ShadowClan Medicine Cat's Den

[Estelle]

Sleepysunrise
[ 14 moons | She / Her | Shc Enforcer | Shadow Fiend ]

...Well. She would have rather avoided this. But bite of snakes and rats were difficult to not suffer from when their masses gather around your paws, and you are more worried keeping an eye on your sister than fending them off. Well. Not that Birdecho's presence or lack thereof would have changed anything on the matter. Perhaps she was having a difficult time admitting defeat, to mere prey no less. While the felines came out victorious, herself included, they had managed to damage her paws and tail in a way that stung and prickled her skin uncomfortably. She felt ashamed for letting it happen; her previous fights she had gotten out with a lesser number of scars, albeit they were grander in severity, those scars didn't prick the soft tissue of her paws the way these rat bites did. She knew, by logic, that it needed to be treated.

And yet Sleepysunrise has been moving in avoidance of the medic's den in awkward dance between logic and emotion for the better part of her day following the massacre of snakes and rats. Approaching the den reminded her of her mother. Her mother whom, in hindsight, she knew so little about beyond the reputation she had built for herself as a skilled enforcer and part-time medic. How strange that the mere sight of Birdecho sitting besides the tom who once courted her mother in such friendly matter, how that was enough to stir the thought within her mind. A thought only repeated when she lay eyes upon her siblings. But they die so easily, her own words echoed within her mind like a spell or cloak that settled its dark coverage over the faces of her family. Mama had supposedly lost her life to a freak incident of a murder, one as unlikely as the other. She had originally spoken those distant words in a daze, recalling the blood that stained her paws at a mere eight moons of age - and somehow that couldn't have come soon enough - and even now her mother's soul was meant to be just another testament at how fleeting a feline's life was. Just like that, her siblings could be dead too. Within the blink of an eye. Herself included.

The thought crossed her mind that some might have seen their battle against the vermin of the world as a threat to their own livelihood; seen their lives flash before their eyes, as the tales say, fearing that those rats and snakes would be the last thing they might lay their eyes upon. She had seen some of their wounds; most were minor, and yet Rookfire had to step in. It could only mean those rats and snakes were a threat to ones life. Yet the little molly couldn't see their ventures as anything more than riding their territory of litter; dirtied beings that infected their lands. She went into that fight knowing they would be victorious; she went into that fight unable to imagine dying or shedding so much as two drops of blood at their teeth, her only concern having settled upon Birdpaw. Did that make her a proud character? Was it a hubris that would eventually lead to her own doom, to be so confident she wouldn't die when others may have feared their life?

Sleepysunrise was tempted to say no. None of her clan mates should have been worried for their livelihood during that fight, no matter the amount of snakes or rats, their were only little creatures (with vicious bites, she had come to learn). She should hope no grown warrior would ever die to such things with the support of their clan at their side. She had to digress. How uncouth to have such a wandering mind at her age, she should be ashamed of herself. Her thoughts were better spent learning than contemplating the silver line they danced upon day in day out.

Although she was tempted to contemplate further; the medics did have such a peculiar place in all this. Messengers of StarClan, a direct link between the life they live and the fabled life in the stars, those blessed enough to lay their eyes upon the dead and speak with them. What ancient knowledge could the stars teach, and what privilege they had to say one last goodbye. She wondered. Did Mossfreckle ever speak to mama after her death? Eyes dull with a familiar wear lifted to watch the perch where her mother's place of rest was marked with the tell-tale scratches of claws, and the softness that comes from laying lengthy times upon wood. If she ever wanted to proceed in her mother's steps, it was time she faced the healer and his den, and got herself properly treated lest she die from such minor wounds. Death by stupidity was not on her to-do list today.

She blinked. Here she goes.

One white-tipped paw stepped inside the den of the medics, other three darks ones soon following behind as she lingered just beyond the entrance of the dimly lit place. This one looked different than the other one. She had spend little time in the den mama once called home, but she had seen it clearly enough to know that this one was vastly different. She stood, silently, just beyond the edge one would consider an entrance as she watched and let the scent of herbs overwhelm her senses. Her eyes were seeking a specific space, an entry she had located within the previous accommodations; Mossfreckle spend much time frolicking about the herb storage, he somehow always seemed to emerge from there, so her eyes were naturally seeking the entrance to the storage of wisdom.

Only once seeing the feline did something entirely different stir within her. She hadn't approached the medic in moons; she couldn't say he looked much different, if a bit older than last she lay eyes on them. Her ears flickered briefly, a slight sign of a disturbance within her usual calm, gaze focusing on his brown freckled pelt.
"My paws."
She stated simply, a light twitch in her white-tipped paw as though to show the tiny gashes and punctures that were left by the vermin of the earth. Yet she found herself more thoughtful again, perhaps a side effect from knowing he was trained by mama and kept around by her grandmother, thus skilled enough to treat what she considered minor inflictions. It proposed her mind to wander again, to the one other thought that had kept her away from this den in momentary hesitance; Mossfreckle knew mama. And a part of her wondered how close they were. If unlike her, Mossfreckle - like perhaps Darkfall - might know of every whim and thought that passed through her mothers head, that she had not picked up upon.


[ @elio ]