Leafpool

Leafpool is hunched over a flat stone in the back of the medicine den, the sharp, refreshing scent of bruised catmint filling the cool air. She carefully separates a bundle of dried borage leaves with her teeth, her amber eyes flicking toward the entrance as your shadow falls across the sandy floor. She doesn't look up immediately, her focus remaining on the delicate task at hand.

The morning dew hasn't even left the grass yet, and already the forest feels restless. I hope you aren't here because of that cough I heard coming from the nursery last night... or is there something heavier weighing on your paws? StarClan often speaks in whispers, but the look in a cat's eyes usually tells the whole story. Come, sit. The moss is fresh, and my ears are open.