W A S P S I G H T
It was still early in the morning when Waspsight had made his way out of the medicine cat den, the first light of the sun crept over the cusp of the mountains that homed them and bathed their camp with its warmth. These past few days, checking the elder’s den routinely within his rounds had become a priority for him. One of their elders, Tawnypainter, was on his last days. They could tell that the end was coming for him but there was nothing they could do to prevent it. Old age was wearing him down and it was only a matter of time before the old tom could no longer fight against the inevitable. All the healer could do for him was keep him sedated from the aches and pains of his coming expiration and stay by his side as moral support, so that he wouldn’t be alone when StarClan came for him. His heart ached for the elder. He had never been particularly close with the former deputy, but he knew of the history he had with his Clan, and particularly with his foster father, Saplingskies. Waspsight was aware that his familial bonds with his kin had been loosened and that not many of them had stayed long when they came to see him before he passed. Despite whatever shortcomings the tom had committed during his warriorship, he didn’t believe that he deserved to be alone in his time of need and Waspsight would not let him depart to the afterlife alone.
That being said, as the calico tom entered the den, he saw that he wouldn’t be by himself accompanying Tawnypainter today. By his side awaited a ginger she-cat, who sat silently as she gazed down upon him. Her eyes were filled with a sort of sadness that he couldn’t describe. She appeared to be much younger than himself, he thought as he noted her size and the softness of her frame, yet to be hardened by muscle or blemished by scars. A life lost so young, he lamented.
“Good morning,” he greeted, dropping direct names as he addressed both Tawnypainter and the spirit before him. When he spoke, her head turned to face him and as his eyes met hers, Waspsight realized that he had seen her before. If he remembered correctly, this spirit lingered around his family quite often and as he thought deeper into it, he also recalled his father telling him of a story involving a certain young feline whose life was lost far too soon due to a tragic accident. It was because of that accident that tension erupted between Tawnypainter and his father’s family. He had always suspected that this young warrior was the Blazemoon he had heard so much about but he had never really spoken much with her himself, as she often seemed to disguise her presence from him and remain a silent watcher. Today appeared to be no different, as she quietly motioned with her tail to her lips that she did not want Tawnypainter to know she was here. Respecting her wishes, Waspsight ducked his head and turned to face Tawnypainter, whose condition did not look any better than it did when he last checked on the old tom in the middle of the night. “How are you feeling?” He questioned softly, already knowing that he likely was hurting a lot. Gently, he nudged a carrier leaf towards the elder, which he had already prepared with crushed poppy seeds lathered in honey. “Do you think you can manage these down?”
Tawnypainter shadowclan elder
Tawnypainter was a shadow of his former self. After losing his mobility, it had been a steady decline. He'd lost everything; his fall had ruined him. He lay in the elders' den, attempting to get some rest. The other elders were so loud when they slept; it was all snores and grunts and whines about aching joints. The painted tom didn't think he remembered the last time he'd slept comfortably... Of course, that could have been more from the state of his body, and less from the noise around him.
His pelt clung to his bones. He'd lost all his muscle, it appeared, and he just looked sick. He was a pitiful sight, for sure; no wonder his kits wouldn't come see him. He had yet to see Juncostar since he'd been confined to his nest, and he was beginning to think that maybe he wouldn't see his son again.
Suddenly he wasn't alone, though, and he blinked open his eyes slowly. He paused for a moment as the inside of the den came into focus, feeling the pain in his hip and forepaw crashing back over him like a boulder. As he saw who it was that had greeted him, a weak smile touched his lips. "Good morning, Waspsight," he greeted, purposefully ignoring his question. They both already knew. After a pause, the tom struggled to push himself up to sit out of respect for the medicine cat. His paw gave out under him on the first attempt, drawing a low oof from him as his chest hit his nest. Embarrassed, Tawnypainter elected to simply lay there, knowing he likely couldn't manage to sit no matter how hard he tried right then.
When Waspsight pushed a leaf toward him, the elder eyed it silently. A wave of sadness washed over him, as he knew that this was going to be the rest of his life. Forcing a smile, he gave a nod in response to the younger tom's question. "Of course," he answered, leaning forward to lap up the poppy seeds. He shuddered at the sweetness of the honey, reaching his good paw up to scrub at his lips as though he could wipe the taste away. "You know, you don't have to come in here so often. I imagine there are more pressing things that demand your attention."