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Featherpaw drifted in to wakefulness and was immediately aware of the soreness in her throat, and the ache in her paws. Sighing quietly, she rose from the stone floor and stretched stiffly. Her nest had long since grown sparce, and she hadn't bothered with it besides sweeping the spare moss in to the nests of the cats ill enough to remain in the medicine cat's den. She groggily began to groom her dull fur, growing lost in thought.

The den had become crowded over the past few moons, and even between Smokefur and herself, there was little time for rest. It had been horrifying. The illness had perplexed her at first, but as the first of her clanmates died in her are, she grew afraid. She was the medicine cat, and it was her job to heal NightClan. But as leafbare dragged on, with the guidance of Redscar, she found ways to cope. Death was the most imperative aspect of life. It was okay.

Perhaps it was strange for a cat of her young age to have an understanding of that nature, but she was far from ordinary. Her paws were guided by the stars.

The silver tabby stood, her tail drooping, visibly weary. She padded quietly towards the back of the den, where the herbs lay in untidy piles, and sat to begin sorting them.

Character; Featherpaw
Word count; 226
Notes; I'm tired.

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Smokefur wasn’t far behind her apprentice, she had been out and about in the early morning. It had become a daily ritual to wander around the entrances of all the camps dens listening for coughing, she always hovered around the leaders den. She wasn’t quite sure if she was worried that Ravenstar would become sick, or hoped for it. After her morning rounds had been completed she wandered back into the den and saw Featherpaw was awake, so she pressed on into the deeper parts of the den where their stores were kept. She found her apprentice sorting herbs and she announced her presence asking “How do you feel Featherpaw?” She expected a bold face lie in return, she wondered if Featherpaw ever even considered it possible for her to get just as sick as the rest of the cats in Nightclan. Smokefur was surprised she was feeling nothing but the slight pains of hunger this morning, statistically they were the two most likely cats to get sick when disease rolled through the camp.