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She nodded and laid him down on his back, applying a huge gob of a dark gold, sticky ointment to his comb and wattles to soothe them. Thorntalon gave him a swig of her bitter, green Dry Pox elixir, the concoction slithering slowly down his throat. "It's recommended that you eat liquid food, so I'm going to feed you off tubes," she said, sticking a tube full of mashed berries, seeds, and worms, some water, and a trace of Dry Pox elixir into his mouth. "All you need to do is rest and stay back here to prevent illness in other birds. Heal quickly, ClawStar." The young hen smiled and strutted away from the secluded side of the den, heading outside to bathe herself after handling the sick rooster.
Claws wrinkled his face slightly as the disgusting, cold, and slimy solution slithered down his throat. "Thangths, thown." he called after her as she left, the tube adding an odd lisp in his speech.
He stared vacantly up at the cieling, his wings limply sprawled out beside him. He couldn't sleep. There was too much to think about. He hoped and prayed to Starclan that Brightflight would take good care of the camp. He's a responsible fellow, he'll do fine... I know it. Well, I think I know it... Wait, that doesn't make sense.
