A wandering star [Orangeblossom]

[Finchfang]

The morning was bright and still, with enthusiastic but chilly rays of winter sun striping the forest floor. Finchfang padded slowly across the dappled landscape, a distinct blot of deep brown against the fresh coating of snow. Behind him, a trail of winding pawsteps showed the circuitous route he was traversing through the woods - it appeared as if he had no destination in mind, and in fact he didn't. This morning was a morning for feeling the sting of cold against his pawpads and drawing the fresh air deep into his lungs. This morning was a morning to roam until the life of a warrior necessitated he join a patrol, catch prey, or perform some other task. Or, well - that was what he had intended this morning to look like. Crossing a small, fast-moving stream trimmed with ice, the tabby tom glanced up, narrowing his eyes against a sunbeam. Where to next? Maybe towards th - before he could even finish his thought, a strong, rank scent coasted past on a tiny breath of wind and Finchfang froze. Fox.

There was a fox nearby - very nearby, if the strength of the scent was any indicator. It mus be right on top of me! In desperation, he sprinted towards the nearest tree and coiled his hind legs beneath him, preparing to leap up onto a low branch, when he felt hot breath on his fur and a white-hot burst of pain. The fox had found him, and had caught him mid-leap, clamping its jaws down hard around his back leg and yanking him to the ground. Finchfang let out a low, yowling scream of pain and twisted his body, lashing his unsheathed claws against the reddish beast's muzzle. The fight was producing a terrible racket - canine yelps and snarls, feline screeches and hisses - and it was clear that the SkyClan warrior was losing. It was a small fox, true, but it had gotten him by surprise - and had found him while he was alone. Besides, no cat on its own could defeat a predator: the odds were against him, and he knew it, even as his strength began to ebb and panic grew hot in his throat.

@orangeblossom​

 

[Orangestar]

Above the tabby's head, stepping from branch to bobbing branch with carefully practised leaps, is another warrior out and about. Orangeblossom prefers the height advantage in her hunts, especially when there's soft snow to catch her fall, even if there's scarce leaves to hide her form against the branches. And it shows, too, with Orangeblossom having caught nothing so far in this early morning trip.

It does, however, allow her a small advantage against predators on the forest floor - like the fox attacking Finchfang. Oh great, that's just what we need. Foxes are a threat usually reserved for greenleaf, but it seems that the scarcity of prey has driven the red-furred canine into SkyClan land and it thought it could take an opportunity against their starving warriors ... not on her watch.

"Finchfang!" Orangeblossom yowls, hoping-praying that her yell would attract the attention of one of their Clanmates. But whether it did or not, she does not hesitate, throwing herself across branches and down the trunk of the tree, hoping to bowl bodily into the fox and knock it off Finchfang. If she's lucky, her momentum would send it sprawling.​

✦ ooc ✦ info

•  
• 
  ✦ orangeblossom, warrior of skyclan
  — no apprentice.
  ✦ 25 moons, she/her
  ✦ fluffy white and ginger cat with brown eyes. torn left ear, scar on right foreleg.
  ✦ bi, single. @ on discord for plots.
  ✦ "speech" — thoughts

​

 

[Finchfang]

Of all the faces he hoped to see in his dying moments, all the voices he hoped would be there as his spirit joined StarClan, Orangeblossom's was not one of them. He liked the bold ginger-and-white warrior just fine, sure, but ... her? Really? In his final moments, which these surely would be...except, no, they wouldn't be! Far from his last sight of this world, she was his savior! Her yowl preceded her lifesaving attack, and the fox snarled in frustration as it was thrown off its prey, body thumping against the snowy ground and sliding a few paces. "Orangeblossom," the tabby gasped, pulling himself to his feet and ignoring the sharp pain in his back leg and around his white muzzle, which was smeared with blood and pockmarked with bite wounds. For what it was worth, the fox wasn't looking wonderful, either - its face was slashed in multiple places, and one eye was half-closed, clearly wounded. It righted itself as Finchfang bounded forward to stand beside his Clanmate, hoping that presenting a united front would make them seem less like food and more like a threat. His whole striped pelt stood on end, adrenaline and pain and fear and anger granting him strength and making his sides heave.

"Take its head while I go for its gut." the warrior spat out a mouthful of spit and blood as he spoke and then dove forward, hoping she would understand what he was trying to do; he twisted mid-leap, striving to rake his claws across the fox's belly while she kept its jaws from turning him into mincemeat. Or, err...more mincemeat.

[ feel free to power-play the fox <3 ]​

 

[Orangestar]

Later she'd admit that she's never been happier to hear her name than in that exact moment, because it meant that Finchfang is alive. Maybe not for long though. Dawnglare was going to kill him for coming back to camp this injured in the middle of leafbare. He'd really done a good job on this fox, though. She'd definitely tell stories about him so the hypothetical kits her mother wants her to have.

Orangeblossom takes solace in the fact that the older warrior is able to stand, though his sides are heaving with exertion. She snarls at the fox, long pelt on end and pearly teeth flashing in the light. She'd go for its face and he'd go for its belly? Yeah, she could do that. Nothing like staring the bloodied jaws of death straight in the muzzle for a post-noon activity.

"Right. Hey, ugly!" She yowls at full volume, dashing straight towards the fox. She hisses and screeches as she runs, hoping that's a sufficient enough distraction as Finchfang slides underneath the beast. For a moment, she thinks of Foxgecker - something about the way that the crimson pelt twists in the light - but shakes the mental comparison out of her mind and darts sideways as jaws snap around the fur at the end of her tail.

Orangeblossom yelps at the stinging feeling of hairs pulled free, and twists and claws the fox in the face as it prepares a second attack - its good eye, thankfully for the warriors' advantage in this fight. It whines a terrible scream, twice in quick succession even though the warrior at its front hadn't done anything, and the realisation that Finchfang's attack must have found purchase hits just as quickly as her initial reaction of what.​

 

[Finchfang]

Imagine being a hungry fox, and spotting a seemingly-easy catch: a distracted cat-type critter. One quick snag, a hard chomp, and that was dinner. Alas, it was quickly becoming clear that this was not an easy meal at all. In fact, now you're hurting, confused, angry, and covered with blood, and instead of a happy belly your mouth was full of blood. Your eyes are stinging, your gut's been attacked, and you have no idea how many more of these nasty, stinky, sharp-clawed little monsters there are. It's time to throw in the towel. So, as Finchfang rolled out from underneath the fox's belly and Orangeblossom lashed at its face, the fox reared back, dark eyes darting back and forth in panic. Then it turned on its heel and ran, small droplets of blood flying from its russet coat as it went.

"And...stay...out...!" the lean tom wheezed out after the retreating canine, before staggering towards Orangeblossom. His vision spun and his entire body was pulsing with pain and fast-fading adrenaline, but he sought to press his shoulder against the ginger-and-white she-cat. "Orangeblossom...are you alright?" it was still too soon after his near-death experience for his typical contained, controlled personality to assert itself; his posture was loose, his eyes wide and searching, his voice unusually rich with feeling. All that felt important at this precise moment was that they had lived, and that she had come to help him, and that they could survive their injuries. He himself was injured, to be sure, but not grievously, and he desperately hoped that she wasn't too badly wounded. He didn't think he could bear the guilt of that.​