Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Midday sun slit through the tiny cracks and holes in their den as Hemlock anxiously watched his dozing mother. With each breath, the air escaped her nose in a faint -- but noticeable to the concerned tom -- wheeze. His brow furrowed with worry. The calico prey-huntress had been perfectly fine three days ago, but somehow or another, her health took a turn for the worst. At first he noticed her raspy voice - a bit lower than usual - and then came the runny nose and persistent cough that racked her entire body useless. Hemlock could barely witness an attack without fear wreaking havoc on his mind and body. The tom trembled. He was usually chipper -- annoying really -- but now he was scared. What if it got worse? What if he lost his mother too? He did not want to think about it.
At his request, his mother had visited Creek for a hasty physical, but the tom only instructed plenty of rest and a few crushed herbs to ease the pain. Their leader would have prescribed more but his supply was rather low. The cold air and recent frosts had decimated the few herbs on the island -- and to make it much worse -- Maple was not the onlysick cat in the tribe.Hemlock shakily inhaled. One by one, members of the tribe were falling ill. Even Moth, the bravest cat he knew, had contracted the mysterious disease. He shook his head in an attempt to remain calm. Worrying would do nothing but upset his mother. Still - her consistent wheezing turned his stomach sour with terror.
Maybe -- the tom hesitated. Maybe Creek found more herbs? He looked softly toward his mother and tried not to whimper. It was the best plan he had. Besides, that was yesterday morning. There must be more herbs by now! Hemlock quickly cheered at the thought and quietly neared his mother. With a gentle nudge, he nosed the calico awake. "Mother," he mewed. The tom waited for her to fully wake before continuing. "We should go see Creek. You don't look well." His voice was low and hid his fear well. He only let his concern show. With a terse smile, he motioned in the direction of the tribe stone. "Maybe, they found a cure?" It seemed like a hopeless idea out loud, but the tom would not let his irrational fear consume him. He knew his father would do the same.
Unbeknownst to the tom, the tribe only grew worse. Word quickly spread between the healthy tribe cats -- the few uninfected by the disease -- that a mass exodus to the sick rock was on the horizon. Creek had issued no such word, but still it hung over them like a cloud of gnats. The sick would soon outweigh the healthy, and if the tribe did not find a cure soon, it would only continue to get worse.
Time was moving at a weird pace. Sometimes things would move as if they were moving through thick honey, then they would speed up as if trying to catch up. Slow, fast, slow fast. Maple couldn't make any sense of it. She just watched form her nest as the world zoomed or lagged around her. Then there was one cat that strode towards her at a regular speed, seemingly unaffected by whatever was happening around them. Maple brightened, her eyes pricking and her eyes widening with joy. "Lake," she purred. She longed to rise to meet him, but she seemed to be rooted to her nest. The tall, dark pelted tom approached and licked her forehead.
"It's time to wake up, my love."
Amber eyes fluttered open, focusing on the dark tom in front of her. Confusion clouded her mind. That couldn't be Lake, he was too small, a little different in color. As she finally woke up, the world started to make sense again. She had been dreaming before and this was Hemlock, not Lake, that was hovering near their nest. Sleepily, she smiled at him. "Hi, baby," she rasped, clearing her throat. A few days ago, the tortoiseshell had started to feel a little under the weather. It had started with a sore throat and progressed to the cough and runny nose that was bothering her now. She had been perfectly willing to try and sleep this off. Creek had enough to worry about and she knew that their herb supply was running low. But her son had been so worried, she agreed to go to give him peace of mind. He had scarcely left her side since the visit. She tried to act better than she felt so she could spare Hemlock the worry. But her fever made her sleepy and dulled her attention and she feared she may not be doing as well as she though.
Maple felt a surge of affection towards her son. He should be focusing on his training, not fussing over his mother, but she privately relished the attention. They still shared a nest, but as would be expected, didn't have as much time to spend together since he became a to-be.
Her throat felt like she had swallowed sand and she longed for something to drink. She bit back a small cough as Hemlock suggested they visit Creek again. "Honey, I don't know..." Maple looked at her paws uncertainly. She didn't want to be a problem. Even more she didn't want to be viewed as sick enough to be sent to the sick rock. But when she saw the concern in the young tom's eyes, how could she deny him? She sighed and offered a small smile. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to check in. Just... don't get disappointed if he doesn't have anything different to say, okay?" she mewed. Her voice cracked as she spoke and she cleared her throat once again. Shakily, she pushed herself to her paws and stretched her stiff legs. There were several other cats in the Tribe that were worse off than she was. Even Moth seemed quite a bit sicker than she was herself. If there was a treatment that had been found, she knew the sicker cats would get priority.
Post by wolfiedemon on Oct 12, 2019 21:49:46 GMT -6
Talon of owl who hunts at dawn
Tribe of Floating Stones
Talon could be found pacing back in forth near Creek's den. This wasn't his usual guard pacing, this was his worrying pacing. The whole tribe was sick, except for Hemlock and himself. It had felt like this sickness popped up out of no where. As of three days ago, everyone was fine. Atleast that is what he had observed during one of his trips through the camp. But thinking back, he noticed some of the cats looking a bit off. He wished that he had come to Creek sooner about it, they could of taken care of this quicker.
Looking up from his pacing, he saw Hemlock and his mother Maple approaching the den at a slow pace. He walked up to them in order to greet them. "Maple, you should be resting." He chastised the she-cat. He knew that this wasn't her choice to be out here. He could see the look of worry on Hemlock's face. He stepped closer to Maple, "Here, lean on me. I can help you get to Creek." he could see that the she-cat was in no condition to be out and about, but this would atleast keep Creek in his den so he wouldn't be wandering the camp so much.
He took slow steps as he helped Maple walk the rest of the way. "I think it would be best if you and Hemlock stayed closer. You are welcome to take my den until this sickness passes." He was trying to look for the two. And mostly he knew if Creek had the strength he would travel to all the dens to check on his tribe. Sadly that was the last thing the tribe needed. For him to get worse or for him to make any of the other cats sicker. As they reached Creek's den, Talon turned his head to look at Hemlock. "Hemlock, would you go fetch some water for your mother? And some for Creek as well?"
The past week Fog slowly watched his sister deteriorate with sickness. The black she-cat was dedicated to her duty as head-prey hunter. This dedication is likely what had rapidly progressed the sickness from a stray cough to body shaking cough and fever. Moth needed rest, and medicine. But she refused to rest while the tribe was hungry, and with the shortage of herbs would refuse the help. Fog, as of yet, had not shown strong signs of this mysterious illness surging through the island. But this morning he felt a rasp in his throat. The cough would come soon, he was sure.
Fog had been able to convince Moth to let him help distribute food to the weaker tribe mates. It had been a few days since he had seen Maple or Hemlock. A tiny inkling of worry tugged at his stomach. At the rate this sickness was spreading, if they weren't sick already they soon would be.
When the gray tom had arrived at the den of his surrogate family, it was empty. The stench of sickness permeated the air. The scent was strong, they could not have been gone for long. With the mouse dangling from his mouth Fog turned and ran. If they were not in the den, then they must have gone for help. That meant they went to Creek.
Dead foliage crackled under his paws and dirt was ripped into the air. By the time the apprentice made it to Creek's den, he could hardly breath. The mouse fell from his mouth and coughs tore through his body. The run had taken so much out of him. When he finally felt the pressure release from his lungs, Fog looked and saw Maple leaning on Talon, and Hemlock's wide, worried gaze.
Fog sat, hunched over the ease the pain in his lungs and heaved a sigh. "You weren't in the den." the young tom looked over at Maple "I thought something had happened." Fog rarely showed emotion, but in this short moment the worry was evident on his face. He considered Maple and Hemlock family and would do any thing to keep them safe.
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenpaw ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafdapple ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙ frostkit ∙
He watched nervously as his mother struggled to her feet and cleared her throat with a raspy grunt. Hemlock flinched. She was worse than he remembered. The lanky black tom nodded absentmindedly as his mother spoke, her voice scratched and strained in the cool autumn air. Then he swallowed and mewed quietly. "I know..." he drawled. He looked down at his own paws with the same uncertainty and then continued. "We should at least see how the others are doing..." The words downed into the sudden loud wind that shook the small den. Hemlock tensed as the cold breeze disheveled his coat and chilled his very bones. Antsy, the tom quickly nudged his mother toward the door and then crossed her to the lead.
The trek to the tribe stone was not an easy one. Their den in the woodland was a bit further from the mainland, and the journey itself traveled over moorland and hills. Hemlock inhaled anxiously. The cold wind rattled the trees and shook their crinkled and brown leaves to the dirt covered floor as the two cats padded out into the island. Only the coniferous trees -- pines and firs -- remained as vibrant as ever in the recent cold. Hemlock was careful to guide his mother as they trekked from their den to the ancient tribe stone. Her usually concentrated and calculative step was uneasy and worn under the relentless disease. Each misstep and slip caused his stomach to churn and hurl with apprehension. Please, let there be more herbs! he pleaded.
When they had finally descended down hill and toward the stone, Talon -- the head stone-guard -- was quick to intercept them, his brow twisted with worry. The massive silver tom was one of the lucky ones. Like Hemlock, he had somehow evaded the mysterious disease altogether and was the picture of immaculate health. Hemlock raised his chin in hello but did not share their heavy concerns until the tom had lead them closer to the ancient stone. Hemlock was relieved when Talon made his offer: to let his mother rest on his side as they walked. His shoulders ached from the walk, and he needed to preserve his own strength. As the cats slowed, Talon made another proposal. Hemlock cast his mother a curious look, his brows raised. Should they move dens? He quickly interceded. "Well -- where would you sleep?"
The tom then ordered Hemlock to fetch some water for his mother. He supposed she could handle the conversation about their den without him. He quickly nodded and then turned, suddenly startled to see an exasperated Fog, as he barreled down the hill. The grey to-be was panting, his chest heaving under heavy exertion -- and strangely -- his eyes were alive with worry. Eyes wide, Hemlock listened as Fog reiterated his concern. He did all that? For us? Hemlock involuntarily snorted and then his chest buzzed with a sudden and relentless affection for his brother. "We're ok," he purred. He then lovingly cuffed the tom over the ear and then mewed. "Well -- Maple is worse," his voice fell. Then he snorted once more -- an attempt to ease his fear -- and continued. "Come. Help me gather water for the others." He crossed his adoptive brother with a warm shove and then padded toward the closest shore, oblivious to the very same sickness that lurked inside his brother.
Maple wanted to refuse Talon's shoulder. She was a grown cat and she could walk on her own four paws. But her body ached with weariness. Her chest and throat were sore from coughing and her bones were tired from constantly interrupted sleep and she found herself sagging against the stone guard for support. Admittedly, the walk was much easier when he was supporting her weight, but she was still anxious about appearing weak in front of her son.
The prey hunter held Hemlock's gaze for a moment, pondering about whether or not they should move dens. Or whether she should move dens. Anxiety clenched around her heart as she came to her decision. Sharing a common space for so long, it was a miracle young Hemlock wasn't sick already. The best Maple could tell, the cough she suffered from was extremely contagious and if she was feeling so weakened from just a mild case, how would it affect her son? She had just opened her mouth to address the issue when a blur of gray caught her eye.
Amber eyes widened in surprise at the sudden appearance of Fog. Maple blinked a few times as she took in the sight of the ragged, breathless young cat. Had he really run so fast to get here that he had no breath left in his lungs? Surprise softened to affection on her face. We're ok. Well Maple is worse"I'm fine," she protested, coughing a few times afterwards to really drive the point home. She opened her mouth again to tell Fog he should take a moment to rest, but Hemlock whisked him away to fetch water. The tortoiseshell swiped her tongue around her muzzle at the thought of a drink and waited quietly while the to-bes trotted away.
"Talon?" Maple began. "If you were to give up your den, I want to ask you to stay with Hemlock in ours." She made sure to keep her voice down so her son wouldn't hear. "I don't want him to catch this."
tags: wish, moony@wolfiedemon word count: 339 notes: --
"I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the water to make many ripples" -Mother Teresa
Three days. How had so much changed in three days? The speckled tom laid back in his nest, muscles tense as he wished the shivers that went through him away. He let out a long sigh his yellow eyes shut tight. His den wasn't cold. it had never been cold even in the chilliest nights of leaf-bare. Had this sickness finally made it to him?
Hearing voices and some coughing outside, Creek opened his eyes staring at the entrance a while. More sick. Or the same sick. Just worse. He flicked his ears in mild irritation. Why now? Why him? "What have we done to deserve this? Are any of you even listening to me?!" he hissed angrily in hiss head as he slowly pushed himself up ignoring the aches in his muscles. He moved to a smaller section of his den nosing the meek supply of herbs he had left. He flicked his ears back toward the entrance. Maple and Hemlock. Talon. Fog. Talon was fine. And Hemlock seemed to have kept himself healthy...somehow. He flinched mildly hearing another cough escape Maple. She was worse. "Mousedung," he muttered before he gathered a bit of burdock and coltsfoot and turned making his way out of the den.
He winced some at the light and slowly made his way to where Talon and Maple were sitting setting the herbs down and gently pressing the small amount of burdock toward her. "Chew and swallow that. It will help your throat," he mewed gently before looking at his Head Stone-Guard, "As soon as you get Maple settled into your den I want you to help the worse off here. The closer the better. Ask those who are not as sick to help make makeshift dens, but take it easy and don't over exert yourselves. Then i want all Healthy cats to locate to Sick Rock for now. I know this is opposite of what we normally do...but there are just too many to move." Creek fell quiet and quietly started chewing up the coltsfoot trying to be careful not to swallow any, thought he knew it would help his aches as well. Spitting the chewed herb onto a brown leaf he nosed it toward Maple and encouraging nod for her to take that as well.
He went to go say something else but was cut off by a large gust of howling wind. He hunkered down, ears pressed back flat against his head as the anguished howls echoed in his ears. He shut is eyes tight and silently wished it all to stop. The wind, the aches, the fevers, the fears, everything. He sat there shivering lightly as he slowly opened his eyes. He could feel the sweat soaking his fur, sending another cold shiver through him. He shouldn't be out here. He knew that, but someone had to look after the tribe. He was the leader. They were looking to him. His eyes shifted to Talon.
"Not a word, Talon," he mewed quietly, "Help Maple get settled....then do as I say. As soon as the new dens are made....then come see me. I have another job you can do." Without waiting for a response from the grey tom he turned and moved back into his den. He paused by his herb den and looked at it for a long moment. He should take something, try to get ahead of whatever he was getting. He stood there a moment then let out a sigh and moved in dipping his paw into a small puddle of water before dipping it into a small pile of poppy seeds. He shook several off until only a couple remained taking them quietly before going to his nest. He couldn't take a lot. He probably had more sick coming soon. But maybe this would be enough to make the aches die down some.
- shall we stick by each other as long as we live? -
Nestled deep within his den, a hole beneath a big, silver stone, Swoop's breath came in shallow wheezes. His skin was hot and fur caked in sweat, but he felt so cold. He shivered and curled up, his eyes shut tightly in a painful grimace as his insides waged war. He hadn't left his den [except out of necessity] in a day and a half, and while he felt guilty about it, he was too weak and sick to even get up. His sibling had been bringing him food and water, and they'd let the other prey-hunters know that he needed rest. But rest wasn't fixing it. He was in and out of consciousness, he knew that much, but he couldn't decipher the difference between awake and asleep at times.
As the sun seeped into the entrance to his den, he saw a familiar shape slip in. Her long, creamy fur flowed around him and her bright yellow eyes brought warmth to his core. "Mom," he mewed hoarsely, reaching out to her with a paw. The movement brought on a series of raucous, violent coughs that shook his whole body. Deep greenish-yellow phlegm spat from his mouth.
"You came back for me," he murmured, but she wasn't really there - not even her spirit. His fever and interrupted sleep was causing mild hallucinations. This didn't make it seem any less real to him, though. His mother pulled him up to his paws and guided him to the mouth of his den, telling him in her soft and gentle voice, "Come with me,"
Swoop's paws tripped over themselves as he made his way. When he entered the clearing, the bright and direct sunlight blinded him. He felt dizzy from standing, and the momentary blindness threw him completely off. Turning to his mother, he was mortified to find she was not there. He threw up and slumped down to the side of his mess. The only sound he made was a low, pained groan.
300+ words | be glad he didn't projectile vomit lmao
Post by wolfiedemon on Oct 19, 2019 20:53:03 GMT -6
Talon of owl who hunts at dawn
Tribe of Floating Stones
Talon was taken aback by Maple's request to take hers and Hemlocks den. He would be sharing it with Hemlock of course. It only made sense since they were two of the healthy cats but it was strange for him. He hadn't had to share a den since he was a to-be. He nodded to her as he waited for the young tom to return with the water he had asked him to fetch.
Talon stood there watching Creek as he tried to give Maple medicine. The She-Cat looked reluctant to take them. Which in a way was understandable, she wasn't as bad as some of the others in the tribe but at the same time... It made sense to him that she take it to help her get well. For Hemlocks sake at the very least. He nodded to Creek as he explained his plan for the tribe during this illness. As he was listening, he heard someone approaching the clearing. Looking up he saw Swoop.
The tom was sicker then Maple. To prove this point, he watched as the tom threw up before collapsing. He quickly ran over to aide him. "Swoop, can you move?" he asked the tom as he nudged his side, trying to make sure he was still breathing.
Hemlock's voice was affectionate. The black tom cuff Fog over the ear playfully, but Fog had no energy to return the gesture. His breathing had slowed from it's rasping gasps, now Fog took deep breathes so as to relieve the ache in his lungs. Well, Maple is worse. Fog glanced at his foster mother. Her small form leaned heavily on Talon's bulky form. With Hemlock coaxing Fog to join him, the young to-be turned to follow, casting a backward glance at Maple and Talon, as if to reassure himself that she was alive and okay.
The two brothers gathered by the water's edge. The scratch in Fog's throat felt worse after his sprint across the island. Padding to the water's edge, Fog bent and drank deeply from the chilled lake water. It was icy and refreshing on his burning throat. He drank for a full minute before looking up at Hemlock. Fog had gained control of his emotion's once again, his eyes returned to their usual listless and bored gaze. But he examined Hemlock thoroughly - as if his piercing orange gaze could peer deep into Hemlock and determine signs of impending sickness. Hemlock appeared healthy, and he acted healthy as well.
"Moth is sick. Sicker than Maple I think." The gray tom mused. His voice barely hinted at a sore throat, and one could attribute it to his racing rather than sickness. Fog did wonder, however, if he should reveal his own sickness to Hemlock. After a moment's hesitation, Fog decided to keep his illness to himself. After all, he had only noticed the scratchy throat this morning. He could make it a few more days without concerning any other. There would be much to be done in the coming days. So many cats were sick. Hemlock and Talon were the only healthy ones Fog had seen during his rounds of the island. Sighting a pile of moss nearby, Fog pushed it into the lake to soak up the icy water. He had fallen silent as he completed this task, but his ears were perked to listen to Hemlock. The younger tom had always been more talkative than Fog.
A commotion behind them drew Fog's attention. His head whipped around to see a limp form and Talon hurrying over to it. Fog squinted so as to make the scene out better and recognized it as Swoop. The prey-hunter seemed sicker than any cat Fog had seen yet, and it was miraculous that he had wandered so far on his own. Fog flicked his tail against Hemlock's shoulder, in case his brother had not noticed what was happening behind him, before bending to retrieve the dripping moss. Swoop would need some water - but more importantly he would need a cure. Fog hoped deep inside himself that Creek would figure out what to do, and soon.
∙ cinderface ∙ mistflower ∙ fog that hangs in air ∙ loudstorm ∙ sun that shines above ∙ aspenpaw ∙ aster ∙ eaglefang ∙ leafdapple ∙ orchid that blooms by night ∙ sparrowheart ∙ frostkit ∙
The nearest shore was a bit south from the tribe stone and located on the very southern tip of the mainland. It was a short trek -- much shorter than the hike he and his mother had made moments earlier. With a characteristic bounce in his step, the tom bounded restlessly toward the icy cold lake. Hemock was still oblivious to the short breaths his brother exhaled -- or the fact that he remained a few tail-lengths behind in step -- unusual for the quiet but nimble smoke colored to-be. Hemlock was too absorbed in his own concern for his sick mother to notice much else. He was also a bit antsy from his confinement and lack of duties lately. Since the entire tribe was sick, he had no reason leave his den for the last few days, and as a result, he had become a bit stir crazy. Their simple task to fetch water suddenly seemed as important as a hunt for a massive bass.
Chin raised, Hemlock reached the shoreline and studied the endless black sea. In the distance, the water seemed as one with the horizon -- not a line in sight -- only the subtle shades of blue and a touch of clouds spun by the heavy winds. He looked at his brother as the tom settled onto his haunches and drank from the lake in silence. Hemlock followed suit and allowed the chilly water to ease his tired throat. When he was finished, he raised his head and realized that Fog had been observing him with an inquisitive gaze. Hemlock returned the stare with a scrunched look, his brows twisted with confusion, and then meowed. "What?" His voice carried a hint of laughter. His brother then ignored his teasing remark, and instead, issued another concern. Moth. His stomach churned at her name. Hemlock had not seen the she-cat since their eerie adventure into the unknown. His innards trembled at the memory, and he quickly shook it away. Not now.
"How sick is she?" he meowed, his voice much more somber. It was hard to imagine such a strong and independent cat like Moth sick. The idea almost seemed preposterous out loud -- ridiculous even. Hemlock watched as Fog fetched some moss and soaked it into the water. Hemlock perked and quickly realized he should do the same. With a flick of his tail, he found his own moss and lowered it into the lake, so it could it soak with water. He wondered then how much the tribe would need. He cast his brother a hesitant look and then meowed. "How many should we do?" He assumed three or four would be fine, but the entire task -- situation even -- was new to him. He had no idea how to take care of sick cats or how to make them better.
Hemlock then felt a sudden touch to his shoulder and realized Fog had motioned back toward the tribe stone. His stare followed -- and then halted -- he was stunned to see a tribe-mate stumble to the stone, then retch into the earth. Hemlock exhaled. What was happening to them? A cold breeze collided with his flank and chilled him to his very bones. Why now? With a gulp, he turned to his brother and meowed hoarsely. "We should hurry up." He was afraid that any more wasted time would be met with death.
Maple sniffed apprehensively at the herbs that Creek laid down in front of her. She swiped her tongue over her jaws at the memory of how the herbs he had last given her several days prior had tasted. The she-cat was less than eager to taste them again. One white paw was raised in anxiety as she gazed at the herbs. Her claws flexed in and out of their sheaths. On one paw, she should get better and stay strong so that her son wouldn't worry. On the other paw, was it selfish to think that way? So many Tribemates were sick. Many of them were far sicker than Maple herself. Was it fair that she be treated first?
Movement caught her eye and, lazily, she swung her head around to look in time to see Swoop collapse. Worry drove the haziness from her head and sharpened her fever-dulled senses as Talon hurried to the other tom's side. Immediately, guilt gripped Maple's stomach. How could she even consider taking these herbs when Swoop was doing so poorly? She considered Swoop a friend. Had she been so wrapped up in her own measly version of the illness that she hadn't noticed those around her growing sicker? Her insides felt like they were twisting until she felt like she may also vomit from emotion alone, but she held it together and managed to only let out a stifled string of coughs. Planting her lifted paw firmly on the ground, she watched determinedly as Talon helped Swoop to his paws.
Silently, she promised herself that as long as there were cats in the tribe worse off than she was and until there were enough herbs for every cat, she would not take any for herself. Slowly, the tortoiseshell stood and called towards the toms. "Can he make it over here?" she asked. "I want him to have these." Amber eyes cast down to look at the pile of herbs Creek had brought out. If anyone needed these, it was poor Swoop.
"I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the water to make many ripples" -Mother Teresa
Creek had dozed apparently and woke to several yowls of surprise and quick orders. He laid there shivering slightly and flexed his claws that were tucked beneath him to minimize the shivering. He slowly opened his eyes a little and glared at the entrance. "Why did i have to be the one who everyone comes to? Why can't i be left alone for just one moment?!"
He flicked his ears then silently berated himself. he was the leader and healer of the tribe. of course he wasn't going to get left alone. He still needed to find a cure for whatever was effecting his members. He shifted and winced as the aches went through his muscles but stood and moved to the entrance of his den. Fear made him freeze as he smelled blood and quickly surveyed the scene before him.
Talon was struggling to get Swoop back on his feet and closer to his own den. Maple was offering her herbs to the tom. The to-bes had just come back with water. And Swoop had blood around his mouth and it was also on the ground. He felt another shudder run through him and suppressed it flicking his tail and himself into action.
"Get him into my den immediately. I want those make-shift dens done....now. then then for all that is good and right, Talon, you and the other healthy cats get to the sick rock," he said, his words firm and controlled though he fought the urges of shivering and collapsing. He turned, mildly losing his balance but quickly regained it, and started pulling moss and feathers he had stashed away to remake his bed and quickly made one for Swoop. As the cats led him to the bed, Creek turned and quickly went to his stock gathering poppy seeds, coltsfoot and borage leaves and quickly started preparing them for swoop to take. He crouched beside the tom and urged him to take the medicine.
"Please my friend. they will help." Tribe above i hope they help... "And sleep. i won't be going anywhere so you are in good paws."
He lifted his head to Talon and nodded slightly to show he had Swoop in his paws. He would survive. If he had to sacrifice one of his own lives, by the tribe above he would do it to make sure that Swoop lived.
- shall we stick by each other as long as we live? -
Swoop, shakily, looked up with heavy eyelids at the profile that blocked out the sun above him. "Ma..?" he hesitated, realizing the dark grays and blacks of Talon's pelt were definitely nothing like the creamy hues of his mother's. He was too sick, too tired, to fix his mistake. He groaned again, muscles trembling as he strained to stand. He stumbled, slumping into the flank of his tribe-mate. "I thought..." he couldn't finish the sentence as he swallowed the disgusting bile in his throat.
I thought I was dying, he stared down at the pile of vomit he'd created and a horrified look passed across his features as he realized there was traces of blood within it.
He leaned into Talon's strong shoulder, "I can make it to the den," he managed, "just... help," he glanced at the older tom pleadingly.
A voice traveled over to the two toms as Talon helped Swoop in its direction, where Maple and Creek stared at him as though they were seeing a ghost. Maybe they are.. He eyed the mess of herbs at Maple's paws, furrowing his brows with concern. She was sick, too. He merely shook his head at her, "N-no, Maple," he told her, a surprisingly firm tone in his voice despite his weakness.
As he passed the to-be's and the pretty tortoiseshell with her gentle, concerned face, he blinked gratefully at her. His mouth felt painfully dry and heavy, so no words came forth from it that time.
Swoop practically flopped into the nest Creek had hastily made for him, sighing with relief as he relaxed into the leaves and moss. It was comfortable. His eyelids fluttered open and shut as he rested his head against the ground. The shuffle of plants made him snap his eyes open, and he nodded at Creek. "Thank you," he croaked, too sick to even notice how the teller was fairing.
He forced himself to lap up the herbs in spite of his body screaming in a nauseating protest, fighting back the urge to spit them back up as he swallowed them forcibly. Looking to the healer, he mewed, "Water, please,"
The tall black she-cat had started the morn with an irritable scratch in her throat. She had tried to clear the itch with a few generous drinks from the lake, but the water only soothed it for a moment or too before the dull ache returned with an ire. Blackbird now strode toward the tribe stone, her face twisted into a scowl. The she-cat had done her best to avoid the sickness in her den, which was closer to the shore than the sacred stone, but it had found her like a fox finds a snowshoe hare. Her tried and true method was futile this time around. The last time a sickness has claimed the tribe, Blackbird had evaded it with distance. She isolated herself from the tribe in her den, hunted alone, and served her tribe with minimal interaction. The disease was soon cured with a mixture of herbs, and then she returned to her usual duties within a week, as the tribe healed.
However -- the word was that a cure was as evasive as minnows within the shallows. Why? Cat-mint and burdock had worked for similar illnesses. The sore throats, fevers, and shakes were the same. So, what's the difference? Was it them? Was it the disease? This troubled the black she-cat as she neared the tribe stone and continued to swallow the scratch in her throat. Above the cold winds tore into the shore and disturbed the lake into a fury. The waves slammed into the earth with a heavy smash, and even as the lake faded into the distance, the sound still followed Blackbird into the moorland. When she reached the crest of the hill, Blackbird immediately met the stench of disease. The scent wafted from the ravine and swirled around her black nose like a blanket of mist. She recoiled, a flick of hesitation in her stride, and then she continued onward with a brisk head shake. She was sick now too. It didn't matter. She had to serve her tribe.
As Blackbird entered the sacred moorland, she hastily noticed that her tribe-mates were circled around someone who had fallen into the grassy terrain. Who? Her heart stilled in her chest, at once fearful it was a friend, or worse, one of her brothers. With a determined stare, she hurried toward the mass and shoved her way toward the body. It was Swoop, and he was still alive. Sudden relief washed over the she-cat, but as she realized the severity of the situation, her fear returned as a force. This was worse than the other diseases. The tom looked as if he was on his deathbed. The black she-cat cast a concerned stare toward Talon, who was her trusted leader, and meowed. "Tell me what I need to do." The scratch still tickled the back of her throat, but based on the labored breaths and hearty hacks, she was far from the worst.
