Post by Ki on Nov 18, 2011 13:59:09 GMT -6
So tired...
So, so tired....
Feathercloud snapped herself to attention, forcing her drooping amber eyes to reopen. She gave herself a firm shake and continued sorting herbs. Her den was more crowded than it had ever been before. The plague had spread through the Clan like wildfire spreads through dry brush. Feathercloud was doing her best to deal with it, but the elders had already buried many. It took kits, warriors, apprentices, and elders alike. This curse on their plague did not discriminate between young and old or strong and weak. It simply latched on with poisonous claws and drained their strength. Feathercloud's own strength was beginning to fail her. She'd been working tirelessly to heal her Clanmates. Tawnypaw had been a great help. But she was still only six moons old, and new to the ways of a medicine cat. She could only offer so much help.
Where her apprentice was at that moment, Feathercloud couldn't tell you. In fact, the small medicine cat couldn't tell you much. Everything was a blur of herbs and work, all covered by the scent of the sick and dying. Ugh. That scent. Would it ever leave her nose? Even when she did sleep, that scent permeated her very dreams. In her dreams she was often alone, with that awful scent surrounding her. And she ran. She would cry out for StarClan, or Sagewing, or Specklestar...but no one ever came. Those dreams frightened her. Was it merely the stress, or had StarClan abandoned her?
The medicine cat picked up a small pile of herbs and carried them over to one of the nests. She nudged them towards the cat inside, looking at him with pity. Poor Twistedclaw. He was a great warrior, but the illness was afflicting him. Just like so many others. "Try these, Twistedclaw. These helped some with their discomfort and their fever." Some. Some herbs worked for some cats, and did not work for others. This plague was a fickle illness indeed.