[Deleted]

m u d s p o t s

elder, nightclan

Joints aching, body creaking, muscles complaining, a noisy grunt escaped from Mudspots’ lips as he stood up. He was far too old to do this sort of thing, the getting up and moving part of life. At 97 moons physically, his body felt the pain of the abuse it had suffered since he first entered the world. Unsheathed claws scratching open skin, large body crouching low to stalk prey… Ever since he had began his apprenticehood, his poor form had suffered far too many pains at the paws of attackers.

He felt far more aged mentally. No cat should have to go through the stress of losing a loved one after only a few moons of a relationship. His poor mate had died long ago, and he had suffered through life alone. Stress had played a role in the tom’s age; he was sure of that much. He swore up and down that losing his mate and dealing with his grieving kits had allowed grey to creep into his pelt prematurely.

Mudspots creaked and groaned his way out of the elder’s den, blinking as the bright sunlight of the day hit his eyes. Unsure if it hurt because he wasn’t used to its intensity or because his eyes were more sensitive, he started padding blindly towards the medicine cat’s den. His normal naptime had been interrupted by a gradual wake-up of pain.

A dull ache started slowly in his paws and made its way up his body until every joint hurt. He huffed and drug himself across camp, entering the domain of Smokefur. Harmonious and yet cacophonous scents of herbs drifted over his nose. He smelled mouse bile for sure, so used to its vile odor from when the apprentices removed his ticks. Ironic that he enjoyed it so much now.

Standing in the middle of the den, he sniffed around, not sure if he could smell the medicine cat amongst the herbs. “Smokefur?”