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In the wake of the complete chaos that had been the rockslide, everything seems too quiet to Luckypaw's ears - the clamor of cats and the crashing of stones fill his mind, and he's not sure that he'll ever have a moment without it in the days to come. Worse still was the familiar voice he'd only just recognized above the din, calling out to him; the last thing he'd heard Scorchpaw say was his name, and Scorchstreak - he can't remember. He can't remember what she'd said last to him, and that carves claws into his heart just as deeply as knowing his own name in his sister's voice might be the last thing he has to remember her by. The thought that he might not ever see either of them again - that he might not see any of them again, whether or not he'd particularly liked their company - is too much to bear, threatening to send him spiraling into a despair he fears he might not ever climb back out of even with surface-level contemplation, and so he instead tries to think of other things, even if it's borderline-impossible to ignore the obvious. One paw in front of the other, blind in the pitch black; grave-silence around him, too stunned to speak a word just as he's sure some of the others are; the pulsing in his tail, the throbbing that's certainly the easiest thing to focus on, even if it's the next worst thing to think about. At least in the dark he can't see the ugly curve, won't feel nauseous at the sight of it so clearly bent in a way that shouldn't be possible.
Hardly does he even recognize the company he's in, aside from the fact that Scorchpaw and Scorchstreak are not here; Periwinklebreeze is here, making it in even as he tried to herd Luckypaw with him (and look where that had gotten him, the ache in his tail seems to taunt), and Mouseflight, too had gotten to safety, but the rest? They're hardly more than a jumble of scents and the sounds of paws scraping and fumbling over the rocky ground. At least he's adjusted-enough to being underground, though this is - it's different, in a way that makes his skin crawl and makes his heart feel as though it's going to leap out of his chest. It's not dirt entombing him, for one, and he's clearly not back home; even if he tries to pretend, everything is all wrong. No familiar scents, even the temperature feels off - no Cygnetstare to cling to, no mentor to trail endlessly and direct questions to whenever he started to feel anxious. Even if he isn't showing it, Mouseflight being here is a blessing - the one familiarity in a world rocked and shaken all around. He'll even take Periwinklebreeze's presence, out of place as it is; at least he still feels like WindClan, like home, despite his time spent cutting across the moors. Since they were sealed in, Luckypaw hasn't said a word, jaws clamped shut for fear of what might come out, and he's been following silently as they headed off who-knows-where until now, the sound of footsteps slowing indicating that he should follow suit.
Even as Clearheart (and that voice sounds familiar - from just before the bridge, he thinks) takes control of the situation, he hardly reacts, not that anybody's watching in the endless night that envelops them. Even the words spoken sound far away, his mind too preoccupied with pulses of pain and final words to really feel present. Had it always been this dark for this long, back home? Had they ever really experienced anything like this? Memories from the last harrowing experience he'd had creep in, the horrible bellows of a badger and a much gentler sting across his chest, and he makes the quick decision to tune back in to the matter at paw. The question that had been posed remains unanswered even as two of the others pipe up, maintaining that they shouldn't stop here, and he - well, as much as he wants to lay down and give in to the sea that threatens to swallow him whole, he finds himself unable to muster up the courage or even the will to argue against either of them. Was heading deeper into the unknown any worse than waiting around here for an eternity, only ghosts to keep them company? At least if they ran into more trouble, they'd be together, and it'd be - it'd be quicker, probably, than starving to death right outside a blocked entrance. Luckypaw can't bring himself to feel any hope of getting out, not after what he'd just bore witness to - but, at least for now, moving around would still feel less useless than giving up already.
Another pulse of pain makes him wince, and finally he speaks, voice sounding as hoarse and wobbly as he felt. "I'm - m-my tail. Um, it's, something's wrong with it. A rock - um, a rock hit it." His explanation is halting, and though he hardly cares about looking strong in front of the other Clans at this point, even the simple words summon with startling clarity the very moment it had happened. "It's...it hurts," he finally decides, then cuts himself off before his words grow even more muddled as the situation washes him over anew, tears welling up in his eyes. He doesn't - he doesn't want to die, not here, not so far away from home and without any of his family here. Biting his lip, he tries to hold back his tears - or at least, his sobs - for now, though for when he's saving them, he's not certain; after all, it's not like they're going to willingly fragment their group further. Fighting down his panic and the terrible grief that feels like it's crushing his lungs, he tries to listen to what the others are saying, and he's at least happy that in the darkness, nobody else can see the tears that wet his cheeks, though he's sure it can't be that hard to tell even without sight. Once he feels a bit more in control of his voice, he adds his own name to a disembodied voice. "...Luckypaw." It's soft, but even that is enough to send a fresh wave of tears to his eyes as he falls silent again, thinking of the way Scorchpaw had screamed out for him as the land thundered all around them.
