pafp a gruesome sight to see 𖥔 sneaking out + rogue

flax

flax

「 the world, laid bare 」
Nov 3, 2024
16
2
3

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ — the color of our planet from far, far away .​

Clearing sickness means less attention, and less attention means trouble-making. This is how Flax now finds himself outside of camp; intent on finding and catching some prey to add to the fresh-kill pile, he had pushed his way through a rip in the woven boundary, leaving tufts of gray fur caught on a tangle of bramble thorns. Though he had been small enough to weave through the barrier of thorns without much issue, he'd still ended up with a small scratch across his nose; dots of blood follow his ambling trail as they drip from his chin to the frost-laden plants below. For some reason he'd expected it to be much colder out here, but the air is deathly still. A blessing from StarClan, one of his Clanmates might say. If StarClan was going to bless any cat, surely they would bless him, right?

That makes sense.

He marches along in ignorance to his shortcomings, sniffing against now-crusting blood as he searches for a scent trail. If StarClan had really blessed him, then he'll find something, and he'll be able to prove to SkyClan that he's just as helpful as any real warrior. He puts his nose to the frosty earth below, untrained pawsteps loud and crackling on pine needles laden with icy dew as he plods along, hoping to pick up a scent trail that he can work with. Of course, though he knows what he should be doing, he has no idea how to do it. He's not an eager apprentice trodding the resolute path of a warrior to-be, mentored by the older cats who actually know what they're doing on how to find scent or stalk prey. He's just a stupid kit taking the future of his life into his own paws, and that future somehow—inexplicably—carries him to a small brown shape, hunched into a tangle of tree roots as it nibbles a withered seed. He stops dead in his tracks, pupils blown.

StarClan really had blessed him.

Wasting no time, Flax drops into his best rendition of the hunter's crouch—a clumsy attempt at best. His saving grace is that he is still small and light enough on his paws to move quietly, and as he oh-so-carefully stalks forward, he finds that his movements are muted by a swath of dry, frigid ground. Creeping ever closer, he keeps wide eyes trained on the stupid little thing as it continues to work on its meal. Then, finally, he pounces, and against all odds, he feels a warm body spasm and fall limp in his snapping jaws. He's about to celebrate the incredible catch when he's suddenly hauled into the air, and as if he were a bit of prey himself, he finds himself suddenly dangling in the jaws of a cat that he does not recognize by scent. "Hff!" he squeaks belligerently around the fur of his mouse, writhing and clawing at pawfuls of air. He refuses to let the prey go; if he dies today, this mouse dies with him (even though it's already dead). "L'me gooo!"

/ wait for @??? (aka me..again..lol) to post !!
 
When the beginnings of his search in RiverClan had left him with empty paws, he'd wandered on. In and out of boundaries he'd traveled, weaving himself through hostile territory like a shadow; and yet, he's found no hint of the bastard son that he seeks to reclaim his own. That is, until he tries SkyClan. Rumors tend to spread like wildfire between cats without direction, some of them the unaltered truth, and others inflated beyond comprehension, but the rumors surrounding SkyClan had always been constant. Loners tell him that it presents itself as a Clan like the others, but that it is a Clan that is not so intent on defending its borders from a wayward traveler in need. It boasts muddied blood and kittypet warriers whose paws stand between both worlds, and it's exactly the type of place that Dust would have sought out to protect her last child as she lost herself to a desperate death spiral. Unsurprisingly, the rumors ring true.

It's exactly the place where he now finds Flax.

He watches him from beyond the trees, slinking between dark trunks to keep from his sight. He can recognize his should-be kin from his scent; though it carries the muddled stench of many cats now, he can still pick out the ever-present scent of his lost mate, now dead and rotting somewhere beneath a layer of frost. Try as he might to hate her, the thought prompts a shiver of unease. He chases it away, again training his stare onto his son, who blunders through the pine needles without a care in the world. Even the most useless cat would be able to tell he was being watched, but Flax carries onward, evidently so preoccupied by something that he doesn't even look up when a tall shadow rears behind him. Wordlessly, his father bends to grab him by the scruff, wrinkling his nose slightly as the kit begins to fight against an attacker that he cannot see. Yellow eyes drift behind himself. Should he wait to explain, SkyClan will cause him unnecessecary trouble. So he instead turns, carrying his son and his puny kill as he ambles toward the border he'd originally crossed. There is no speed in his step; only a slow, dull-eyed confidence. Mine at last.
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The outside world of the camp is something that Daisydrop hadn't always been interested in. Not until he was almost an apprentice had he really thought about leaving the safety and warmth of the camp to go out into the dangerous territory, and it had almost gotten himself and his siblings killed, the three of them frozen in fear as a snake circled them before Butterflytuft had realized they were missing and followed their scent out of camp. It was something that had never been discovered, never been shared to those outside of their little family, but it was something that he thought about often, especially with how much time he tried to spend near the nursery to help the cat that he knew as mother now and forever - especially with so many new kits within the nursery, so many becoming more and more sick.

He'd dropped prey off, watched for a moment as kits played before he realized the sound of a new kit to the clan was missing and eyes quickly scanned the camp, ears pinning to his head for a moment before he turned to anyone near him. "Has anyone seen Flax?" It was a quick question, a simple one, and when it was quickly answered with a no or a headshake he quickly got to work to seek him out. Every spot he could think to check within the camp was checked, and just when he was about to stomp out of the entrance to the camp to see if he had simply just gotten curious about what it looked like he discovered the fur, the slight twinge of blood wrapped within the wall of the camp and paws moved quicker out and around, following the small splotches of blood as maw opened to catch the scent of the kit.

The adder played in his mind, and Daisydrop could only hope that it was not a fate that Flax would have met all by himself out here, but when the scent of a stranger mingled with that of nursery and SkyClan he realized it was a fate potentially much worse. Quickly he followed the scent, where the rogue walked slow and confident the warrior walked quickly and panicked, and when the sight of a body walking with a struggling kit in maw reached his eyes quickly did his paws move before Daisydrop rushed forward, attempting to slam into the side of the rogue in the hopes that he would drop Flax, for at least the frost and the height the kit was from the ground meant the fall was short and it was at least slightly cushioned, and hopefully the surprise from an attack from behind would give Daisydrop enough time to fend him off while others made their way over.

ooc ♡ careful now with my head
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  • 9KeGGxD.jpeg
  • DAISYDROP ♡ he/him / warrior of SkyClan

    ♡ born november 8, 2023. ages realistically
    ♡ adopted by Butterflytuft and Dandelionwish
    ♡ brother to Weedpaw, Fluffypaw, and Budkit
    ♡ previously mentored by Figfeather
    ♡ speaks in #708abb
    ♡ peaceful powerplay allowed
    ♡ penned by tikki
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He'd be wrong to expect that he'd leave SkyClan territory without issue. He's already faintly aware that he won't escape unscathed, somewhere in the back of his mind; isn't it strange that he'd found Flax out roaming in the territory, unaccompanied by fretful milk-mothers and protective wild cats? Surely they had to be looking for him already. He narrows his eyes, another momentary glance tilting over his shoulder as he feels a prickle of unease run through his neck fur—and there, rushing toward him with panic in his eyes, is the SkyClan warrior he'd been expecting. He instinctively tightens his grip on his kit's scruff, but he has no time to turn and face his attacker before Daisydrop's weight slams harshly into his side. Jaws part as a grunt of pain forces itself between his teeth, and he loses his grip on his precious cargo, staggering as he breath is driven from his lungs. Fuck.

Regaining his balance quickly, he whirls to stand between the warrior and his kit like a brick wall, strands of his wispy fur billowing in a sudden breeze. He looms like a dark spirit in the sickly half-light; yellow eyes gleam as he rakes them over the warrior bristling before him, his expression darkened by fury reminiscent of an angry fox whose den had just been disturbed by a stupid apprentice. "This is not your battle," he growls low to his attacker, his voice oddly calm despite the note of malice simmering in the depths of his tone. He doesn't want to talk when his claws itch for a fight, but he knows that where there is one forest cat, there are bound to be more following suit. His eyes slant upward into the canopy of the pines, then dart behind himself, glancing warily across the shadows of the darkening forest. Attention then returning to his adversary, he bares his teeth, his feathery tail lashing against the intensity of his feeling. "He's my son. He's not yours to own."
 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ — the color of our planet from far, far away .​

Abruptly dropped, Flax spreads every single one of his toes, tiny claws unsheathing as he plummets a grand total of one foot to the frosty ground below. His landing is softened by a pile of crackling pine needles, and with wide eyes and constricted pupils, he crouches down to the ground, holding tightly onto his scraggly mouse as if his life depends on it. He watches Daisydrop face off with the dark rogue who had tried to take him, and in his head, he's cheering for his Clanmate to show this cat a lesson. Though he wants desperately to help, he stays perfectly still, his fur fluffed up so he looks twice his size. He can kill a puny mouse at his age, sure, but even he knows that he's no match for flying claws and ripping fur.

He peers out from behind one of the rogue's ghost-striped legs, worriedly looking between he and Daisydrop. For whatever reason, the unfamiliar cat had now taken up a defensive stance, as if he seeks to protect Flax from his own Clanmate. He feels unsettled by the aggression sparking between them both; why fight over him when he's just a useless kit? He searches for an escape route, looking to make a break for it while the two are distracted by one another—but as he begins to creep away, the next words stop him dead in his tracks. 'He's my son.'

What?

Flax looks back wildly at his captor, stock-still as he grasps desperately at memories he cannot remember. A smudge of dark fur; raised voices; his mother's wailing. He stares blankly at the tom in front of him, but the picture his memories paint is not pretty. He flattens his ears as if to argue or insult, but he can't find any words to say. He merely looks back to Daisydrop, helpless and confused.
 
When Daisydrop had departed the camp with haste, it had not taken long for a few curious eyes to decide and follow suit. The fresh scent of blood was alarming to Lionpaw; he wasn't sure if it belonged to the young kit but it definitely was someone's. Bright against the frosted ground were speckles of crimson, a scowl etched onto the apprentice's maw as he and others followed Daisydrop into the pines. A sense of dread lingers in the pit of his stomach — what if they were to stumble across the body of a clanmate? Death and tragedy were not something that SkyClan needed right now, not when leafbare was quickly approaching.

Quickly, a fight erupts and disturbs the serenity of the forest. Daisydrop had valiantly rushed forward, slamming into a dark-pelted stranger. A familiar marbled kit tumbles out of their maw and onto the cold floor below — it was Flax! This cat had tried stealing him!

The chocolate torbie point tenses, freezing in place and staring across at the rogue through narrowed pupils. As the dark male argues with Daisydrop, Lionpaw notices that the boy has started to tiptoe away. "Flax," The trainee hisses out from under their breath, low enough to hopefully evade the stranger's attention as he faced off against the patrol. They hunched low and slinked toward the gray tabby kit, and if they were able to reach him, they would sweep their bushy tail to tuck the boy against his longhaired flank. Hopefully this would be warm enough. Lionpaw wasn't sure what to do — he'd rush Flax back to camp in a heartbeat if given the order, but right now, he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the others.

His pupils only widen more when the kitnapper claims that Flax is his son. Hadn't Flax been found abandoned at the border? This cat was either a liar or the worst father in the world. How would he know nothing of his own child's whereabouts? Then again, Lionpaw doesn't know the whole story. While part of him felt that this tom was undeserving of being reunited with his child, a deep-rooted part of Lionpaw's soul is reminded of the emptiness of having an absent father figure in his life. Would SkyClan be robbing Flax of his parent if they chased him away? Was that the right thing to do?

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄
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