Sick Old Folk (Closed)

Lightfoot rested his prim white muzzle on his prim white paws, clearly in serious pain. He was on a moss nest in the medicine cat's den, curled away in some dark corner. The combining scents of all the different herbs and poultices were much too strong for his preferences, but there was little he could do about it. The old tom simply huffed and tried to breath through his mouth. The awful scent still permeated everything. Lately, his eyes had been stinging painfully and nothing the medicine cats put on them would soothe the discomfort. They seemed to be oozing and swollen as well, which was quite an embarrassing thought. He wasn't contagious so he didn't need to be separated from the rest of the clan, but Lightfoot was extremely conscious of how disturbing he must look to the others that he willingly stayed in the den. He wasn't alone, either. The elder's nest was shuffled right up to Icestorm's nest, who had joined him in the medicine cat's den for quite another reason.

Pain; the only thing Icestorm could feel. Lying in his nest, the crippled tom tried to stay as still as possible, for every time he moved his legs, a horrible feeling shot up his spine. The medicine cat's den smelt of herbs and something else... something somewhat gross. Lifting his head and wincing, he turned to Lightfoot, who didn't seem to be doing very well either. The white tom's eyes looked infected, and some sort of puss was oozing out of them. "You okay?" he croaked, knowing it was a rhetorical question.

Lightfoot hadn't realized he had a headache until Icestorm's voice reminded him how sensitive to sound he had become in his present condition. He felt far too tired to raise his head to answer. "Nothing I can't handle." He responded, though it was definitely not the truth. "Just tired, you know? Being old makes you tired all the time, I guess. I feel like I haven't slept in seasons." Lightfoot said, murmuring slightly. He knew that Icestorm was suffering as well, and the usual wave of guilt consumed him once more. If he hadn't been so foolish, neither of them would be here. In fact, maybe they'd still be warriors, serving their dear friend until she forced them to retire or they died in her service.

Icestorm couldn't help but let out a chuckle, even if it was a somewhat delirious one. How in StarClan's name did they even get into this mess? Something about ShadowClan cats and the Thunderpath, Icestorm was having a hard time remembering. "Re-remember when we... we weren't the best of friends?" he stuttered, but held a smile upon his muzzle. "Look at us n-now," he meowed but his happy memories didn't last long, for an unbearable pain shot up his legs and he let out a screech off pain. Laying his head down onto his front paws, he breathed unsteadily, wishing it all would end.

Lightfoot laughed gently until he heard his friend's pained howl and unsteady breathing. There was very little to be done for either of them except hope that it would pass or end quickly. He wasn't sure which option he preferred. He would instead try to help Icestorm be at peace, if only for the moment, by recalling old and cherished memories. "Yes, I remember. We were such silly youngsters. I think it was a misunderstanding over Ashstar." Lightfoot sighed, remembering the three of them when they were new warriors. "And when we were older, we were chased from our home by dogs... but then we took it back. WindClan was so strong." His head continued to pulse painfully. He was daydreaming, remembering patrols and hunting trips that had been long ago. If he tried hard enough, he could almost smell the sweet scent of his mate. For just a brief moment, the breeze in the den was like the pelts of his children rubbing against his own.

The good 'ol days. Letting out a cough, a smile grew upon his muzzle. No matter how much pain he was in, memories of his apprentice-hood would out stand the pain a thousand times over. Closing his eyes, the feeling of running through the moor overwhelmed him. Wind in his fur, dirt flying up against his paws, and in front of him, his friends and family. Ashstar, Smokepelt, Sharppaw, Cedarfur, and Lightfoot. The group of cats ran happily across the territory, young and free. No battle scars, no hatred or loss, just peace.

The pain from his legs woke him from his daydream, but this time, he didn't howl in pain. Half opening his eyes in the dark den, a horrible nauseous feeling in his throat and at that moment, he knew what those wonderful visions meant. The tom had lived a full life, one that no other cat could ask for and now, it was time for him to join the stars. "Lightfoot," he mumbled, somewhat at peace with the world. "You're my best friend, and I couldn't have asked for a better life," he wheezed.

There was pain in the white elder's heart. At least Icestorm was ready. He wasn't sure if he was ready himself. "I agree. It's been good for us both, despite the problems. I wouldn't have my last moments be with anyone else, Icestorm. I look forward to seeing you again." Well, he'd made his peace. There were a few regrets in the back of his head, but Lightfoot's focus shifted elsewhere. His eyes, though already closed and covered in poultice, felt heavier than they had ever been. His pained and raspy breaths were shallow, and becoming slower. So soon? No, not so soon... it has been a very long life... If he tried hard enough, Lightfoot could barely make out shapes in the darkness. After a few moments, the shapes became recognizable figures, and little glimmers of starlight were visible in the distance. There they were. His family and friends. Finally, he wasn't so... alone. It was like he had opened his eyes for the first time. In the waking world, he had drawn his final, stuttering breath.

Lightfoot's words were barely audible anymore and Icestorm took a deep breath, which ended up being more painful than he thought it out to be. The tom soon lost all feeling in his hind legs and knew that there was nothing more he could do. He'd lived his life to the fullest, served his family and clan, and now, it was his time to go. His raspy breathing started to slow down, and fortunately for him, he didn't feel a thing. See you on the other side, he wanted to meow but nothing came out. Taking in one last look of where he laid, the tom closed his eyes and his world was covered by a blanket of darkness.

Not a sound was heard, not a speck of light was seen, but soon enough, Icestorm awoke to the glimmer of stars. A small grey cat ran up to him, a smile upon his muzzle and nudged him on the cheek. "Hi dad!"

Ashstar walked into the medicine cat den with a plump rabbit in her jaws. "Icestorm? Lightfoot? I brought you some..." At the sight of their unmoving bodies, the piece of fresh-kill dropped out of her jaws. No... She ran over to the white tom first, nudging him first gently, then insistently with a gray paw. "Lightfoot! Lightfoot, get up!" She moved to the side a couple steps and jabbed at her mate's side. "Icestorm, wake up! I can't.... Please don't...." The leader collapsed on the ground between the two lifeless toms, realization washing over her. Tears leaked out of her green eyes as she looked first at Lightfoot, then at Icestorm. She licked her oldest friend's cheek. "You helped me through so much, Lightfoot. You were my first and best friend. If it weren't for you, I... I don't know what I would've done." Now he would be with the rest of his family. She turned her head to her mate. "Icestorm. You were the light of my life. Whenever something bad happened, you were there for me, and I got through the hard parts of life knowing that, at the end of the day, you would still love me." She touched her nose to his, tears flowing freely now. Sharppaw wouldn't be alone anymore. "Rest well in StarClan," she choked out. "I know they will give you a hero's welcome." Ashstar wrapped her tail around her paws. The grief was too much. She closed her eyes, resting between the two still-warm bodies until she had to wake back up and face the reality that her two best friends were gone from her life.

OOC: NOOOOOO! Emberleaf didn't even get to sat goodbye....

IC: He was too late. Emberleaf had been taking a long, slow walk throughout the territory, remembering his days as a medicine cat. Only when he returned, had someone ran up to him with the news that his best friends were in the Medicine Cat's den. The old, ginger tom sprinted to his old den with great speed not meant for an elder, and arrived to see Ashstar weeping. "I'm....I'm too late..." he choked out, his body racking in a fit of sobbing coughs. "Ashstar....please don't....don't tell me I'm too late!" The tom let out a big wail and collapsed to the floor, coughing and wheezing and crying and just sounding awful, like he, too, would die at any given second. "Please, Lightfoot, Icestorm, don't leave me behind. I am all alone. I am all alone. I have nobody to love, I have no family, I have no friends. Ashstar, they aren't dead. They wouldn't do that to me!"