pain's a well-intentioned weatherman [c]

Nightpaw had risen at dusk. He didn't keep a strictly nocturnal schedule like the rest of ShadowClan; it made it all the more difficult to gather herbs if he tread the territory in the dark of night. Instead, he grabbed a few hours of sleep in between patients, always allowing himself enough time to freshen the herb stocks daily. Organizing them could be done by scent; finding them was far more complicated.

Given that it was greenleaf, he wasn't too busy. He spent most of his days soothing scraped paw pads, and worrying instead about what leaf-fall (and the inevitable leafbare) would bring. How could he keep the herb stores fresh if every leaf was tinged by frost and every root was frozen stiff? So he did his best to gather what he could, and tried to replant anything that seemed important in a distant corner of the den. He'd have to start growing catmint, he was sure. But the idea of journeying to Twolegplace was much too scary.

As he hunched over his stores, tirelessly organizing and reorganizing them, the ferns that covered the entrance to his den rustled. Nightpaw looked up, his heart beating quicker as he half-expected to see Heatherberry standing there. Instead, he saw Larkshine. The silver and cream molly was only vaguely familiar to him, but even he knew that she was usually energetic and upbeat. Now, she stood with flanks heaving, looking oddly exhausted. He frowned, unable to make her out in the dim light of the den. "Larkshine? Is everything okay?" His emerald gaze flashed with worry.

Nightpaw frowned as he looked at her shoulder. It was still fresh, and while the bleeding had stopped, it had broken the skin enough that she could be at risk of infection. He shook his head. Was she dismissing her pain?

"I can get you poppy seeds, but I'll get you some marigold and cobwebs, too. You don't want that getting infected." He glanced back at the claw-wound meaningfully, a gentle warning in his voice. "Don't worry, I won't keep you long." Nightpaw added. He hurried to the back of the den and grabbed what he needed. A marigold bloom, a spare few cobwebs to wrap the wound, a couple of poppy seeds to ease her pain. When had this gotten so easy? There was so much he didn't know, but the fact that he could do anything like this with confidence was surprising to him.

He rushed back. "I'll apply the marigold as a poultice, wrap your wound, and send you on your way. You just... you don't want to be cooped up in here with an infection." The tuxedo explained apologetically, as though worried to keep her from her nest too long. He didn't miss the way she glanced around - had she been expecting Heatherberry? Perhaps she would've preferred Heatherberry... but no, he was sure this was the treatment she would've chosen.

Nightpaw chewed the marigold quickly. When the poultice was done, he dabbed at it with one paw and massaged it into her shoulder. The wound wasn't terribly deep, luckily. When he was done, he packed the claw marks with cobwebs and slid the seeds toward her. "Now, if you notice any discomfort in that area, come to me, okay? And get plenty of rest." The authority in his own voice surprised him.