The tom slides into the den after that horrid meeting, padding towards the corner where their little trickle of water bubbled past to rinse his paws. He had no worry of fouling it, since it did indeed move somewhere (he had never taken the time to investigate where it ended up, however). Once his bloodied paws were clean, the gray tom shuffles further on back past his nest and to the herb storage. They were low on it all. Cobwebs, as well, now that most of his Clanmates needed bandaging following the brutal coyote attack. Rainywhisker can't help but let out a disappointed sigh. How would he ever manage to keep ThunderClan on their paws now that Frostpaw was gone? She spitefully kept what she knew of healing to herself, and kept any conversations with the other medicine cats focused around her and the drama she wished to stir. All he'd gotten from that lot was a few
"Sorry you're the babysitter"s. Looking back on it now, it was almost infuriating. He kneads the soft ground with his claws for a heartbeat as he stares emptily at their supply.
Catching the sound of gentle rustling, Rainywhisker turns to see who had woken up, or come in, or started to tragically pass away while their only medicine cat lamented his duties like a teenager. It was Applepaw. At least she wasn't tragically passing away. The dark gray tom slips away from the dismal storage space to approach.
"How are you holding up?" he asks in the quiet of the den.
"Are your injuries bothering you?"
[ @
spade ]