never mind how high the cost (solo)

The time between coming home from the lake territories and the announcement of the war had been spent by Echosong in blissful existence. The calm before the storm.  He had spent many nights in the medicine cat den with Fawnshine speaking in reassuring tones over organising herb bundles to prepare for oncoming tragedy that naturally followed a war. When the troops gathered at the camp exit, he went to wish everyone well. He helped Fawnshine pack enough cobwebs and poppyseeds into a leaf for each cat. They had Riverclan’s medicine cat with them as well which provided him some relief, though he didn’t doubt Fawnshine could take care of everyone by herself.

He had pressed his forehead to Comfreyhearts in silence, all the words in the territories failing him. He wanted to say ‘be safe’, ‘i love you’ among other things but he feared if he spoke, the tears threatening him would break through their cage.

He gave Mottlestar and the rest of his clanmates his best and brightest smile, and in an instant they were gone. The thundering of paws disappearing into the distance.

A shuddering sigh escaped his lips as he glanced at Acornstem, nodded, then turned back towards the lavender tunnel that led to the medicine den. He had to prepare even more herbs, for those who would be coming back with injuries. Yes. And there would be injuries. Fawnshine had told him this. Had told him to expect it.

It had taken him a while to realise his job wasn’t just to heal in the moment, but to prepare to heal whenever the need arises. It was the preparation that took the most out of him. And not just the physical demands. The emotional one. He had always just wanted to help. Help people feel happy, feel healthy. Help his clan however he could. But helping himself always came last. Today, the youngest medicine cat was selfish.

He had to harden his heart.

He wouldn’t have time to heal it. He had to place walls so high nothing could reach them. Walls so thick nothing could penetrate him. It was the only way he could compartmentalize with what was to come.

Was it Starclan giving him this feeling that he had already lost something? Was it his anxiety? Echosong wasn’t sure. But there was a blanket of preemptive grief that was hanging over him, threatening to overwhelm him.

With each stem, root and seed he placed in a triage bundle, he placed a stone over his heart, trying to ward off this feeling..

Borage.

'clunk' One stone.

Yarrow

'clunk'

Burnet, marigold, poppy seeds.

'clunk clunk CLUNK'

He had built a castle in no time, and with another deep in hale, he exhaled all of the discomforts and worries.

The white tom’s hunched form was still as he worked over the herbs, ‘It will be alright. If not now, or even for moons. It will be eventually. Yes. It will be alright. Yes’

Then he began to hum, a low tune, a soft dirge, his melody floating on the soft breeze.

When his song grew to its climax, a cry erupted across the camp - filled with indescribable grief. Followed by crying, the voice was familiar. Acornstem.