afraid of peace | injury

[SMOKESTAR]

He hears the broken cries and smells the blood in the distance before he gets to the edge of the reeds, twin black triangles flick upward and he turns in the direction of the noise with a wary stare. His time in RiverClan had made him realize so many cats were unable to traverse the dangerous waters and they had no end of lost kittens swept to their shores from the raging current at times. It was why he did not immediately dismiss the sound, trekking forward to investigate toward the edge of the woodline where he expected to locate some sobbing little scrap of fur only to be faced with something much larger and it caused him to tense his shoulders in unease.

The she-cat before him was soaking wet, hunched over and covered in scars and blood seeped around her paws as she shook; voice pitched and horrified. Smokethroat dropped the fish he was carrying to approach cautiously, tone calm, “Are you alright? This is RiverCl-” He no sooner began to speak did the molly move with a swiftness he was not prepared for such a battered and wounded cat to have, he saw a flash of shimmering black as her claws struck at his face and he recoiled with a snarl of outrage as his vision suddenly went red and then black. A claw was swung out blindly, catching the cat somewhere but she had sprung past him to grab his discarded trout before twisting around and racing back into the surrounding forest toward their territory border.
He considered pursuing her as his good eye opened and narrowed and he kept a paw clasped to the left side of his face where blood was sloughing to the ground in thick heaving waves, but in the end he opted against it; a loner stealing prey was not worth the chase and he could replace the fish and perhaps he was so lightheaded now he did not think he could keep up.
Smokethroat took a step back, shaking his head only to realize it made the pounding in his skull worse. He'd been hurt before, the many tales of his life etched across his hide in his many scars, but this was a lot more blood than he expected to see from himself; perhaps it was because he had grown lax in his time in RiverClan where they often avoided claws as a greeting and teeth as a warning.

The dark tom swayed briefly, debated continuing on with his fishing now that he'd been robbed of his catch; the fact he'd lost it more annoying to him than the deep gauges in his face and the blood now discolored and spilling over the pebbles beneath his paws. But he knew his stubbornness was not a lesson he wished to instill in the youth of the clan so he sucked in a breath to hold back the frustration and began to make his way dripping and wobbling slightly back to the camp.

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

− ♱ ABOUT : the man is carrying a trout. plump and fat, still dripping riverwater fresh over the knuckles of his forepaws. he is damp up to his chest, stray droplets clinging desperately to the thick ruff of curls around his throat. it’s eyes are wide, glassy, and he thinks little as he follows the well - trodden trail back towards riverclan camp. the forest was alight in shades of mottled browns and golds, dappled rays of light falling over his too - tall figure with each wandering stride. the riverclan leader is in no hurry today — with buckgait as deputy, he finds his shoulders are easier to relax. his nerves quell, settling into a droning babble at the back of his mind — a whisper, like the rush of gentle water behind his willow den. cicadastar smells him first — the familiar touch of riverwater and heat, like embers smoldering alongside the falls. he wants to wrap himself in it, scolds himself internally for the way his heart jitters uncomfortably at that. the smile painted on his maw is genuine, however, when he turns to speak around his catch.

“ now, im starting to think you’re following me — ”

the fish drops to the ground.

“ smoke! “ it’s sudden. ripped from his throat, agonized, a near yelp in itself, “ schiesse, what happened — “ in a near instant, the tall feline is coming up alongside the bulky warriors flank, his thick tail coming to wrap along his other side to help guide him. he does not think — the proximity, it does not register to him. not above the sickly - sweet stench of blood, the bitter iron odor emanating from the gored gash across the ebony felidae’s eye. a glimpse of spiderfall passes his thoughts and he screws his eyelids tight, sucking in a breath through his teeth. the man feels all too dizzy suddenly, fuzz pulsing behind his corneas until he forced icy luminaries open, lowering his head to speak near the warrior. perhaps it’s due to the way his tone, so often soft, trembles quietly, staccato, “ settle down, please. don’t go any further, just lean against me until — “ he thinks of wolfpaw. pumpkinpaw. he thinks of the war. blood coats his tongue, his nostrils, the back of his throat and he feels as though he could drown in it.

he can’t do this again. how bad his wounds are is unknown to the mottled leader, but the blood loss enough brings a swallow to click hard in his throat. suddenly . . there is someone behind him. a twig snaps and his head pivots nearly faster than the eye can see, “ you! run, get beesong — hurry! “

out of character information translations

• sending either an npc or next poster to fetch @BEESONG
• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers
  
  
• none.

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[Redpath]

What was going on? She smelled blood. She was just vibing in camp, grooming after a patrol. She didn't expect to see Smokethroat come in bleeding. She padded over to him just behind Cicadastar, peeking around him to look.

"What HAPPENED-"

Cicadastars order cut her off, she nodded and went bolting for Beesongs den. Graceful lady that she is, she tripped over herself and went sliding into the medicine cats den.

"..........."

She would look at him for a second.

"Smokethroat's been hurt, can you come look at him please?" She asked, as if she didn't just come sliding in.

Excellent.
​

 

[RAINWHISKER]

The stentch of blood was powerful, and it wasn't fish blood, though that was in the air too. The tabby was incredible at distinguishing between minor scent differences, what wasn't so obvious to many was right on the nose to her. She isn't far away at all when she hears Cicadastar begin to frantic, barking orders at the first warrior at the scene to go get Beesong.

Paws quicken and follow the direction of her leader's voice. When she's near them her gaze is set close to where the two tom's are standing, but a little bit to their lefts. "Is it bad? Will he be alright?" She asks, there is a hint of concern in her voice but otherwise she is incredibly cool and collected. Panicking wouldn't do them any good, "Should we apply pressure?" Brook is not Beesong, she is no healer, but she knows pressing down can stop the bleeding from her rogue group. You had to know a thing or two when you didn't have medicine cats around, or cats would be bleeding out all the time.

That being said... she had no clue where this tom's wound is. If it wasn't for the smell of blood she wouldn't even known flesh had been torn at all.​

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Spoiler: TAGS | 10/18

( casual character / "speech" / ic opinions )​

╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· BROOK, female — she / her
╰ ‣ 23 moons . ages on the first
╰ ‣ windclan leader . marsh-born . believes in starclan
╰ ‣ former soldier of the marsh group

╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smells like heather and wet dirt , status — 100%
╰ ‣ blue smoke . blue eyes . blind

╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
· ISFJ-T ❝ DEFENDER ❞ , Slytherin, Lawful Evil
╰ ‣ Observant, reliable, hardworking, overcommitted, humble, takes critique personally
╰ ‣ finds minimal difficulty in relating to others . quick to show mercy, unless her family is at risk of harm
╰ ‣ Doesn't appreciate most proper titles, doesn't feel deserving of them

╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· NPC x GRACE, sister to Lightningstone & Stormpaw
╰ ‣ bisexual.
╰ ‣ skilled fighter . average hunter .
╰ ‣ unlikely to start fights . unlikely to flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.​

 

[BEESONG]

The healer is headed towards the entrance when it happens.

"Holy shit-" Beesong exclaims through a puff of laughter, stumbling over his paws to avoid trampling the poor warrior who'd just slid into his den with the grace of a newborn on ice. He eyes the silent she-cat with a light smile quirking his lips, and though it does not reach his eyes, he cherishes this fleeting moment.

It never lasts long enough for him, the selfish being that he is.

Redpath tells them that Smokethroat has been injured. The vagueness of the statement lights every nerve within the healer on fire. Within a heartbeat, their smile vanishes, replaced with cold determination. Jaw clenched and teeth worrying with the inside of their cheek, Beesong whirls around towards their storage. Wordlessly, they collect a bundle of herbs along with some moss, and directs Redpath to guide them to Smokethroat.

Beesong soaks the moss quickly on the way, and hurries after Redpath.

He smells the blood before he sees Smokethroat. It clogs his nostrils, coats his throat, and all that he could taste now is copper. It's stronger than even the aromatic herbs, and it only grows when he stumbles upon the clanmates surrounding Smokethroat. Brook asks if they should apply pressure, and Beesong hums. "I'm here." They needn't bloody their own paws; that is his duty and his duty alone, a burden he must carry until he rests in his grave.

The bundle of herbs and moss is settled next to the healer as he pads over to Smokethroat, assessing the damage... It's a deep gouge, undoubtedly, and Beesong worries for the lead warrior's eye. But it's better to lose an eye than his life. He could worry over Smokethroat's vision later.

They make quick work in flushing out the wound with the wet moss. Then, they chew together a poultice of marigold and dock, applying it with a firmness most patients might complain about.

A thick layer of cobwebs is pressed against the wound, the small cinnamon tabby putting pressure onto the wound like Brook had suggested in hopes of quelling the bleeding.

"Who did this?" Beesong mutters while they work, eyes narrowing. It's clearly the work of another feline... Had Spiderfall returned for another victim? A chill runs down their spine, jaw clenching tighter.​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

The amount of German he has picked up simply by being in proximity to cats who use it for explict swears is not a lot, but it's funny there are two of them. He hears the panicked curse and though he has poor depth-perception in his uncovered eye he does easily spot the mottled gray and shadow form of the RiverClan king moving toward him with a swiftness. Starting to think you're following me. Ah, in this instance he wish he had-but his need for the occasional bout of solitude had been his undoing. This wouldn't have happened if he had another cat with him most likely, but catching a single feline offguard was much simpler for tricksters. Redpath is loud, boisterous, it's a wonder Beesong didn't hear her from here but he just leans into the taller form of Cicadastar in drowsy silence for a moment before attempting to dismiss the severity, "Just...some scratches. It's fine.."
For a moment he almost said 'does it look bad' at Brook's weary questions but he stopped himself, it was sometimes easy to forget their new clanmate was blind with how easily she moved about; though he had no idea how he expected a blind cat was supposed to act. The dark tom imagined more bumbling about but Brook was relatively graceful; as far as he could see.

When Beesong arrives with Redpath's clumsy steps leading, he opts to settle down slowly on his stomach to make things easier. So much for getting back to camp first, but it was fine-he was too nauseous to think about finishing the trek there without heaving or losing another kind of fish; the kind he'd already eaten. Despite it all and the thick scent of blood in the air, he felt strangely calm, maybe it was the adrenaline from the encounter still pulsing in his veins but he wasn't very worried over his own wellbeing at the moment. Or maybe, dare he admit, it was the solace of knowing he would be fine because there were enough cats present who gave a damn about him that he could be so nonchalant; it was nice. In a way.

He could hear the faint concern in Beesong's voice that did not necessarily feel meant for his wellbeing; it was lingered with fear and uncertainty and he immediately knew why. The dark tom moved almost to shake his head but thought better of it, the dizziness not lending itself to proper rational thought.
"No-no it wasn't....." His voice trailed off, as if saying the tom's name might speak a curse upon them that would draw the plague back, "...some..some rogue. She-cat...thought she needed help but...she was playing tricks. Stole my fish.." He spoke the final comment with a tone that made it very clear he was much more irritated at the theft than the maiming and he withdrew his bloodied paw from his face to show the red vines lashing over his left eye. He takes the pawing at his face in stride, only showing his teeth at the pressure of the healer pushing this aromatic bundle of stuff on him but does not offer complaint or protest. He didn't know medicine, Beesong did, so he was going to shut up and let the smaller cinnamon cat do his job.
"Shame she got my good side...."

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[RAINWHISKER]

No need, her folded ears perk up ever so slightly at the sound of their medicine cats voice. Redpath had been as quick as lightning, Beesong had been fetched and presented at the scene within minutes. She nods in acknowledgement, taking several paw-steps back to ensure she wasn't in the way. Smokethroat is doing some grumbling, just some scratches he says, Brook senses by the way he grimaces he was just acting tough. Besides, would Cicadastar really be making this big of a deal if it wasn't on the severe side? Surely he has, he was in the great battle, he...

Brook wishes she could look past that. She wants to, knows Rain would want her to.

A rogue? Brook's nose twitches, searching for a scent that she fails to find at this moment in time. Perhaps with some effort they could pick up a trail though... wouldn't Cicadastar want to rid them from the territory? Head is turned, facing the horizon, "Cicadastar, I could find her. Make sure she's out of RiverClan territory for good, and get Smokethroat's catch back." She suggests, eager to prove her loyalty and dedication to RiverClan. "With your permission- of course." Especially now that it was certain Smokethroat would be fine... Beesong was here after all.

//lord i used the wrong posting template lol ​

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[BEESONG]

Beesong's grateful for Smokethroat repositioning himself; it makes his job much easier, as small as he is in comparison to the lead warrior. The unspoken meaning behind his question, Smokethroat picks up on. And Beesong understands, in turn, when Smokethroat hesitates to say that name aloud. It's not Spiderfall. The healer lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd withheld in the few heartbeats of silence following his inquiry.

It doesn't lift the weight of anxiety from their shoulders, however, their relief minuscule. Spiderfall or not, Smokethroat was still attacked in RiverClan's own territory. Over a fish... Beesong's ear flicks backwards. Of course, rogues and loners grow braver during the cold season. It makes sense; hunger drives a cat to do stupid things in the hopes of filling their bellies. Yet Beesong cannot help but to roll their eyes at the display of violence. "Hope it was worth it," they retort with a tongue laced with sarcasm, unconsciously pressing their paw harder against the cobweb-covered lacerations.

Brook offers to find the offending rogue and retrieve Smokethroat's catch. Beesong bites his tongue. It's true that RiverClan needs every catch they could get before leaf-bare is in full force, and making sure that the rogue is out of their territory is a good idea, but seeking that aggressive rogue out for a catch she fought tooth and nail for? It's asking for more blood to be spilled. And Beesong needs to save his herbs as much as RiverClan needed their food.

In the end, though, it's Cicadastar's call to make. The cinnamon tabby glances towards the leader. "Don't do anything reckless," he says to Brook, although his gaze remains on the curly-furred smoke, gauging his reaction. "We don't need more injuries on our paws."​

 

[Redpath]

She wasn't usually so clumsy, but sometimes it just happened. Especially around camp, where there was no need to be sneaky. Which was evident in her entrance to Beesongs den. As she lead him back to Smokethroat, she caught his comment about his good side.

"But Smokey, every side is your good side!" She said.

And then looked to Cicadastar with a wide grin. "Right, Cicadastar?"

She knew they liked each other. She was going to be a nuisance about it. She wished they would kiss already.

"I do think a patrol may be a good idea, though..." She said, more thoughtfully.
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