❝ In the garden of evil
I'm gonna be the greatest
In a golden cathedral
I'll be praying for the faithless❞
Unusually quiet, Birchpaw sat a fair distance away. Eyes affixed to the entrance of the medicine cat's den. The events of Pinepaw stupidly endangering his life and that of Featherpaw's life had been quickly spread about the camp. Within a matter of hours, everyone knew what happened or had hard some variations of events. All that Birchpaw cared to know and have confirmed for him was that Featherpaw was okay. Or so it seemed. The illness that seemed to attack at random hadn't yet raised it's ugly head to sap away Featherpaw's health. While it was unfair to be angry at Pinepaw, the white tabby tom found it nearly impossible not to hold onto some amount of resentment. It was pure luck that neither of them had been struck ill.
Flexing his claws to extend, they curled into the earth of the camp floor. It was then he realized how long he had sat in the same spot. The ground flattened by the weight of him. Concluding he had been idle too long, Birchpaw ventured from his spot toward the fresh-kill pile. His nose flared with a mixture of fresh and stale prey scents.
Using a fore-paw to seek out the freshest piece of prey, he headed in the direction of the medicine cat's den. His paws had no hesitation, the risk of illness not even aforethought. He had enough faith in medicine cats to spare. If he did get sick by StarClan's will he would either overcome it or meet his ancestors in StarClan quicker then planned.
With the prey in his jaw, Birchpaw poked his head into the medicine cat's den. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust but once he did, he struggled to speak around the prey piece. His words muffled with prey fur.
Featherpaw, are you hungry?"