Private Thread Plot Thread Falling Stones

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
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Nettleplume spun at the sound of Goosesong’s voice and whatever he’d been sorting moments before fell forgotten as Stoneclaw staggered into view. Seeing him like that felt like a blow. And there was too much blood.

"Stars above...." Nettleplume snapped, already lunging for the nearest wad of moss. His anger wasn’t loud but it was razor sharp as he pressed the moss firmly against the worst of the wounds.

Stoneclaw had lost far more than Nettleplume liked to see in a living cat.

"You should have stopped out there." He growled squarely at Goosesong. "You should have packed these wounds before dragging him back. Field medicine exists for a reason."

But even through the hiss of frustration his paws worked with ruthless efficiency. The cream tabby packed more moss against the deep gouge along Stoneclaw’s flank and more against the torn shoulder. His movements were steady even as his plumed tail lashed.

Nettleplume leaned low, ear pressed briefly to Stoneclaw’s chest. The heartbeat was there...subtle but present.

"The fact that he's alive at all is testament to his stubbornness." Then his gaze flicked sharply back to Goosesong as he went to prepare something for the pain. "Tell me exactly what happened."

What are you afraid of losing if nothing in the world actually belongs to you.

~･ﾟ: *~･ﾟ:* 🫧 *:･ﾟ~*:･*

rise from the smoldering pyre of wormwood and weeds
↫ ⭒ ☽ ⭒ 〄 ⭒ ☾ ⭒ ↬

Nettleplume's silence was taut like a wire pulled so tight it might have threatened to snap, but snap he didn't. He had no reason to believe Goosesong’s explanation otherwise. Even Stoneclaw refusing treatment... He could picture that clearly .

"Fine." He muttered at last, snorting softly as he worked through his herbs. "Then don’t apologize for him."

Marigold crushed into a bitter smelling mash mixed with comfrey roots... All pull together with teh speed who was emotionally removed from the gravity of the situation as he believed all medicine cat's should be.

"Hold him steady..." He told Goosesong, tone brooking no room for argument. "If he wakes he could fight. And I'm not losing herbs or blood to his temper."

First came the press of poultice into the worst gashes. The wounds oozed beneath his touch but it would staunche and prevent infection.

"If he lives it'll be because he has a stronger body than any cat has the right to. Not because he made wise choices."

What are you afraid of losing if nothing in the world actually belongs to you.

~･ﾟ: *~･ﾟ:* 🫧 *:･ﾟ~*:･*

Goosesong didn't give a response, not a verbal one. But he did, however, respond diligently to Nettleplume's demand, he had no right or reason not to. And if it would keep Stoneclaw, a diligent and devoted warrior, alive then he would do just that.

Large white paws found wound-less spaces on Stoneclaw's shoulder and thigh to keep the older tom in place. Goosesong both felt and saw the old tom's fur ripple beneath his firm grip and his muscles tense at the application of the herbs. Stoneclaw seemed to let out a groan, more irritated than pained, with every application of herbs but was much too exhausted to move.

Moments like these felt almost unreal to Goosesong, as if something like this couldn't possibly happen to a clanmate, to his direct kin no less. But it had happened and still happened to this day it seems. Perhaps StarClan were out for his Bloodline. If they were, Goosesong had no power to stop them.

At Nettleplume's final rebuttal, Goosesong's ears twitched, not in agreement, not in disagreement, but in acknowledgement. He kept his opinion neutral on the matter. Stoneclaw had done nothing that would earn anything more, even if Stoneclaw was conscious enough to hear them. But there was a part of him that agreed. If Stoneclaw wasn't so Star-Damned stubborn, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.