The sickness had settled unto the frost tinged camp, and dying coughs filled the sorrowful silence. A previously domesticated she-cat, a Maine Coon, was bent over a twitching corpse of another cat. Her soft grey pelt was ridden with fleas and thinned with the fleeting moments she spent over her withered friend. A younger she-cat gently gave the older one a reassuring touch with her stunningly silver tail.
The silver-and-black tabby pushed half-withered yet sweet smelling leaves into the near-death cat's jaws. Unfortunately, they were spat out. "No… use… use them… on… others…" The cat rasped on a shallow breath. "I'm… I'm dead… anyways…" The fluffier she-cat's eyes blazed a clear blue. "No! No, you eat this catmint right this instant!" She wailed, tail lashing and fur bristling.
Sorrow penetrated her voice and her eyes evolved a lost gaze into the distance. "Don't… don't you want Dashpelt's kits?!" She cried at the living corpse. "How… how could you? How could you betray him…? H-how…?" There was a long, drawn out sigh as the nesting cat slowly and deliberately consumed the herb, then settling down and immediately slumbered. "Why didn't you give her better, Fernpaw?" The fluffy tabby followed the younger she-cat to her den, casting wistful glances at the other warriors in the tight space.
The beautiful apprentice sat in a far corner, green eyes cast downward to the unforgiving ground. "Dewstripe, it… it was the last remedy I had. I have never tried it before." Dewstripe sat with the young cat, staring out into the dim space. Fernpaw wrapped her slender tail neatly around her small paws. The duo looked lonelier than any cat before, lost and confused, depression settling in like a shroud of darkness, and only a tiny speck of light; hope nestled in the single, withered catmint leaf that was soon to be extinguished.
"What about death berries?" Was the dark mew that broke the silence that had been drawn taut by sorrow.
Fernpaw pricked her ears in energy-less alarm, scanning the little crevice where other herbs and berries resided. Sure enough, in a pile that outmatched even the presumably useless catmint, the daunting berries non-existent glare bore holes through the apprentice. "N-no, it'll be too risky," She stammered. "W-we'll have to wait too long…" Dewstripe acknowledged this with a frown and a twitch of her ears. It was silence then, biting into the cats worse than ants and fleas combined.
Until a single cough shattered the heavy quiet, then even more, gaining strength as they continued. Both she-cats gave each other a glance, one pleading blue and the other a suddenly determined emerald. Filled with sudden life, they sprung to their paws, only to rush out and find a she-cat standing on weak, wobbling legs. A shade of such pale lavender she was almost a soft pink was her pelt, and her eyes a vibrant violet, suddenly flickering back to life. "I'm not dead, you mouse-brains. Not yet, anyways!" The previously feeble she-cat had sprung to life much quicker than anticipated. Then she broke down into coughs, collapsing onto the ground beside her nest.
"Petalfur!" Fernpaw yipped, bouncing over to the she-cat and sniffing her all over. "Here, I'll help you back into your nest, okay?" At Petalfur's approval Fernpaw helped her up, guiding her to the trodden nest with resumed seriousness. After settling down, Dewstripe comforted the sick warrior with flustered licks to her ears and neck. Suddenly Fernpaw felt like a real medicine cat, and it filled her with a sense of importance, one of dominance. "Dewstripe," The she-cat looked up with muffled joy alight in her eyes. "Stay here and make sure that Petalfur does not get up again. I'm going to get more catmint to the others." Turning without an answer, Fernpaw nudged a leaf of it to Hawkeyes, her father, a silver tabby with stunningly ice-colored blue eyes.
The clan deputy watched with a look of pride as the she-cat prepared what she thought was the proper dosage, and then gave a cough once he finished them. "You… are… my-my precious daughter. You… h-have made me proud…"
Glowing as she treated Timberpelt and Rustlewhisker, along with the clan's lone elder, Halfstripe. Once she returned to Dewstripe and Petalfur she gave the sick cat an once-over. "You should get some sleep," Fernpaw sat up from inspecting the sleeping she-cat. "And I'll ask Shadestar to hold a ceremony to tell the clan about catmint." The fluffy gray tabby yawned and nodded, giving her slumbering friend a loving lick between her ears and slipping out through the short gorse tunnel. After moving her father and Halfstripe out into the open air for the night, Fernpaw checked on everyone before settling in her soft nest, newly fluffed the instant the first cat, Timberpelt, came in with what seemed like a common cold. Giving herself a thorough wash before taking a well-deserved nap by the day's first light and the setting moon.
Fernpaw awoke at sun-high, feeling warm as a comforting breeze. I couldn't have slept so little… could I? She padded outside of her den, shaking moss from her pelt and indulging in the sweet smells of… new-leaf. Wondering where she could be, she suddenly saw the clear so much more vividly. Warm, yellow light dappled the tawny ground, littered with soft sand and peaty earth. Green, thick stems of grass loitered in a lush circle around her.
The medicine den clearing couldn't have been more beautiful. A gorgeous she-cat, coat of the purest white, watched her with intelligent blue eyes. A sudden sense of comfort wreathed around Fernpaw, and the breathed in the cat's warm smell. "Are you… alive?" The she-cat gave out a dainty laugh, one that made Fernpaw feel as if all ailments could be cured by just listening to the pure sound. "No, little one. I am Lilytail of Storm Clan, and it is my duty to give you your medicine cat name and training. For now, though, I will welcome you as Fernleaf."