Sickness brings a new era. (Closed)

The familiar mossy opening of the medicine den was a little too familiar for a healthy warrior like Marshstorm as he padded into the depths. Mosspaw had come to fetch him, but as he padded into the den, the aching scent of sick prevailed. His nose wrinkled against his wishes. The source of the scent the golden pelted leader he looked up to.

Worry stirred in his stomach as he pressed his nose to the dark spotted pelt. Relief close behind as he felt breathing. Scented less sickness than before, though his leg still looked off. Marshstorm lifted his head to look for Pricklebush.

"Pricklebush? Is he getting better?" He asked, when he finally spotted the tousled furred tom. "I’m sure the clan would be happy to get such news..." he paused, then sobered a little, dampening the happiness before it took too much hold. The frightening truth deep in his mind. "Did… did he lose any lives?"

He'd failed. Again, he had failed. You have one job as a medicine cat, the thought echoed through his head. One job. And you can't even do that right. Pricklebush stared down numbly at the no-longer-moving golden spotted cat, his form so quiet and barely breathing without the strong fierce determination that had often filled it. It seemed... wrong... to see him like that. Just like it had been wrong for him to come in barely standing. Wrong for him to lose so many lives. It was so quiet... The medicine cat almost jumped out of his skin when he looked up and saw Marshstorm standing there, then quickly remembered he'd sent Mosspaw to fetch him. At the deputy's concerned eyes, and question, however, all his fear and self-loathing returned. He'd tried... he'd failed. "He is... very sick," the tom began slowly, looking down at Leopardstar instead of at the deputy. "It's pretty bad. I think he may be on the mend now, however slow it may be. I did... I did what I could..."

Pricklebush screwed his eyes shut and turned his head away. He couldn't bear to look at the tom he'd failed to save anymore... or the tom who was going to hate him for what he'd done. Who would be most affected by this. The whisper that escaped almost against his will was hollow, rough, terrified. "He's on his last life, Marshstorm." His voice shook, along with his shoulders. Leopardstar had been leader for his whole life... This was a bad time for change... But he had to tell the truth. At least he could do that. Failure. You're a failure. "He- he's too weak," the medicine cat whispered, eyes still shut. "There's no way he can lead in this state, and who knows how long the recovery will take... You have to lead, Marshstorm."

The calico had been sent to fetch Marshstorm, a duty that she carried out on quick paws. She was exhausted, having to run for necessary herbs and lend a paw whenever Pricklebush needed. She had offered to wait up while Pricklebush got needed rest, but neither medicine cat was capable of any good amount of sleep. They had been working endlessly, desperately trying everything to keep Leopardstar with them. As the days and nights had passed, so had Leopardstar's lives. The first time she had watched in silent horror, not entirely sure of what she was watching transpire, but knowing in her gut that it wasn't anything good. The ones that came after she understood a bit more, but still had no way to do anything to stop or prevent it. She sat at the edge of the den as Marshstorm and Pricklebush spoke quietly, Pricklebush explaining the gravity of the situation. He then broke the news that he did not consider Leopardstar well enough to lead anymore, and Mosspaw's head dropped low. She had been suspecting that would be the case, but.... She had hoped it wouldn't come to that.