Every Cat Needs Sleep (OPEN)

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Fogheart nosed his way idly through a small mound of juniper berries. They tumbled about under his touch, making it very difficult to catch the really rotten ones and toss them away. Working with juniper berries always made Fogheart's pelt crawl with annoyance. Though it left a lovely, tangy smell caught up in his soft gray fur, Fogheart could have a similar effect just by sleeping in his den surrounded by his herbs, and it would not require so much work. Juniper berries went bad far faster than any other herb in Fogheart's stock.

The medicine cat had to pause in his work as his jaws parted in a gaping yawn. The force of it made his tail curl. Fogheart had not slept well the previous night - with Cloudeyes so close to kitting, Fogheart found himself nearly as nervous as Heronflight seemed. Though most kittings went very well, and Fogheart had seen no signs of difficulty with Cloudeyes' pregnancy, he was always skittish about bringing new youngsters into the world. There was always that what if? nagging at the back of his mind, perpetually teasing. What if he failed?

With a soft huff, Fogheart withdrew his nose from the mound of juniper berries. He brushed the rotten ones he had pulled out off to one side, out of the crack in the rock that made his den. Then he paused for a moment to yawn once more. Weariness wore at his bones, but Fogheart's work was not yet done, and the sun had not yet set. Turning, he put his attention to his cluster of catmint. Some of the leaves were wilting.

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He gave small flicks of his tail to those she passed by, dipping his head respectfully but holding his chin high. Sundown around camp was a quite, soothing time in ThunderClan. Shrikefang watched as warriors walked side-by-side into their den, talking in quite and tired voices. They made a hushed jibe here and there, but they were all prepared for a good night's rest. Satisfied with the warriors, he passed by the den she would soon join them in for bed and peeked into the apprentice den. Most were curled up in their nests, noses covered by their tails and eyes covered by heavy lids. Those who were still awake caught the warrior peering in and quickly said their goodnights, ending their hushed conversations. Shrikefang nodded, content with the safety and presence of all the apprentices in their den. He moved on from the apprentices, his bright golden eyes dilated in the gloom to make out both Birchfoot [NPC] and Thorntail [NPC] padding into the elder's den. As the gray and white feline made his way towards them, he caught bits of their conversation. "Come now, Thorntail, it was just a mouse!" Birchfoot purred in her warm, honey-sweet voice. The black elder snorted in reply. "The point is it was mine, and that no-good brat took it! Silverclaw can't be trusted! She'll make the Clan starve this leafbare!" Shrikefang's ears perked forward at the mention of Silverclaw, a she-cat that had been cruel and vindictive as an apprentice and had to struggle to prove her loyalty - though slowly she was taking on the role of a trusted warrior. "Come off it, old man!" the elder queen snapped as they entered their den. "She's a good warrior, you're just miffed that you had to have a vole instead of a mouse."

Shrikefang was unable to hear the rest of their conversation as they both disappeared for sleep. He flicked his tail with a small smile and shook his head, padding by the nursery. He poked his head in, her eyes searching for the queens and kits of ThunderClan. The tom purred lightly - something he's never caught doing - when he found the kits curled up happily with their mothers and care-takers. The families were sleeping peacefully and happily, warm and full. With a deep breath in a sense of relief at having all safely in camp, he backed out of the den and padded towards the mouth of camp. After checking on the two gaurds set for the night, he turned towards the warrior's den and paused, contemplating heading to bed. There was nothing left to do, he already had been assigned to duties for the next day, and everyone was safe and in camp. All was as it should be in his Clan, and that was all that mattered. His love for ThunderClan knew no bounds, it was perhaps the only thing he had left that he could love, so why did she feel unsettled? He tried to stop himself, but his eyes locked onto camp's exit. His chest tightened painfully, staring at the currently empty place. He could hear a voice echoing in his head now. Shrike. Shrike. What do you think you're doing, Shrike? his father's deep tones echoed in his head.

Against his will, his paws took him to the mouth of camp. He peered out, a panicked feeling seizing his belly as his chest constricted in a sense of adrenaline at the sight of the shadows in the forest. His breathing picked up, his gaze locked on to the abyss of the gorse tunnel, waiting for Adderthroat to skulk into camp with a wicked grin on his face. He blinked, and the sight of his father's claws crashing down on him burst forth, the sounds of battle surrounding him and his Doeheart struggling hardly tail-lengths away from him. Shrikefang's claws dug deeply into the earth, forcing himself to turn away from the shadows and the echoes of war. He felt the panic that wasn't going to leave, the need to run itching in his paws. He didn't know where or why he was running, but he needed to run away. He trembled and broke into a cold sweat, desperate to get away from the memories that weren't actually there. He was a failure, he'd been beaten to a pulp by Adderthroat and the vile rogue had been allowed to escape.

With that thought that still made him flinch, he quickly strode towards the center of camp, not sure where exactly his destination was. The camp was too small, too confined. He felt nothing but an imminent sense of danger, that Adderthroat would attack at any moment. He growled to himself, understanding that he was having a panic attack. He tried to think of something - anything - to keep him calm. He thought of Doeheart, but thoughts of his lost love immediately made the panic much worse. He gasped and stumbled slightly, just barely catching himself. Thinking of her was like a kick to his gut. He turned his thoughts towards his newfound friend, to Rookfang, but it didn't help. Just one more cat he wasn't sure he could protect. He shook his head and looked up at the medicine cat's den, sensing activity there. Surely Fogheart had something there for him. He loped towards his den, bursting through with bristled fur and trembling muscles. "Fogheart!" he gasped. He'd taken herbs from Fogheart in times of crisis before, and the medicine cat before that. His post traumatic stress required maintenance, herbs to help him sleep and calm down. He prayed desperately that the medicine cat could help him now. Fogheart, along with Nightstar and Wildfang, was perhaps one of the only cats he trusted with the knowledge that he still suffered from terrors.

"Herbs. Something, please," he begged, pacing the den with a bristled pelt and tensed muscles.

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