Under the Weather, Over the Moon [Softpaw, open]

Soft, ragged breaths in the air stirred Barleytuft from his sleep, and as he fully came to he realized that the sound was coming from himself. It was dawn of a leaf-bare day, and as the senior warrior rose to an upright-sitting position in his nest he groaned, feeling the cold air stinging his eyes and nose more than usual. Barleytuft squinted and took in a deep breath, feeling a faintly uncomfortable tightness in his chest, but it wasn't restrictive. He let it out with a sigh. Oh, great, I must be catching something, the tabby tom thought, looking out across the clearing towards the medicine den. He felt as if the tightness in his chest had eased slightly at the thought of who was in there: Softpaw, his youngest daughter.

Softpaw was a sweet kit and had always been sensitive and attuned to others. Now she was under the care of Aspenheart and StarClan training to be sensitive to everyone and everything. She was going to be a medicine cat. Barleytuft smiled lightly and stood. He had done his best to see her a few times throughout the days that had passed since her ceremony was complete, but Softpaw was quite busy already scampering around to learn everything and run all the errands that Aspenheart put her to. Barleytuft chuckled at the thought of his brother - by choice, not by blood - telling Softpaw the same tales over and over that he told to everyone else. Softpaw would be too polite. Barleytuft had hoped that the next time he was able to spend quality time with his daughter wouldn't be because he needed to visit the medicine cats' den, but as he stood he felt a drop of mucus fall out his nose. He scowled with distaste and rubbed his paw across his muzzle and quickly crossed the camp.

Barleytuft slowly padded into the entrance of the medicine cats' den and leaned to the side, letting the sharp leaf-bare light stream in around him so he could see throughout best. He spotted Softpaw's pale tabby shape quickly and padded quietly over, smiling sheepishly. "Good morning, kitten - it's Barleytuft. Sorry to come to you so early with something so unpleasant." He backed up a little and sniffled as he felt his nose try to run. "I'm just feeling a little ill. Has your uncle Aspenheart taught you anything about fixing sniffles?" he asked.

(ooc: soory for the short post! ;;)
IC:

Softpaw had spent the last few sunrises learning all the basic herbs and collecting them. Leaf-bare was a hard season, carrying death almost everywhere it went. Well, not here it won't! She thought defensively. She wasn't going to let her clanmates slowly die! The pale colored she-cat was so busy with her herbs, she didn't notice Barleytuft's scent. Though she did here paw-steps. Softpaw began talking, not turning around, "Hello Aspenheart! I just finished putting away the coltsfoot and jun- oh! Dad!" Her mew turned into a surprised, but happy, mew. "Ill? Oh, stars, no! Sniffles? That's easy enough to treat. Are there any other symptoms?"

Barleytuft's dark hazel eyes watched with pleasant interest as he took in what his daughter was doing: the fluffy tabby had her back towards him sorting herbs, and though he couldn't see her face he knew he could detect the satisfaction in her voice as she began to speak. The senior warrior chuckled as he realized who Softpaw had mistaken him for. There were much worse cats to be compared to, though he wasn't sure he could name any in WindClan. She quickly corrected herself and, as she registered his words, her ears seemed to perk up. Though Softpaw didn't turn towards him yet, Barleytuft could practically feel her mind searching its knowledge base for a solution.

The medicine cat apprentice asked another question, and Barleytuft nodded once, replying patiently, "Maybe, I'm not sure; my chest feels a little tight. It could just be the cold air getting to me." Glancing about the den, the pale tabby tom found a clear spot and sat, continuing to watch Softpaw's work.

Softpaw pondered possible options in her mind. Tightness of chest... Sniffles... She turned to face her father, taking note of every detail, no matter how insignificant "Coughing? Shortness of breath? Fever? Loss of appetite?" She questioned, turning back to the stores. "It could be the start of greencough or whitecough, though catmint and chickweed are too precious to waste on 'maybes'. You said you had a tight feeling in your chest, and sniffles? A mixture of tansy, bright-eyes and lovage should cover that. Tansy will help prevent developing greencough, too. Bright-eyes and lovage will help with any coughing. Tansy will help a sore throat, too. I could give you some honey, or perhaps some coltsfoot if you're having trouble breathing?" Softpaw pulled every bit of information about coughs that she knew, making sure the stocks were still full enough.

After a moment or two, Barleytuft's daughter turned to him, her round blue eyes searching him over as she considered what he'd said. Softpaw asked him a few symptoms, one after the other. The senior answered calmly in just as quick succession, "No cough. No short breath yet. No fever. Not sure about my appetite," I just woke up, he thought, hiding an amused smile. He watched as Softpaw spun around again, taking in the stores. Barleytuft listened with great attention as she began listing off what possible illnesses he could be afflicted with and which herbs would be needed to treat them. When she asked for confirmation about his current state, he nodded: tight chest with sniffles.

As he sat and listened to her ponder, however, Barleytuft pondered himself. He realized that, actually, perhaps he did feel a bit feverish. Standing on the dry earth of the medicine cats' den, his paw pads felt almost stung and achy by the cool, flat earth. He hadn't thought much of it at first. He'd just been in a warm nest and then walked out into the leaf-bare weather. "Coltsfoot sounds familiar," Barleytuft said, nodding, "I remember when Aspenheart gave that to my mentor, Swiftstep, after he fell ill in his lungs. I don't think I have a cough, though; no need to worry about that for my treatment." His tail flicked, and he said, "Oh, yes, kitten - I didn't notice a moment ago, and I'm not sure, but I might actually have a small fever. Did you say what helps a fever?"

"No cough? Well, I won't waste my lovage and bright-eyes on you then!" Softpaw mewed with a purr of amusement, turning back to her stores after briefly facing him. No fever, no cough, no shortness of breath. Unsure about the appetite... Mentally running through different options in her head, she tried to find out what he might have. "Small fever? Why didn't you say so?" Instantly, the apprentice turned on her paws and felt Barleytuft's forehead. "You're right, you are too warm feeling for this leaf-bare chill... Let's see.. What helps fever.. Ah! Feverfew.. Lavender.. Borage.. Hmm, we have the most feverfew to spare. Borage is used often for queens, and Dappleshine might need them later if her milk doesn't come or runs dry," Softpaw mumbled to herself, "We should save the lavender for any vigils or chills..."

Slowly she nodded, agreeing with her herself. "I'll still give you the tansy though, whitecough sneaks up on anyone, and I will not lose anyone to whitecough or greencough this leaf-bare!" The pale tabby concluded. She pulled two small yellow flowers and a small bit of shrub with flowers similar to daisies. "These are both to be eaten." Softpaw mewed. Her tone softened and so did her eyes. She spoke gently, trailing off towards the end,"Take it easy until the fever wears off, alright? As your daughter, and your medicine cat, I don't want you getting sick. I-I still need you, dad."

Barleytuft settled in a little further as Softpaw agreed that if he didn't have a cough there would be no need to use herbs for coughing on him. When he had mentioned that he may have been wrong about the fever, his daughter quickly spun on him again, scrutinizing him with a much more intense blue stare. The senior warrior leaned down obediently to help to medicine cat reach his forehead with a delicate paw. She quickly confirmed his suspicion, and Barleytuft chided himself ever so lightly for having not noticed it to begin with. Still, it was only a few moments of uncertainty. There would be no harm done. The young medicine cat was already considering a new segment of the treatment to counter the fever.

Though much of the medicine cat in training's speaking wasn't directed at Barleytuft, the senior warrior still found himself listening and nodding along. The mention of Dappleshine made Barleytuft's stomach twist slightly; he had been visiting with the queen in the nursery the day prior. He would make sure to mention it to the medicine cats so they could keep an eye on her. Regrettably, he would need to stay away from his friend until his illness had passed. He frowned slightly, but his daughter's decisive voice broke into his thoughts.

The senior warrior turned to see Softpaw pulling out two different herbs. She turned to him, and Barleytuft met his sweet daughter's soft blue gaze with love and attention. His gaze was just the faintest bit glassy, a minor symptom of the illness he was coming down with, but he watched her and listened to her gentle, almost fearful words. Barleytuft reached out one pale paw, gently brushing Softpaw's own pale foot for a brief moment before pulling back. In a gentle reassuring voice, Barleytuft said, "I'll be fine, Softpaw. I'm sure Aspenheart would agree. Cats get ill sometimes; it's just part of Clan life. It's what we have medicine cats for. It's why I came right here. I'll be careful - I promise. You won't have to be without me for a long time yet." Barleytuft gave her a deeply loving, reassuring smile before bending down to lap up the herbs she had pushed forward.

At her father's reassurance, Softpaw almost sighed in relief. She was terrified of the thought of losing any cat she cared for. Barleytuft, Graybriar, Aspenheart, Clovertwist, Downpaw... At any moment, StarClan could call for them, and she'd be left alone. The thought alone sent chills down her spine, and she involuntarily whimpered, whiskers twitching. As per usual, a slight twitch of her tail gave hints she was thinking, as it always had. Barleytuft would be fine, there was no reason he shouldn't be.

Softpaw needed to do something; anything. Her mind liked to wander places, and that was not a good thing sometimes. Especially now. Often times, her mind seemed to enjoy going down the darker paths of sickness and death; things that scared her. She knew she would have to overcome that, but it scared her. How would she go on if she lost her dad, or mom, or brothers, or even mentor? She wanted to know where Aspenheart was, to go sit by his side and make sure he was okay. What if he got hurt? Surely he couldn't heal himself. Her paws ached to rush to his side, feel the comfort of his pelt against hers. It reminded the pale tabby of her days in the nursery, snuggled up between the warmth of her beautiful mother, Graybriar, and her beloved brother Downpaw. Softpaw wished she could go back to that, but immediately she pushed that thought away. She loved her job, everything about it. She couldn't imagine not going to sleep breathing in the smell of herbs, or waking up early when the dew was still fresh to gather herbs.

Without realizing it, her paws carried her forward, until she rested beside Barleytuft, her charming father. She rested her muzzle on his flank, relishing his scent. In a voice almost as small as a whisper, she said: "Dad, I love you. I really, really love you."

The herbs were a bit unpleasant, but that was neither new nor surpising for Barleytuft as he felt the bitter tang drying up his mouth. He did his best to chew them as much as needed to get them fine enough to swallow; his tongue was tingling by the time the herbs had slipped down his throat. Much to his relief, that faint tightness in his chest seemed to ease immediately as if the cold had loosened its grip on his lungs. Barleytuft took in a long, slow breath, already feeling some of his own worries about the illness melt away. The plants which he'd eaten felt almost warm in his stomach. As he raised his dark hazel gaze to his daughter's face, he spotted the half-distant look on her face - the small twitch of her tail. His ears perked, and his face froze in a thoughtful expression. "Softpaw... Is everything alright?" he asked gently.

Within a moment the pale tabby was moving towards him, settling herself at his side. Immediately Barleytuft adjusted to welcome her presence, nuzzling the top of her head affectionately as she lay her head against his side. The senior warrior sighed at her words and answered, "I love you too, little breeze, more than I could even begin to say. It's why I try to show you my love every day, so that you can remember and feel how much I love you even when I'm not at your side. I feel your love, too." He licked her ears and smiled, purring, "I'm proud to call you my daughter. Whatever path your paws take you on, and whatever way your faith guides you, I am always your father, and I will always be proud of you." His tail twined with hers briefly, and he added, "Thank you for your help. I'm feeling better already."