- Aug 9, 2022
- 689
- 327
- 63
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He opens his eye in the dark of the cavern and it is cold, unbearably cold - cold like leafbare's embrace though they had at least another moon before the chill began to rise to such dangerous levels. Smokethroat-Smokestar, rises to stand slowly, sluggishly, as if a newborn kit learning how his own limbs worked for the first time; everything had begun to ache though the more deeper wounds had long since stopped bleeding. Outside the rain carried on in a thick miasma of water, cascading down over the opening at the top of the stone spire and dripping down to join the pools of red he'd left wrapping around the edge of the Moonstone. One orange eye opens, closes, and then opens again; there is a stiffeness to his shoulders as he turns to face the tunnel exit leading out and a horrifying realization for why he felt so terrible began to twist in his stomach. The dark tom ignores it, pushes it away, and with the sky still bearing its heart and weeping he makes his way out and takes to the nearest shroud of foliage to make his way home as swiftly as he could. Being on WindClan's territory was not very safe to begin with, but especially so now knowing they held no respect for their ancestors nor their laws any longer. Part of him was terrified of finding his clan under siege, that they might take advantage of them having no leader and ensure no one was able to step up; killing all of them and wiping RiverClan from the forest entirely. It is a ridiculous fear, but he had also been certain the walk to highstones was safe, so he was no longer willing to dismiss it entirely and his pace quickened.
Everything hurt, the rain washed away the blood drying to his pelt but it could not take from his disheveled and crumpled appearance, the scars still fresh on his sides and across his face; the one that had killed him now closed but parting black fur like a curtain to make itself known. He was in agony, but he kept going until he finally reached the river and with little hesitation dove in. The swim was welcoming, dirt and blood drifting around him as he made his way to their camp and when he rose from it he finally felt alive again; the dull ache and unease faded in face of a camp safe and not in ruin and his clanmates alive and well.
"...we've much to talk about." He comments, searching for the leads and Ravensong and his voice feels as if he had dragged it across the stones on his way up from the water. "...WindClan has claimed highstones." No one would suspect such a daring and bold move, even from WindClan itself but it was what had happened. Part of him is pleased he had gone alone, that no one else had been forced to endure what he did-that he was the only one to suffer but it hardly justified his decision. What he had needed was an army, not a few cats.
He opens his eye in the dark of the cavern and it is cold, unbearably cold - cold like leafbare's embrace though they had at least another moon before the chill began to rise to such dangerous levels. Smokethroat-Smokestar, rises to stand slowly, sluggishly, as if a newborn kit learning how his own limbs worked for the first time; everything had begun to ache though the more deeper wounds had long since stopped bleeding. Outside the rain carried on in a thick miasma of water, cascading down over the opening at the top of the stone spire and dripping down to join the pools of red he'd left wrapping around the edge of the Moonstone. One orange eye opens, closes, and then opens again; there is a stiffeness to his shoulders as he turns to face the tunnel exit leading out and a horrifying realization for why he felt so terrible began to twist in his stomach. The dark tom ignores it, pushes it away, and with the sky still bearing its heart and weeping he makes his way out and takes to the nearest shroud of foliage to make his way home as swiftly as he could. Being on WindClan's territory was not very safe to begin with, but especially so now knowing they held no respect for their ancestors nor their laws any longer. Part of him was terrified of finding his clan under siege, that they might take advantage of them having no leader and ensure no one was able to step up; killing all of them and wiping RiverClan from the forest entirely. It is a ridiculous fear, but he had also been certain the walk to highstones was safe, so he was no longer willing to dismiss it entirely and his pace quickened.
Everything hurt, the rain washed away the blood drying to his pelt but it could not take from his disheveled and crumpled appearance, the scars still fresh on his sides and across his face; the one that had killed him now closed but parting black fur like a curtain to make itself known. He was in agony, but he kept going until he finally reached the river and with little hesitation dove in. The swim was welcoming, dirt and blood drifting around him as he made his way to their camp and when he rose from it he finally felt alive again; the dull ache and unease faded in face of a camp safe and not in ruin and his clanmates alive and well.
"...we've much to talk about." He comments, searching for the leads and Ravensong and his voice feels as if he had dragged it across the stones on his way up from the water. "...WindClan has claimed highstones." No one would suspect such a daring and bold move, even from WindClan itself but it was what had happened. Part of him is pleased he had gone alone, that no one else had been forced to endure what he did-that he was the only one to suffer but it hardly justified his decision. What he had needed was an army, not a few cats.
- OOC can go here.
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Smokestar
—⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
—⊰⋅ He/Him
"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
—⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
