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Post by Deleted on May 29, 2013 14:07:25 GMT -5
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Post by Fawn on May 29, 2013 23:10:51 GMT -5
→ROOKFROST← Medicine Cat of LightningClan
It was the first time in a long while that Rookfrost had been awoken to the sound of a cat so horrendously ill, their voices nearly gave out on them. Fortunately for the sickly creature desperately needing treatment, Rookfrost was both a light sleeper and of very sharp hearing. As though summoned from the bowels of the earth through a pentacle rather than the entrance of a den, Rookfrost appeared, carrying borage leaves, catmint and a cleverly disguised, slightly pleasant aura. It wasn't that he took pleasure in the suffering of others - but rather, he was relieved of one of the most obnoxious afflictions known to feline kind, commonly referred to as boredom. Not everyone's symptoms were the same, but Rookfrost's self-diagnosis informed him that he sorted and resorted his herbs a little excessively when bored, spent some time grooming his pelt, and, as per usual, wishing the worst and perhaps most intricate of illnesses would befall the frustratingly healthy cats all around him.
Even if he could tell just from the mucus-y rattle of Weaselpaw's deep chest cough that it was greencough - as well as knowing the tom's unusual knack for re-catching the same kind of chest infection - Rookfrost was secretly hoping for a mutation of the standard routine chest cough. Sickness carried all sorts of unexpected surprises, and they were the only kind of surprises the macabre tom actually liked. Rather than disturb Snowpaw (not out of any sense of kindness or courtesy) and thus have the tom padding around under his paw glaring like he'd taken leave of his bowls on the fresh kill pile, Rookfrost chose to treat Weaselpaw off to the side of the den, in what he primarily used as an extra storage cache when he had more than the usual. "Move." Instructed the jet black tom, long tufted ears flicking and swiveling as Weaselpaw released another cough that seemed to snatch his breath away - if it wasn't ameliorated soon, the skinny tom would likely pass out from a lack of oxygen. Nudging the sickly apprentice to his paws, Rookfrost guided him to the storage cache, setting the catmint down in front of his newest patient. Even if he could've done this in his sleep, Rookfrost preferred working to any other activity - if he could go without eating and simply focus on his craft and his passions, then he absolutely would. "Breathe short breaths through the nose, or you will lose consciousness. Chew the catmint first. How long have you been showing symptoms of illness?"
Rookfrost was not particularly bothered by the tom's negligence to seek him out, especially if this had been happening all morning before reaching a more severe stage shortly into the night. What bothered him was that Weaselpaw may've infected half the Clan by this point, and thus he would have his paws busy with work he considered tedious, even with an extra set of fluffy white paws and a warm heart to speak those reassuring words Rookfrost never chose to utter.
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Post by Deleted on May 30, 2013 23:12:53 GMT -5
only a crack in this castle of glass weaselpaw
Gold eyes closed softly as another wave of coughing wracked his frame. He wasn't aware of anything anymore, just darkness that threatened to overtake him. For a moment, he was content to lie there, slowly slipping away, until another round of coughing dragged his pain back to his mind. Still, his eyes didn't open, as solid lead seeped into his bones. He was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. Just lay right here, and sleep...
"Move."
That single word stirred his mind, though from far away, it seemed. Still, it left a tendril of something more dangling into the darkness, something to latch onto, a memory of a world forgotten. Somewhere deep down in the shadows, a lost voice rose up, barely a whisper against the deafening silence the dark brought.
'I don't want to die!'
From the depths, Weaselpaw began to pull closer to the realm of the living. It was a long, slow, and uphill battle, fighting the chains and demons of the dark, yearning and calling for him to stay, with their ebony soft voices and tempting caresses. He carried on, though, heavy with the bittersweet liquid of the lands he was casting aside. He knew there was something more, something better where he was going. That one word had told him that much.
After what seemed like ages, but was probably only minutes, Weaselpaw's eyes blinked open and he inhaled, like a drowning man catching air for the first time, which brought on yet another coughing spell. The memory of the word spoken came to his mind, and he stood on shaky legs. He half-crawled, half-dragged himself into the den of the dark medicine cat, dropping into a heap in the place indicated by Rookfrost. Herbs were placed before him, and more words from that voice of demons disguised as angels.
"Breathe short breaths through the nose, or you will lose consciousness. Chew the catmint first. How long have you been showing symptoms of illness?"
They were curt, quickly spoken, but Weaselpaw understood. He sucked in air through his nose, resisting the powerful urge to drink in large gulps of oxygen. After he took a few breaths, he began to nibble on the catmint, careful not to bring in too much air through his mouth and into his hungry, aching lungs. After all the leaves were gone, he swallowed, still trying to control his breathing. Watery gold eyes gazed up at Rookfrost, both a giver and a destroyer of lives, his illness concealing the amount of awe and wonder he felt in the dark tom's presence.
Even though the controlled breathing was beginning to help, Weaselpaw still felt light-headed, as though he could fall back into the grip of death at any moment. As such, he spoke in short bursts, much like his usual manner of speaking, though now the need for silence felt more urgent. "No symptoms." Inhale. Inhale. Inhale. "Woke up coughing." Inhale. Inhale. "Tried to... brush it off... Held breath.. Left... Came here..." He knew he wasn't supposed to, but his lungs felt so constricted, he just couldn't...
Weaselpaw gasped for air, jaws parted as the intake of air provoked another coughing fit. It was much less violent than the others, though he still felt his vision grow dark and fuzzy around the edges, shooting out into random starbursts with no rhyme or reason. Once it subsided, Weaselpaw kept his head down, fighting to inhale through his nose and only his nose, clamping his jaws shut. He looked up again at Rookfrost, this time fear in his stare, as well as a silent plea.
'Save me.'
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Post by Fawn on May 31, 2013 13:14:30 GMT -5
→ROOKFROST← Medicine Cat of LightningClan
The black tom listened intently to the tom afflicted with greencough, careful to keep a reasonable distance when another coughing fit took over Weaselpaw's frail body. Rookfrost mentally chided the tom for giving into that constricted feeling in his lungs, giving in to the fear that his life would be snuffed out like an insect beneath the paws of StarClan if he didn't take a breath. Before the dark healer opened his mouth to further verbally enforce his instructions, the skinny black tom seemed to grasp onto what he needed to do, for he lowered his head and clamped his mouth shut. Easing the borage leaves a mouselength in front of Weaselpaw's nose, Rookfrost nudged the afflicted feline's paw, checking for a fever by touching his nose to one of the dusty pads. Warm.
"Eat the borage. You have a fever." Responding again in that signature cool, clipped vocals of his, Rookfrost's ice-gray eyes cast a wide, sweeping arc around the interior of his den, more examining the walls then the items placed upon the 'shelves' (grooves dug out of the wall so that he might store leaves in higher places and at cooler temperatures). If he requires quarantining, it will have to be done on the outskirts of camp, there is no room for him here. If he did not have a protege of his own, Rookfrost would have likely dug out a small den for Weaselpaw to spend the night, the dark healer intending to sit up and monitor his patient's progress. There simply wasn't enough space.
Forever disconnected with the emotional needs of his patients, even with the fear glimmering in the depths of Weaselpaw's watery golden eyes Rookfrost had made no mood to verbally comfort him, his thoughts and actions above the trivial feelings of those around him, behavior dictated by cold hard logic with no room for sentimentality and comfort. If only to keep the apprentice from panicking or doing something rash, the long-furred herbalist drew a sharp look over the sleek raven-hued ridges of his shoulder blades. "I will be back."
"But you can't just leave him like that!"
With all of the silent fluidity of an owl, Rookfrost's head twisted back to the front to spot a scarred ginger and white she-cat hovering in the doorway, her expression flighty but with a surprising amount of determination. "He's coughing so badly and you're just going to leave?"
Rookfrost's shallow astonishment evaporated like a raindrop in the current drought. Frostpaw. Though tragedy had matured her, the vocals he considered harsh and unpleasant to his ears was still very much the same. The shadowy tom's tail swayed from left to right and went still, expression stony as if he had heard Frostpaw's words, and simply didn't warrant them much of a response. Considering it was obvious. "I am getting water. Move."
"I can do it," she blurted, stealing a glance at the skinny black tom through her one good eye, before it gradually returned to stare up at Rookfrost with impertinence.
How agitating. Finding her concern for a fellow apprentice far from touching, Rookfrost decided to make the most of the situation, and did an about turn, rifled through the assorted items stacked in the corner and produced a wide, slightly concave slab of bark. "Find a stream, fill this with water, bring it back."
Frostpaw looked at him with hesitation - showing the dark healer once again another flash of overwhelming fear - but she still took the bark, mumbling through the slab, "I will be quick."
The dark healer nodded curtly, a subtle flick of a black tufted ear indicating she was to set off.
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Conquer the monster in your head, and then you'll fly |
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GaleClan Medicine Cat
INVENTORY
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Post by BlooRey DVD on May 31, 2013 15:48:56 GMT -5
[smear:000000]Nightpaw[/smear:6f6f6f] ~~~~~~~~
A dark shape shifted slightly in the shadows, watching the events unfolding before him. Eyes that had once been blue watched with a keen interest as the LightningClan medicine cat seemed to regard the apprentice, who had shown up at his den looking a little less alive than he should have, with a practiced ease. In fact, if Nightpaw was any good at reading others, it didn't seem as though Rookfrost was worried at all. This was something the LightningClan apprentice thought was intriguing, to say the least.
His gaze watched as the black medicine cat seemed to turn away from his patient, fully intending to leave the other apprentice where he was. Until, of course, Rookfrost was intercepted by yet another apprentice, this one slightly older. Nightpaw recognized Frostpaw, and it wasn't because of her damaged eye. As the two spoke, Nightpaw's gaze returned to Weaselpaw. Narrowing his odd eyes slightly, Nightpaw found it interesting that he could almost feel death hovering nearby. There was no blood, at least not yet, but death's intent was still present. If nothing was done, he would claim another victim.
Nightpaw's focus went back to Frostpaw as she stated that she would go fetch the water instead of Rookfrost, so that the medicine cat would not have to leave his patient. After a momentary hesitation, the LightningClan medicine cat seemed to agree, albeit a little begrudgingly, and grabbed something for Frostpaw to put the water in.
A keen intelligence and sharp eyes caught the faintest trace of fear coming from the she-cat. He figured it was probably due to her accident. Had she been alone when that happened? Perhaps she fears being alone... It couldn't be easy to not have sight one one side of your face. The tuxedo tom thought. It was then that the black and white figure seemed to materialize from the bushes, one moment he wasn't there and the next, he stood in Frostpaw's good eye's line of sight. Moving to stand beside her, he spoke a simple sentence, with a bleak voice. Somehow, however, it was evident that he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"I'll go with you."
Note: Fawn gave me the okay to pop in for a bit ahaha
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Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2013 17:07:21 GMT -5
a hero's gonna save me {just in time} weaselpaw
More leaves were pushed before his nose. His paw was flipped over, touched firmly by the nose of the medicine cat, before instructions came to eat the borage. The touch of Rookfrost's nose, though simply a routine action for the older cat, sent a wave of comfort through the skinny patient, and he found himself wishing the contact would last just a little longer. Rookfrost had pulled away long ago, though, and Weaselpaw eyed the borage for a moment, before using his extended paw, still tingling where Rookfrost had touched it, closer to his mouth. He carefully began to consume the leaves, working slowly so as not to inhale through his mouth. He continued breathing with short breaths through his nose, and the burn in his lungs had subsided somewhat.
Once the leaves were gone, Weaselpaw pulled his paws together, bringing his hindpaws nearer to his body [as he had been splayed out where he had haphazardly collapsed], and his forepaws under his head. He rested his chin on his toes, slowly attempting to drag in longer breaths. He still felt as though there was no oxygen in his lungs, though he knew now that that couldn't be the case, as he was still conscious of the world around him.
"I will be back."
The words echoed in his mind, dragging his eyes to the dark tom turning to leave. Weaselpaw merely dipped his head, content to wait patiently for his healer's return. He lowered his eyes, his eyelids drooping slightly. He was tired, but sleep might be dangerous. A sharp voice rang out, effectively wiping any lingering thoughts of sleep from his mind. "But you can't just leave him like that!" Weaselpaw's ears drew back against the sharp sound, much preferring the deep, soothing voice of the dark medicine cat. "He's coughing so badly and you're just going to leave?" Weaselpaw resisted the urge to cover his ears with his paws, the raised tone of her voice clawing at his ears. As one who appreciated silence, such commotion seemed overwhelming and unnecessary, but he refrained from any action.
His lungs burned. He was tired. His throat was raw from coughing. He was beginning to feel the fever Rookfrost had detected. The last thing he wanted was company. Rookfrost mentioned something about water, and Frostpaw had responded. His mouth was dry. His eyes, narrowed and staring toward the ground, were watery, but unseeing. His mind burned. Weaselpaw breathed in quickly through his nose, short breaths that were beginning to come faster. Why was he here again? He struggled to remember, as a haze settled over his mind. The fever was setting in again, and he fought to maintain his grip on reality. He was sick. That's why he was here. Greencough.
As if the word 'cough' held some power to it, his jaws were forcibly parted by a new wave of coughing, stronger than the last. He struggled to breathe through it, sucking in air through his nose, but to no avail. It wouldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried. Every time he closed his jaws and attempted to get a grip on his breathing, another cough would erupt, bringing more to follow in its wake. It was a vicious cycle, one he was struggling to break.
There was an iron tang on his tongue, and he closed his eyes, shut his mouth, and held his breath. It was a desperate attempt to break the cycle of coughing. Eyes squeezed shut and jaws clamped tight, he slowly brought air into his nose. Coughs beat against his throat, desperate to escape, but Weaselpaw kept his mouth shut tight, the effort eliciting a dull ache from his jaw muscles. Slowly, the fits died down, as his concentrated breathing grew stronger.
He realized his entire body had been tensed, and he slowly released his muscles, saving his jaw for last. After his grip on everything had loosened, his eyes opened to find the ground before him gouged out by his claws. He hadn't even noticed tearing at the sandy floor of the den, having all his attention focused on stopping the coughing. Though he was a small, skinny tom, he was strong and determined. His mother had given him those qualities, a strength that wasn't physical, but emotional and mental. Silently, he thanked StarClan for that, and settled back down, waiting to see what the rest of the night would hold.
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Post by Fawn on Jun 2, 2013 22:50:27 GMT -5
→ROOKFROST← Medicine Cat of LightningClan
"This will ease your breathing, eat."
Shrouded in nightfall, the black tom left the task of fetching Weaselpaw water to the two apprentices, both younger cats already out of mind as well as out of sight. Juniper and coltsfoot were shoved towards the suffering creature once more, both the kind of medicinal herbs that would rid the tom of his shortness of breath and restore some peace of mind, once the patient no longer felt as if their lungs were completely starved of oxygen. Poppy seeds. After a thorough consultation with several patients early on in his Medicine Cat career, Rookfrost had discovered that poppy seeds had a calming, slightly hallucinogenic quality that he had yet to find in other herbs. Intending to alleviate a throat so sore it probably felt ragged, Rookfrost would give out the poppy seeds once the apprentices had returned with the water, otherwise the large, dry seeds would stick to the back of Weaselpaw's gullet and make him choke or retch whatever was in his stomach.
The last thing Rookfrost wanted was a patient with an infectious flu-like illness spewing the contents of his stomach everywhere. No amount of cleaning would probably undue such a catastrophe, and Rookfrost would have no choice but to temporarily 'move shop' until he was certain the danger had passed. Silvery oculars like cold stars as they picked up the light from the moon, their complete lack of color hinted at a lack of normal feline emotions, a lack of 'color' to his personality in a sense, which made his complete absence of conversation not all that surprising. He was hardly the healer who would coddle and soothe and give out pointless reassurances like handing out mossballs to kits.
He was brusque, he was cold, he was detached. To him, this was work, pulling cats from the edge of death, bringing others into the realm of the living, and on occasion, shoving them into the precipice if they had no potential chance of recovering. Even if Rookfrost had witnessed Weaselpaw's birth if not helped deliver the kit himself, he would hold no reservations about making the same macabre judgment calls as he had others. It wouldn't matter if Weaselpaw had been his sister's kit, there was no sentimentality here. There was no blood attachment. There was only life, death and the cat who had delegated himself the judge, the jury and the executioner on occasion.
Listening with tall dark ears to the sounds of Weaselpaw's current state of illness, the Medicine Cat's dark plume wrapped around his paws as he sat a rabbit length away, waiting with impatience for their return.
~*~
Melding out of the shadows as though StarClan sent, Frostpaw dipped her head in gratitude of Nightpaw's arrival. "fanks." Mumbled the semi-blind she-cat through the chunk of bark Rookfrost had forced her to carry. Automatically, her bold nature having been thoroughly ripped to shreds in light of her attack, Frostpaw let her pace slow to allow Nightpaw to take the lead, intending to rely on his proper sight rather than struggle bitterly with her own. My adventuring days are over. It was somewhat sad, to see how far the white and ginger feline had fallen since her injury. Her spirit had been all but shattered, leaving her a far negative creature then she ever would have imagined herself to be, growing up.
It was as if the chief aspects of her personality had died that night there in the tunnels - leaving behind a desolate view of the world, her future, a fear of enclosed spaces and a paranoia in the dead of night that would make life difficult for the marred she-cat from here on out. Normally not so weak of spirit, Frostpaw sank her teeth tighter into the piece of bark, trying hard to dispel the rising panic in her breast every time she was in their territory at night. She always tried to open her injured eye a little wider, as if she just wasn't seeing things clearly, as if stretching back the tattered lids would somehow get rid of the cloudiness. Well there won't be any confusion over my name anymore. With her faint ginger coloring in comparison to her three siblings, it had been a small wonder as to why Dovesong had insisted on naming her Frostkit, despite such a distinguishing feature.
Now anyone who looked her full in the face could grasp the nature of her prefix with embarrassing ease. She was not Frostpaw, of the frost-white fur and the ginger shading. She was Frostpaw of the frosted eye and the scarred face. Not an energetic young apprentice with a promising future ahead of her. Not anymore.
Now she was nothing more than a textbook example of why breaking the rules was a bad idea. She was a result, instead of being a living mass of untapped potential.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 19, 2013 19:13:25 GMT -5
i'm a loaded gun the only son but i'm nobody's hero "This will ease your breathing, eat."
More herbs were pushed under his nose, and Weaselpaw lifted his head. He sniffed at the plants, before diligently consuming the herbs that would, hopefully, help ease his breathing. The dark apprentice trusted the medicine cat to know what he was doing, and so his hope was mainly one produced by fear. Had his life not been at stake, then he would have been completely confident the herbs would work, but that glimmer of fear had turned that trusting confidence into a strong hope.
His dry, sore, and swollen throat made the herbs difficult to swallow, but he managed to get them down. Weaselpaw's tongue swiped dryly at his lips, seeking any lingering moisture that might have been trapped there, from anything. It was more of a desperate attempt than anything, the apprentice knowing he hadn't been near anything liquid for quite some time.
Rookfrost sat only a short distance away, and Weaselpaw allowed his head to drop back to his paws. His golden eyes stared blankly at the tip of the medicine cat's tail, not really seeing what was in front of him. His thoughts drifted elsewhere, flitting about idly before settling upon one cat. His mother, Bubblefang, had recently announced that she was pregnant. Weaselpaw wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it. He was happy for his mother and father, sure, but he was used to being an only kit. What would it be like, to have smaller versions of his parents, and in a way, himself, running around? What would they be like? Would they even like him?
His mind wandered to idle dreams, trying to imagine what life with little siblings would be like. Sisters, or brothers? What would they look like? Grey and white, like his mother? Or brown and white, like Cobrafang? Or would one adopt the colors of a grandparent, like he had? He knew already that his fur color had come from his father's mother, Crowtalon. Would his siblings have his quiet, shy personality? Would they have his mother's fire, and his father's fierce devotion? Would they be big and strong, or small and weak? He hoped none of them would be sickly, like him, and that they could lead full lives as apprentices and warriors, without having to worry about whether a training session or patrol would bring on a coughing fit.
Without realizing it, Weaselpaw had fallen asleep. His body relaxed, his breathing becoming shallow, with periods of stillness in between. His golden eyes were now closed, and his mind continued to dream of the kits currently growing within his mother's belly. Weaselpaw was at peace, even though he was still held in the grip of a dangerous illness.
W E A S E L P A W
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