development zombie march【 the sick move into the badger's set 】

[coalfoot]

———————————————【 coalfoot | windclan | male 】——————————————

【◈】The sickness spreading through the clan had finally taken its first life, and with it, things changed quickly. The first was Sootstar's decree that all ill cats be removed from camp in an effort to protect the able-bodied. They would all be sent to the abandoned badger's set in the territory so that they would at the very least be sheltered, either until they all died, or managed to recover.

Frankly, Coalfoot was terrified.

Through the snow they all trekked, and he found himself grateful that the wind was calm today. His paws were already dragging, both with fatigue and reluctance. Would he never return to camp again? Would he die as Wisteriapaw did, choking on his own blood? Were they all going to die? His whiskers quivered at the thought, reminded of how Dandelionwish had finally broken down from it all. He didn't know what to do. None of them did.

Yet as the mouth of the tunnel came into view, the warrior took a breath that rattled in his chest. He couldn't lose hope. He would have faith. He had to. Green eyes flickered over to the cat at his side, offering a weak smile. "Home sweet home, right?" A pathetic attempt at lightening the situation, and into the den he went.

The den was dim, sheltered from the light of the sun as well as the wind, and the fit would be far from spacious, but it would be leagues better than braving the elements outside of camp. They would have to make do. As Coalfoot shuffled to the side to let in the following cats, he glanced between them all.

"Did anyone bring anything for nests?" he asked. "We can't go back to camp for now. We'll-" He broke off, choking on a series of coughs. "Sorry. We'll probably have to send out someone stronger willing to find materials..." he trailed off into a mumble, looking down at his paws as he thought. If there weren't enough nests, they would have to share a few. He wouldn't mind sharing a nest, it didn't bother him. Maybe they could ask Dandelionwish...

// this thread is just for sick cats! healthy cats should be staying away from them

[penned by its_oliverr].

​

 

[Jasperglare]

Oh, he felt horrible. Just horrible. He trudged with the group, nothing but dark thoughts plaguing his mind.

Of course he's sick. Life never missed a chance to kick him.

His body aches and all he wanted to do was lay down. He was so relieved when the reached the burrow. When Coalfoot mentions nesting materials, he groans.

He did not bring any.

"Right now, dirt is just fine." He grumbles.

He just wanted to sleep this off.

"Though I suppose I could go find...... Something." He offered. He wasn't sure he was fit to go, but it was better than being coughed on.


​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

---

Sickness wasn't something that Ghost was overly familiar with. He'd always been a healthy cat, sturdy and reliable even in the coldest and bleakest of weather, as if the elements themselves had forged the grey beast and could therefor not compromise him. But even he was mortal, and apparently the stress of everything he'd gone through in the last few months had finally caught up with him, ruining his immune system. To be fair, he was far from the worst when it came to his ailments; a stuffy nose, a light cough, a sore throat. He was still on his feet and functioning, but apparently deemed too ill to remain in camp.

The old badger set wasn't anything he was looking forward to using. While he'd definitely spent nights in worse places before, it didn't change the fact that he was used to more open spaces like the Coalitions abandoned buildings or Windclans camp, where the warriors slept in the open.

"I'll go." he offered in his rumbling voice, figuring he was one of the few that could actually be spared without worry of them keeling over from fever or a coughing fit. Besides, if he was kept trapped in this den all day with nothing to do he would lose his mind, something he was certain was going to happen at one point or another since the medic seemed keen on them all resting.

​

---

rogue - male - 27 months - single - a very tall, muscular tabby with dark gray fur and white markings. heavily scarred with dark amber eyes

 

[Dandelionwish]

His blood was still singing, racing through him and pulsing with adrenaline; Wisteriapaw was being prepared for vigil as they spoke and he wanted nothing to do with it once he'd dispensed the herbs he was required to. To see a cat he'd killed, a cat he should have helped lowered into the earth. It would break him further and he had already lost himself in a previous outburst he couldn't hold in. That he'd cried to openly in camp made him feel small but then again wasn't he small? Ten moons. He was almost full size, there was so much he still needed to learn and to be expected to act as a wizened elder at this point with all the answers was far too much at times; catching blackcough would be a mercy at this point but he was afraid of how horrific it had looked.
Still, he was not to let these cats rot for the sake of saving others, it wasn't in his nature to forsake someone if he had the means to help and he still trembles when he thinks about Sootstar considering mass exiling those who were too ill; her clan was disposable to her and she made no attempts to hide the fact.
How many foxglove seeds would it take to get rid of her-he pushes the thoughts away quickly, its not him. It's not him thinking this, because he could never. He couldn't. Right.
Ghoststrike and Jasperglare are volunteering to go and do something (fetch bedding he supposes) as he enters the musky old badger set and he's happy to note these have long since been abandoned to the point the predator stench is only a faint memory. The last thing they needed was badgers.
"If ye got the energy I left moss at the edge of the camp border to bring here...only brought this much right now." He turned, glances to the small bundle he'd dragged across snow to leave outside and he examines the interior once more with a frown; tail raising to sweep away a cobweb too dirty to even be used for medical purposes. Better than exile. Better than death....perhaps.
​

 

[PALETHROAT]

the death of that kid has shaken everyone, even palethroat. (although, maybe it's for all of the wrong reasons. instead of mourning the loss of a child, a clanmate, palethroat instead fears for his own life. he doesn't want to be taken to the stars in the same fashion wisteriapaw had!)

he trods after the damned group of the sick, the usual pep in his step dampered by the somber air. every rattling cough, every sneezing fit, sets his nerves ablaze. death lurks in the shadows for them, and they've been condemned to the edge of the moors to wither away. "i can't believe this-" palethroat wheezes, his tail lashing as their prison comes into view. how would he be able to see nightmareface with a rift so deep between the healthy and the ill? he still hasn't convinced her to take him back, after he'd slipped up and grimaced at a bit of her drool dripping onto his fur. (it's not his fault that she's so beautifully disgusting!)

"why do we have to live out here?!" whines the golden-furred tom, throwing his head back in a dramatic motion. palethroat's never been a bright one, and the knowledge of how illnesses work is a scope far beyond his comprehension. all he knows is that he's being isolated from everyone else, and he hates it! "this isn't fair-" his complaints fade into yet another coughing episode, sides heaving as he chokes for air that he cannot seem to get enough of lately.

palethroat straightens back up, hacking up the last of the phlegm and grimacing at how vile it is- just like his beloved nightmareface, how he misses her so- in time to hear coalfoot's question. did anyone bring anything for nests? well, they'd better have-! jasperglare retorts that dirt is just fine, and palethroat does a double take in his direction. oh, hell no! jasper might be barbaric enough to settle for sleeping with the worms, but surely they didn't expect him to sleep on dirt?! are they trying to give him a second disease?

thank the gods, ghost volunteers to gather up nesting material. palethroat nods fervently, despite the way his head reels at the quick motion. "yeah, you go get them!" i don't want to trek all the way back to camp after coming all this way! his weakening limbs are aching, and exhaustion is beginning to overtake him. even now, standing around the abandoned den, his eyes are growing heavy. he just wants to curl up and sleep off this sluggish feeling... on a nice, comfy bed of moss, of course.

as palethroat sticks his head into the den to examine his makeshift home, his lip curls. the musty stench of the den overwhelms him, even with his stuffed up nose. worse yet, cobwebs hang in every conceivable spot, and he dreads to think of how many of the arachnid horrors await him in there. a shiver runs down his spine, imagining hundreds of spiders crawling over him in his sleep... "you'd better find a cure, and fast," palethroat grumbles in dandelionwish's direction, rheumy eyes glowering at the medicine cat. even with moss to sleep on, this den is nowhere near satisfactory living conditions! with an over-exaggerated sigh, palethroat gives into the aching in his legs and plops down onto his haunches. "isn't there anywhere better we could stay?"​