Month 7

Pixel art of The Winged. There are a bundle of blue berries and leaves behind one ear.

Allegiances

... that is why it is so necessary we build up the practice and upper body strength to be able to carry such heavy buckets of water fairly quickly to the camp, The Little concludes. They look at you expectantly. Does that make sense?

Yup! You nod, shifting the weight of the bucket in your paws. This one is empty right now, because you haven't started your practice today yet. But it makes sense why you have to learn this, because water is important to keep someone sick from drying out, especially when their nose is running or they're bleeding - a lot of water is being lost then, so you need a lot of it. And if you need to wash, then that's important to have at paw too.

If The Little is busy helping someone, and you need to get water, then you have to be strong and graceful, so you can get back with the water quick while spilling as little as possible.

You dip your burden down just a little lower as you step into the shallows, but you remember how yucky dirt tastes in it; it's not as clean, so that's bad! You wade further into the lake to get the less muddy water into the vessel, paws churning up the debris as the water reaches higher around you.

Once it's up to your chest, that's when you decide that should be good enough. You push the lip of the bucket you've been letting half-drag half-bob along down below the surface, and watch as the water fully fills it up now. When you right it and pull it back out, hugging it to your front, you're a lot more soaked, but this practice was going to make that happen anyway, probably. You start wading back out towards The Little, where they're already clutching their own full bucket.

As you step back out, they turn around. Beckoning you with their tail, they start heading for the quickest route back, though you've travelled across it so often in the past month you're pretty sure you know it like the back of your paw. You're a lot slower than they are; the weight of the water doesn't feel too heavy yet, but your fur is also weighing you down, and you don't want to spill this stuff more than you want to run fast.

The bucket you have right now is pretty; it's not the same as the bucket usually in the healer's section, since of course that one is The Little's. It's made from a large snail's shell, a beautiful blue-to-red gradient that you took a liking to as soon as you saw it. The Rust finished making it recently, passing it off to you with his usual grumpy grunt. He left little indents for pawholds after carving out the top to be totally open, so you could keep your grip on it better, and rubbed down the curve at the top so it could be placed on that end, though it still needs a little holder to keep it from falling over.

You privately wonder if maybe that's why the other bucket is carved from flatter rubbish instead of a snail shell, but this one really does look really nice, so you still like it best. Snails aren't that common over here either, not until you get closer to more water further out in the territory - you don't see them near the lake very much, for some reason. Maybe because it's so close to camp? They are scared of slugcats, and they are pretty tasty.

You're starting to feel the strain of carrying a whole bucket of water now. Your arms tremble a little, and sweat trickles down the back of your pelt.

The Little notices your panting and smiles sympathetically. Ah, do not worry. We won't be out here so often; practice makes perfect, but you'll be practising this a lot as time goes on in any case, so we will just get enough water stored that it should be enough for the needs of the clowder today. It is only something that happens once or twice a day, really - especially now, as we have two of them to hold water.

Having just one or two buckets might make it sound like the water would not nearly be enough to fulfil the needs of a clowder, but it really is! There's so much water outside, especially after each cycle, that there's usually enough to drink gathered up from puddles on leaves and plants in camp that any slugcat who doesn't feel like going outside or slugpup already has enough. Then the slugcats going on patrol can get some directly from the lake too, or any other plants, platforms, and weird stuff out there. They tend to have different tastes, so you can get why people might prefer one source or another.

But anyway, in the end it means your water is pretty much only for healer duties; cleaning wounds, hydrating the sick or injured... You want the freshest, cleanest water for that, and that's why only the lake water is good for this! So it's almost special water in that sense.

You wonder if that's why the bucket almost seems like some kind of special healer's item. The Little told you they've had theirs since they started their apprenticeship, and they took it with them when they left their old clowder. And now you've got one too, special and custom-made by The Rust...

Him only just finishing it is also why you only just started working on carrying the buckets back today. Before, The Little would do this duty without you, leaving you to sort the herb stores or dry some leaves. You guess you could have asked to carry their bucket for them, now that you think about it, but it feels so special to them that you didn't really feel like it was right to ask. What if you tripped and broke it???

When you both finally finish your wet trails back through the shelter and set the buckets down - his on the floor, yours on the metal stand The Rust wrought for yours - The Little turns his head to you, and lets out a soft chuckle. You perk your ears, confused at his reaction.

Ah, little wings, it appears you have some hanger-ons from our chore, They say, pointing to your pelt.

You look down at yourself, and see that while stirring up the stuff growing in the lakebed, you managed to get moss stuck to your fur. You stick your tongue out and huff at it, reaching to brush it off, but then you pause and think again.

Pixel art of The Winged with the juniper behind one ear. They now also have moss covering their pelt.

Does it look good on me? You ask them, turning yourself to face The Little and holding your arms out for their examination.

They twitch their nose, amused. If you like how it looks, then feel free to keep it. I can help you dry the moss to make sure it will last longer, if you would like.

Yeah! You say, perking up. That would be great, thank you Little!

They give you an indulgent smile and pat your wet back. Now, let us go and check up on the mushroom farm, shall we? They will probably appreciate the moisture our wet pelts bring them.




It starts just like any other day. You wake up in your nest near The Little, groggy even while they're already cleaning their pelt. They've told you before that being an adolescent is just like this, but you really wish you were less sleepy all the time since you're going to be a teenager for sooooo long.

Your pelt still ruffled, you slouch out of the healer's section to make your daily greeting to your family in the nursery. It's not too far from the elder section, and both aren't too far from the healer's - all at the back of the shelter, while the rest of the shelter is for the other slugcats.

When you walk in, though, you realise immediately something is wrong.

Your mother is coughing softly, sniffling and blinking at you with watery eyes. Her nose glimmers wetly, like it has dew on it. But she's not who you're most worried about, and judging from your little siblings' stares, awake but quiet, not who they've been most worried about either.

Your father lays prone in the nest, panting softly like he can't get enough air.

Silky, The Pale rasps, turning his head and sliding across the straw to pat at her face with his paws.

Your pads are so hot, She murmurs with a snuffle. She catches his paws in hers and holds them close to her face.

What do you think became of them, Silky? In the aftermath?

I know you have wondered this, but we have moved so far away from them it's simply not possible to know. It goes both ways, She says her words carefully, giving the three of you children a cautious glance. Away from them, away from us. But I am not sure this is the best time to ask.

What? He sounds confused, and when he turns his head to look at you three, he stares blankly without comprehension for a few, heart-wrenching seconds. Then he blinks, and he's your father again.

Oh, Winged, The Pale says, with a shuddering breath. Am I glad to see you, baby. Your mother feels just awful, look at her nose. She's been wiping all of that snot on my back all night, I tell you.

The Light smiles guiltily.

A caretaker of pups like me has long since grown fur immune to mucus, The Silky jokes back, pressing her tail to his. I would simply wipe it on myself.

Mama? Can you help me guide them to the healer's den? You ask her, reaching out your paw towards her. I wanna get The Little to check them out. I... I don't know all the sicknesses yet. I don't know what's wrong with him...

She moves her hand away from The Pale's and places it on yours. Of course, little one. Amber, would you be able to watch over the pups while I am away? It would be best if we kept a little distance before we get everyone sick, I'm afraid.

Of course, Silky. The Amber is watching with no small amount of concern, The Moon resting their chin on top of her arm. They gaze at you with big eyes.

Is he gonna die? The Singer pipes up, climbing on top of The Rust's head as he shuffles in his nest behind The Amber. The Rust catches him and holds him steady, even while he wriggles and kicks, trying to get back to climbing.

The Spark and The Light widen their eyes, frantic, and shoot their gazes to you.

He's not gonna die, is he?! The Spark asks, her breath coming faster. You think she might be starting to hyperventilate.

He can't, he can't die! The Light wails, dashing forward to cling to your leg tightly. Papa can't die, he can't do that!

I'm sure he'll be fine! You tell them, with far more confidence than you feel. You put your paw on The Light's head and rub his ears. I bet he'll be a-ok before long. We don't want you to get sick too, but you can visit a bit sometimes, from further away. And I promise to tell you everything about how he's doing, okay?

Okay, The Light sniffles.

Okay, The Spark echoes. Her eyes peer at you worriedly, though, and you wonder if she believes you.




I'm afraid your father has emaciation, They tell you gently. They both have sore throats, but they are very different diseases. Your father's chances...

They hesitate, thinking of how to phrase it. Your throat tightens. From that, you can tell.

They are not grim, I assure you. The Little holds out a paw placatingly at your expression. It is not a death sentence, though I will not lie and say there is no danger. But we will have to be vigilant, and watchful. Moreover, we don't have any of the medicine that could help him, though of course we can hunt for it.

He could very well make a full recovery and continue on for years. I would even say that this is the most probable outcome, especially as we will be able to rotate full-time care for him between the two of us should he require it. Emaciation can progress into depletion; that is my worry, so we will have to be very careful.

You flatten your ears, alarmed at the idea of an even worse illness when this one is already so scary. Then you start trembling. Just the names alone tells you how bad this is, even if you couldn't tell from seeing his symptoms. The way he can't seem to tell what's going on. The way he asked The Silky something that you've never heard him talk about, even though he should have seen you there. Should have known The Spark and The Light were there, at least.

But he's going to be fine, absolutely fine. The Little said themself, after all, that it's almost definitely not going to turn out bad, that it's just something that you have to take seriously. It's... It's almost like a challenge to your healer skills! Yeah! You have to work hard to figure out the best way to take care of him, and then everything will be better again. Because, you know, you can't lose him. You just... Can't.

And what about the clowder? He's the leader! Without him, what would happen to everyone? Would you all just drift apart? Become scattered to the winds? Stop being a clowder? You can't imagine your clowder without your dad being there, to sing for everyone to gather around and beam down at the newest ceremony-receiver.

Behind the both of you, The Pale speaks up, voice tinged with concern. Hey, baby, it's okay. Do you want to come here?

You turn around, and he's sitting up propped on one elbow. When you look at him, he opens up his arms, and without hesitation you barrel into him and bury your face against his chest.

This up close to him, with his arms wrapped around you, you can feel the heat your mother worried about. You press your ears against your head, letting him tuck his chin more securely between them. Even folded back like that, though, you can hear the rasp of his breath wheezing through his throat. He begins chirruping, then purring, at you softly, low and soft, and that drowns it out.

They're not coughing like The Silky is, and they don't seem confused at all right now. If you close your eyes and ignore that they're a little too warm, even through their pelt, you can almost pretend that everything is absolutely fine. You're just their little pup, and everything will be alright.

It has to.




You trudge back into the shelter from your scouting patrol with The Little, ears drooping. Neither of you have managed to find any arm growers, despite their guiding you to the spots that are likely to have them. Without the distinctive strange body of the plant, there's no way you can dig up the roots.

It feels like a struggle to lift your head and look inside the healer's den, knowing you failed again. It's not that your father has been getting worse yet, but he hasn't been getting better either. And the longer he's sick, the longer his body is fighting that illness, the tireder it must be getting...

Still, you look up when you hear him make a small chitter of complaint. He's pushing the blue fruit The Wild is offering him out of his face.

'M not hungry, The Pale mumbles, child-like in a way you've never heard him before.

You've got to eat, Pale, The Wild says almost gently, offering him it again. You heard the healer; you have to keep your strength up, even if you've got no appetite. You have to fight this illness with a filled stomach.

You and The Little have already had to remind him to stay in the injury side of the den more times than you can count; even so, he's back here again, hovering over The Pale once more. You're worried he's going to catch it too, at this rate.

His pelt has gotten better, with the torn patches healed of injury, though the fur hasn't quite grown back. The lizard bite is still nasty, and he's in no position to work still, either - you think of how The Gull has told you about how the leader assigns everything there, but luckily it isn't so bad for your clowder. While no one is there to help with coordination, the patrols already go on their own; now they've started announcing what they're doing to the camp and where, so no one has to overlap too much.

You hope nothing big happens that they actually need to hear about. Not while they both need to rest.

Your father flattens his ears, breathing fitfully again. How could I? When no one else has enough? I'd be no better than them and theirs.

The journey is long past. The Silky lays her paw on his flank, her brow creased in worry. He must still be hot to the touch. We have all had plenty of food, dear. It's not selfishness to take care of yourself.

Your mother smiles for you when she notices you enter, but the worry in her eyes is bright as fever. You know she has an anxious spirit, like your little sister; though she wants to stay strong for you and your siblings, you think she knows just how bad this could be.

You wonder if she's seen it before? You have your parents, but you realise you don't know anything about your grandparents. Do you have any? Or... Did you have any? The Silky is a queen, and though not a healer she has more than first aid knowledge for medicinal care, for taking care of pups. What has she seen that you haven't?

I had been hoping to visit The Saviour's clowder again and check on how those pups had been doing, The Little is murmuring to The Silky now, having joined her side. When did they move from standing by yours? Though, ah, it is unfair to call them pups anymore. They've been young, mature slugcats for a while now. Now, though, it is something I will unfortunately have to put off once more.

I can only imagine that, should anything dire have come up, one of their number would have come to fetch me.

She's been recovering. With the help of the bubble weed and batnip you found last month, her wind-white has had its symptoms much reduced. But she's still not all better, and she's still sleeping close to your father - there's only so much space in the healer's section, especially when you want to stay close to them and there's actually someone injured enough to be sleeping here at the same time. They're in separate nests now, spread apart, so you can only hope that's far enough she won't get sick with what he has, too.

Yes, I suppose that's the only reasonable way forward, She agrees softly with them. We can only hope that no circumstances come up that will force you to have to divide your attention between our two clowders, for we are more than far apart enough that I'd foresee that being an especially dangerous situation.

They flick their ears in agreement, looking perturbed. Indeed. The Winged has been doing well, but this is only their second month of training - there is far more that she doesn't know than that he does. When they become fully trained, we'll be able to relax a bit more; for now, every serious incident is one to be quite worried about, that is for sure.

It doesn't feel quite fair, that you can choose to become a healer and still end up feeling so overwhelmingly helpless in such a situation as this. You know you're still in training, but The Little isn't; the fact that even they have to stand by, because they can't always have the medicine...

Even if you do, you've heard that it won't always help enough. Even if you have everything prepared, all the herbs you need, someone could die anyway.

How could that be right?




You'd thought at first from how The Little had talked that you'd need to switch between who was awake and who was asleep between the two of you to make sure The Pale didn't have any problems. But, it turned out, that hadn't been what they'd meant - his condition wasn't critical by any means, they'd explained to you, so there was no need for you to tire yourself out that way.

As a teenager, you especially needed as much sleep as you could get. As a healer, you also needed it to make sure you wouldn't catch something yourself, being so close to your parents. So you had been sent to sleep that day, and every day after, as per normal - with The Little's assurance that they were a light sleeper, and would wake up to monitor the situation if anything went wrong.

The Old Sun peeks her head in from the entrance of the healer's section. I hope you are not too busy right now, The Little. I shan't be any trouble; I promise I'll be out of your pelt mighty quick, ah? Hello there, Silky.

My greetings, The Sun. Your mother peeks up from her nest - though it's a little late, and she should sleep more, she's still up. You suppose you don't have room to talk for needing to sleep more. It's good to see a new face again. Between our pups and this illness, these shelter walls are getting a bit too familiar for me.

Oh, I certainly understand the feeling, The Sun laughs softly. Yes, when I lived alone and spent so much time in a shelter myself as I recovered from my laying, then watched the egg.

Your father, exhausted and sleeping, doesn't stir.

Not at all, Your mentor replies warmly, setting down the horse tails they'd been examining and turning around to greet her. Everything here is keeping the same stable, for better and ill. What were you needing?

I have been experiencing some trouble keeping shut-eye again, you see, She explains, shuffling further into the den. I was hoping you could afford me another little rest-time bundle.

Despite The Little's best efforts, you haven't been sleeping well, either. The worry nips at your heels every time you curl up in your nest and hear your father take a loud, shuddering breath. When you do fall asleep, it's shallow, and you wake up from any loud noise. You guess you're becoming a light sleeper too, then. Maybe all healers end up that way.

Of course, we would be happy to, They clasp their paws together briefly, dusting them off. Little wings?

You turn your head and look at him, flicking your ears in acknowledgement.

Would you be willing to try making the remedy? As mentioned, it is for aiding one's sleep, so it is not a particularly advanced one.

You nod, and duck past him to fetch the medicine you need. You lift yourself on your tiptoes and reach for the seed pods - by themselves they already aid sleep, but they're not the only thing that helps, and seed pods are important to preserve for pain relief the most. You need to shake out more seeds to have a stronger sleepiness effect than you would need for just numbing pain. Some is still used, but in the mixture you know it won't need as many. It's better to use it with other herbs known for being calming, so the calmness makes the sleeping effect stronger. Plus, having some pod seeds in it means that The Sun probably will have some of the aches that come with being old eased, which will also help.

You come back out with the smallest curl of the dried seed pods you have stored, alongside some grass and pole leaf. You've heard that pole plants are dangerous, so you've still never gotten to gather any leaves from them - from what The Little has briefly told you, though, you know you have to get as close as you can as quickly as you can, grab as much of the leaves as you can in your paws and yank sharply, then run like the void.

Pole leaves are coated in a thin layer of some kind of sap and a little prickly, and you know on a pole plant they hook on to you. If you're dragged into the roots of the plant... Well, your mentor hadn't outlined this part so much, but you're making a pretty good assumption that it will kill you so it can absorb all the nutrients you bring it.

How has the lantern rabbit been doing? She asks, stretching her creaky body out as you set to work crushing up the leaves and grass, then shake out some seeds onto it. You wonder briefly if soaking them with water to make it easier to go down, or dilute it - but the pole leaf is sticky enough to keep everything together.

You stop mid-motion as you realise what she just communicated and stare at her for a second, wild-eyed. Oh no, I totally forgot about it...

Don't worry. I'm sure it will be alright, The Sun says soothingly, reaching out to pat your arm. It doesn't need much to find food for itself, and what with your parents this month... Ah-ya, perhaps I should not have asked in the first place. Of course it has not been on your mind.

No, it's okay. You try for a smile, then give up in place of a friendly flick of the tail. I totally get it, you wanna make small talk. The lantern mouse is something we can both talk about, so it was always gonna be an easy thing to reach for. I just, yeah. Don't know what's been going on with it. I hope it's okay.

I would be more than happy to check in on it, but I'm sure it is quite alright, She again is gentle with you. It is easy for it to find food, and there are not many predators so close to our camp, other than us! So it is surely safer there than anywhere else.

You nod, comforted by the knowledge of lantern mice care she definitely has more of than you do, and go back to mushing the plants, letting the juices mingle and bind everything together.

Once you're satisfied with the consistency of the combination, you turn around and present it to her, held with one last pole plant leaf under it to make sure it doesn't spill or get on your paw.

Ah, I think you have mismatched the remedy ratio, The Little points gently, reaching out and indicating the spots on your mixture. The pod seeds aren't quite enough. It will soothe her pain and calm her, but it cannot help her sleep this way.

Your ears droop. Oh. Sorry, Little...

It is quite nothing to apologise for, They reassure you, placing a paw on your head. You have been doing well so far, and I know it has not been easy for you, with all that has been burdening you. It is in the nature of a slugcat to worry about their loved ones, so I certainly do not fault you for having difficulty remembering something like how many pod seeds is too little for a remedy. It is little harm done - it's always good to have not enough in those, than too little. One can always add more.

So saying, they shake out a few more seeds from the pod and sprinkle it into the remedy. Dutifully, you place it back on the raised platform to stir it in properly.

And there you have it, The Sun, The Little smiles warmly. One sleeping-time blend for you. Take it as you wish, in water to dilute the taste or merely chewing the pulp. Swallowing it without chewing, as always, is an option too, but not quite so advised lest you choke.

Ah, I would find it strange at this point if you did not remind me of that every time I came to you for medicine, She says fondly, reaching for the mash you offer her again. I cannot say that the taste of pole plant has ever been a much favoured one for me - it is quite the shame that we do not have an abundance of seed pods growing here, that would allow us to simply swallow a few of those with no taste on our tongues. Well, thank you very much for the help, dear Winged.

This time, you manage to give her a little smile. Despite your best efforts you don't think it reaches your eyes. Yeah, of course.

The Whistler chooses this moment to cavort by past the entrance, very deliberately not coming in - after so long with their jaw aching and bothering them at every turn, they've been in especially high spirits to have it heal fully, leaving only a massive scar and permission to not need to visit the healer den at all anymore.

Even the muted, ruffled stress you're giving out doesn't put them off. While your obvious apprehension has worried the rest of the clowder to some extent, they seem almost distressingly buoyant, like they don't care at all that your father is pretty seriously sick. You know that they don't know him closely, not like most everyone else does, but you kind of wish they'd at least take the hint like The Gull and not beam at you with a sunny smile, like anything is alright with the world right now.

Just checking to see where Sun went, They explain as you look at them. I shan't stay in here, so no need to worry about me spreading anything! I wanted to chat with you, but I'll talk to you later when you've finished getting your medicine, shall I?

Yes, I do believe that would be best, She says, tone a little dry. When they flounce off again, she shakes her head and looks to you. I truly don't know how it is that they still act this way. An adult senior enough to have gotten to retirement, if not quite as elderly yet, but they still act childish as a young slugpup. Ah, but of course, I do not mean that as an insult towards you.

You shake your head. It's 'kay, Old Sun. I didn't take it like that.

You didn't even think of the association there until she brought it up. You guess she's technically still right, when she calls you a slugpup, and even just last month you would have grouped yourself in there. Until you're later into your teenage months, you're not even really a young slugcat yet. But it's just that, well...

You don't really feel like a child anymore.




The Spark and The Light are rushing towards you again. You know they've been worried, too.

The Wind calls for you and waves you towards her.

The Olive is lying on her stomach in the sand, letting The Singer climb all over her.


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