Post by mirepath on May 27, 2023 22:37:42 GMT -6
The world has never seemed stranger than in this very moment– the changing of seasons comes as inexorably as the changing of those that live within them, and Mirepath is nothing but a victim in some ridiculous story. He wishes as much as anyone else that he had some measure of control over life. It'd never be true, he's too rational to think of mastering the wilds, but that doesn't mean he doesn't see the appeal. Especially in times like this. His clanmates suffer around him, the clans are at each other's throats. What is he supposed to do except hope for some intervention? Nothing seems quite enough. For all of his sharpness and sarcasm, at the end of the day Mirepath is just a cat like any other. It stings to lose a patient. That sort of pain will never really go away. No matter how hard he tries.
Another clanmate had fallen ill a few short hours ago, and he's afraid that it will only get worse. Maybe he should have expected that– it's not like he knew how to treat it, and without that what use is he? Sitting there in his den shuffling herbs, mumbling uselessly every now and then. It doesn't sit well with him. Even if this is no better than staying there and being useless, Mirepath has already wandered out of his den. This section of camp is lonely. Though the tree typically bustles with activity, his perch is just close enough to his den to warrant silence from his clanmates, and just far enough away that none of the visiting faces can find him. There's only the dappled shade above him and the marshy ground below him, his own breath slowly shifting his ribs. He closes his eyes, and here, away from everyone else, the medic finally allows himself to grieve. Like acid sweeping up to splash at his ribs, pain washes over him in a grim tide. Times like this, Mire regrets that they had dropped him off here all those moons ago.
Another clanmate had fallen ill a few short hours ago, and he's afraid that it will only get worse. Maybe he should have expected that– it's not like he knew how to treat it, and without that what use is he? Sitting there in his den shuffling herbs, mumbling uselessly every now and then. It doesn't sit well with him. Even if this is no better than staying there and being useless, Mirepath has already wandered out of his den. This section of camp is lonely. Though the tree typically bustles with activity, his perch is just close enough to his den to warrant silence from his clanmates, and just far enough away that none of the visiting faces can find him. There's only the dappled shade above him and the marshy ground below him, his own breath slowly shifting his ribs. He closes his eyes, and here, away from everyone else, the medic finally allows himself to grieve. Like acid sweeping up to splash at his ribs, pain washes over him in a grim tide. Times like this, Mire regrets that they had dropped him off here all those moons ago.
───────── ･ ｡ﾟ ☆: *.☽ mirepath. medicine cat of eventideclan. last updated 05.24.2023
───────── 47 moons old. ages on the fifteenth. masc nonbinary. he ╱ they. so very gay.
the kind-hearted yet sharp-tongued medicine cat who is known both for his skill with herbs and his quick wit. he has a long and storied past that he never seems willing to talk about.
───────── 47 moons old. ages on the fifteenth. masc nonbinary. he ╱ they. so very gay.
the kind-hearted yet sharp-tongued medicine cat who is known both for his skill with herbs and his quick wit. he has a long and storied past that he never seems willing to talk about.
