//Ill.ness~ XXX

[untilthis.echo]

[....so it begins.]

Illness: an itS [The Plague] RP

[/u][/center]

[e.c.h.o.]

[I.n. t.h.i.s. f.a.r.e.w.e.l.l.]

To say he was calm and poised was a lie, to say he was unaffected was an understatement, to say he could not see what was coming was blindness. Standing there, upon the Big Boulder that overlooked the camp of his Clan, stiff with the gray and brisk air, he was aware. He could see it happening and it frightened him so. He was not blind, but he had been. It was all so foolishly ignored in the beginning. They were all too wrapped around the idea of becoming strong again after the bitter winter that had left them in a struggle for life when famine struck. He should have paid closer attention to them, to how they worked, to how they seemed. Yet now something, underneath the surface, was rising. Winter had left a cruel reminder in its silent wake.

He wasn't exactly sure when it had started, for he didn't realize it then, and had been utterly blind to its cause. It was slow and he'd been just as slow to open his eyes. After, what he thought were, days, he began to see the signs. And he'd felt cold dread upon seeing them. For a moment, when he finally was open to sight again, he wished he was blind to it all.

His Clan was sick.

Sitting on this large boulder, with his rump turning numb from the chill of it, head rigid and back straight in the gray morning, his gold-green eyes traveled around the clearing of the camp. One swift glance would make it seem as if they were alright, but another would bring the prickle of doubt. Some of the warriors paused now and then, coughed with baited breath before moving onward with their duties. The kits, once lively and bouncing, lay in the dim light of the sun by the nursery. They shivered and mewed miserably, the silent enemy sapping their strength. The queens could not be soothed, their fear evident in their hushed voices as they conversed with each other. Gossip, meaningless gossip, he'd thought. But sitting here now, he should have heeded their whimpers that something was in their midst.

[t.h.e.r.e'.s. n.o. b.l.o.o.d.]

Another cast about made his amber-toned irises lay upon the apprentices. Their was no sign of their eagerness to train or please, only the sight of them sluggishly making their way across the clearing. Some cast glances at the medicine cat den, worry and dread in their hazy gazes. A swivel of his eyes directed his glance toward the den. He could hear the distinct sound of retching and coughing and the sound of it made him twitch.

With a grunt, the bengal tom leaped down from his perch above. Autumn-toned, he was out of place against the dark green of the grass. His black paw up front and his white one in back delicately scratched the soft earth as he padded to the den. But he didn't enter. He dawdled at the entrance of it, worry prickling him like a thousand needles. With a shake of his head, the confounded leader trotted back to the Big Boulder. Nervously, he scrambled up the sides before settling down and eying his Clan. The first time a cat had limped to the medicine cat den, weak with fever, they'd thought nothing of it. A few days of rest and the warrior would be back to his duties. How wrong the entire Clan had been. The sick cats piled, the worry grew, and the stench of a hidden enemy could not have been more prominent than the reek of carrion. It churned in his belly and with frightening force, he realized that this was real. This enemy was not an illusion, this danger not pure euphoria. But he had no idea how to fight this. He had no idea idea at all, how to fight this.

This p l a g u e.

[t.h.e.r.e'.s. n.o. a.l.i.b.i.][/blockquote]

[&& . frozen [ once | again ]]

[h a w k & m o u s e]

It was as if a black clouds of sickness had drifted over the clan. Cats grew sicker by the moment, their pupils growing thinner until it seemed they only had white eyes. Sea green eyes glanced around the clearing. Tabby fur prickled un easily and a cough spurted from the cat's mouth. The she-cat coughed again, her fur rising on her back. She coughed again silently, her eyes drifting around. One cat stopped at the entrance to the medicine cat's den. It's coughing grew worse and it was lead inside by it's friend. The she-cat swiveled her ears towards the clan leader. He was worried, she could tell. His eyes expressed it. He never admitted his clan was sick. Who wanted a weak clan? But he had to admit it now. The femora opened her mouth and let out a wheeze. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she slightly fell. Be she regained herself and shook her head. It was a nightmare, a great big nightmare.

Another tabby padded out from the den. His eyes grew cold as they rested on his sister. Her cough grew worse and she was shaking uncontrollably. He walked up to her and rested his tail on her thin shoulder. She looked up at him, her eyes pale and dull. They no longer held any energy in them. The tom's mouth opened as he spook silently to her. She flicked her ears and turned her attention back on the leader. Muscles groaned in pain as the tom sat down. He licked his sister's shoulder. Her fur tasted foul and felt dry beneath his tongue. He immediately pulled away, eyes full of sorrow. Suddenly, burning with rage, he glared up at Echostar. The stubborn tom never once admitted this disease. Perhaps if he opened his big, stubborn eyes earlier this wouldn't of happened. He glanced once more at his sister before getting up.

Claws unsheathed and pads pounded the ground. The tabby tom padded over to the rock, and looked up at this leader. Look what you have done, Echostar. Ignored this pain and now my sister is sick, maybe even dying.

[/color] He meowed bitterly, glaring up at the Bengal tom. He swiped his pink tongue over his jaws and continued glaring up at his leader. It was right for him never to admit WindClan's defeat, but it was coming his way. Whether he liked it or not. The clan had caught the plague, and no one could stop it.

The tabby she-cat wheezed again and padded across the clearing. She rested herself on his shoulder and gazed into his eyes. They were full of sorrow, and she knew it was for her. Come, Hawktalon. It isn't Echostar's fault. She meowed, her voice tinging in the air. Hawktalon glared once more up at Echostar before following his sister back to the den. She sat down, and started to groom herself. Her tabby brother went and got some water for her, which she licked up eagerly. However much cats could convince him, Hawktalon was still sure this was Echostar's fault. He barred his fangs and glanced up at his leader.[/blockquote]

[l.ast of the [wild]s]

:Hewkit

The stench of the sickness frightened him, scarring his scent glands with a foul odor.His tiny body bristled, alabaster strands mingled with mahogany rising on end. Turquoise eyes widened at the sight of so many ill cats. A coal black tail twitched nervously as a small, young body slinked out from underneath the shelter of the nursery. A chill crossed the moor lands, causing a heavy shudder to crawl down his spine. The WindClan tomkit's nose twitched as he glanced around the camp before padding over to the Warrior's Den. His white paws scuffled on the ground quietly, striped fur moving along in a hurried motion.

Hewkit was just about to ask, to question one of the warriors when an angry yowl cut him off. The little tom gazed in shock, even fear as Hawktalon bluntly blamed Echostar for their misfortune. The alabaster kit shivered in horror at the bitter glares the gray warrior was sending the autumn bengal. A flicker of resentment flashed in Hewkit's turquoise eyes at the disrespectful attitude. No one could've predicted this sickness, not even a medicine cat. Why does he have to blame Echostar? The little tom wondered. Hewkit's tiny claws sunk into the ground as he watched the spat before the gray tom turned away from Echostar.

The tri-colored kit twitched his coal-black tail nervously. He found himself thinking it was unfair to blame their leader. It was not as if seeing this onslaught of sickness would have helped to stop its deadly wrath. It was still had gotten the best of them; visible or not. Viridian blue eyes flickered in resentment as the tomkit watched the gray warrior pad over to his sister. Hewkit dug his small claws into the soft, sandy floor. His coal-black tail lashed about as his mahogany ears flattened against the basis of his skull. He felt angry, nervous, exposed from the inside out. No! I have to be strong! Even I can do that! I can let this terror get to me! Even though he was still a kit, he was nearing his apprenticeship. He had to show the rest of Clan that their was still hope in some way or another; no matter how small the flame of hope was.

Summoning up his will, Hewkit padded over to Mousecry, careful to avoid Hawktalon’s powerful form. The alabaster tom glanced up at the brown she-cat, noting the way the faint scent of sickness came over her pelt. His scent glands burned from the odor all around. Sneezing, Hewkit padded up to Mousecry. ”Why is everyone so sick Mousecry?” The tomkit asked, his turquoise eyes filled with confusion and worry. Even though he wanted to prove that he could be strong, this illness, this enemy, this plague frightened him.

[untilthis.echo]

[e.c.h.o.]

To say he felt more than a flicker of anger was an understatement. Shock and bitterness had rippled through his form at Hawktalon's accusation. A snarl crept out of his maw, white fangs glinting angrily and his gold-green eyes glimmered in fury. He should have expected such a retort from one of his Clan at some point or another, but the remark still stung, stung his pride and his heart. His pride won over his honest heart in struggle and fury, not wanting to show Hawktalon that such a comment bruised him. He would not stand for such disrespect either. The tension in the Clan and the weight burdened on his shoulders was enough. He didn't need anything else to worry about.

Rising from his laid perch, the autumn bengal cast Hawktalon a furious look as the glare in his amber-toned eyes intensified. He snapped, shoulders lifting in tension, "What would you have had me done Hawktalon? Would have you have had me reveal this to the other Clans? Cried for mercy to them from this weakness? This plague? Would you have wanted me to admit that we were suffering? Give an opening to the other Clans that we were easy to invade?"

He glared at the gray tom, willing him to understand, wanting him to. The fear, and the uncertainty, that boiled in him threatened to overspill. He couldn't admit to any other leader that his Clan was in danger. To do so would be no better than suicide. Hiding this weakness, this obvious plea for help that his Clan so echoed in their sickly hearts, was the only way for him to keep them safe. His thoughts were tangled, dismantling and setting his mind on edge. He only asked StarClan one question. Why?

Yet he could feel silence in their answer.

[H.o.w. l.o.n.g. c.a.n. w.e. h.o.l.d. o.n? C.a.n. w.e. h.o.l.d. o.n?]