-ΛΛ ΰΌ»β½ΰΌΊ ΛΛ- So, this was it.
Slatetooth was following Sunstride into battle once more - for the final time, though there was no telling yet which cats would make it out alive. WindClan camp seemed bleak now, empty and blood-stained. He swore he could make out indents in the ground from the last battle, in which bodies were thrown left and right. It was almost poetic how melancholy his home appeared without the rebels.
Sunstride's call for battle rings out, and all hell breaks loose. It seemed they had the high ground now, with even the moor queen herself caught unawares. Within the flurry of bodies, fur and claws, Slatetooth stands stunned-like with green eyes darting between the figures. Gravelsnap? Where's his brother? He searches, looking for the familiar blend of black and white, unfocused on his own backside.
Suddenly, he feels a heavy weight bear down on him, and darts forward like a snake, slippery and intent on only one thing: escape. Slatetooth feels claws dig into his flank and tear as he lunges away from his attacker, eventually losing their grip and leaving them to stumble forward - of course, not without long jagged gashes along his flanks. With a pained snarl, the black-furred tom spins around on his heels and prepares to retaliate, but stops himself just short of attacking.
A sore sight, Harbringermoon was, with a swollen belly that he had not noticed - or perhaps wasn't present - last time he ever found himself in the intimidating warrior's company. Slatetooth held his attack and backstepped away, missing another swipe that is thrown his way. His eyes are held on the tom's stomach, while contemplation swarms his eyes and furrows his brows. His first thought is, Why would you bring kits into his hellish place?
Another few swipes are missed from Harbringermoon, who seems slow and sluggish with the weight they now bear, until Slatetooth finally speaks, through beared teeth as he fights to ignore the sting of his fresh wounds. "Harbringermoon," he begins, a moment of recognition - a moment of grounding, though there is no patience in his opponent's eyes. "Slow your attacks, you fool! Would you truly endager your children for this nonsense?"
As he speaks, he feels his opponent's claws slice against his face - landing on his cheek just below his eye. In return, the warrior retaliates with a swipe of his own, throwing his paw against Harbringermoon's head. Though his words and actions thus far betray sympathy or mercy, he does not withhold his strength from the punch. Now that he (hopefully) had his attention, he continues speaking with a disdainful glare. "Your kits. You would sacrifice their safety, their lives, even knowing your Clanmates do not have your back?" The comment was a wild stab, something that he hoped would spark a look of recognition in the tom's eyes. Of course, he didn't know if the loyalists would fight for eachother, but there was something to be said in the fact that nobody was jumping to the pregnant tom's defense. "Look around you, Harbringermoon. Your deputy has turned. Your Clanmates are outnumbered. There is nothing left for you here after this battle."
Slatetooth had to continue his taunting. He would not bring harm to Harbringermoon - not in their state now. His goal was to stop him from bringing harm to his own kits, to drive him out if that's what it took. He was one of Sootstar's most loyal cats, sure, but.. "If I were anyone else, you would be dead where you stand. But I will not stoop so low as to bring harm to children. You have a chance to leave." It wasn't enough. "But.. I cannot say the same for the others. Any other cat, they may kill you where you stand, and your kits too." A lie as smooth as fresh snow. Slatetooth knows his rebel Clanmates - or most of them, anyway - would not kill in his position either. But what did Harbringermoon know of these 'beasts' they now fight? For once, he hoped that Sootstar's propoganda worked, to aid his own fear-spun lie. "And when you are dead, their fate is in StarClan's paws. They will not take you, knowing what you've done to your own kits. Will they take the offspring of someone so cruel? Will they know ought but a lonely void?"
Finally, hoping his words had some effect, Slatetooth lunges towards the tom, though visibly not to attack. If Harbringermoon would not stop him, he'd stop just short of his ear, hissing out one small command.
"Run."
And with that, he is on the tom's heels, nipping at them like a dog, until the two disappear over the camp's edge.
