Tales of Woe - ShadowClan's Punishment

Ravenmist paced back and forth, anxious, angry. StarClan had brought this sickness that had sprung up through camp. It was no coincidence that only cats who had broken the Code in some way had fallen ill. She was fine, but the worry creased into her face showed how upset she was that her family, her friends, were suffering. With Morningpaw’s group, they would try to make it right. But how much time did they have?

For now, her paws were pinned. So she kept around camp, doing what she could to help Mothglow tend to the sick. Running water, prey, whatever she could to ease their pain. She’d have to remember to go hunting later.

Overnight, Mothglow found herself with more patients than she could keep in the medicine den. Her paws were full, despite the aid from the warriors who were still somehow well and from her own apprentice, but the commonalities of the cats that fell ill weren't lost on her. StarClan had truly forsaken them, then, she supposed - or at least, the StarClan that dared to show themselves now, while the rest of their ancestors watched in silence. Whether they cared didn't matter if they did nothing, did it?

It was hard to find the time for anything at all, running between the medicine den and the rest of camp - herb stores grew disorganized, and Mothglow found herself working without any fresh-kill for much of the day. After all, the sick cats needed to eat, and the warriors and apprentices hunting for them needed to keep up their strength.

Flintstar sat perched on the Jaggedrock, his gaze low as he listened to the sounds of wailing from the medicine cat den. His whiskers twitched as he kneaded at the rock beneath him, hating the feeling of...Helplessness that had come once he, Mothglow and Ravenmist had all realized the source of the sickness - that StarClan was finally making good on their threats. Stars, he had hoped that they would be spared. Everybody in ShadowClan was loyal, they did not deserve this. There was an anger that burned in his stomach but he truly felt it as a cold calmness - an acceptance of what was happening...And what it would take to end this.

He would not stand for this any more. He had wanted to protect ShadowClan - that was the vow he had made as a warrior, as leader. Every cat that rested in these walls were his to protect by any means necessary. He had planned to play along with The Righteous Few's demands until there was something he could not accept...But it seems it had come far sooner than he realized. ...Was all the other Clans suffering? He hoped not, his mind drifting onto Dappleshine. Brackenstar was a twisted cat, he could believe that this was all his doing... Or perhaps not. He had been quick to check on his siblings, Freckleface... The StarClan cat had shown such distaste for their half-blooded nature yet...They were fine.

Which could only mean this was the doing of all of The Righteous Few.

The leader's ears slicked back as he turned his gaze to the medicine cat's den, wishing he could be of some help. There was little he could do at the moment other than hunt and lend paws where Mothglow needed but... His paws were not meant for the softness of healing or the swiftness of hunting. He was a fighter, a protector. His large paws were meant to send foes fleeing but he could not protect his Clanmates from an unseen threat such as the sickness - he was not a skilled hunter that would bring in the prey that the Clan so desperately needed to keep up their strength. But...Perhaps his time would come. He could only hope, so if anything the helplessness would fade.

That ShadowClan would be safe in the end.

Tanglepaw winced at the sound of misery as it echoed throughout camp. She was terribly afraid to go near any cat, as if sin was transferable. That was the cause of the strange illness, apparently. She thought it was a rumor, but it was ultimately true. Asterspark was near-death, the whispers said, for abandoning ShadowClan once before. Whatever that meant.

The apprentice shuffled aimlessly towards the medicine den, against her better germ-fearing instinct, to ask her sister what they were dealing with in there. She encountered Mothglow first. The flat-faced apprentice cocked her head at the grown medicine cat and the stress that she carried on her back. Why anyone would willingly be among all that disease and death every day was beyond Tanglepaw. "Is it going to get me?" she asked bluntly. "Is anybody else gonna get sick? Or is it just... the ones that StarClan is mad at? What did poor Asterspark do wrong?"

Ebonypaw, the normally shy quiet and calm kit, woke up to wails of pain. She leaped up in shock, scrambling towards the edge of the apprentice’s den. The dark grey apprentice quivered and shakes in fear at the edge of the den. What’s happening? Why are all these cats in pain? Ebonypaw thought, worried and fearful. Is this contagious? What happens if I get it? Ebonypaw started panicking. Suddenly, she thought about something else. I’m no medicine cat, but the least I can do is hunt for my Clan. With that, she vanished into the trees, dark pelt blending into the shadows.

Ashpaw padded out of the apprentice's den, wondering what was going on with all the pained wailing of her clanmates. Right... the plague..., she thought angrily, digging her claws into the soft ground of the camp clearing.

In, out. In, out. Slowly.

She had to take a few deep breaths to calm the fury boiling in her chest. How dare the Righteous few harm her clan! But Morningpaw of WindClan was leading a rebellion, with Ashpaw participating in it. She forced herself to sprint into the forest. With warriors helping Mothglow tend to the sick cats, there would be fewer paws to keep the fresh-kill pile full. She would help hunt, and keep her clanmates fed while they fought off the disease, and the ones who weren't sick needed to keep their strength up. ShadowClan would survive, no matter what troubles awaited them.

Ever since the plague had befallen her Clanmates, Redwolf had been on her paws from dusk to dawn, hunting, gathering herbs, helping in any way that she could. While she tirelessly carried out the tasks that needed to be completed, she felt an odd sensation in her gut. Normally her anger took the form of red-hot wrath, needing to be kept under lock and on leash, but this anger was cold. Frigid and heavy, anything positive she felt towards the stars above was finally and truly gone, as they had taken it upon themselves to personally strike down those they deemed unworthy to live.

She padded into camp with another load of prey from her tireless hunting, and she deposited it on the fresh-kill pile. Her paws ached, but she wouldn't let that stop her from serving her Clan when they needed her most. The wails of the suffering stung her like a physical blow, and as much as she wanted to block out the sound, she couldn't, so she used the sounds of their suffering to fuel her grudge. With her prey on the pile, she immediately turned around and went back out, to continue bringing back more of her cache.