she ate the lotus [private]

**plum** · #1 August 17th, 2024, 01:28 PM

@iliri

The thing about baggage, is usually those with baggage know what they've got. They know that they're carrying a suitcase full of issues with them wherever they go, and they know- even if they don't intend for it- that it can very well affect those around them. You would think, then, if someone no longer knew they had ever carried any baggage at all, it would no longer make a difference to the world around them. But their baggage isn't gone just because they don't know it exists. A tree still grows around the corner and out of sight. It still provides shelter, casts a shadow, and makes a difference. It doesn't cease to exist when the squirrel who planted the seed in hopes of returning for it in the colder season forgets it had planted anything there.

The squirrel could very well say, 'That tree isn't mine, I never left a nut there,' but the tree would not disappear.

A cat with golden fur and black rosettes wakes up beneath a thick beech tree. She feels exhausted despite only just waking up, and finds that beneath her chest, her front left paw folded at a bad angle. A couple of the cat's toes had dried blood smeared through the fur (her claws torn ragged) and her ankle swollen. A heartbeat of pain could be felt from the joint. A frown pulls the cat's lips down. She had only just gone to sleep... What happened? Looking up, she peers through the thick summer foliage of the tree, considering the possibility of falling. But none of the broad branches looked particularly difficult to navigate, and the cat was not sure why she would be in a tree in the first place.

Another option was a fight... But surely, such a thing would stand out to her? Standing, the cat pushes out a heavy breath and circles the base of the beech for clues. She comes up with nothing. Her tail, long and thin, flips one way and another as she tries again to draw up from the deep recess of her mind how her paw had come to become strained. Was it so important? Perhaps not.

The cat soon forfeits the half-hearted attempt of remembering this, though. Hunger was more prevalent, and drew her focus moreso than trying to figure out a mystery that mattered very little, in the end. She wanders, unsure of where she would find a meal (and unwilling to bet her life on managing to catch anything faster than she), eventually coming to a hesitant stop near a blueberry bush.

**iliri** · #2 August 19th, 2024, 08:46 PM

Being away from Autumn and Pax’s home gave the herbalist a sense of relief. While she had much appreciated their choice with letting her stay with them for as long as she needed, the calico felt a much-needed break to stretch her nimble legs. Being stuck within an abandoned twoleg monster gave her a dial of insecurity. Even if she heard that not all of them were terrible, her caution still held itself to high standards of what she had considered safe and effective for her wellbeing. Twolegs were nothing but bad news, and that was going to stay that way until the end of her days. Springlight shook her head forcefully to shake off the impending thought, a wince following suit as pain jolted up from her neck. A small part of her had almost forgotten the tangled mess she had herself in just more than a few sunrises ago; an incident that could have left her good as dead. Instead, she found herself still alive and kicking, oxygen flowing freely into her lungs and steadily into her bloodstream. Even if she was alive, a small part in her mind screamed that she should have died. That she shouldn’t have dodged death’s wrath and accept it’s cold, delicate touch to bare itself onto her. This wasn’t how she thought or acted, but they had just kept coming. The weight of them all crushed her remaining sorrow, drowning it out in a thickened layer of poison honey that brought no sense of comfort that she wished for. A heavy sigh expelled through her nostrils, a swift breeze tickling her scars as it whisked away through her long coat.

Getting used to a single remnant of vision hasn’t been easy. Her blinded eye saw nothing but darkness, a void where light once danced. Everything was cloudy and thickened with a sickly resolve. A part of her internally cringed at the thought of how other cats may look at her; perhaps seeing them look at her with a sense of pity for her lack of self-defense. Perhaps with disgust with all the fancy arrangement of scars crisscrossing her pelt. Bumblestar and Wolfhive briefly crossed her mind, her hackles painfully bristling as she imagined how they would react towards her new look. Would it be out of pity? Shame? Frustration? She held no clue, and the fact that she didn’t know left her to pluck random stands of grass out of the soil, her claws tainting a faint brown from dirt. It was a continuous pain to clean, but at this point, she held zero regard for it. She came to this forest as a distraction, not to worsen the situation that she was forced within. Springlight shook her head once more, being extra cautious about how she moved her neck unlike before. It still caused a strain of hurt to flood through her body, but it wasn’t as severe as it was before. She’s still healing, after all, and that’s not going to be a quick-and-easy problem to solve. The calico marched on through the woodlands, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced between the trees. If she weren’t engorged by her own thoughts, she would have admired nature’s beauty. It was secondhand nature to her, something that she had ever since she was a kit; admiring everything she saw. Guilt tugged deeply within as she wished she still promoted that childish innocence, but that’s long ago, and that won’t be coming back.

So, Springlight continued onwards, moving her paws despite the aching pain that trembled through her body. It was almost by instinct, driven by a need to escape the crushing weight of her own thoughts. She quietly moved past the tall beech trees, briefly touching against the sun-touched bark with her tail as she strolled. It almost surprised her with how still the atmosphere felt. Maybe it was for the fact that she felt used to it after spending four seasons serving under Drizzlecloud as a medicine cat apprentice, only to falter the moment she became their sole medic. Stars, she wanted to prove herself to them; to prove that she was capable of serving her clan. Did StarClan think otherwise? Did they have plans for her that they just didn’t bother to comply with? The calico glanced up towards the blue sky, trying to peer past the blue hue and into the endless void of stars beyond. Were they seeing her right now? Did they care that they caused an owl to come down and snatch her away from ThunderClan? Did they care that… they forcefully pushed her off a position that she worked so hard to gain? Being a medicine cat meant a lot to the calico, being something that she had worked hard for, only to be taken from the owl’s cruel talon’s. She almost wanted to stop walking and observe, to try to see if she can find her way back towards the safer embrace of ThunderClan territory. All thoughts of hope diminished as she came to the slow conclusion that she may potentially never get home; she may be stuck in the outskirts for the rest of her life and Bumbles held no choice but to start at square one with healers again.

Her body tensed and her multicolored tail whisked before she tucked it low. Failure was the only thing that she had hoped to avoid, and now she trampled her paws right over its tracks. Had Foxstep really planted his paws over her own just to have her take a dive into a mass of failure and self destruction? She almost wanted to feel angry and frustrated at the stars that she had once overlooked. The failure they caused her was something that she couldn’t find herself avoiding any longer. Her muscles tensed, a pulsating rhythm of agony reigning over herself that she promptly ignored, her claws seeping deep into the undergrowth beneath her paws in order to keep herself restrained. They failed her. He failed her. She failed everyone in ThunderClan. It was all a mocking joke. A cruel agony that was constantly being repeated, inflicting itself into the very crevices of her mind just to remind her that she failed in everyone and she wasn’t going to gain what she had worked so hard for back. It hurt like hell, and it didn't help with the fact she felt her eyes start to water from the hurtful implications she caused herself. She wasn't a good medic; she failed her clan just as her predecessors had. Maybe she lasted, but she failed to prove that she could work solo, only because StarClan didn't agree with the choice. A small part of her screamed that maybe, someday, that dying light would rekindle again and she would gain what she had lost. Perhaps she may work alongside Bumbles and Wolf again. The mental pain that coursed through her ignored the flicker of hope, drowning in the negativity as she forced herself to walk again.

Before she could walk any further, a scent that was so dreadingly familiar reached itself towards her nostrils, almost triggering an instinct she left to plummet to the deepest pits of the world. Blood. There wasn't any way that she would forget it in a hurry, not with everything that happened a few sunrises ago. But, even with her nerves held in high regard, the instinct to heal and assist the weakened had been something that never faltered to leave. Something in the back of her mind had almost cursed silently to the stars as if this were another one of their “gifts”. The flicker of hope thought that it could be them saying that her job as a medic may be replenished to her someday, but the calico knew better than to not fall into disillusioned ideas. Cats who lose their ranks never get it back, whether they like it or not. It could be her self-conscious telling her this thought, but Springlight ignored it with a pained flick of an ear. She knew StarClan’s horrible games, and she wasn't in the mood to be dealing with them. Focusing herself back on the present, the calico hesitantly used her remaining senses to try to catch any sort of idea of what the blood may be coming from. It smelt old; being from a while ago. Her stomach clenched with the thought of running into a potentially dead corpse, but something in her lingered to follow it. It felt ridiculous, but Springlight followed her gut, quietly trending in the direction of where the stench of blood elevated from. It grew stronger, dancing around her nose, until she came upon the scene in inspection, her pupils quickly narrowing as her body painfully tensed up.

Flicks of dried blood were shown apparently against the tree the golden-furred molly had originally been at, the calico following her gaze to look at the suspectingly injured Bengal stumbling towards a blueberry bush. At first, the calico didn't see much of the problem with the other feline, until she found her remaining vision landing on the sprained ankle. The dried blood is obvious along the injury; it must have been there for a good minute, but not long enough for the fact that the calico could easily detect it from a bit away. Hesitancy tugged at the feline, knowing that this may possibly be a trick that could end up getting her killed—or worse, gain more external scarring. Springlight wasn't so certain though, seeing the obvious hunger and exhaustion lacing the other feline making her suspicions die down. Either way, she couldn't be so certain, only feeling her emotions bottled within herself as she stepped forward, espousing herself in the dying sunlight through the beech trees. “I… can see… that you are… injured,” Springlight spoke, ignoring the obvious agony that occurred as she spoke. She wouldn't be surprised if the owl further worsened her already bad enough vocal performance, she would just need to try to push through it as best as she can. “Do… you need… any assistance… with that?” Asking that alone almost made the medic want to cuff herself behind the ears. She knew by the obviously notable conditions of the other feline’s leg that she was in dire need of a check-up, but the question had already slipped past her lips and there was no turning back now. All she could really hope for was that the herbs that she’d need would be around nearby to help the injured Bengal.

@plum (sooo kinda wasn't sure how to really start this off so appreciate some word vomit lmaoo)

**plum** · #3 August 25th, 2024, 06:07 PM

@iliri

The cat spends far longer staring at the bush in contemplation than was really necessary. Hunger drives her toward leaning forward to pluck a delicate, fat blueberry from its place and as she crushes it between her teeth, a throaty growl takes up from deep down. Pulling another berry free, Nectar feels an unexpected sense of shame rise up in her belly. This wasn't what a cat like her should be doing. She wasn't built for plucking blueberries from their branches and eating them. The rumbling of her belly secedes slowly as the cat eats her fill, growling through it all for nothing other than the dreadful inkling that she was better than this.

That is when she hears the scratchy voice of another cat. Jerking her head back, the female turns on her heels to peer right into the cautious gaze of another. Damn it, Nectar thinks. To be caught off-guard in the woods was one thing. To be caught off-guard and injured, though... Her brows furrow and sink low over her eyes, her lips peeling back to reveal a set of pointed teeth (when had one of her canines come out?). Tucking her injured leg up close to her chest, Nectar curls her back and feels the fur along her spine prickle. Why was she so defensive all of a sudden, though? Others were not inherently bad... And she couldn't recall a time where a stranger had brought her harm. Not that she recalled much, as it was.

"Stay where you are," Nectar's voice is coarse but strong. "What is your name? Where have you come from?" If there was any way of knowing just how different she was today compared to just a couple of days ago, the cat would be beyond repulsed. But cats didn't have a means of recording anything. They wouldn't know what a recording even was. And Nectar wouldn't think about her meeting with Strawberry ever again. All she knew right now was that she'd been injured... And she had a horrid feeling that another cat had somehow been a part of it. She just didn't know. Frowning, Nectar appears to inspect Springlight more closely. "Have you followed me?"

**iliri** · #4 August 29th, 2024, 05:39 AM

Aggression was expected, not that the calico was surprised. Springlight had seen that look before—a look of distrust, of fear barely concealed beneath a veil of anger. The way Nectar's eyes darted between her and the surrounding undergrowth spoke volumes of her guardedness. Her posture was taut, ears flattened, and her body seemed coiled like a spring, ready to pounce or flee. It was a look that silently spoke of past betrayals and wounds deeper than the gashes on her flesh. Springlight could sense the tension radiating from Nectar, the underlying tremor in her muscles, the way she held herself just a little too tightly, as if the world might break her if she let her guard down for even a moment. There was a heaviness in the air, a simmering unease that hung between them like a thick fog, and Springlight knew she had to tread carefully. One wrong move, and she may have sharp canids dig into her already messed-up body. Slowly, she lowered herself onto her haunches, the motion deliberate and unthreatening. Her fur brushed against the rough undergrowth, and she felt the coolness of the earth seep into her paws. She let her tail curl gently around her body, a subtle gesture meant to convey calmness and peace. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the rustling leaves pausing in anticipation. She could feel every racing heartbeat in her chest, a steady drum that felt too loud in the stillness. Springlight kept her gaze soft, steady, meeting Nectar's eyes with a careful calm that spoke of patience, of a willingness to wait, to be still in the face of another's fear. Her own heart was racing, yet she did her best to keep her breathing even, measured. She knew the signs of a cat ready to strike, and she didn't want to provoke that reaction.

This combined with her pulsating, still-healing injuries was pure hell. She could feel every part of her body protesting with a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to seep into her bones. Each breath felt like a jagged shard of ice cutting into her lungs, the air scraping against her raw throat. The pain radiated from her side, where the most severe of her wounds lay, a deep gash that had barely begun to close. Every movement sent a sharp, searing shock through her body, like fire racing under her skin. She fought the urge to wince, to show any sign of the discomfort that gnawed at her like a relentless predator. Her legs trembled slightly beneath her as she tried to keep herself steady while she sat. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her remaining vision, which seemed to blur at the edges. She was aware of the way her tail quivered involuntarily, the tension pulling at the muscles along her spine. Her chest tightened painfully, and she could feel the sting of sweat mingling with the dried blood along her flank, the sticky dampness making her fur cling uncomfortably to her skin. She wanted to shift her weight, to ease the pressure on her wounds, but even the thought of moving made her stomach twist with dread. She hadn't wanted the other molly to think she was anything but vulnerable like this. It made her feel precautious, especially at how quick the other feline was towards jumping to conclusions. When she spoke, her voice came out in a rasp, hoarse and strained, like the croak of an old tree branch bending under the weight of too much snow. Her throat felt raw, each word scraping painfully up from her chest, and she struggled to push past the tightness that seemed to close around her windpipe. “M-my name… is Springlight,” she managed, her breath hitching as she tried to steady herself, fighting against the way her body trembled. “I… come from… a nearby den… I’m… here… to help you.” The words were clipped and uneven, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath.

Even if her words sounded uneven, she still tried to make them soft and willing, trying to match the gentleness of the breeze that rustled the leaves above. Her tattered ears flicked forward attentively, picking up the small sounds around them—the distant call of a bird, the soft rustle of a bush, and the subtle creak of old branches swaying in the wind. She hoped her words would be good enough to show the intent of her actions—of which wasn't to cause harm. Her blue eyes flickered with sincerity, trying to pierce through the veil of Nectar's defensiveness. The silence that stretched between them felt thick and palpable. Springlight could feel the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders, her own uncertainty gnawing at the edges of her composure. She had offered a piece of herself, a gesture of goodwill, and now all she could do was wait, hoping that it would be received with understanding rather than suspicion. She searched to see any conflict in Nectar's eyes, any flickers of hesitation, any possible doubt that lingered like a shadow. The air felt heavy with unspoken words, and desperation clawed deep within her to hope that Nectar would accept her willingness to help. She swallowed hard, but her mouth felt like it was filled with sand, her tongue thick and heavy. She could taste the faint tang of blood, metallic and sharp, and she had quickly assumed she had accidentally bitten down on her lip trying to ease herself, and now she had to keep from crying out in pain. Her jaw ached, and the effort of speaking seemed to pull at every muscle in her face, the strain sending fresh waves of discomfort down her neck. She tried to swallow again, but it was like forcing a stone down her throat. A snag of anger and frustration clawed at her, her tail instinctively lashing against the earthy floors as she stared at Nectar.

”If… you want… to know… I never… followed you… or caused… that injury.” She gestured towards the sprained paw that Nectar held defensively against herself, wanting to get that piece of information out of her system before trying anything else. She shifted slightly, her tail tip painfully twitching in a nervous rhythm against the ground, her blue eyes searching Nectar's face for any sign of a response. "I… know… some herbs… that can help," she offered, her voice softening even further, like a whisper carried in the wind. "I might… be able… to help you… if you let me." Springlight’s throat burned as she tried to speak, her voice barely more than a strained whisper. Every word came out in a halting, stuttering rhythm, punctuated by sharp, shallow breaths. She could feel the sharp edges of panic beginning to creep in, her mind racing with the effort to find the right words, to make herself seem understood. But every word felt like an uphill battle, her body fighting against her, her lungs straining with the effort to keep air flowing. Even with her internal struggling, the calico remained still, her expression open and honest, hoping to convey that she meant no harm. She understood that trust was a fragile thing, easily shattered and difficult to rebuild. ”I can… also find… you some… prey as… well… if you… wish… so you… don’t have… to rely… on blueberries… as a… last resort.” Her wounds felt like they were tearing open again, the skin pulling taut and raw. She could feel a trickle of fresh blood wetting the fur along her side, and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, willing herself not to show how much it hurt. The world around her seemed to tilt slightly, the edges blurring in and out of focus. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep her vision steady, to focus on Nectar’s face and not the pain that was consuming her, threatening to swallow her whole. All she could do was hope that the other feline didn't doubt her words in the slightest.

@plum

**plum** · #5 August 30th, 2024, 11:44 PM

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• Nectar •
outsider | god she's ancient | Female | Gay AS HECK

It wasn't Nectar's fault that things had turned out this way, not really. The female had only done what her faith drew her toward. Everything up to this moment was fated. Everything was meant to be. It had to be. It had to be, because if none of this had been lined up from the beginning- If none of this was written in the stars themselves from the moment of her birth, then why was the bengal here, fighting for things she could not even think to remember? Each breath today had been a war against the unseen oppressor who wanted her dead for reasons she could not fathom. Each step today a clear and defiant symbol against the abuse she had withstood for so long. A message to those who expected the cat's psyche to snap, to those who thought that this cat had nothing more to give away than the life she so desperately dug her chipped and broken claws into. And it wasn't Nectar's fault that any recognition of this inhumane cycle would never come. She could not wait for grace to come when she herself would never come to know she needed it in the first place.

She maintains a stern expression even as the other cat clearly struggles to even sit properly. The fur along her spine continues to rise and Nectar fights the yawning urge to turn and leave before this cat could react. It wasn't honorable, not in the slightest, but the golden cat felt a looming sense of urgency suddenly. She wouldn't be able to explain it if asked to, but this cat was dangerous. Sirens at the back of her mind beginning to go off in a low, distant cacophony only growing louder, nearer, the longer their eyes remained locked upon each other. Nectar, for all the good it is about to do her, ignores the screaming alarm bells and remains frozen in place to the ground, to the forest, to that scene. She forces her fur to lie flat, and forces her body to slowly unfurl from its aching defensive posture. But as soon as the golden female begins to believe that she could possibly slide out of this encounter, the other cat speaks again in that soft, raspy voice. She introduces herself.

Springlight. The cat's ears begin to burn and her throat closes entirely on its own. Green eyes grow round one racing heartbeat and then shrink to slits the next, and it is a response that Nectar has no knowledge of, no control over. She swallows and the bile that slips down her throat is hot, thick, and threatens to shoot back up without even a moment's notice. She shakes her head slowly. Springlight spoke so slowly in a voice so shallow and tired and broken, and it was somehow the greatest symbol of strength Nectar had seen in a very, very long time. She might have been moved had she have recalled that life so long passed. This golden cat now only felt a sense of repulsion... Needing to stay away, and to find somewhere else to scavenge, to sleep. But the cat spoke so comfortingly of help and nourishment while looking to be on death's door herself. And Nectar couldn't abandon this brittle thing being built by one outstretched paw to another.

Nectar slowly lowers her head in submission to the younger, injured cat. "Then I will follow you," says the worn-out outsider. "I am hungry, and I do not know how to tend to myself. You... Carry with you the strong scent of herbs." It only made sense she would know how to use them. "I am Nectar. I could not tell you more than that."

@iliri

**iliri** · #6 September 7th, 2024, 02:52 PM

Springlight’s gaze remained locked on Nectar, the frailness of the other cat becoming more apparent with every passing moment. The golden molly was a pitiful sight—her fur dull and matted, her eyes clouded with pain and hunger. Springlight felt a pang of something she had almost forgotten how to feel: empathy. But even that emotion was tainted by her own exhaustion, her own struggle to keep moving despite the pain that radiated from her body with every breath. The wounds she bore were still fresh, the skin pulled tight and angry where the owl’s talons had torn through. Every movement sent sharp stabs of pain shooting through her body, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to ignore it. There was no room for weakness here. If she faltered, they would both suffer for it. She needed to focus, to push through the fog of pain and fatigue that threatened to drag her under. Nectar’s life was in her paws now, and that responsibility was both a burden and a lifeline. Springlight’s mind raced as she considered what she would need to do next. The first step was obvious: she needed to find herbs, the ones that could stave off infection and dull the pain. Her thoughts turned inward, sifting through the knowledge she had accumulated over seasons of training. Marigold for the wounds, to prevent them from festering. The yellow flowers were a staple of her healing arsenal, their petals crushed and applied to cuts and scrapes to keep them clean. Cobwebs to bind the injuries, to stop the bleeding and hold everything in place.

The sticky threads would serve as a makeshift bandage, something to keep Nectar’s wounds from reopening as they moved. Elder leaves to soothe the pain, though she knew they were not the strongest remedy—just the most readily available, especially for strains, specifically what Nectar may be struggling through. And moss… Moss to cleanse out possible debris and excess blood. It was always a handy-dandy tool of hers to use if she were struck by situations like this, so she may be lucky to find it with how common it is. She would also need some poppyseeds as well, in case Nectar was in dire pain and would need something to help fight it off, but the herbalist knew the chances of finding the flower itself were dim, so she would have to deal with this without any poppyseeds in tow. These thoughts swirled through Springlight’s mind as she forced her body into motion, her steps slow and deliberate as she prepared to lead Nectar away, her multicolored tail swishing along the coarse earthy floors as a way to coax the other molly to follow. “There’s… no shame… in needing… help,” she said softly, though the words felt like ash on her tongue. How many times had she uttered those very words to others, while refusing to heed them herself? Springlight could hear the echo of her own hypocrisy, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. “Come with… me,” she continued, her voice gentle but firm. “I’ll find something… to ease… your pain… and to fill… your belly.” It wasn’t much—just an offer of what little knowledge and skill she still possessed, but it was all she had to give.

Springlight could feel the tremor in her own limbs, the exhaustion that seeped into her bones like a cold, creeping fog. But she refused to let it show. Instead, she turned and began to walk, her steps slow and measured, making sure that Nectar could keep pace without faltering. Moving through the underbrush, she led Nectar towards the edge of a nearby stream. Every step was a battle against the pain, her vision blurring slightly as the effort it took to keep herself upright became almost too much to bear. She could feel the dampness of blood seeping through her fur, the fresh wounds reopening under the strain of movement. But there was no time to stop, no time to rest. Nectar’s condition was precarious, and Springlight knew that if she didn’t act quickly, the other cat might not survive the night. Even the smallest wounds can turn into something even more frightening than a breakout of greencough. When they reached a nearby stream, Springlight paused, her breathing ragged as she fought to regain control of herself. The cool air was a brief relief, the gentle sound of the water providing a momentary distraction from the throbbing in her side. She turned to Nectar, seeing the other molly’s gaze fixed on her with a mixture of hope and desperation. It was a look Springlight had seen before, in the eyes of countless cats who had come to her in their time of need. But now, standing here in the middle of the forest, far from the safety of ThunderClan, that look felt different. It felt like a weight pressing down on her, a reminder of all the responsibilities she had once shouldered—and all the ones she had failed to carry through.

“I’ll be… right back,” Springlight murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. She didn’t wait for Nectar to respond, and didn't have the strength to offer any further reassurances. She simply turned and began her search, her movements slow and methodical as she began to gather the necessary herbs. The marigold was easy enough to find, its bright yellow flowers standing out against the green undergrowth. Springlight reached for them with trembling paws, her claws digging into the soft earth as she pulled the plants free. She could feel the tension in her limbs, the strain of her injuries making every movement a painful ordeal. But she pushed through it, focusing on the task at hand. Cobwebs were next, and Springlight moved with a kind of grim determination as she searched for the delicate threads. They clung to the undersides of leaves and the crooks of branches, their silken strands almost invisible in the dappled sunlight. She gathered them carefully, her movements precise despite the pain that flared in her side with every breath. The elder leaves were harder to find, their dull green color blending in with the surrounding foliage. Springlight’s patience was tested as she searched, her frustration growing with every minute that passed. But eventually, she found what she was looking for, plucking the leaves from their stems with a practiced ease. As she moved through the underbrush, Springlight’s thoughts drifted to the hunt that awaited her. She hadn’t hunted properly in moons, her duties as a medicine cat having kept her away from the physical demands of tracking and catching prey.

The thought of trying to do so now, in her current state, filled her with a sense of dread. Her injuries would make it difficult, if not impossible, to move with the stealth and speed required. And yet, there was no other option. Nectar was starving, her body weak from malnutrition—or so that was what she thought. Blueberries might have kept her alive this long, but they would not be enough to sustain her. She needed real food, something with enough substance to give her the strength to keep going. Springlight felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she considered the task ahead. Her stomach churned with a mixture of hunger and anxiety, the thought of chasing down prey almost too much to bear. But she knew she had to try. There was no one else to do it, no one else who could take on this responsibility. She had promised to help Nectar, and that meant doing whatever it took to keep the other cat alive. Even if it meant pushing herself to the brink, even if it meant risking her own life in the process. Springlight moved through the underbrush, wincing as pain shot through her injured leg with each step. She searched for the soft green moss that clung to the base of the trees, her focus narrowed on the task at hand. It was the last thing she needed to assist with Nectar’s aid, and she wasn't letting go of her promise. When she found a patch, she carefully tugged at it, mindful not to damage the delicate strands. The cool, damp scent of the moss filled her nose, grounding her in the present moment. Gathering the soft clumps into a pile, she took a moment to breathe, finding a small comfort in the simple act of preparing to care for someone else.

She returned to Nectar with the herbs, cobwebs and moss in maw, her paws heavy with the weight of her burden. Her movements were automatic as she moved to prepare to dress the other cat’s wounds, her mind focused on the process of healing. Springlight's breath came in slow, measured exhales as she crouched beside the stream, the rhythmic bubbling of the water offering a brief respite from the turmoil swirling in her mind. Nectar’s condition weighed heavily on her shoulders, the urgency of the situation pressing down on her like a leaden fog. Yet, as she dipped a paw into the cool, clear water and soaked the tuft of moss she had gathered, Springlight found a strange sense of calm in the ritual of healing—a task that had once been second nature to her, rooted deeply in the traditions of her role as a medicine cat. She carefully wrung out the excess water from the moss, watching as it darkened and swelled with moisture. The memory of old lessons from Coldamber, taught to her with patient care, surfaced as she began to cleanse Nectar's wound. The sprain had caused Nectar’s ankle to swell and throb, the surrounding fur matted with dried blood and dirt. Springlight knew she had to clean it thoroughly before any real healing could begin. As she pressed the wet moss against the wound, she carefully began to caress through the wound, listening for anything in pained retort to her gentle nurturing. Springlight’s heart tightened with sympathy, but she continued her work with gentle persistence. The water seeped into the fur and skin, loosening the clots and grime, allowing her to gently wipe away the blood and filth that had crusted over the injury. She moved with careful, deliberate motions, pausing every now and then to rinse the moss in the stream before continuing.

The wound, now exposed and clean, revealed the full extent of the damage. Springlight’s eyes traced the edges of the torn skin, the rawness of it stark against Nectar’s tawny fur. The sprain was severe, the joint visibly inflamed, and she knew it would take time and care for it to heal properly. But she couldn't allow herself to dwell on the severity of the injury; there was work to be done, and her paws were already moving toward the next step. Springlight set the now-dirtied moss aside, her gaze drifting to the small bundle of herbs she had gathered earlier. Among them, the bright yellow petals of the marigold caught her eye, their vibrant color a stark contrast to the dreary atmosphere that clung to her thoughts. She reached for the marigold, her movements slow and deliberate, almost reverent. This plant had been her ally in many battles against infection, its antiseptic properties a lifeline in countless situations. Now, it was all that stood between Nectar and a festering wound that could easily spiral out of control. With careful precision, Springlight began to crush the marigold between her paws. The petals were soft and delicate, yielding easily under her pressure. She worked them into a paste, her claws slicing through the fibrous material until it was pulpy and fragrant. But the paste was too thick, too dry to be applied properly. Springlight knew she needed to thin it out, to create a salve that would adhere to Nectar’s wound without causing further irritation. Her gaze flickered to the stream once more, and she dipped her paw into the water, allowing a few droplets to cling to her fur before dripping them into the now-crushed marigold. She mixed the water into the paste, working it with a rhythmic motion that felt almost meditative.

The consistency began to change, becoming smoother, more spreadable. The scent of the marigold intensified, a sharp, earthy fragrance that filled her senses and momentarily drowned out the fatigue gnawing at her edges. Satisfied with the consistency, Springlight turned her attention back to Nectar. She applied the marigold paste with the same careful touch she had used to clean the wound. She spread it evenly across the torn skin, ensuring that every part of the injury was covered. The paste clung to the wound, a barrier against infection that would give Nectar’s body a chance to heal. It was a small victory, but a necessary one, and Springlight felt a flicker of hope as she worked. But she wasn’t done yet. The sprain itself needed to be stabilized, and for that, she had gathered elder leaves, their broad, pliable surfaces perfect for creating a makeshift cast. Springlight knew she couldn’t chew the leaves into a pulp like she had with the marigold; they needed to remain intact, their natural shape lending support to Nectar’s weakened joint. She carefully selected the largest and sturdiest leaves from her bundle, laying them out on the ground beside Nectar’s injured leg. Springlight’s mind raced with the steps she needed to take, the order of operations ingrained in her memory through years of practice. She positioned the first leaf under Nectar’s ankle, the smooth side pressed against the fur, and then began to wrap the others around it, overlapping them slightly to create a stable, layered structure. With each wrap, Springlight adjusted the leaves, ensuring they were snug but not too tight, allowing Nectar enough flexibility to move without exacerbating the injury. The process was meticulous, requiring focus and precision, but Springlight found a strange solace in the familiarity of it.

Her paws moved with a confidence that belied the doubts gnawing at her mind, the fear that she wasn’t doing enough, that she might still fail. Once the elder leaves were in place, Springlight reached for the cobwebs she had gathered, their sticky threads clinging to her fur as she unwrapped them. She used the cobwebs to secure the leaves in place, winding the delicate strands around Nectar’s ankle until the makeshift cast was firm and supportive. The cobwebs, though fragile, would hold the leaves together long enough for the sprain to begin healing, creating a protective cocoon around the injury. Springlight leaned back, surveying her work with a critical eye. The wound was clean, the paste applied, and the sprain supported. It wasn’t perfect—nothing ever was out here, in the wild where she had been thrust into survival mode—but it was the best she could do with the resources at hand. And for now, it was enough. She felt the exhaustion creeping back into her limbs, the toll of her injuries and the relentless strain of the past few days catching up to her. But she couldn’t afford to rest, not yet. Nectar needed food, sustenance to keep her strength up while her body healed. Springlight’s own hunger gnawed at her belly, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the task ahead. The thought of hunting again made her stomach churn, her muscles already protesting at the mere idea of movement. Her injuries, though masked by adrenaline and determination, were still raw and unforgiving, each step a reminder of her vulnerability. But she had no choice. If she didn’t hunt, they wouldn’t eat. And if they didn’t eat, they wouldn’t survive.

Springlight rose to her paws, swaying slightly as the world tilted around her. She steadied herself, breathing deeply until the dizziness passed. “I’ll be… back soon,” Springlight murmured, her voice rough from disuse. She didn’t know if Nectar heard her or if the other cat even cared, but the words felt necessary, a promise she needed to make—to herself, if no one else. She limped toward the edge of the clearing, her mind already shifting into the focused state she needed for the hunt. Every step was a battle, every movement a reminder of how far she had fallen from the cat she once was. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. There was still work to be done, still miles to go before she could allow herself the luxury of rest. The forest loomed before her, dark and unwelcoming, but Springlight squared her shoulders and pushed forward. She had survived this long, and she would continue to survive. For Nectar’s sake, for her own, and for the faint glimmer of hope that still burned within her, refusing to be snuffed out. With a final glance back at the injured cat resting on the ground, the tri-colored feline disappeared into the shadows, her heart heavy but resolute. The forest seemed to close in around her as she moved, the trees towering over her like silent sentinels. Every step was a struggle, her body screaming at her to stop, to rest. But Springlight ignored the pain, her focus narrowing to the task at hand. The scent of prey was faint, almost imperceptible, but Springlight latched onto it like a lifeline. Her movements were slow, cautious, as she crept through the undergrowth. She could feel the tension in her muscles, the strain of trying to move silently despite her injuries.

Her remaining vision blurred slightly, the world around her wavering as she pushed herself to the limit. But she kept going, driven by a desperate need to succeed. When she finally spotted a vole, her heart leapt in her chest. The small creature was scurrying beneath a patch of brambles, its tiny paws scrabbling at the earth. Springlight knew she had only one chance, that she couldn’t afford to miss. She crouched low, her body coiled like a spring, and then she struck. Her claws connected with the vole’s body, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her own limbs. But she held on, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh as she delivered the killing blow. The taste of blood filled her mouth, a reminder of the harsh realities of survival. Springlight felt a pang of guilt as she looked down at the lifeless body of the vole, but she quickly pushed it aside. This was necessary. It was the only way to keep Nectar alive. She returned to the other cat, dropping the prey at her paws with a sense of finality. “Eat.” she said, her voice rough and tired. Only then did Springlight allow herself to sit down, her body sagging with exhaustion. The sun was high in the sky now, its light filtering through the leaves in soft, golden beams. The day was warm, the air filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of rustling leaves. But Springlight could barely appreciate the beauty around her. All she could think about was the pain in her side, the exhaustion that weighed her down like a stone. She had done what she needed to do, and had fulfilled her promise to help Nectar. But at what cost? She could feel her strength slipping away, her vision darkening at the edges. For a moment, Springlight considered giving in, letting the darkness take her. But then she looked at Nectar, taking a moment to analyze her condition.

There was something in Nectar’s eyes, something that spoke of a deep, abiding will to survive. It was a reflection of Springlight’s own struggle, a mirror of the battle she had been fighting for so long. And in that moment, Springlight knew she couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not while there was still a chance, however small, that they could make it through this. Springlight closed her eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath as she tried to center herself. She was in the thick of it now, the moment where every decision carried the weight of life or death. The pain in her side throbbed like a living thing, pulsing with each heartbeat, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. Pain was a distraction, and she couldn’t afford distractions. Not when there was still so much left to do. Her body ached for rest, for the sweet release of sleep, but her mind wouldn’t allow it. Nectar was relying on her, and Springlight wasn’t about to let her down. Not when she had already come this far. Her thoughts returned to the herbs she had gathered, the way her paws had moved almost on their own as she crushed the marigold and wrapped the cobwebs. It was a routine, a ritual she had performed countless times before, but this time it felt different. There was no safety net, no clan-mates to turn to if something went wrong. Just her, alone in the wilderness with a cat she barely knew, and the weight of responsibility that came with it. The familiar comfort of her den in ThunderClan seemed like a distant memory now, a place she might never see again. Springlight glanced at the surrounding forest, the trees standing tall and indifferent to her struggles. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the ground, but to her, it felt more like a labyrinth, each turn leading deeper into uncertainty.

The thought of hunting again made her stomach churn, the idea of moving her body in pursuit of prey almost unbearable. Her injuries, though not fresh, were still far from healed, and every movement was a reminder of just how fragile she had become. Her thoughts drifted back to the owl, the memory of its talons tearing into her flesh still fresh in her mind. She could almost feel the cold wind beneath its wings, the way it had swooped down with terrifying precision. The scars it left weren’t just physical; they ran deep into her psyche, a constant reminder of her failure. She had been a medicine cat, a healer, and yet she hadn’t been able to protect herself, let alone the herbs she had been gathering. The guilt gnawed at her, a relentless beast that wouldn’t let go. But now, it wasn’t just her survival at stake. Nectar was a life she had taken under her care, a life that had become entwined with her own. She couldn’t let this cat die—not when she had the knowledge, the skills to save her. But knowledge wasn’t enough out here, in the wild where the rules were different. Out here, it was about survival, about pushing past the limits of what she thought she could endure. The sun had shifted slightly in the sky, indicating that more time had passed than Springlight had realized. Glancing back toward Nectar, the dilute calico took a moment to formulate the words bubbling up at her throat as she focused on her patient. “So… do you… remember what… could have… occurred that… caused that… injury… that you have? Or… if that is… too much… to ask… do you… mind if… I ask where… you came from?” It was a better start than nothing, she suspected. Better to start something than sitting here in suspended silence for a while Nectar ate the meal Springlight caught for her.

@plum ( im never combining two activities into one again )