private π…𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 π’πŽπ”π‹ β•± ππ‘πˆπ•π€π“π„

SUNNVAR

SUNNVAR

PATRON SAINT OF ONE WAY TRIPS
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Dec 17, 2022
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His first act is to collapse upon Wolfsong's nest β€” his second is to think of what he had done, and his third comes to discard the previous thought with a subtle shake of his head. It is familiar here, where the tunnel gives way to spacious safety. In the midst of his delirium he cannot tie his thoughts into the past. The bitter herb scent does not hurt him the way it once would have. His sore neck drapes over the edge of the nest, and that is the only time that he winces. At least the bared arch will make it easier to treat. Whatever StarClan had done would tide him over, but he can feel where skin stretches to tug a wound. Deep breaths fill his chest with the blood that lingers in places he cannot clean. His eyes close.

There is a long moment of laborious inhales before Sunstar can find a way to make his breath cooperate. "Your kit," he begins, his eyes finding Scorchstreak where she had followed him in. Wolfsong and Cottonpaw both bustle about. They will have others to tend to, but he does not worry about what he says before them. "Rumblerain. They were the last of DuskClan I saw." Between the paws he found, freshly-knit skin straining as he swept across their camp to clear it even if it took the remainder of his lives. "I gave chase. They could not β€”" A sharp breath out. "They could not kill me. And I could not kill them." Wordlessly he relives Bearflight's death. The memories of a young body too still for what made sense of this world. A piece of it forever frozen out of place.

"They warned me that more would come. Granitepelt will not linger long in his loss. We must. . . strengthen ourselves." It would have been simpler had he took another of their warriors from this grand equation. Could a cat ever be more than their family? Could he look at any of her kin and not think of the grief and rage within her eyes? Perhaps it is better that he does not.
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𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 πŒπ„π€π 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 ππ„π‘π•πŽπ”π’ β•± ( π‹πˆπŠπ„ 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 πƒπŽπ† ) γ€š 06.17 γ€› πŸŸ’α¨’
  • ooc: @SCORCHSTREAK @WOLFSONG @cottonpaw
  • β†Ÿ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑.  ╱  AMAB  HE - HIM - HIS.  LEADER OF WINDCLAN.  β‹†β€†β‹†β€†β‹†β€†β‹†β€†β‹†β€†β‹†β€„β€„β‹†Μ΄ΜŒΝ›Ν–Μ»β€†β‹†Μ΅ΜΜΏΝƒΜΝΜΌΝˆ ⋆̢̬́̀
    ————  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has a lot to prove.

    82190121_9CSsSGfEk2LJ5dF.png
    a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or un-windclan build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
  • "speech"
    Click to expand...
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ΰΌ„ΰΌ„ The tom collapses, and Scorchstreak shoots forward a number of steps, moving to support him without ever touching his still-bloodied pelt. He falls squarely into a nest, smelling strongly of herbs, and the deputy quickly takes another step backward. Sunstar is not dying for a third time, it seems; he has merely found a place to rest. Seaglass eyes slide shut, and for a moment Scorchstrsak wonders if he plans on sleeping now, rather than speaking to her of anything important. But then he speaks at last, stating her kit’s name, and Scorchstreak’s mouth goes dry. Surely as she knows the sun will rise, she knows just how this conversation will end. Another kit lost, another loved one’s corpse dropped into the gorge. There will be no offering of a proper burial to a DuskClanner, and so into the gorge they will go. No, she recallsβ€”Rumblerain will be buried in an unmarked grave, just like Sootstar and the rest of her ilk.

Sunstar’s eyes fall upon her, and he explains that he chased the pointed warrior, as they were the last of DuskClan’s cowardly forces that the leader had spotted. But he continuesβ€”he had not killed them. He could not, he claims, and golden eyes narrow. Could not? Or would not? The difference does not matter, she supposes. Neither Sunstar nor Rumblerain met their death in a battle between the two, and she is grateful for both. She had assumed that Granitepelt’s forces would return once again, but the confirmation is a comfort. WindClan will be prepared the next time their enemies attack. They will win. But…

"How do you suggest we go about… strengthening ourselves?" Her question is quiet, probing. And then the she-cat falls silent, a million scenarios running through her mind. Her kit, bearing the name of her tunneling partner, will return, and they may not be so lucky the next time they attack the camp’s gorse walls. Perhaps they will even leap at her, and she will be forced into something wholly terrible. But for now, they live, and their survival is only by the mercy of the tom who lies before her. After a long pause, the calico murmurs, "Thank you." A dappled paw scrapes across the den’s floor, fiery eyes following in its trail. "My loyalty is to WindClan, but I… my family has so little left." Could she handle another loss so soon? Could Scorchstorm? She hopes never to find out.

β˜½β™°β˜Ύ IT WAS WAR, IT WASN’T FAIR
  • ooc: β€”
  • 83282667_7UVjIV9bzrILi7P.png
    SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
    ΰΌ„ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates. rarely seen aboveground.
    ΰΌ„ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
    ΰΌ„ mentor to pinkpaw
    ΰΌ„ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
    ΰΌ„ penned by foxlore
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β”€β”€α¨’β†Ÿβ†Ÿα¨’β†Ÿα¨’β†Ÿβ†Ÿα¨’β”€β”€ Cleaning the matted fur of his neck is Wolfsong's first priority, knowing he cannot allow the remaining wound to fester in it, and the focus on performing his duty helps distract him. Somewhat. Because he cannot forget that this is his mate, that this wound had killed him, that he has once again played part in Sunstar's undoing. He holds his breath as he drags moss over his throat, not to avoid the smell of blood but to redirect his body's attention from forming tears. He is fortunate, after all. Bluepool only had the one life, and Scorchstreak cannot even bury her body; Wolfsong should not shed tears when Sunstar is alive and inside his nest.

His jaw tightens briefly when Sunstar mentions giving chase, but the time has passed to lecture him for such foolishness; he has paid the price already, and at least he learned something for the effort.

Not for the first time, he thinks it is a shame that Rumblerain left as they did.

He sets aside moss to begin chewing a poultice, which he applies with as much force as he dares. "It is clear ShadowClan has no interest in assuming any sort of responsibility for their failing. We will have to find strength in ourselves."
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 42 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.
medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv
  • β€” β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜†β˜† WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
    β€” β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜†β˜† INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
  • β€” β˜…β˜†β˜†β˜†β˜† ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
    β€” β˜…β˜†β˜†β˜†β˜† BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
  • β€” β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜… TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
    β€” β˜…β˜…β˜…β˜†β˜† KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
  • β€” β˜…β˜†β˜†β˜†β˜† POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to youβ€” it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
    β€” β˜…β˜…β˜†β˜†β˜† ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.
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Cottonpaw has come to learn that as she ages, her manner of responsibility compounds with it. Moons ago she would have giggled at the idea of being included in a conversation as dire as this one - for she was a child playing with leaves, not a warrior toying with lives. But her paws ache as she pulls together different leaves and petals, designates to one resident to drink slowly whilst also trying to apply a poultice to an open wound of another. She is no foolish child anymore - foolish she still may be, but her moons linger on, and she feels startled by the mere fact that one day, these conversations will include her solely.

She looks at Scorchstreak, at Sunstar. At her mentor, and her eyes grow weepy at the idea of losing him.

Cottonpaw blinks away the tears and she moves to pull together a few rudimentary herbs to pass to Wolfsong. He cares for his mate amidst the conversation and she does not beg him for help elsewhere (she's capable, she finds, though the idea worries her that she is making her mentor's role redundant.) Her ears twitch as ShadowClan is mentioned, and the single, ruinous thought echoes in her mind - What if they're helping him? Granitepelt, their murderer before he was ever WindClan's. ShadowClan acted a fool during the gathering, after all. Maybe it was a two tined fork orchestrated by the duo -

She smears the thought with a firm press of her paw on the floor. She dare not air out her feverish nightmares, but she mourns nonetheless. " ShadowClan, RiverClan... Granitepelt and his lackeys..." Cottonpaw continues in a mumble, pausing in her frantic pace. "We can't even consider hunting in the outlands, if the lot of them are out there." The small she-cat seems to only muse and not suggest anything worth while, continuing her pacing as she does another short round of checks with her patients.​
 
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