Trial by Fire [solo]

Effect Dice Herb List:

Beechface picked her way along the great ridge, weariness evident in her movements. She'd tossed and turned the night before, general insomnia unhelped by her worries. Rather than stay in her nest, she'd decided to go in search of herbs, hoping that traipsing around Skyclan's territory might ease her mind more than failing to find sleep. It was early still, the sun slowly inching its way above the trees for the day.

Birdpaw and Copperfox had brought unwelcome news, and while her brother would be fine, she was more uneasy with what that news might mean. Dawnhawk was alive and well, it seemed, and Beechface didn’t think anything good could come of that.

Bloodstrike's recovery wasn't a smooth thing, and where she'd initially been hopeful, Beechface found herself beginning to dread each thing learned about his time held captive by the Asylum. They'd certainly done their best to break him, and Beechface wasn't so sure they hadn't succeeded. He was out of their clutches, at least physically, but even that seemed to be tremulous. Nothing seemed to work for his pain save for poppy seeds, Beechface wasn’t even sure that she was helping him.

The medicine cat reluctantly harvested more poppy seeds, knowing they’d be used far too quickly for her liking back at camp. She needed to figure out something different, that much was obvious, but nothing else seemed to work. The more poppy seeds Bloodstrike needed for the pain, the more she thought there was little way to get him off of them safely. She needed to get him off of them, somehow. But how to go about it without causing more misery?

At the rate this was going, it simply could not be sustainable for much longer. The territories only held so many poppy flowers. Sure, newleaf was in the air now, and plants were growing, but how long would that luck hold? Skyclan’s territory hadn’t yet recovered from the fire from last greenleaf, and what if that happened again? What if these problems continued on into next leafbare? Herbs had been hard to come by this leafbare, let alone finding one specific herb out of all of them. No, this needed to be solved before then, if only Beechface could figure out how.

A panicked fluttering broke the quiet air, pulling the medicine cat from her thoughts. Dark eyes roamed the drab landscape, ears twitching to pick up on the sound. She set the herbs she’d been carrying down, jaws parting as she inhaled.

She smelled feathers and blood. And then her eyes landed on the source of it. Strangely, she did not scent predators nearby, and Beechface approached the source of the fluttering warily, hackles rising in alarm.

The small gray bird’s wing was damaged, feathers twisted and broken, blood seeping into the ground. And still, no scent of predator that Beechface could discern. It had to have gotten caught on something, perhaps a part of the twoleg fence that stretched some distance from where she stood? Or maybe it had gotten away from something else, only for the damaged wing to hinder it’s escape. Either way, the bird now lay crumpled on the ground, good wing beating against the forest floor as it tried to right itself. Each movement clearly didn’t help the stricken creature, but it struggled anyways.

How she understood that panic. Poor thing.

Beechface tilted her head, studying it. Her jaws parted... And the faintest scent of something made her stumble back, eyes wide as she spun instinctively, gaze frantically searching the forest for the source of the scent. It stirred memories of last greenleaf, of yowls splitting the night air and being woken by panicked clanmates. A moon (had it been that long? She couldn’t remember) she’d froze up at the scent again, but rather than heralding certain doom it had come with the return of Spottedstar.

As quickly as she had scented it, it was gone. But the memories lingered. They always did.

Maybe she was being paranoid. Her sleep deprivation and constant worrying was finally getting the better of her. Yet something about the sight of the bird and the faint hint of scent nagged at her.

Something was wrong, or would be soon. Because there wasn’t enough wrong already, clearly.

Beechface turned to stare at the bird again. It had stopped fluttering, maybe finally realizing that it was only doing more damage to itself. Beechface closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath. Bloody feathers, the scent of smoke... Her gaze lifted to the still-rising sun thoughtfully as she attempted to work out the last few moments.

Smoke... Feathers... Smokefeather? And the blood... Was it referring to Bloodstrike? Stars knew her father took up entirely too much of her headspace recently, for good reason. But maybe it was nothing more than the bird being injured? Whatever had happened, the creature’s feathers were certainly a mess. Crumpled and bloody, it looked so fragile.

If that was a reflection of Smokefeather’s mental state, it was spot on. Before the last few moons, Beechface would’ve never considered her mother to be fragile.

She’d watched her own kit be murdered in front of her, after all. Had taken the brunt of Dawnhawk’s verbal and mental abuse just as Beechface had taken his claws. And then Bloodstrike, hurting, half-insane, sleep-deprived moron that he was, had pushed her away. Again, apparently. (No, Beechface wasn’t stupid, Smokefeather had avoided saying much to Beechface, but she hadn’t avoided the medicine den until recently. Neither of her parents had said a word about it, but neither of them were subtle, and whatever subtlety they each possessed had been destroyed long ago, she thought.)

Still, it didn’t take an omen for Beechface to know how fragile her mother had become. She’d seen the way the queen had avoided the nursery recently, had seen the panic on her face when Appletail was kitting. Smokefeather, who had loved kits and would’ve been happy about them at any other time, was now avoiding them like she couldn’t even stand to look at them.

It was so obvious even the rest of the clan could see it. No, she didn’t need an omen to tell her that.

If the broken-winged bird wasn’t about Smokefeather’s mental state, maybe it was more literal. Perhaps it meant a physical injury of some kind, one that was disabling, as the bird’s broken wing prevented it from flying?

But then, how? Bloodstrike would never lay a claw on Smokefeather, Beechface could be sure of that much. He might’ve been half-sane and stubborn and frustrating beyond all reason to deal with, but he would never stoop so low.

He’d killed Flowerthorn... But he’d been too far gone to recognize her at the time. From what Beechface could gather from Bloodstrike and Blossomstep, he’d genuinely thought he was in the Dark Forest. The guilt was eating him alive, now, and he was slowly becoming more lucid. Beechface didn’t think he’d hurt Smokefeather.

Beechface pondered the meaning, restless paws pacing across the forest floor as she thought. A plant with white flowers caught her gaze, and she harvested a bit of the coltsfoot. She wasn't going to go back to camp with empty paws.

Beechface has found Coltsfoot.

-wip-

-dice roll post-

The member 'kjSage' has done the following action : Dices roll

---

'Effect Dice' : 4