- Aug 17, 2022
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![dfsiw1w-6a338f22-aae1-492a-977c-37693fa88d2d.gif](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1083988083600527360/1088631320076374088/dfsiw1w-6a338f22-aae1-492a-977c-37693fa88d2d.gif?width=160&height=160)
Another sleepless night finds Greeneyes wide awake in his nest.
Another verdant nightmare pulls him from the guise of sleep - leaves him scanning the warrior den with bristled fur and a pounding chest as empty spots around him grow larger with each passing day. Loss after loss; it feels never-ending, these days. Death is all around him, and he fears who might be next as his mind tries to take hold of reality.
And it’s a split-second thought of a dark-pointed face and pine-adorned fur that unravels any attempt to calm down, leaves him void of any need to sleep. Fireflypaw, so close to deadly sickness at any given moment in his role as a medicine cat apprentice. A plague that could so easily be transmitted to him, that could so easily take him away, just as it did Sheepcurl. Just as it might to Dandelionwish, to Sparrowsong.
He rises then, paws trembling, lungs tight as he carefully - but swiftly - leaves the warrior den. His paws guide him while his mind spins into tangled unease, and before he knows it - before he realizes he's even moving - he's at the mouth of the medicine den. Close to sickness, too close, probably. But he does not worry about his own state in this moment.
He has to know. He has to know that Fireflypaw is okay - that he does not have to mourn another, a loss he isn't sure he'd ever get over.
"Firefly?" he croaks out a whisper. He aims to be loud enough for the medicine cat to hear, but not too loud that he doesn't wake his resting patients, or worse: Dawnglare. Ears twitch at the night's silence, his paws still trembling beneath him as he waits for an answer - a confirmation that sickness hasn't consumed his best friend too. "Fi?"
Another verdant nightmare pulls him from the guise of sleep - leaves him scanning the warrior den with bristled fur and a pounding chest as empty spots around him grow larger with each passing day. Loss after loss; it feels never-ending, these days. Death is all around him, and he fears who might be next as his mind tries to take hold of reality.
And it’s a split-second thought of a dark-pointed face and pine-adorned fur that unravels any attempt to calm down, leaves him void of any need to sleep. Fireflypaw, so close to deadly sickness at any given moment in his role as a medicine cat apprentice. A plague that could so easily be transmitted to him, that could so easily take him away, just as it did Sheepcurl. Just as it might to Dandelionwish, to Sparrowsong.
He rises then, paws trembling, lungs tight as he carefully - but swiftly - leaves the warrior den. His paws guide him while his mind spins into tangled unease, and before he knows it - before he realizes he's even moving - he's at the mouth of the medicine den. Close to sickness, too close, probably. But he does not worry about his own state in this moment.
He has to know. He has to know that Fireflypaw is okay - that he does not have to mourn another, a loss he isn't sure he'd ever get over.
"Firefly?" he croaks out a whisper. He aims to be loud enough for the medicine cat to hear, but not too loud that he doesn't wake his resting patients, or worse: Dawnglare. Ears twitch at the night's silence, his paws still trembling beneath him as he waits for an answer - a confirmation that sickness hasn't consumed his best friend too. "Fi?"