Pikestar's Recovery

Ghostwhisper sniffed on a small bush with white flowers that grew near the river marking their border to ThunderClan. Once the sharp tangy smell hit his nose, he scrunched up his muzzle and shook himself. Yeah, that was the right one.

Moving his head further into the bush, he began to carefully cut off some of the plant with his teeth. His ears were on attention as his eyes didn’t see more than green and the occasional white flower.

Hearing something moving behind them, their head shot up and their eyes were focused on the direction of the sound. Though they quickly relaxed again. Noticing that it was just the three warriors they had sent off to make themselves useful and fetch some moss. Rolling their eyes, they continued to grab more of the Feverfew until their mouth was full with it.

He had been a bit annoyed at Wolfsong's persistence to take more than one warrior with him to get more herbs at first. But he hadn’t complained about it, as he knew that everyone was still crazy about the missing body of the dead fox. 

They gave a little jerk with their head into the direction of camp, making it known to the warriors that they would return now, before they started on their walk.

It has been two days now. Two days since Pikestar lay in one of his nests in the medicine den. Two days trying to get his fever down and stop whatever illness was spreading through him. It seemed to be some kind of white- or greencough, but also not quiet. His symptoms were similar but something about it just didn’t seem quite right with Ghostwhisper.

When the fever was just starting, they had started with borage. He had never thought it would get so much worse after it, but it did. Then he suggested trying it with some Bright-eye, mixed with lovage to not even let a whitecough start when Pikestar was still so weak from his wounds. When it was just getting worse the next morning Ghostwhisper immediately went out to get catmint, thinking that RiverClan’s leader might really have gotten some kind of cough from his time out alone on the moor somehow and instructed a few warriors to bring him more lavender for his den.

Their whole den was completely filled with the smell of lavender now, which should normally help to cure a fever and it truly got better at first. Pikestar being able to walk around a bit again and not just laying limp in his nest. But then it just got worse as he collapsed right in front of Breezestar. Their leader had already been so nervous when Ghostwhisper had brought in Pikestar and this breakdown really didn’t seem to make it better.

Feverfew was the last herb they hadn’t tried out yet and the light tom just hoped it would help out along with the lavender still filling his den. Which brought him here, on a patrol to the borders of their territory while Mallowpelt kept an eye on Pikestar’s fever.

It took them quite a while to get back to camp, but when they finally reached it his paws immediately led him to the leader’s nest. In Mallowpelt’s expression they could see that their had still been no change after the breakdown and so Ghostwhisper instructed two of the warriors to wet up the moss they brought for Pikestar and the other one to hang up more lavender, while they themselves began to bite the feverfew small enough that the leader could eat them.

Once everything was done, they let the warriors go again and sent Mallowpelt off to get some rest while they continued his watch for him. And so they sat, watching the piebald tabby fur rise and sink with every breath the leader took. 

They could see his face form into an ugly grimace every so often. His paws twitched as if he was running. Sometimes he would roll around in the nest, seemingly finding no rest at all despite the poppy seeds they would give him sometimes. It was like the leader was trapped in a constant nightmare that seemingly no herb was strong enough to fight.

It shuddered the medicine cat when they thought of their own recent dreams. Rey eyes and luring darkness that let them farther from the light the more they dreamed about it.

Taking some of the wet moss piled next to them, they trickled some of it on Pikestar’s tongue. The last bundle of moss he used to press it slightly against the leader’s warm forehead. It wouldn’t really help against the fever but Ghostwhisper hoped it would soothe the heat the leader must feel at least somewhat. A fever in these hot greenleaf days must feel like standing in the middle of a wildfire.

It began to grow dark with time, the temperatures cooling at least somewhat in the night. When Pikestar had stopped with the constant movement in his nest, Ghostwhisper has allowed themselves some time to look for the other patient also in their care. Though, contrary to RiverClan’s leader at least Honeybriar was on a fast recovery. They could probably let him out of the den by the next morning if he kept on improving like that. With a small flick of their ear they turned away again from the ginger tom. Sure that they wouldn’t let that cat out of their den without a proper scolding on the topic of eating berries you didn’t know.

He got out some of the herbs of his stock and sat themselves yet again in Pikestar’s near. Sorting his herbs which he hadn’t been able to do the whole day with everything that had happened. An ear constantly on the leader’s nest to make out any halt or quickening of breathing or any other movement the tom made.

The stars were already high up in the sky when Mallowpelt got up again to take his place next to his leader as well. They had sometimes wondered if they should ask the other of his knowledge on the leader’s live count. But in the end decided against it. He wasn’t even sure himself how many lives Breezestar might still have left. The war had made it hard to keep a clear count of it.

They shook their head when they noticed the tiredness in their bones. Standing, they gave one last nod to the albino medicine cat, before they began to take their rest for the day as well. Laying down in their nest, they closed their eyes and dosed off to the smell of lavender and the sound of shuffling paws.