Chapter Text
Cold air filtered through the camp grounds. Not many were out of their dens. Night was closing in on the camp, but Tawnystar was too worried to sleep.
Cherryfeather, the dear medicine cat, had become very ill. It was rare for medicine cats to receive an illness, let alone a life threatening one. The leader could only sit outside the den, listening for something on the inside of the medicinal area.
A puff of breath left his muzzle, followed by a billow of warm air into the night sky. He drew in a breath, standing as the entrance to the medicine den rustled. A dark brown and sandy tom pushed his way out, moss tucked under his chin. “Thistletongue,” Tawnystar greeted, kneading the ground momentarily. “How is she?” Thistletongue set the moss down, tail twitching, face grim.
“It’s… Not looking good. You may want to say your last words to her.” He admitted, voice calm, but grief weighed heavy in the medicine cat apprentice’s eyes. “Don’t get too close. I’m not sure how viral the sickness is.” He ducked his head once more, tucking the moss under his chin after he’d gathered it.
“Don’t get sick, Thistletongue.” Tawnystar warned. Thistletongue twitched his ears, acknowledging he’d heard, and padded towards the camp entrance. The ginger, white and brown leader sighed, squaring his shoulders. He ducked into the medicine den, green eyes focusing on a lump near the back of the den. He could hear faint, raspy breathing. Swallowing, he picked his way over to her, peering down at her thin body.
Age had taken ahold of her, but the illness had done worse. Her fur was a mess, the thick calico was clumpy, ungroomed. Tawnystar slowly touched a paw to her side, and it easily met the ribs of her side as compared to flesh and muscle. There was another raspy puff, and a soft, trembling voice. “Tawnystar…” Looking down, the tom could see that her eyes were just barely slitted open. A now sickly yellow, she could barely focus on the leader.
“It’s me, Cherryfeather.” He confirmed in a mumble, briefly touching his tail to her pelt. She let out another breath, eyes closing, then opening once more slowly.
“Tawnystar… Beware… The spirit that runs… With the pack…” Her voice was hardly more than a wispy utter, forcing Tawnystar to suppress a shiver. He wasn’t sure if she had just spoken a prophecy, or if her mind was so dazed she wasn’t sure what she spoke of. He didn’t have a chance to ask her, either. Her eyes slid closed again, but this time, didn’t reopen. Her trembling breath had somewhat evened out. She was asleep.
He chose to not wake her, let her gain her strength through resting. He could consult her about it in the morning, or Thistletongue. See if he’d heard.
Turning, Tawnystar made his way out of the den and to his own.
The next morning, he heard more voices than normal. Blinking open sleep bleared eyes, he tried to decipher what was happening, but couldn’t. What if they were under attack? Or someone came to the camp? Fur prickling, he scrambled to his paws, shuffling out of his den. Coming into the clearing, he leaped from his den, seeing cats congregated around something.
“What’s going on?” He demanded. Cats turned to him, taking in the still bedraggled sight of their leader, before splitting slightly. In the center of the huddle lay Cherryfeather. She was well groomed, and the way she lay, with her paws tucked under her snowy chest, she looked at peace. The age could hardly be seen on her patchy fur.
Tawnystar’s shoulders drooped. He felt all alert leave his body as he slowly dragged himself forward on stone paws. Thistletongue came out, lavender stuffed in his jaws, set down beside her. He hooked one with a claw, rubbing it over her pelt. “She joined StarClan sometime during the night.” He informed, not looking at his leader. “She’s almost ready for vigil.”
“Right.” Tawnystar mumbled, dipping his head. He turned to his clan. Most looked sullen, but he could see the accepting factors on their faces. Some looked almost a little fearful about whatever illness she had caught. “It was her time,” Tawnystar started as he faced the brunt of the clan. “Let’s not forget who her mentor was. Frostpath, SnowClan’s second medicine cat, and the one who discovered the Moonpath. Cherryfeather was an elder cat, who served her clan for many good seasons. We shall grieve, but we shall also greet a new generation with Thistletongue as medicine cat.” He gave a flick of his ears as other cats uttered their approval.
When Thistletongue finished preparing Cherryfeather, Tawnystar was the first to settle by her. He settled at her head, nose pressing into the fur of her neck. Her body was cold, the very faint scent of illness clinging yet to her fur, though it was mostly blotted out by herbs. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feel of his former medicine cat’s fur beneath his nose and the settling of his clanmates beside him, but only ill thoughts plagued his mind.
He didn’t know this was the start of something. A medicine cat growing ill was rare, and when it usually happened, it didn’t lead to anything good. Cherryfeather was old, so that could have played a factor, but Tawnystar wasn’t too sure on it.
Oh, StarClan… Please don’t let this lead to anything big. He prayed silently, pressing his muzzle only further into Cherryfeather’s fur.