mentoring n/a
  ❥ fluffy black / fawn tortie with heterochromia ʚ♡ɞ short, but pure muscle
  ❥ "speech, bfdb81" ʚ♡ɞ thoughts
  ❥ single ʚ♡ɞ pansexual
  ❥ smells like straw, fresh rainfall & soil ʚ♡ɞ home on the range
  ❥ penned by chuff

 

[juncoclaw]

'Don't wait for me,' Cottonsprig had instructed before she left. It infuriated Junco, how much her friend could toy with her and get away with. When she sees her now, will she thank she waited for her? Well, she wouldn't be entirely wrong.. but the former prisoner would bask in the illusion that she can thrive without for as long as her pride needs.

When Bluefrost returned, Cottonsprig was on Junco's mind. Did the medicine cat have her kits, too? Was she even alive out there? Had Bluefrost and Thriftfeather seen her? But when the soft-furred molly returns days after, without her kits in tow, she struggles to find her concern. Something must have happened to rid them. Perhaps that 'something' is why she came home. Apathetically, Junco arrives to the scene, bringing the rear to the growing crowd of cats.

"Cottonsprig." She is surprised to see Cottonsprig, but the faux unknowing that others show is not entirely mimicked. She could blame it on her own tiredness from learning to hunt half-sighted to earn her place. Or, better yet, she can channel that apathy into concern for others versus concern for herself or Cottonsprig. Sootspot has a point, after all; much of the Clan is still ill, no thanks to the.. selfish actions of her old friend.

While cats crowd around her, Junco holds back, with weary eyes and a dull maw. That dull ache of rejection hits her when she looks upon the blue-furred molly. Selfishly, as her mended heart-wound begins to open again, some part of her wishes Cottonsprig had not come back at all.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ooc ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ info ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• speech is #6a7d8a

• 

• JUNCOCLAW ✩ prisoner of windclan
  ⭃ she/her ━ afab ━ 17 moons
  ⭃ a long-haired blue/silver tabby with green eyes, one blind.
  ⭃ penned by ixora ↛ @.ixora on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[Vulturepaw]

˖⁺‧₊ ☽◯☾ ₊‧⁺˖ The arrival of Cottonsprig is unlike her sister's return - from a much shorter absence - and there is some relief in that. Vulturepaw has had enough turmoil to last a lifetime.

There is no shouting, no outrage. The clan is relieved to have her return; yet the apprentice cannot help but feel a sense of discomfit at the sight. He lingers not too far from the medicine cat, his posture guarded. "Oh," he murmurs plainly. Emotions swirl within him, murky and conflicted. It is a bittersweet thing, this relief. The medicine cat lives. DuskClan has not taken her life, and there is comfort in that.

Yet a childish part of him cannot help but resent her. Why had it taken so long? Why couldn't she come back before Quietcrow's death?

(Would it even have mattered?)

"Um. It's good to have you b-back," they offer, rote and xenial. He chews on his lip. He doesn't want to sour the reunion (his eyes flicker to Sootspot, who seems dedicated to ruining everything he touches) but... "We - we really need you right now." They speak hesitantly, timorous as ever. "Wolfsong's sick." A truth the medicine cat is already aware of, though they have no way of knowing this. All they know is that they cannot quite find relief in Cottonsprig's return... Not until all the sick have been returned safely.

THERE ARE FLOWERS GROWING ALL AROUND ⛧ A MASSIVE ANIMAL INSIDE OF ME‎

• 

  
  
  "SPEECH"
  ​

• 
  VULTUREPAW ⛧ he / they, apprentice of windclan, seven moons.
  ⭃ a spiky-furred dark tabby with amber eyes.
  ⭃ skittish and dour, with a superstitious sort of pessimism.
  ⭃ micheal x npc, adopted by periwinklebreeze. sibling to dustpaw and bilberrypaw.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[SCORPIONBACK]

Long gone were the halcyon days of peace, when he first came to Windclan in tow with his... former charge. Staring silently, long - limbs pulled rigid all while the susurrous breeze swept through his spiky fur. His roaming silhouette eclipsed upon the moorlands. He felt a little wistful about it.

Heatherkit's announcement of the sudden commotion at the forefront of camp, makes an ear twitch. Like a wildfire a chorus of cats shout in jovial joy. Scorpionback draws his nose away from the fresh - kill pile, turning his head to the side to stare at the growing clowder of cats. Narrowed eyes slide to the... malaise creature called Lungwortkit. Sickened child... Abomination. While the death knell rings in the background of their lives. The dull black feline wrinkles his nose up when he watches the bittersweet reunion between the returned Cottonsprig and Bluefrost. He studies the duo with narrowed eyes, tail swaying behind him. A huff leaves his nostrils, gaze sliding to Stoatspot.

He slithers over towards the former barn cat turned tunnler, tufted ears angled forward in interest. He halts next to the tortie, shoulders tensed. Despite Bluefrost's sordid actions, he felt neutral about it. The scarred tom stares at Cottonsprig, noting the hea– medicine cat's eyes do not coruscate like they once was.

What happened...? Scorpionback speaks, tilting his head downward to blink slowly at the blue - pelted medicine cat. "Welcome... back." He utters, lips were parted for a moment. Then clicked shut like he hasn't spoken a word ever since he wandered over.

໑⁺˖ ⸝⸝ CAUSE YOU'RE A NUTCASE ( ♰ ) YOU'RE A FILTHY PIECE OF TRASH

•  

• temp ref

  

• ( they come in creepin' ) 𓆩⟡𓆪 SCORPIONBACK. ╱ windclan warrior.
  𖣠 trans masc ; HE / HIM, accepts gendered terms ; 23 MOONS OLD & AGES EVERY 12TH.
  — pansexual / not actively looking / open to crushes & romance
  — a tall, lanky shorthaired dull black feline with narrow dark amber eyes.
  — thoughts ; "Speech, 9a3b3b" ; attacks only
  — may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  — smells like raspberries & midnight rain
  

  ic opinions: he can be outright mean and rude,, </3

  — all opinions are ic
  
  → biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone

​

 

[cottonsprig]

She expects the claustrophobic feeling that clenches her heart. Fatigue begs her to find her bedding and rest, hunger cries for her to eat something - but her mind is not quieted by her sorrows. She's caused pestilence amongst her Clan, and she's given up everything to try and right it. Yet another overcorrection in the making, yet another karmic wrong bestowed upon her shoulders.

Cottonsprig affords a few that linger a brief nod of acknowledgement - Stoatspot and Scorpionback, namely, who welcome her home but maintain their distance. My grief is only contagious should you know why I hold it, she thinks bitterly. Yet all the same, she's glad they hold their distance emotionally, or reserve it for others. For most of the initial crowd pull deftly at the taut and broken strings of her heart.

The nursery bleeds kittens - healthy tots, like Heatherkit and Bramblekit (they're growing fast, she thinks. It's only been a moon, and they've shot up like weeds.) The former deposits something about another intruder, but in her clouded mind Cottonsprig deems it something of a game her niece is playing. Lungwortkit follows them, a welcome surprise to see her amongst others her age... yet painful all the same, knowing what she knows. Cottonsprig smiles halfheartedly, pressing herself to hold to her act. She nearly slumps forward, gathering the striped kitten in her forelimbs and holding her close. "I missed you too," she says quietly. But would it ever be enough?

Queens follow behind their charges - kin of her own. Bluefrost finds her with Dimmingsun trailing close to her tail. Cottonsprig tenses her jaw with uncertainty, the comfort from her sister foreign and heartbreaking. But of their song and dance, it makes sense. She's been missing for a moon, has she not? They had not seen one another sunrises before. Cottonsprig does not know that she has kitted, not until this moment. She blinks a few spare tears from her eyes, but before she can say too much to her twin, she sinks away. Bramblekit asks "Why?" and Cottonsprig cannot share the answer she has. She cannot even thank her sister - not when Dimmingsun addresses Bluefrost with frigid coldness that had not been in his tone moments before. Her eyebrows pinch together in unacknowledged confusion.

They've greeted me warmly thus far, so it's not her. It isn't her kittens, but something of Bluefrost's doing. Perhaps they admonished her for kitting out of camp? If Wolfsong is sick, then why should they expect her to stay put? Cottonsprig looks between Dimmingsun and the others that linger, briefly, before the taunting tone of her brother summons her attention. Convenient, he says, and she thinks of when her bile spilled onto the moorland grass. He claimed it his own, then, knowing full well what it meant for her. Convenient, she thinks, when he steers the conversation in the direction she needs it to go. She cannot bear to thank him, cannot fathom inflating his ego any further than it already has.

"... What?" Cottonsprig feigns shock, tired blue eyes widening. She can't help the downward glance towards Lungwortkit, the little... plagueling. The medicine cat cannot parse her thoughts however it makes her physically ill to think, Should I have let you die? Sootspot wears a cheshire grin, poking and prodding into the she-cat's doughy frame, and she swallows thickly as she pushes herself to stand. Bramblekit asks her where she has gone, but the blue smoke takes the moment to focus on the tragedy. "Who - who's all sick?"She presses away the need to explain herself and instead consumes the want to be useful and distracted.

The apprentices that approach do so little yet so much. Brokenpaw, ever a tom of little (but curious) words, states how hurt his sister is. Amidst trying to grasp her duties once more, she almost forgets about him. It almost feels alright to. She struggles to grasp normalcy but bids him a sincere and soft, "I'm - I'm sorry, Brokenpaw." Her tail curls around her heel, and she makes a quick, haphazard promise, "I'll take you and Honeysucklepaw out on a walk when... When everything is better again." She takes his defense of his twin as admission of his own sorrows - and yet all the same, she treats him with surface level care, unknowing to the grief he holds as well.

Vulturepaw is almost afforded the same dismissal, the meek tom almost falling categorically with Stoatspot and Scorpionback - until he mutters key words. "Wolfsong's sick." Her chest builds with an unwieldy gasp, held in her throat for moments too long. The news is known, the shock still tangible and just like when Bluefrost told her days before. "No..." she whimpers. Her gaze falls to the medicine cat den, who's likely full of injuries and illness. Is that where he hides? Or had they moved the sick to the Badger Sett once more? She grinds her teeth and nods slightly to the dark furred tom.

Of those she has not addressed, are those she struggles to look at. Juncoclaw, who stands steady in camp, broken free from her chains. For how long? She doesn't ask. Others still offer her a sideward glance, a grimace and a mutter. But she's meandering about camp as if she's no different from the other warriors. I'm happy for you, as if she can be happy at all. And then - Sedgepounce. Even before her disappearance she treated him like a common stranger, their relationship shredded with Snakehiss' actions many moons ago. But he receives her with catharsis and disbelief and she can't help but shed a few tears in response. Yet again, like with many of the others, she only gives him a passing nod, a warbled and uncertain smile, and moves on. Evidently, she has not enough time to fix what's going on. The Clan's health now rests on her shoulders.

"I -" she starts, collecting her limbs beneath herself and standing once more. She wavers, a she-cat ill in her own right, but with something intense and incurable. "I have much to do, then," she decides. Cottonsprig looks amongst her welcoming party, ears drawn back pitifully as she seeks out Sunstar and Scorchstreak one final time.

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

• ooc //

• ❥ MEDICINAL KNOWLEDGE
  ♥♥♡ WOUNDS ; can confidently stop bleeding and mend lacerations. will often request that you keep your injury clean and wait it out first.
  ♥♥♡ INFECTION ; as a side effect of likely her own doing, very dutiful with technique and treatment shortly thereafter.
  ♥♡♡ ACHES & PAINS ; will defer to a dark tunnel and rest. if pain persists, maybe she will offer something.
  ♥♡♡ BROKEN BONES ; has never dealt with a broken bone. likely will ask that you never move. ever again.
  ♥♥♥ TRAVELING HERBS ; learned well from her previous mentor. will pile even too many remedies to tough the wilderness with.
  ♥♥♥ KITTING ; having kittens of her own and helped several others with their litters, she is very well versed with calming techniques and quelling pain.
  ♥♡♡ POISONS ; she knows what they are... but that isn't enough, isn't it?
  ♥♥♡ ILLNESS ; having worked through two yellowcough bouts, she is confident in her remedies. much else... she's operating on trial and error.
  ⸻ cottonsprig is a dutiful and excitable medicine cat. she enjoys company and loves conversation. she'd rather not have too many curious noses snooping around her den... but who is she to quell curiosity?

• 

  ⸻❥ cottonsprig is the primary medicine cat of windclan. a former princess to the moors, she harbors many guilts for her actions throughout her short life. she has no consistent partner, unwilling to commit and settle, and she is training celandinepaw in medicine.

​