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Post by Fawn on Aug 18, 2016 19:56:02 GMT -5
ROOKFROST The life of a medicine cat, droll as it could be, did not always promise order. It did not promise a reliable schedule; if anything was to be learned of LightningClan’s collective habits, it’s that their penchant for injury and for injuring others was not abominably high, but regular enough an occurrence that possessing a cool head under sudden pressure was mandatory.
Rookfrost did not ease her into this life. He did not have the patience to coddle her. Short of hauling her onto the battlefield to try to render aid to the bleeding and the dying, Rookfrost felt it necessary to expose his ginger student to the next best thing; Cherrypool and Whiteshade. Seldom the injured and almost always the injurers, the albino littermates were a terrible, awesome sight to behold upon the moorland.
The moonlight was generous with their pelts, illuminating them like StarClan cats whenever they walked through the shining swaths lighting up the sedge, gorse and bracken. A horrible contrast was drawn when the light reached their eyes; it was difficult at times to discern colors in the dark, but there was no mistaking the blood red glow of the LightningClan twins. Even a cat with poor eyesight would be able to make out the vibrant hue, if their instinct-embedded fight-or-flight response did not realize it sooner.
Whiteshade and Cherrypool had yet to arrive. Rookfrost had little imagination, but it was even easy for him to picture the white-furred aberrations running across the moorland, hunting some poor, damned quarry with all the lethal precision of cats who knew no such thing as mercy.
Rookfrost took in the cool night air, black tufted ear set off to the side, catching the sound of Kindleflare trudging through the flora behind him. The moorland was not completely quiet—it never was—but it was quiet enough that when he spoke, his voice seemed to disrupt the heavy solitude of the night.
”A healer does not get to choose when to heal. The normal course of the day can be simple; a thorn stuck in the pad, a running nose, a stomachache. Yet, there can be—”
A scream (whether feline or leporidae) interrupted him. Rookfrost’s tail swept from one side to the other in a single gesture of irritation. ”—outliers.” He concluded. ”Sometimes, you will have to heal your Clanmates under… severe circumstances.” Be prepared for blood. Though she had endured her training thus far, even managing to surpass his middling expectations of her, Kindleflare’s apprenticeship would only get more difficult. This was the last major hurdle, however, separating her from his full mentoring attention. Rookfrost’s ice-gray eyes befell the ginger she-cat, watching her tremble.
This night was going to determine whether or not she was worth his time.
I am Death none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell |
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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 Aug 21, 2016 7:29:02 GMT -5
 When an unforgiving paw had stirred her from her slumber, she'd been confused. When her eyes had adjusted and she'd focused on the dark shape of her mentor looming over her, she'd been alarmed. And when the cool night air had met her nostrils, accompanied by the soft sounds of the night around her, she'd been confused once more. What was going on? The camp was completely silent, not a soul stirring from within. Yet here he was, LightningClan's (potentially soul-less) medicine cat, staring her down and silently demanding she rise from her nest without any verbalized questions.
Now, ginger pelt fluffed up slightly against the cooler air, she trudged behind LightningClan's shadow cat, doing her best not to trip and fall muzzle first into the moorland shrubbery. She'd always thought her brother to move with an unusual ease, even on the darkest night. But Rookfrost... It was as though he weren't even walking! He drifted over the moorland, like a spectre against the dark night sky. She blinked her eyes desperately, willing them to adjust to the dim lighting to make her life a little easier. But every time she thought they might be getting better, she found herself yawning, her vision obscured by tears she was forced to blink away.
Her inner turmoil continued until Rookfrost's icy voice slashed through the relative silence of the nighttime scene. Her frame straightened out of habit and her ears pushed forward to better catch his voice as he spoke over his shoulder to her. She was midway through rationalizing his night time escapade (learning to handle situations in less than perfect conditions did seem important, after all) when a scream tore through the night air. Immediately, Kindleflare's fur stood on end, her tail fluffing out behind her as her steps faltered.
If she'd expected any kind of reaction from Rookfrost, it would appear she were wrong. The black tom simply flicked his tail as though annoyed the scream and interrupted him, and continued on. Kindleflare's wide, dark amber eyes glanced around wildly, but Rookfrost seemed less than concerned. She found it increasingly difficult to pay attention to the dark pelted tom, yet feared the consequences of not listening to him just as much as whatever it was lurking outside their circle that had caused another to emit such a horrible screech. As Rookfrost's speech came to a close, the ginger medicine cat apprentice willed herself to nod, albeit robotically.
Forcing herself to move despite her trembling legs, Kindleflare repeated the tom's last words, as though ingraining it in her mind like she would a new herb. "Healing under s-severe circums-stances... O-Okay.." She did not like his choice of the word severe. Oh S-StarClan, w-what have I g-gotten mis-self into now..? She could do nothing more but await instruction from Rookfrost, or await some other unforeseen event.  |
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| We are born with a DNA blueprint into a world of scenario and circumstance we don't control |
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Co-Captain
INVENTORY
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Post by Phoenix on Aug 21, 2016 19:55:51 GMT -5
now was acknowledged the presence of the red death
Far above the craggy mountains, a large raptor soared on silent wings. Armed with keen eyes and even keener ears, the predator had every advantage, and the mere hint of its presence sent every piece prey scurrying for their burrows. But it was not deterred from its nightly ritual. A rapid heartbeat caught its attention, and its piercing orange eyes pinpointed a mouse scurrying through the undergrowth. With a tilt of its wings, the king of the night changed direction and dove with expert precision, talons outstretched and—
A white-furred demon with crimson eyes leapt from the side, joined almost instantly by his twin. Unsheathed claws landed on one of the large brown wings, digging into flesh as his teeth closed on feathers. (Entirely forgotten, the mouse scurried away, unnoticed, to live another night.) The mountains froze as the scene devolved into a magnificent flurry of feathers and fur, and time seemed to hold its breath, waiting to see who would emerge the victor. At one point, he was on his side, clinging to the struggling raptor with the tenacity of a leech. At another, talons raked down his shoulder, but he hardly felt them, distracted as he was by the way his blood sang with the thrill of the hunt. Jaws clamped down on the owl’s wing, and he twisted his head violently, dislocating the limb. A loud, unearthly screech shattered the near silence in which they had been fighting, and its pain gave the demon twins the opening they needed; a moment later, and the bird was dead.
The night had found new monarchs.
Eyes blazing and sides heaving, the tom turned his attention from the owl at their paws to his sister. He wore a monstrous grin. Moons had passed since they had last hunted together, yet they still moved as though they were only parts a single organism. It was refreshing, and for a moment, he basked in the emotion before returning to the business at hand. A shallow grave was dug and the bloody corpse was placed within, intact but for a single feather plucked from its wing. With this singular proof of their victory, they descended from their hunting grounds.
The parts of his alabaster fur not darkened now by a layer of cooling blood still shone in the moonlight, and like a phantom, Whiteshade drifted across the familiar moorland, unbothered by the darkness; devils had nothing to fear when they were the scariest thing in the night. Just beneath the surface of his skin, his monster roared its approval, rearing its head and shouting its victory at the skies. Nothing compared to the thrill of holding the life of another creature in his claws, and he basked in it as he directed his steps now toward the pair of felines silhouetted against the horizon.
He materialized before them, entirely unconcerned with the blood splattered across his fur and the way his shoulder stung in the warm, night air. Crimson eyes moved from the larger tom, who was nearly lost in the darkness but for a pair of unreadable gray eyes. ”Rookfrost,” The first of the twins acknowledged his acquaintance with a slight inclination of his head. His attention shifted to the medicine cat’s companion, ears flicking curiously. Before she had become the medicine cat’s apprentice, he might not have given her a second thought – indeed, he still did not often think of the younger she-cat – but now, now she was in his world. This was new, and he found himself rather intrigued. The horrific grin, which had never truly faded, returned in full force. ”And apprentice,” Whiteshade continued delicately. ”How are you on this fine night?”
and the red death held illimitable dominion over all |
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Post by Fawn on Aug 23, 2016 13:44:32 GMT -5
ROOKFROST Like wraiths conjured from the overactive imaginations of kittens, Cherrypool and Whiteshade appeared in sanguine fashion. Whiteshade’s disposition was cheerful, effortlessly polite despite he and his sister’s bloodied complexion. He smiled like nothing was amiss, and even Rookfrost found the alabaster warrior to be unsettling at times.
Cherrypool’s approach was slower, the she-cat less willing to put herself in the presence of others when her mental state teetered so precariously on the edge of gleeful murder. He could see their injuries based on the concentration of blood staining their pelts; Whiteshade’s shoulder bore a long cut—no doubt from the talons of an eagle or an owl.
He did not have to closely examine the injury to identify the cause. The teeth of canid creatures left jagged wounds, shredding the skin, their teeth designed more for puncturing than precision. The way Cherrypool favored her left back leg over her right suggested several possibilities; a muscle strain, a damaged tendon, or potentially a dislocated hip, though he was doubtful of the latter. Her gait was too smooth for that, or to suggest that her paw pads had been wounded in the fight.
The assessment took mere seconds for a healer as experienced as he. Instead, his focus was drawn away from the albino pair to gaze unsympathetically at the ginger she-cat. Whiteshade’s pleasantry went unanswered.
Kindleflare was given little time to adjust to their presence—gawking, fainting, babbling, none were acceptable in situations like these—issuing orders in his resonant, clipped voice.
”Begin. Compress the wounds with cobwebs. Swiftly, lest your Clanmates bleed out on the moorlands.” No such thing would occur; neither senior warrior was so bloodied from their encounter with the owl (Rookfrost now recognized the feather Whiteshade had presented to him as a trophy, accepting it with a grim nod) that they would not survive the night. Unless Kindleflare deliberately rubbed foxglove into their wounds, the only thing they were in danger of was terrorizing half the mountainside.
It would serve no purpose to send her voyaging into the mountains in search of herbs (it was impractical in the extreme, as well as time-consuming). Rookfrost had exercised some forethought, and briefly separating from the group, he retrieved a bundle of herbs and cobwebs from the cache he had made earlier in the day.
The herbal supplies were deposited near Kindleflare, and a flick of the tail was all the encouragement she was getting.
If Rookfrost had a concept of humor, watching the ginger she-cat run through the mountains like a frightened hare would have conjured up a chuckle or two—but he didn’t. He only cared about results. Beginning the she-cat’s evaluative healing assessment, the jet black tom watched in utter silence, observation her sole objective for the night. I am Death none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell |
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GaleClan Medicine Cat
INVENTORY
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Post by BlooRey DVD on Aug 31, 2016 14:18:42 GMT -5
She felt her heart leap from her chest in a desperate attempt to escape when, out of nowhere, the ghostly white forms of the two LightningClan albinos materialized. This time, it wasn't only their eerie red eyes that spiked her heart rate; it was the presence of the dark red splotches of blood covering their usually pristine white pelts. And neither one of them looked particularly bothered by it either! Ears pinned against her skull as the brother of the two turned his attention toward her. And he grinned. Oh StarClan above, he grinned at her in one of the most unnatural show of teeth she'd seen.
At his question, she managed nothing more than a slight squeak that took the form of a single pathetic word. "F-Fine!" It would seem, however, that Rookfrost was in no mood to chat. Which... Really was no surprise. He was quick to give her orders, reappearing with a bundle of herbs he'd evidently prepared earlier that day. Pausing only to gulp quietly, Kindleflare ducked to gather the wad of cobwebs Rookfrost presented. Glancing briefly between the two white cats, the medicine cat apprentice approached Whiteshade first. She could see more blood on him, and wanted to ensure that the majority of it was not his.
Letting your Clanmates bleed out, regardless of how creepy they might be, was not the way to become a medicine cat. Silently, and doing her best to still her trembling paws, Kindleflare nosed Whiteshade's fur, checking on each of the blood spatters. Before long, she spotted a good gash along his shoulder. Sniffing it softly, she didn't pick up any traces of infection, which made sense seeing as the wound was new. The feathers Whiteshade had brought back left her assuming the wound had been caused by some form of large bird.
Who kn-knows what was o-on those talons... She thought to herself. Pressing a wad of cobwebs firmly against his shoulder, she worked at stopping the bleeding so she could get a better look at it and apply the appropriate herbs later. With one paw occupied, she rocked back slightly on her haunches to examine Whiteshade's remaining flank. She could see a small superficial scratch on his back, much like the one on his stomach she'd noticed while examining his other side. Their bleeding had already stopped, and though she would clean the wounds later, they were of lesser concern at the moment.
Clearing her throat, she glanced over at her mentor. "R-Rookfrost... Can you h-hold this in place p-please, while I g-go check on Ch-Cherrypool?" Part of her expected him to just refuse. Swallowing, she felt a soft rush of relief when he approached, his larger black paws wordlessly replacing her smaller ones on the cobweb. Collecting another wad of cobwebs, she wandered over to Cherrypool on three legs, checking over her left side following an unsure greeting smile. Much like Whiteshade, the white she-cat was covered in superficial nicks that were not of immediate interest. Her nose pushed softly against each blood spatter, checking the spots for any more serious injury.
It wasn't until she shifted to Cherrypool's other side that she found anything needing immediate care. Beneath a matting of blood hid a large gash, deep enough that it's bleeding hadn't yet ceased. It appeared to be of the same caliber as Whiteshade's, if not a little worse. With a soft warning about the possibility of the wound stinging with her touch, she applied a wad of cobweb firmly, but carefully along the wound path. Slowly, her dull amber gaze wandered to Cherrypool's paws.
She could feel the strange way in which Cherrypool held herself, shifted away from her slightly as though not wanting to press her paw to the ground. Though she'd been about to fetch some herbs to start properly treating the wounds, this little fact intrigued her. She paused, her eyes transitioning to Rookfrost. "Once W-Whiteshade w-wound has stopped b-bleeding, can you begin ch-chewing up a poultice of... G-Goldenrod and marigold?" She picked the two herbs for the respective properties she could remember. Goldenrod helped in the healing of wounds, and marigold helped stave off infection. With the wounds originating from a strong bird's talons, it was better safe that sorry.
Her attention returning to Cherrypool, she cleared her throat again before continuing. "Um... I'm going to press a paw on your hind leg to... To f-find out where y-you've damaged it.. T-Tell me when it f-feels most sore." She told the white she-cat, awaiting some form of acknowledgment before beginning. Her touch was soft, beginning near her back and slowly inching down the injured she-cat's leg, seeking out the problem area. |
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| We are born with a DNA blueprint into a world of scenario and circumstance we don't control |
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Co-Captain
INVENTORY
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Post by Phoenix on Sept 9, 2016 18:31:03 GMT -5
now was acknowledged the presence of the red death
Rookfrost, of course, did not bother to offer a response, but he was hardly surprised at this turn of events; the day the antisocial medicine cat participated in small talk was the day the dead would come back to life. That the timid she-cat spoke up, however, had him casting another glance in her direction. With a slight inclination of his head, he acknowledged her response, but the black feline had begun speaking, effectively cutting off any reply. `Knowing any interrupted would be highly unappreciated, he stayed quiet as every pair of eyes turned to watch Rookfrost, and though the words were not directed toward him, he listened with some interested as the medicine cat instructed his apprentice. It struck him suddenly that although they had been partners in their macabre business for many seasons now, never had he had the chance to watch the other tom teach. Whiteshade did not imagine that Rookfrost, though undeniably efficient and skilled, was a particularly patient or inspiring mentor. Firmly delivering orders that were to be obeyed to the listener’s utmost ability and without hesitation, just as he had moments ago, seemed the most likely teaching method – and given the way the shaking she-cat took the commands in stride told him that his assumption was correct.
Crimson eyes found the trembling she-cat again, and a quiet interest grew in why the medicine cat had decided to spend so much time training another with so little backbone. Kindleflare certainly wouldn’t have been Whiteshade’s first choice for an apprentice, but perhaps her fear and apparent reticence were appealing the medicine cat. Perhaps anxiety kept her silent, and it wouldn’t surprise him if he learned that that very nervousness was appealing to the medicine cat because it meant that he wouldn’t have someone constantly wanting to talk to him.
With the thrill of the hunt thrumming through his veins, he watched as the subject of his thoughts cautiously approached him. His shoulder was beginning to sting in the warm night air, and he could feel blood slowly making his fur stiff. As she nosed through his fur, the other superficial cuts across his side began complaining, but he disregarded the pain as nothing more than a slight nuisance. On past hunts and in most battles, he had suffered worse than a single cut along his shoulder, and most of the blood that darkened his pelt did not belong to him anyway. The she-cat seemed inclined to work in silence, and he gave her a moment to get a sense of how injured he wasn’t. Perhaps, as a result of such investigation, she would convince herself of what he and Rookfrost already knew – that no one would be bleeding out on the moorland that night. Whiteshade considered himself utterly familiar with the art of in exsanguination and knew that there was far more blood involved. Of course, he could hardly expect the medicine cat apprentice to know that, but her brother, however, was an entirely different story.
As his shoulder was worked on by Kindleflare, his thoughts turned idly toward her brother, and turning his head to look at her, he began lightly, “You are Nightstep’s sister, correct?” Another grin found its way across his face as he thought of their nights hunting together. “He was my apprentice, and I daresay he has become quite an impressive warrior.”
Coming from any other cat, the compliment might not have sounded so sinister.
Now that they had been set on that path, however, his thoughts were not easily swayed. It had been quite a while since he and his former apprentice had gone on a hunt together. Long moons and many nights of experience allowed them to work together, though their partnership was not quite as seamless as his with Cherrypool. Nightstep, though he had felt the allure of the monster, did not have the same intimate understanding as the albino demons. He did not feel the pull to rip, to tear, to kill as strongly. He did not find quite as much joy from the act. The devil of LightningClan would never turn down the chance for a hunt with the tuxedo tom by his side, but there was nothing quite like hunting alongside his sister. Like him, she had a monster buried within, but perpetually at odds against the most natural part of herself, she could never fully embrace it. Guilt plagued her like a virus.
Crimson eyes traveled over to her as Rook approached him and kept a firm pressure on his shoulder. Whiteshade spared him a disinterested glance; this was only the most recent of many nights when he returned to the medicine cat’s clinical care. They know this dance. Knowing that the medicine cat would neither appreciate nor respond to his efforts, he did not waste his breath with small talk as he watched Kindleflare check his sister. Rookfrost preferred to work with silent efficiency, and he knew better than to interrupt.
and the red death held illimitable dominion over all |
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Post by Fawn on Sept 10, 2016 19:14:31 GMT -5
ROOKFROST Rookfrost applied the mass of cobwebs with one paw, holding it in place with a firm press, the occasional swivel of his ear the only indication he was listening at all to the idle chatter between demonic warrior and demure assistant. He did not have to stare at Whiteshade’s shoulder wound to know he was applying the correct amount of pressure (as an added precaution, he generally applied more than was necessary, preferring to staunch the blood-flow as quickly as possible regardless of the patient’s comfort); instead, his gaze followed Kindleflare as she gently nosed through Cherrypool’s fur.
Though Rookfrost had an aversion to tedious stretches of wasted time, Kindleflare’s status as a novice was all that protected her from his impatience. He had forgotten the early days of his own apprenticeship (he too had first been a warrior before Grizzledclaw had sought him out in much the same way he had selected Kindleflare), though Rookfrost could note with a disdainful pride that even he would not have been so sluggish.
And the stammering would not have existed.
There was no certainty in her tone, and thus Rookfrost nearly tuned out her request that he chew up marigold and goldenrod for Whiteshade’s shoulder. ”A medicine cat gives orders, Kindleflare. Stop stammering.” He spoke icily to the ginger apprentice, watching the progress made on Cherrypool (the alabaster she-cat winced, hissing like a snake as Kindleflare inevitably found the sorest part of her leg, which was near the knee; a sprain at worst, a twisted muscle at least severity).
Rookfrost made no move to fetch the herbs she had specified. Though his bedside manner was on par with a petrified tree, he understood the importance of reassurance in a delicate, often pressure-filled setting. If anything was to be learned of watching so many idling mindless cats pace to and fro outside his den while he tended to their kin, lovers or friends, it was that uncertainty on the medicine cat’s behalf only served to escalate the situation towards hysteria. Hysteria was unacceptable.
If she wished him to obey her words, then she would have to instruct him as though he were one of her empty-headed Clanmates, devoid of life-saving knowledge and the ability to follow instructions if they weren’t said with clear, concise conviction.
Gray eyes narrowed into shards of winter, the blood stopped on Whiteshade’s wound so he removed the congealing mass of webbing and life-fluid from his paw, a dismissive flick sending the wad into a clump of mountain sedge a half-foot away. He gave her a second chance to instruct him, but that would be all. If she stammered again, he would halt the assessment immediately.
I am Death none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell |
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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 Sept 11, 2016 9:09:15 GMT -5
Sweet mother of Tallstar, Kindleflare quite nearly leapt out of her own fur as Rookfrost's unforgiving voice snapped at her through the night air. Managing to stay completely still beside the white she-cat by some miracle, the only betrayal of her alarmed fear was displayed in her wince. She didn't even make a sound; it was hard to do once you managed to bite down on your own tongue. Ears flattened against her skull, she resisted the urge to immediately apologize to the black spectre of a LightningClan tom. Something told her that doing so would only somehow land her in even more trouble.
Instead, she mewed shakily. "O-Of course, Rookfrost." Cursing the way her voice still shook, she lifted her muzzle in her best attempt at appearing confident. Fixing Rookfrost with her orangey gaze (though, to be truthful, she was staring at his nose and not at those empty, silver eyes), she focused all the energy she could muster in keeping her voice steady. "Rookfrost, please prepare... A poultice of goldenrod and marigold for application on Whiteshade's wounds." It was far from being a Rookfrost-like instruction, but credit was due to the ginger medicine cat apprentice. Her voice didn't waver, and she certainly sounded the most confident she'd ever had.
She held his gaze until the black medicine cat seemed to deem her instruction at least passable. Breathing out, she returned her focus on Cherrypool's gash. She didn't quite know what to do about Cherrypool's sore leg, her mind still churning through possible routes to take. Eventually pulling the wad of cobwebs from the white warrioress' shoulder, she padded toward the herb bundle, picking up a few stocks of the two herbs she'd told Rookfrost to use. It was around here that Whiteshade's voice met her ears once more.
Her ears flicked back as she timidly met his red gaze. Unable to resist the urge, Kindleflare went as far as taking a step back while the white tom spoke. Nodding quickly in agreement, she rattled off the best response she could think of before making a dive for the herbs. "Y-Yess Nightstep is my brother... He is.. Very strong. LightningClan i-is lucky to have strong cats like him a-and you." And then she was gone, herbs in her jaws, back at Cherrypool's side. Setting herself back on her task, she began preparing the herbs just as Rookfrost had taught her to.
Before long, the largest of Cherrypool's gashes was properly slathered with the poultice, the ginger she-cat methodically wrapping it with cobweb to keep the wound clean, but paying attention to ensure Cherrypool's mobility was not affected. Once finished with Cherrypool's wound, she glanced over to see Rookfrost had done the same for Whiteshade's. With a slight flick of her tail, she glanced down at her paws, gathering the courage to look Rookfrost in the eye again. "I... Don't know what to do for Cherrypool's leg. It is not broken." She meowed, actually sure of that one. She hadn't felt anything incredibly wrong in the she-cat's leg. "Passed giving her... Dandelion leaves to ease the pain..? I don't know." She admitted, her voice trailing off by the end. |
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Post by Fawn on Sept 11, 2016 12:44:13 GMT -5
ROOKFROST Better. The juxtaposition of a black cat chewing bright yellow flowers would have been humorous if not for the cat doing the chewing. Rookfrost worked methodically, mincing the herbs into a poultice that could be applied quickly, his teeth making short work of the flower petals and hearts. The taste of marigold went ignored as it clung to his tongue, Rookfrost spitting the poultice onto his paw, and from there it went directly onto Whiteshade’s wound.
Kindleflare was doing the same with Cherrypool. Though precious little could be said of Kindleflare’s temperament and its suitability for this line of work, that she had made an effort with middling to moderate results was what you would call an improvement. That she was employing the assistance of a senior healer was another sign that she was not as hopeless had he had feared.
Rookfrost’s icy gaze did not leave Kindleflare’s form, and he brushed away bits of dandelion and marigold from the long black fur of his chest, listening. ”That is acceptable. However, there is more to healing than applying herbs or providing poppy seeds. You have a warrior with a bruised or sprained muscle. What would your parting instructions be?” If Kindleflare did not give her patients the correct instructions to follow after they left the confines of the medicine cat’s den, then they would be back that much sooner with an aggravated condition. Though Rookfrost attributed most feline stupidity to the injured cat in question, an oversight such as this one would be entirely the fault of the medicine cat’s.
As an example, Rookfrost addressed Whiteshade, deliverance always cold on the edge of biting. ”Your wounds can be reopened. Do not lie down on that side until the injury has scabbed over. If it does not breathe, it will risk infection.” The jet black tom’s eyes narrowed a fraction, acknowledging how Whiteshade may find his next instructions difficult. ”Excessive movement will also reopen the wound. I do not appreciate wasting cobwebs. Be mindful and I won’t have to.”
Whiteshade was seldom seen two days one after the other; the white devil was well-versed in rapid recovery, though he was even better versed in not sustaining any injury at all. This was a rare occurrence, though Rookfrost found it to be a convenient teaching opportunity; if neither sibling had been actually wounded enough for Kindleflare to exercise the medical knowledge she’d accumulated over their moons of training, then the trip would be considered a waste.
Unless the goal had been to instill in Kindleflare a chronic case of insomnia--in which he’d likely succeeded--a fruitless trip into the mountains this would be.
Cherrypool was still not speaking, though the revealing glint in her crimson gaze had softened. She was returning to a more socially acceptable state of being. In a low voice, soft as though aware it was out of place and edged with ice from many moons of ridicule, Cherrypool spoke to Kindleflare.
”Thank you.”
I am Death none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell |
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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 Sept 13, 2016 19:23:48 GMT -5
Kindleflare's ears pivoted atop her head as she mentally scolded herself upon hearing Rookfrost's words. How stupid could she be! Of course she couldn't just send Cherrypool off like that without any instructions! What kind of medicine cat would that make her? A bad one, that's what. Nodding her head in understanding, she refrained from apologizing, reminding herself that Rookfrost more than likely didn't care if she was sorry. He would only be interested in seeing her fix her mistake, and in seeing her do better next time. Listening attentively to the directions Rookfrost gave the alabaster tom before him, Kindleflare began formulating her own instructions for Cherrypool.
Gently placing a couple dandelion leaves before the she-cat, she met Cherrypool's sharp red gaze, clearing her throat softly as she set forth to keep her voice steady. "Chew those dandelion leaves, they will help with the p-pain in your leg. Avoid putting unnecessary pressure on it, ideally... Stay off of it c-completely for a couple days. As f-for your cut... Much of the same holds true. Rest, and n-no excessive m-movement. If anything doesn't f-feel right at any point, come back and see me." She finished with a little nod of her head, glancing toward Rookfrost and hoping that what she said was enough that he would find it acceptable, at the very least.
Surprise flickered over her features when the ivory she-cat's voice rose to speak a single word. It wasn't particularly warm, edging more toward the icy tone Rookfrost often used, but seeing as Kindleflare couldn't ever remember having this particular she-cat speak to her ever? The ginger apprentice considered it a win. Smiling almost shyly at Cherrypool, she offered the warrioress a dip of her muzzle. "You... Are m-most welcome, Cherrypool." With her job done, she stepped away, diligently collecting the unused herbs and cobwebs back into a bundle to be carried back to camp.
That was, of course, if Rookfrost didn't instruct her to do something else. |
Not sure if Phoenix wants to post again ^^ If not, feel free to end it with your next post, Fawn! Note: 34 moons old |
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Post by Fawn on Sept 18, 2016 17:30:44 GMT -5
ROOKFROST Their roles as healers were finished. Once the final instructions were given to their patients, they were free to step back, stop caring, and continue on to the next task to be accomplished. In Rookfrost's case, that was returning to camp with two bloodied albinos and a trembling apprentice he surprisingly wasn't disappointed in. Her voice still shook and confidence seemed to elude her the way smoke eluded the hunter's claws, but there had been marked progress. There was no need to dwell on her behavior, there was no time taken for him to deliberate over his choice to keep her on as an apprentice.
In his usual cold, clipped voice, Rookfrost exposed his thoughts, peeling back the skin to reveal the truth. "If you had done poorly or failed to meet my expectations, your services would no longer be required. I would be forced to replace you with another who had a greater aptitude for learning." If she had failed so horribly to the point where she'd incurred his wrath, then perhaps Cherrypool and Whiteshade would have one last creature to hunt tonight. That was merely a faint consideration; he did not like having his time wasted. He did not like having his efforts be for naught. There was nothing so irritating as trying to pass on knowledge to another creature only to have their own stupidity or uncertainty undo his hard work.
Fortunately for both healers present, that was not the case.
Rookfrost continued, gliding like a shadow over the moorland, seeming to avoid the mouse holes and empty rabbit warrens without needing to glance down. "Your training with me has reached its last stage. Going forward, I expect you to behave like a medicine cat, not a bumbling idiot who does not know the difference between dock leaves and hemlock." Icy eyes swept over her like a winter's chill, and there was expectation there, not emptiness. "Do not disappoint me." I am Death none can excel, I'll open the door to heaven or hell |
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