pafp An eye for an eye ✘ riverclan attack

[SMOKESTAR]

The two-leg bridge is something of a poor memory for him, but also a reminder of resilience. He’d not come so close to death as the day he lost his eye, from blood loss and fever alone; thanks to Beesong he’d managed as well as his own tenacity but he’d one paw in the earth for burial every second along the way. Smokethroat doesn’t look upon the bridge fondly much, but he does remember that his blood stained those wooden slats and it marked it as RiverClan’s moreso than most boundaries did. He’d defend it just as tenaciously each time.
He is only out here to show Aspenhaze’s apprentice some land hunting skills, something he is fairly decent at though he hardly enjoys it. The spotted cat is off on another patrol, assumedly heading back to camp shortly so he would not keep the girl long from her mentor.
“Careful near the water, Mosspaw. Don’t scare the…” He trails off, the wind shifting to carry forward the scent of rabbit in their direction and his tail flips upward to stop the apprentice from moving forward further; gesturing for her to remain hidden in the tail reeds as he approaches the border with a crouch.

The sight of a little dart of ashen gray bristles his fur, for a moment he thinks he sees the Moorland queen herself dashing forward to the river border; but the size is off and the fur is not quite as long and draped backwards like a cowl as Sootstar. The resemblance, however, is remarkably uncanny.
The dark tom steps back behind the wooden post of the bridge, his shadow of a form melding into the shade dropped back by the sun rising above the rolling hills opposite him. The apprentice with her nose to the ground is without a question one of that wretches brood, when she lifts her spotted muzzle to glance around he sees a flash of blue eyes and it sets his blood aflame with a silent outrage. Weaselclaw. Even just the faintest trait of the tabby’s presence in his offspring is enough to send him seething with rage and as he narrows his lone orange eye past the bridge he realizes slowly that the little furball has run off ahead of her patrol; he sees them faintly in the distance and certainly too far away to stop him if he made a move. He could snap her neck in an instant, he thinks, blinded by the fury that has been steadily building since but a glance back to Mosspaw makes him realize he can help expedite the vengeance RiverClan has long since desired from the moment those wretched rabbiteaters came crashing through the barrier of their temporary camp.
“Mosspaw, go back to camp. Be swift. Tell Cicadastar we have an opening to spill some WindClan blood.” The paranoid fool would know immediately what it meant, sometimes he loved watching the storm-colored tom teeter on the brink of madness but other times he worried he leaned too far. “...make sure Clayfur is on the patrol.” He would not begrudge the tom getting his cut of flesh as payback for what was taken from him.
The moment Willowroot’s daughter had run off he rose to stand and with a cool look of indifference began to walk across the bridge; the soot-colored child was looking away to the distance, perhaps expectantly awaiting her patrol to catch up to her but before she had a moment to realize he was there he lunged.
Teeth firm in soft gray fur, yanking her back into the air to sling behind him and throw onto the bridge closer toward RiverClan’s territory; before the apprentice could even orient herself he was on her, clawed paw to the throat to push her back down into the hard wooden slates beneath them.
Wide blue eyes flashed upward to meet his lone, narrowed fire and brimstone one and he let his lips curl back in disgust to show his teeth.
“Hey there, I’m a friend of your dads.” He can hear the sound of pawsteps increasing in volume and speed; he cut a dark figure on the bridge, they must have noticed.

---

[Ooc]
Please only post in here if you have been specifically picked for this patrol!
PAFP - @cottonpaw

---

Allow most the WindClan patrol to arrive before Mosspaw brings in the reinforcements:
@CICADASTAR
@CLAYFUR
@lichentail
@hyacinthbreath & @dovepaw.
@Aspenhaze & @Mosspaw
​

 

[cottonsprig]

Cottonpaw feels safe; the border between WindClan and RiverClan is not one she frequents often, however this trip is filled with those she trusts. Her mother, father, sister, and more! It feels more like an adventure than a duty, and it shows in how she trots around each of the warriors there. She poses questions with every cat, acting more as if she's never come close to the RiverClan border before - StarClan, maybe she hasn't. Icebreath's training has stunted incredibly since the hawk attack, which is… understandable, maybe. Regardless, Cottonpaw aims to have fun with the time she's allotted out of the camp. She even thanks whichever warrior agreed to take her on in the patrol - excessively, one would say, but that's besides the point.

She spies the bridge from far off, tail tall and flagging. Someone says something about how that's where Juniperfrost was murdered - a shiver is quick to shoot down her spine but she doesn't let any sense of fear halt her paws. She's preferential to her inherent curiosity, and before anyone can seize her overactive nature, she bolts off. Cottonpaw rationalizes it - escaping meters ahead of her fellow patrolmates. Again, she's safe, protected by them because they're WindClan cats, the quickest, the strongest, the fiercest - StarClan blessed by every sense of the phrase. She's been tested once, by that damned hawk (and admittedly, the feathers still haunt her dreams,) but never again will she fall so easy. She's quick, she's strong, she's -

She's gripped by the scruff, tossed aside and further towards RiverClan territory. The apprentice hardly processes her passive motions prior to the attack - sniffing the bridge curiously, looking over it briefly to gauge what sort of evil cats might live there. Glancing back over her shoulder at her family, her friends, waiting eagerly for them to catch up with her and take in the beauty that is their side of the border. Cottonpaw hardly even has the chance to shout towards them about how annoying the rapids are - her body collides with the effectively stained wooden slats and the breath is knocked from her chest in an instant. Just like the hawk, she struggles to cry out in fear or pain - unlike the hawk, her predator wastes no time to pin her beneath his taloned paws.

She wriggles, trying to gain some air back in her lungs. There's limited ferocity in her eyes as she stares back up at Smokethroat - a spark that's quickly diminished as she recognizes him, not only from Weaselclaw's tales, but from the gathering she recently attended. It was odd enough to see him there, a character in a story almost tangible but far from approachable. And now - she, his victim, like he her father's many moons ago. And if Cottonpaw had any doubt on who the black furred tom was, he makes it clear with a few simple words.

"Hey there, I'm a friend of your dads."

Cruel. She can hardly think beyond the blood rushing in her ears, and the young she-cat fails to fight back immediately. Icebreath, in all her failures, taught Cottonpaw how to combat others in small spaces - but to fight a tom several sizes larger than her, especially once she's already been bested? Impossible. She swipes a clawed paw feebly towards him, hoping to gain some purchase regardless. She feels like she should say something cool - "I'll take your other eye, too!" - but her voice is just as weak as her failed attempts to mar his skin.

The moorland princess hears footsteps quickly approaching, and cranes her neck to see who's arrived first. Frenzied fear shows clear enough in her eyes, but she still says nothing to encourage her Clanmates into saving her.
​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I FEEL SCARED AND I'M STARTING TO SINK ❀❀​
periwinklebreeze | 11 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically medium (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff

---

Periwinklebreeze is, perhaps, the worst possible cat to be the first on the scene. Cottonpaw is a cat he genuinely likes - despite his mixed feelngs about sootstar and outright hostility towards weasleclaw, he doesn't hold it against her. After all, he knows well what it's like to be the child judged fror the sins of the parents. She's a sunshine-y girl, always friendly to him, and he has fond memories of playing back when she was still just a kit - even if he had ended up smothered beneath a pile of wriggling kits alongside gravelsnap. Of all the cats for smokethroat to grab, it'd just had to be her.

The riverclan border is one he usually avoids - but not always, no, luck is never really on his side after all. One second the boy is darting after the smaller apprentice, not thinking anything of it either - the next he emerges from the grass to a rather terrifying sight. Clear blue eyes are blown wide as he freezes, she's pinned down by an unfamiliar tom, the stench of riverclan so heavy upon his pelt it's leaving the boy ill.

He will never understand why his mother had chosen riverclan of all places. He can understand not wanting to be alone, feels that dreadful terror creeping into his mind at the thought of fending for himself, but why them. He can even forgive her (and therefor riverclan) for killing juniperfrost, a cat who he knows well she had her reasons for wanting dead, a cat who had threatened hm and his sister. He can ignore it, even when he brings spiderbloom prey or babysits the kits as though it is not his mothers fault that they are short one family member.

But what he cannot forgive? When he witnesses the clan she's run off too do the exact same thing she had shamed his own clanmates for doing - putting a child's life on the line. Even if he hadn't woken up that morning with a new sort of resolve burning though his veins, the situation alone would be enough to. Claws dig into the earth and the boy stands up tall - no longer slouching, he posses a rather imposing figure, tall and long limbed. Cottonpaw makes no sound and neither does he - jaw locked so tight he's not sure he could pry it open, teeth grit tightly.

He is not sure what to do - he is not a good fighter, and he fears that if he makes one wrong move it will be the younger girls life on the line. Tail twitches, eyes deadlocked onto smokethroat and a loud whining rumble spreading through his chest and into the silent air. A warning - for his patrol and for the riverclanner.

​

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[Cloudedsky]

( ♬ ) A gleeful smile presses onto pale lips as her younger sister frolicks about, her unwavering smile and can-do attitude was always something Cloudedsky had adored about her. Cottonpaw possessed an aura like no other, a light amongst the darkness that the warrior envied her over, but is glad she has it all the same. Usually one would be quite cautious as they round the crest of the rolling hills before them, the distant roar of the gorge—a signal that they encroached upon RiverClan territory. She hadn't known why she was chosen for this particular patrol, for tunneling was her duty but she was glad all in the same. It was a good change of pace to be under an open sky once more, to feel the wind billowing in her feathered fur and not be sheltered beneath the darkness of the catacombs that littered underground. She's loves tunneling, but indulging her time above ground was something to cherish just as much. WindClan held the most sacred grounds in all the land, as Sootstar had stated so many times before.

How did she end up in a predicament like this? How did her sister end in a predicament like this?

Cloudedsky had watched Cottonpaw's form disappear over the peak of the hill, the sun kissing her smokey features and Periwinklebreeze runs after her. A bubble of laughter passes through her lips as she picks up the pace, casting a glance back to the rest of the patrol befire heading to the peak where the two had disappeared from. "Cottonpaw!" She calls, voice light and airy. "Cottonpaw, don't go too far ahead!" She finally catches up with a huff of breath, wind buffeting her face. Cottonpaw was nowhere to be seen, but only Periwinklebreeze stood there—frozen.

What was going on?

She moves to stand beside her clanmate, and she freezes in place. A flash of ice pierces her very heart at what unfolded before her. Cottonpaw, her dear sister, clasped in the trap of ivory claws with gnashing teeth. The tom who holds her against the slats of the bridge, singular eye fierce like embers floating in the night, scarred features and ugly from it. Cottonpaw wriggles feebly, but Stars, with her small stature, she stood no chance. Cloudedsky can't think, can't breathe. She stays there, motionless, with her counterpart but she trembles. Her breaths become ragged as her heart seems to reset into a galloping stride, beating against an ivory cage as it threatened to burst out. She trembles in rage and in fear. She fears for Cottonpaw's life, and a white-hot fury bubbles within her that sears her veins and boils her blood. Sunburst eyes turn glacial and predatory, ivory claws bursting from their sheaths to anchor her on the ground. She wants to fling herself at the RiverClanner with such fieriocity to fling them both into the river, to spare her sister's life from such a traumatic event. Why? Why her? Just take me. Sootstar doesn't want me. A thought that had seeped into her mind, a thought she had pushed back and ignored or told herself she was being ridiculous. Don't take her. Don't take Cottonpaw. She doesn't deserve this.

A brush of courage or desperation, Cloudedsky doesn't know. But she steps forward once, tail high and flagging with widened eyes. "Let her go." She says, a tone that is unnaturally calm in a scenario like this. She's on the verge of hysteria, but she reels it in. She can't afford to show weakness here. The tom who captured her wasn't one for small talk, she's noticed him at Gatherings. That crescent like scar upon his chest, a mark bearing that what Weaselclaw forcibly bestowed on him. She's heard it before. She sees it now and knows it's him. "Why are you doing this?" Her voice grows in volume, becoming more sharp. Vengeance was one thing, but this? This was passed that—this was just an ugly cruelty brewing to the surface. "What do you want with her?" The young warrior would finally screech, echoing off the hills behind them and over the roar of the falls.

​

( You should see me in a crown ; I'm gonna run this nothing town )

 

[SILVERTHORN]

ALL NIGHT GAMER​

---

A growl rumbled through Silverthorn's throat as he strode up to stand alongside Cloudedsky and Periwinklebreeze, his piercing gaze now locked on the sight before him; Cottonpaw pinned and at the mercy of a RiverClanner. A clanmate was in trouble, but admittedly the only thing sitting on his mind in that moment was just how badly he longed to fight. Then again he had always been a fighter, it had cost him his kittypet life, but also what had allowed him to become a WindClanner in the first place despite the odds. Now the claws and fangs he possessed tingled with the desire to be utilised once more. However, was it for the sake of rescuing Cottonpaw? Or for the raw hunger for violence?

The young warrior stood poised but made no attempt to launch forth. Things were precarious and he certainly didn't want anyone in WindClan blaming him for making any form of error here, he'd rather let that horrid responsibility fall on the shoulders of someone else. Anyone else. He'd be damned if he became the kittypet who got Cottonpaw killed for moving a muscle or yelling a single demand. It wasn't that he hated her, in fact she was one of the more pleasant WindClanners, but he found it hard to ignore the fact that the clan continued to make him feel somewhat unwelcome. At times it left him pondering why he should even bother with them. Yet here he was, giving a shit about someone who was in a dire situation that could turn ugly at any second.

What a headache!
​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw has allowed his tunneling daughter to accompany them on their border patrol today. He does sometimes sympathize with his daughters, perpetually stuck in the dark caverns beneath the moors. It’s only natural, he reasons, they’d want a break from all that dirt and solitude. The moorland is alive, bursting with wildflowers and warmth. The sun bakes them, even as the wind ruffles their fur. It’s a good day for a border patrol. A great day, even.

Cottonpaw must think so too, because before he can blink or turn his head, she’s vanished. He blinks blue eyes Sunstride’s direction, then Cloudedsky’s. Behind him are the newest warriors—not his personal picks for patrols, and he half wonders if Badgermoon had put them on a patrol with two lead warriors and Sootstar’s daughter in order to ensure they are pulling their weight.

“We’re too close to the RiverClan border for her to run off and play games,” he growls. Perhaps in her wandering she’d found a tunnel or a badger set and had ducked inside to check it out. He wouldn’t be surprised. Still, with the recent fox attacks and Cottonpaw’s close call with the hawk, he doesn’t want to take any chances. “Her mentor should have taught her not to stray from the patrol.” He snorts. “I want her found before we continue.”

Cloudedsky is quick to spot a flash of soft gray, a smudge against his vision, and she calls for her half-sister not to go too far ahead. Weaselclaw follows, but the sight he’s greeted with stops his paws in their tracks. He feels his blood freeze over, frost filling his veins. There’s a hulking black cat pinning his youngest kit to the Twoleg Bridge, and his single smoldering ember of an eye is gazing back at him with all the fire of vengeance.

Weaselclaw’s breath stills. He can feel Cloudedsky’s heartbeat beside him. Periwinklebreeze, too, digs his claws into the earth and straightens his body. Silverthorn stands by, clearly waiting for direction.

His impulse is to charge the brute holding his daughter and rip his throat out. Weaselclaw wants to taste Smokethroat’s blood again. He wants to make him hurt.

But he cannot risk Cottonpaw’s life.

“Let her go,” he snarls, the fear melting away and flooding his ears with rushing blood and adrenaline. “Let her go now, or I will find every cat you love, and I will take their lives one by one.” His blue eyes narrow with rage. “As many times as it takes. I will hold you down and make you watch Cicadastar die a thousand times if you don’t let her go unharmed.”

Weaselclaw’s fur is spiked with fury, and his lips peel back from his teeth in a fearsome grimace. He does not give the order for the patrol to attack, and he looks wildly around for Sunstride, hoping the more level-headed lead warrior will have some idea of what to do.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[SNAILSTRIDE]

It was supposed to be a normal patrol: head down, job done to acceptable standards, perhaps a bit of banter with Periwinkle once the watchful eyes of Sunstride and Weaselclaw were elsewhere. Then, an apprentice runs forward, and with a slight grumble, the warrior followed after his clanmates, watching as one-by-one, they disappeared over a grassy prairie. No one could've prepared them for the sight at the bottom. They lurched back on instinct, his body positioned sideways as they arched like the very hill they stood upon. Wide eyes were momentary cast to the distant plains behind them... should they...? No, no they needed to be brave. Swallowing a lump in their throat, they skidded down the side of the hill and leaped at the end, catching up with the rest of a patrol with an ease that made their name seem wistfully ironic. Aggression rolled off of their clanmates in waves and he tried to follow suit, but all he could see was the little feline underneath cruel paws. "Hey, not cool dude!" The tabby protested, ears flat against their head as they snaked closer to RiverClan's border. It was a slow prowl forward, a warning that if a hair was harmed on the apprentice's head that they would forsake their neutrality as they had done a dozen times.

This time, it wouldn't be to survive, it would be to fulfill an urge to see a monster crumble. It was strange, had he ever wished death on anyone before? His mentor before Tigerfrost, perhaps, but it'd been a passing thought. Now, Snailstride felt capable of inflicting it, and the thought damn near left his legs trembling from the adrenaline. The world was a cruel place, free of justice, but he saw the chance to make things right and wanted nothing more than to take it. "She's just a kid, she's...." Oh what did it matter? He'd never seen a cat care about the sanctity of youth, not WindClanner, not RiverClanner. His fur bristled uncomfortably as the tension reached its peak, his teeth gritting as the rest of the patrol stood motionless, Weaselclaw's words a reminder in his mind that things could get very ugly, very quickly. They needed to act fast whilst the fish-breath was alone, but with the rest of their patrol stunned into indecisiveness, the tabby lacked the authority to finally pounce.

​

 

[lichenstar]

The way the wind felt through their still-damp fur was chilling, almost as cool as the chill that had run down their spine when Mosspaw had burst into the camp with Smokethroat's message. The lead warrior had found them an opportunity they couldn't refuse and when Cicadastar had listed her name to assist Lichentail's entire body shivered with anticipation. Reeds bent out of the way, fearful that their unwillingness might see them snap. It was as if the forest itself knew what was coming... the earth itself seemed thirsty for it. The mud near the banks clung to her paws, a quiet plea to slow down, to stop, to give up before blood had to be shed; but the first move had already been made. They couldn't abandon the chance given to them.

The Twoleg bridge that marked their border with WindClan came into view far sooner than she had realized (had they run that fast? Had she lost track of the time on the way there?) and with an easy, cursory glance the blue point could already tell what situation they were walking into. Smokethroat stood over the body of something much smaller than him, it wriggled and squirmed, eager to escape... and there, just on the other side, stood the dotted figures of WindClan cats, their pelts bristling.

This was justice, Lichentail thought to herself, WindClan chose, with evil intent, to ransack their home when they were at their weakest.... That mistake was one they'd pay for now and over and over again. RiverClan had been weaker last time... The rabbits-for-brains on the other side didn't seem to understand that yet.

Something akin to hisses and threats and pleas for mercy came across the gorge... Whatever sympathy she could've mustered for anyone else seemed to evaporate. What did WindClan know about mercy?

A discomfort settled under her skin as she finally made it close enough to Smokethroat to jump in and defend him... Back-up had arrived... and if any of them had a reason for vengeance, it was a murderous tie between the lead warrior himself and Clayfur.

"Looks like the bunnies finally left their little warrens," casting a gaze towards the younger girl, pinned to the ground, she waved her tail with a mocking frown, "Not a very fast little bunny it seems."

For all her taunting, it was only meant to rile them up and draw their attention. If she could pull their fury away from the rest... that would be good enough.

"Don't drop any pellets, little bunnies, wouldn't want to have to smell how scared you are!" Stepping forward, Lichentail positioned herself as an insert between the angry WindClanners and Smokethroat behind her with his prize well caught.​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Mosspaw says WindClan, and the tom is already on his feet, teeth bared in a snarl—prepared to attack. His eyes are wide and near-frantic, looking around from where he stands in the center of the camp. Where? Where?!

(The moorland rats must not have gotten enough when they took Clearsight from him; they’ve decided to attack again. Well, it’s bad news for them, because RiverClan isn’t weakened by their own territory’s betrayal anymore. They’re at home in their camp, and nearly at full strength. They’ll destroy any WindClan raid. They’ll destroy anything.)

His body takes off without him, paws moving in a circle as he turns and turns in place—scanning, searching, hoping to spot the attacking force. But once his mind catches up, clarity strikes. There is no invading patrol to defend against; this is RiverClan’s turn. And she’s called specifically for him, hasn’t she? He wonders what Smokethroat has done, why the night-black tom would send for backup. No matter what’s happened, though, the brown and white warrior sets off with the rest of the patrol out of camp.

He tips his head back, looks to the sky as he walks. Even if he can’t see him, he knows his love is up there somewhere, watching. This is for you. He hopes that Clear is smiling down at him, can picture that easy grin and those soft, caring eyes. Like sunshine, his mate, and for a moment he wonders whether the sun actually flares brighter, or if he’s imagining it.

His paws fly across the wetland swiftly, with purpose like he’s never had before. Is this what he’s meant to do, when he’d before dedicated his life to his mate? Is this his purpose now, to hunt down WindClanners who threaten the rest of his clanmates? As he nears the bridge at the edge of the territory, he slows enough to conceal his pawsteps—not the greatest at stealth, he is, but from the shouting beyond the reeds he assumes he doesn’t need to be too careful. The tom breaks through a clump of reeds slowly, cautiously. His head is held high as he follows just behind Lichen, each step closer to the bridge punctuated by a snap of his tail.

At the bridge, a black cat stands, nearly silhouetted against the land on the other side. And pinned like a butterfly beneath Smoke’s paw, a fragile gray form, much smaller than the warrior’s. The apprentice is recognizable almost immediately—this is one of Sootstar’s brood. He can’t recall her name, but her death would certainly hurt the WindClan leader. But that’s Smokethroat’s problem, and so the warrior moves forward to stand beside Lichen, coiling his lanky body in preparation to leap at whatever WindClanner gets close enough.

Except, looking out over the assembled WindClan patrol—he notices something.

There. In the midst of the WindClanners, he spots a black and white form not quite familiar, but familiar enough. The cat is one of Hyacinthbreath’s kits, he realizes. His pelt prickles at the sight, and he grits his teeth as he wonders if Hyacinthbreath is anywhere near him. He wonders if she’s spotted her son yet. He wonders if she will fight at all, will fight for the clan that she’s already drenched in poison. She killed that WindClanner first; Clearsight’s blood may as well be on her paws.

(But try as he might to push it down, it always comes back to the facts: Cicada is at fault. Smokethroat is at fault. Everyone who rallied for Hyacinthbreath’s acceptance into the clan is at fault. The blame for his mate’s death is spread far too thin, and he wonders if Clear was always meant to die. His mother’s mate died before he’d been born; his own mate died before they’d had a chance to start a family. Is it a curse?)

He tells himself that he doesn't hate Hyacinth, but is that really true? If he didn’t hate her, would he feel that thrill run down his spine at the thought of killing her child? If he truly felt indifferent about her, would he be crafting a defense for himself already?

I didn’t know he was your son. How would I have known? I wouldn’t have killed him if I’d known. Lies, all of it, but he won’t face the wrath of the former WindClan warrior or any of her friends in RiverClan—there’s no punishment to be earned for killing a WindClanner. He knows who her son is, of course, has seen Periwinklepaw in passing; he may not have spotted the young cat at any gatherings, but he’s heard talk of the lilac tabby’s family as well.

He knows exactly who Periwinkle is, and he wants them dead. He wants her to know.

He’d never been the sort to want to kill before… before. He’d been firmly against it, even as a last resort. But then his mate had been killed, mercilessly slaughtered in their own shitty half-home, and Clay had to watch him die. And then those damned ThunderClanners decided to steal, to take territory that was and still is RiverClan’s. They’d taken away the place where Clay could always go to feel close to Clearsight, and they hadn’t even felt bad. He had only felt bad about killing Howlingstar for a few moments, and then they’d taken sunningrocks from him. He doesn’t feel bad anymore.

It doesn’t even register as bad in his mind, what Smokethroat has done; taking a child hostage may be something that Clay would have once been against. But she’s of WindClan blood, of Sootstar’s blood. She’s the best shot they have at getting the other clan to back off, at dealing a blow to Sootstar that might actually hurt. He doesn’t know which of her warriors took his mate’s life, and so their queen must pay for their actions.

This is revenge, and Clay will take it gratefully.
​

[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[Mosspool]

Smokethroat's every word and gesture was met with rapt attention by the apprentice that tagged along with him. She was eager for a chance to learn from a different warrior than her mentor, as in her mind he might have new insights for her to gleam. When he signaled for her to hide, she did not waste a moment. Though as he crept toward the border she did spare him a questioning glance.

Then she spotted the Windclanner on the bridge.

Mosspaw did not question her lead warrior's orders. Even as she saw the seething rage just behind his eyes as he stared at the apprentice, she didn't even blink. It was a righteous fury, she thought. Windclan deserved it, for the death and destruction they had brought to her home. Whatever he had in mind, she would help however she could.

Without a word, she nodded ton him once, then sprinted as fast as her little body would carry her toward the camp.

As she burst into camp, she spared no time rushing straight to Cicadastar, only stopping to stand straight at attention before him. She relayed Smokethroats message to the word.

"Smokethroat said to tell you we have an opening to spill some WindClan blood, sir." Mosspaw told him hurriedly, though no less formal for it. "We need to move quickly."

"He also said to make sure Clayfur was on the patrol." She added, taking a moment to glance at the tom as she mentioned it. In her opinion, it was a good choice. A warrior who could take a life from the leader of Thunderclan had to be fearsome in battle. Riverclan would be no match for him.

Then, when her leader tore out of camp with a company of warriors in tow, Mosspaw followed along behind her mentor Aspenhaze. She struggled to keep up with them. Her legs were shorter and her breaths were coming ragged after sprinting the whole time both ways, but she managed not to fall too far behind.

As they all thundered onto the bridge together, she tried to steady her breathing as the Windclanner's came into sight. She didn't want them to be able to see her exhaustion. For the sake of her clan, she needed to look strong.

Smokethroat has the Windclan apprentice captive, and a whole patrol of the moorrunners in a stand off with him. her clanmates exchange tense threats and jabs with them, but she stays silent. Awaiting the battle with breathless anticipation.

Mosspaw was ready, so ready, for her first battle. For so long she had been sheltered from the dangers that faced her clan. Never far enough in her training to actually help. Time and time again she had witnessed the bloody aftermaths of each terrible defeat, helpless to do anything. Every time she had found friends and family wounded or worse. She wouldn't stand for it anymore. Now, she would fight for her clan. The memory of Cicadastar's words at the last meeting still rung in her head and lit a fire in her heart, and she was ready to turn that into action.

Her claws were unsheathed and her muscles tensed. The only thing holding her back was her discipline, as she waited for her mentor or her leader or anyone with authority to tell her to attack.

She wanted them to tell her to attack.​

 

[SUNSTAR]

His mind had been consumed with what might come upon their return. Of relaxing in the oncoming storm, the shifting of winds that he can nearly taste on every breath. He would have enjoyed his nest, or a good meal, perhaps comfort in good company. Instead they shall return bathed in the blood of cowards and traitors, with new scars to bare to StarClan's watching eyes. Thinking of them has led him terribly astray, and as panic rises around him, there is no soul to blame but his own.

The heat of the world comes to a chilling halt with the screeches of Cloudedsky, and Sunstride cannot pretend that his first instinct is not to cross these deadly waters and take his fill of riverblood. To gaze upon those that had caused such harm, to think of those who had killed one of WindClan's strongest warriors and paid for blood with the wrong soul– he can do nothing but bare his teeth. Levelheaded, Weaselclaw thinks. The truth is not so soft. The two of them have served their moons at the others' side and fought in battles with tenacity that these fool-hearted cats could never understand. He wishes nothing more than to see Cottonpaw return safely. But that does not overpower his hatred for them.

Cloudedsky and Snailstride plead. The warrior will offer them no such sight. He comes to the front of the patrol, standing alongside the other lead warrior with hatred hot in his eyes. "Have you finally swallowed enough fish guts to replace your own? And even still you fight us as cowards, just as you are led by them! You are worse than the kittypets, fattened and too lazy to bare your claws in honesty."

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. thirty-eight moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

​

 

[hyacinthbreath]

Hyacinthbreath is summoned with a quick word, paws carrying her quickly through the wetlands as eyes narrow against the wind. Each step, every leap, causes her lungs to expand and shrink with effort. She can see a crowd in the distance, can see Smokethroat pinning down a small grey shape to the ground. The realization comes too late, for her clanmates are already creating a barrier between Smokethroat and Weaselclaw himself, the WindClanners on the other side of the river. She slows as she arrives, panting softly as she looks over at her friend in horror. You would hold a child hostage? She thinks to herself in shock, chewing at the inside of her cheek until she tastes the coppery hint of blood on her tongue. Only a monster holds a child accountable for their parents wrongdoings. She knows this, knows just how her own kits are mistreated in WindClan because of their heritage. And yet, she doesn't make a move to challenge Smokethroat on his decision. Instead, she moves to stand beside Clayfur and make eye contact with him. But he doesn't look at her, no.

He's looking across the border at someone else.

Her eyes follow his own, sea blues narrowing as she looks towards the direction of his glare. Could it be the one who killed Clearsight, he's looking at? Her vision clears then, and the familiar ivory and black form of her son stands at the other side of the border. He's crouched defensively, ready to launch himself across the bridge to rescue the kit that was held hostage. Slowly, ever so slowly, Hyacinthbreath feels the air leave her lungs- panic in her eyes as she realizes just what Clayfur's looking at.

He's staring directly at Periwinklebreeze.

Don't you dare, She thinks viciously towards her clanmate, though her expression never shifts from the stoic downturn of her lips. She's practiced this moment for moons, to prepare for the day this may happen. When she'd have to face her son in battle. The Warrior Code said to put aside all relations to others in the face of loyalty to ones Clan. Hyacinthbreath didn't want to harm her kit, but she couldn't allow him to get hurt by Clayfur either.

"Turn around and go back home, Periwinkle." She finally speaks, a low growl at the bottom of her throat. She takes a step forward, the fur along her spine rising. She won't make the first move, she doesn't want to fight these cats. Her eyes slide over the group, landing on Weaselclaw firmly. She fixes her gaze on the tom firmly. "You don't need to be here. You don't have to be." It's an attempt to intimidate her son into backing down, to make him realize that the battlefield isn't the place for him. He should turn around and go back to the medicine den, stay with Vulturemask where he belongs. Vulture would take care of him, at least. He always had.

She can feel her restraint loosen, the panic rising. Cicadastar wasn't here yet, hadn't commanded the beginning of battle. The tides of war drifted on edge at this point, every cat poised and ready for a fight. Hyacinthbreath lowers her head to Clayfur then, stepping back a few steps to give him space. She knew Periwinkle wouldn't back down, he'd grown too loyal to his Clan. She supposes it was her fault, raising him in such a bloodthirsty clan. Leaving him there with nobody but his sister to support him. He's a grown cat now, but could he fend for himself in battle?

Her eyes slide back over the group of cats then, spotting the scraggly cat she'd met moons ago at the border. Silver. Her eyes widen in shock then, finally remembering the tom- he'd fought for his place to join WindClan as a mere kit moons ago, back when she was still loyal to Sootstar. Her eyes narrow in distaste. He was once a kittypet, if she remembered right. Her tongue dries in her mouth. He was going to be her target, in this battle- she'd chase him back home with his tail between his legs. Though she's hesitant to fight, she waits for the order to launch herself into battle- only then would she fight. Cicadastar would have to pry her resistance out of her paws with a direct order if he wanted her to fight in this war. This wouldn't be the first time the war-torn soldier resented battle.

The tension in the air is thick, and yet Hyacinthbreath remains quiet, waiting for an answer. If Periwinkle denied her, she would have to follow her Clan. He would suffer the consequences. But would she let it happen? Her memory flashes back to cuddling Pollenfur beneath the moon, talks of family on their tongue. I'm afraid I cannot keep the promise I made to them any longer, She'd told her mate. I have shed too much WindClan blood to be forgiven. Her paws spread then, lowering herself to prepare for quick arrival into battle should the word be said- she just needed to hear two words. Two words she couldn't deny, couldn't defeat- she'd become the bloodthirsty thing that they desire.​

RIVERCLAN WARRIOR ✦ WARTORN SOLDIER ✦ 53 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[CICADASTAR]

the reeds have not yet stilled in mosspaw’s wake when they are being split again — bursting apart with the forms and figures of those already gnawing for a fight. the molly had spoken, ever polite, breathless in her race and he is already barking names, barking orders. this was nothing they’d not prepared for, nothing he’d not fed into with each rallying howl against the moorland scum that dares to encroach upon them again. again, again, the mottled felidae know they will not stop. again and again and again would that dirt reek would ravage his nostrils, leave him twisting his face in more than fury. his warriors had already been on their paws when he tosses his head, snaps them with that ice - glare. an opening to spill wind clan blood, she’d said — and he knows it is verbatim, knows the smoky rumble of each syllable as if he’d heard it himself. today, they would taste victory again. today, they would taste the blood that seeps beneath a windclanner’s skin.

he is nearly rabid with it. rage froths at the corners of his mouth where the river had rotted him, kiss of corrosion against night - black lips revealing the houndlike curve teeth within. leggish beast that he is, cicadastar bounds quick, feels soil lodge in slim claws with each harsh stride and — he can nearly smell it, the scent of opportunity lain at his borders, mangled somewhere within the growing stench of anger, of terror. of root and dirt, of blood and tang and the bitter puncture - pop of flesh in arching jaws and. and. and he feels as though he could lose a claw in this undergrowth, could lose more in a pelt he would rip clean from blushing muscle, small and splain like the hare they eat. a testament, he thinks — to all they had ever been, blight - like and rabbit delicate. an easy bone to snap, should you catch them right ; quick and hostile as they were, it was a feat. was it his turn? eyes to starclan, had they come to lead his paw? windclanners dropped on his border, drawn from those hallowed grounds, fringing the river cacophonous with greenleaf rapids like a gift — like a fox dragging freshkill to their starving pups.

they emerge like water snakes, slinking from the over - green undergrowth beyond the bridge and as he strides close, he can see smokethroat has an apprentice — not so much a cloak of blue velvet as her mothers, cropped like her fathers — pinned pitifully beneath a sturdy paw, butterfly beneath curving thorns, stained arch blading hideously familiar blue fur. his brain fires, twists, and he remembers snakeblink moons prior. one of sootstar’s own brood, murmured beyond the thicket weaving of beesong’s den. rain pours in the background, fiery eyes the only warmth amidst that dreary night. and here — lain beneath his lead’s paw, was that very thing. they are all burning with anticipation, lichentail’s voice ringing tauntingly out, enough for an amused grin to dance wolf is hot upon his rubberblack maw. rabbits. like scared little rabbits.

it is a stalemate. riverclanners thread the tall grass riverside, slowly stepping paw upon the dampened planks to creep their way towards the windclanners that do the same. the falls wail at his far flank, bask the bristling patrol in a sheen of river water. he arrives as she begs, as the bicolored molly raises her voice and shrieks as if the stars would dip down themselves and pluck his mate by the scruff — but they do not. they do not, and he instead moves further, ears pinned, malice - dripping, ” a child. ohh, a child, she says! “ it’s said with a simper, an edge of faux - sympathy that he coos back to his patrol, to his mate, to the girl trapped by the throat — raising his tone just so, a crude play of cloudedsky’s hysterics. heat pulses from his claws upward, tendrils of something angry - cold snaking up bony limbs, ” unlike windclan to treat their apprentices as if they were still weaning.. and here i was thinking some still were. “ the near - kits sootstar paraded at gatherings, baby - fat still clinging to fuzz - spotted bodies. kittens were just learning to swim before their apprenticeship, wading aside their litters. this girl, though young, was far from those wide - eyed youths.

the phantom stands tall aside his mate, shadowy against the haze of waterfall and smog — draws close, ever closer. smokethroat was a steady presence and there is no hesitation as he strides slow, almost slinking to keep from snapping the delicate balance of almost - rage brimming from both sides. weaselclaw spats, threatens, but does not move. a d smokethroat would not move, he knows — sure as the dawn rises, the dark warrior keep small limbs from swiping at him while he prods, agitates. weaselclaw would watch as he leans, flashes snarling pearl teeth. " children must learn. " a single claw aims to draw a claw against @cottonpaw ‘a cheek, light — a welling nick, at its very deepest. there is no true aim to injure in the brief flick of his wrist, only to taunt, to poke the beasts at their mercy, ” lest they wander too far. “

the mottled feline retracts, it’s then blue luminaries snap, one by one. one by slow, individual one, salt blue eyes linger until finally, finally — he focuses on the one tossing insults. bold and glaring, kissed by the golden sun above ; not so meek and begging as the two had been prior. he merely listens, swivels an ear at the thrown words when hyacinthbreath speaks. low, to the warrior across from clayfur and pale hues watch, thin at the dark pupils. a single step forward, ” you’d do well to listen to her, knabe. “ spoken solemn, slow, sloped head pulled back like a viper — the aforementioned tabby stands aside them, staring daggers at the former windclanner’s son. he could only assume it to be their clan alone, their mother a defender of her newfound territory in killing juniperfrost despite the tantrum windclan had thrown over their trespassing dog, ” riverclan does not attack in the dark, trespassing into your nests. at least you will all know what it was like for juniperfrost, bleeding out on this bridge, when you meet the same fate. “ his lip curls and there is little warning before he is launching forward. pushing off long hind limbs, the leader would aim to use the windclanner’s size against him, aiming a low blow to send him splaying hard against the rough, splintering planks, ” riverclan, rip them APART! remember what they took from us! remember what we’ve LOST! “ with a quick pivot of his lithe form, cicadastar aiks to latch his teeth onto anywhere he could while @SUNSTRIDE was stunned, should his attack work.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i.
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  
  
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, mated to smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 43 moons, ages every 50 posts.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• "speech"
  

​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I FEEL SCARED AND I'M STARTING TO SINK ❀❀​
periwinklebreeze | 11 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically medium (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff

---

As more and more riverclanners join the battlescarred tom upon the bridge, the inevitable finally happens - periwinkle eyes meet blue. Hyacinth tries to warn him off - send him away, and for a moment a stab of guilt shoots through him, eyes turning to the side in shame. Even now she worries for his safety - and what had he done to return her love? Stood by in silence while his mentor went to try and kill her.

But then the reality of the situation sets in, and he shakes his head forcefully - his growl only rising in pitch and intensity as he bristles. He can not back down from this battle even if he'd wanted to - to do so would be tantamount to suicide, and he is not willing to die at sootstars paws. Not yet, not over this - not when cottonpaw's life is on the line here, not just his own. Disappointment and anger rage within him, and he finds his resolve is only strengthened.

He does not notice that his mother is not alone in staring him down - does not notice clayfurs hostility beneath his laser focus upon smokethroat. And then Cicadastar arrives. He spews some sort of nonsense that he doesn't really understand - but it all sounds like hypicritical fox-dung to his ears. A kit is a kit in peris eyes until they are big and strong enough to fight like an adult - and though his disagrees with sootstars practice he only snorts. Does riverclan not apprentice their kits at three moons too? He's beginning to really understand why so many of his clanmates hate riverclan. If only he were strong enough, he'd do something to shut the riverclan leader up himself - but he's not. He'll leave that to someone else.

The moment the battle springs into action, the moment cicadastar leaps, he is darting forwards with all the speed of a windclan cat - long limbs carrying him forwards towards the limbs that are pinning cottonpaw down. This is what he is good for - a shield, a sacrifice. He can take the blows, he thinks, if it means that she is safe. He's all but ready to push himself between her and smokethroat - even if it means his death.

​

​

​

​

 

[CLAYFUR]

The golden-striped WindClanner’s words don’t resister at all, only a moving mouth and an expression of fury. He knows there must be threats made, insults thrown, but none of it matters. None of it matters. Blood will be spilled across stone once more, but he won’t let the moor-rats win again.

From at his side, Hyacinthbreath tells her son to go home, and Clay wonders whether she knows. Whether she does or not, though—it doesn’t matter. Cicadastar gives the order to attack, and Clay lurches forth, finding his target among the opposing clan’s patrol. The black and white WindClan cat—Periwinkle, Hyacinthbreath’s child and a quickly perceived threat—charges forward. The WindClanner is going for Smokethroat, Clay thinks, and if he waits a few moments longer, they’ll be within range of a pounce.

As soon as the other is within reach, Clay leaps for @Periwinklebreeze. He aims to intercept the other, tries to dig claws into their shoulders, hopes to drag them to the ground. Anything to block their path. Anything to get them on the ground, where he can pin them like he’d once pinned ThunderClan’s mongrel of a leader. Except this cat doesn’t have nine lives—they have one. And just as he’d been prepared to rip all nine away from Howlingstar, he’s prepared to rip just one away from this enemy. If he can only get his claws on them.
​

[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

Weaselclaw’s threats specifically were met with a sly smile, head canted to the side and ear flicked upward as if making sure not to miss a word of the lovingly growled threat to his and his loved ones lives, “As if you wouldn’t already.”This changed nothing, they were sworn now to destroy one another, chase each other down like prey and one day inevitably one of them would falter and be slain and he intended for it to not be him.
His clanmates slowly arrive, his leader before them and snaking at his side. Long winded as he is long furred, eloquent and talkative apparition that he is, it is no surprise that Cicadastar gloats before the battle even begins; confident already in his victory and Smokethroat can not blame him. He too is filled with an unwarranted confidence that has nothing to do with the apprentice he could easily kill if pressed. No one else was given much mind as he scoffs in face of the complaints, if he notices any looks of judgment cast his way he does not respond. Apprentices were not children and any cat who thought as much had no right mentoring them.
“WindClanners only care for honor when it benefits them. Do not preach to me about cowardice when you attack us in the dead of night. Do not call for fairness when you claim what is not yours by force, because your vileness earns you no allies. Don’t cry for your children when you send them to war or are WindClan apprentices pampered little kittens for show only? A legacy befitting your wretched queen I think not.”
Any WindClanner, no matter their age, was a threat. Was a problem. Was something that needed to be removed. Smokethroat’s lips curled back, disgust evident and the huff of a laugh that escaped him a mockery of their protests and pleading. Moor rats only cared about playing fair when it advantaged them and no other time, crying that this was cruel and uncalled for and that the apprentice did not deserve this but he knew the lineage she came from and he knew the wind swept fields were hardly in a place to decree anything else treacherous and wrong. Their land ran red with blood, their upper ranks bear scars of loyalty; brands like two-leg collars yet forever seared upon their flesh for all to see. That they did not see the hypocrisy was either arrogance or ignorance or perhaps even both. Cicadastar is at his side and even in such a situation he feels the warm press of the longer form near him and for a moment wishes to be back home, sleeping peacefully in their den; but the scent of blood snaps him back to attention as a wire claw curves a tiny guideline across the molly’s face and in moments chaos erupts; he watched the other dart for the golden furred warrior across the bridge and his lone orange gaze rises back up to meet Weaselclaw’s cold water blue. He hears Hyacinthbreath tell her son to leave and makes a mental note to rip into her later when he is not so focused on his own prey.

“I won’t kill her, that grants me no satisfaction.” Slaughtering a WindClan apprentice was a small prize, the true victory of the ashen girl whose throat still fluttered with a pulse under paw was the reminder he could leave behind. “I’m thinking a nice chest scar, so she can match us both. Aren’t scars a sign of honor in your clan? A nice clean little mark to show loyalty to your queen?” What difference did it make if it came from him or from Sootstar herself, if she’d bloody her soldiers she’d carve her own daughter too most likely. Smokethroat was heavy enough he could raise a paw in gesture, not need both to pin the tunneler. His claws unsheathed with an almost audible shine, ebony curls glinting from a dark paw; sharpened and cleaned, honed for battle at any moment. Today was a gift he’d not known to come, but prepared for all the same.
“Or maybe…an eye?” Lone orange hue narrowed, fire trickling over burning coals, “You’d be surprised how well a cat can manage without both.” He’d lost nothing from it, he’d learned, he’d adapted, he was not pushed low from the injury as the rat probably hoped and he would not allow himself a weakness he did not permit. His clanmates are arriving, he hears the low growling as they move forward alongside him; Mosspaw would have earned herself a reprieve from her training as a treat for her speed, her dutifulness. A good apprentice. Smokethroat drops his paw down, claws just barely touching the side of a soot-colored face, blue eye wide and tempting his claws to dig in but as he goes to do so the little wretch twists suddenly and he finds purchase only in flesh; feels his blades sink in and rip along the side of her face along the line Cicadastar had drawn before as she squirms away and manages to dart from out under him. Oh well, that would scar as well and now Weaselclaw would see him in ever glance at his daughter's face. Without hesitation the obsidian clad warrior is springing forward as if to pursue the apprentice but he veers suddenly and lunges for the brown tabby instead. Arms outstretched, mouth open with teeth bright white against the dark cavern of his maw; he was going to send them rolling, he was going to bite into the bastard's throat.

---

[Ooc]
BE FREE @cottonpaw ! Attacking @WEASELCLAW
​

 

[SILVERTHORN]

ALL NIGHT GAMER​

---

As each new RiverClanner arrived to make their sinister appearance Silverthorn began to realise that they were growing horribly outnumbered. They held no leverage and it left him feeling a deeper level of frustration. What only added to his irritation was the continuing lack of instruction from the older warriors, but it seemed that RiverClan was about to force their hand when they lunged to attack. Cottonpaw was hurt now too. Unavoidable, but hopefully it wouldn't end in a death.

Unlike his peers he had no intention of being jumped on first by some slimy RiverClanner so he wasted little time with bursting forth with a caterwaul of fury. Logic told him to follow Periwinklebreeze, but his sights had already singled out a target that he wished to take on; the smell of a traitor was in the air after all. It would be shameful to ignore it. The ex-kittypet beelined for Hyacanithbreath! Using his speed, he attempted to barrel into the she-cat with cruel intent and the hope of staggering her. From there he swung a forepaw at her neck with claws extended out. Hard and fast would always be his main battle tactic, and today would be no different as he faced his latest battle.

If he could take down a traitor to Sootstar maybe... just maybe, the clan would see him in a better light.
No more kittypet-related sneers. No more glares. No more being put down because of his heritage.
He wanted to be seen as a true warrior, just as equal to the rest!​

//Attacking @hyacinthbreath
​

 

[lichenstar]

Her paws itched to release her from this waiting game... and Cicadastar made sure that patience would not go unrewarded. He danced at Smokethroat's side like a delicate deer, eyes as hungry and sharp as a fox that had found its prey. The way his claws delicately traced the face of that WindClan brat's face made her want to wriggle in discomfort, certain she'd be jumping out of her skin if she were the one under the grip that restrained her to be nothing more than a tortured mouse. The wicked grin that spread across her leader's face offered her some amount of pride.... He was overjoyed to see this day here, even more entertained to listen to his warriors goad on the flightless birds on the other side.

WindClan were cowards. Smokethroat was right. They were cheats and frauds that demanded more than they gave anyone else and they would pay for it. For all the blood RiverClan had shed, they would make sure WindClan bled twice as much. Looking to Clayfur at her side, the intensity of his burning stare made her all the more certain that this was real justice. His eyes bore holes into a younger tom across the bridge and for a second, she could hear Hyacinthbreath hiss at him as if scolding him for his chosen target.

Her eyes narrowed to slits, offering the other warrior a menacing growl. She had no place trying to protect any WindClanner from the teeth and claws that would soon be buried in their pelt. She would do well to remember that RiverClan was her priority. Anything she had left behind should've stayed there... It is only by the wolfish mottled tom's good graces that Lichentail didn't do more than just growl at her. Cicadastar would allow her this one chance to see her abandoned kin not go astray...

The blue tabby would make sure their new clan-mate wouldn't get in Clayfur's way... There would be hell to pay if the lilac molly thought she could sabotage her clan now.

In an instant the tension was broken as their bi-colored champion leaped in to the fray, crying out to them to rip their enemies asunder.

She didn't even notice the way the bridge felt under her paws as she flew across them, sprinting as quickly as her legs could carry her to make sure those rabbit-hearts wouldn't be able to get close enough to Smokethroat to see this fight ended so quickly. The bi-colored girl who had stood with her tail held high and shouted with such quivering fury had earned her ire- loud and defensive as she was, she probably had a reason to care so much about that little apprentice on the ground.

Stopping just a tails-length from Cloudedsky's reach, she crouched with her tail lashing, "Don't look so sad, cottontail, we're just helping you make some family memories! Just returning the favor, of course."

Anger was a stupid emotion... and easy to entice to come and play. Without waiting for a reply she lunged forward, spreading her jaws apart to try and grab the other by the throat while lifting her forelegs to embrace her with claws unsheathed. Hopefully the grab would hold her in place so her bite would have a chance to sink in.​

- attacking @Cloudedsky -​

 

[hyacinthbreath]

Denial swims over her like a river, her son darting for Smokethroat or Cicadastar or.. Someone. He wants to fight, and Hyacinthbreath feels her shoulders sag as disappointment takes over. Her son, her precious child.. He was choosing to fight in a battle that didn't have to have anything to do with him. He was a bystander to all of this mess. A soft sigh leaves her. "..Very well then." It's then that she sees Clayfur launch himself at her son, and she has to resist the urge to cut him down right then. A mother's fury, a mother's wrath.. It's terrifying. But this was a lesson her son had to learn. So, ripping her gaze from her son, she focuses in on a quickly approaching target instead.

Silverthorn rushes towards her, claws extended and ready to use- Hyacinthbreath grunts as claws nick the surface of silvery-white fur, slicing through the top layer of skin and sending blood strewn across the ground. The older warrior snarls in pain as she pulls back, claws unsheathed as she swings her paw upwards, aiming to slice his ear in warning. Her back arched, teeth bared as she launches herself forward, ducking last minute as her paw sweeps out, aiming to knock the tom off of his paws.

She doesn't miss the way that Lichentail looks at her, but she doesn't do anything to stop him from going after her child. Periwinkle would learn his lesson, and if ended in his death.. She would mourn him privately, as she had Wisteriapaw. Her mind is distracted with 'what if's, it leaves her particularly vulnerable to attack.

@SILVERTHORN ​

RIVERCLAN WARRIOR ✦ WARTORN SOLDIER ✦ 53 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Mosspool]

Mosspaw stood taut and at the ready. Her eyes affixed on the Riverclanner's before her. Every second seemed to stretch by like an eternity. She was brarely even listening to the words in the air. Then, out of the corner of her eye she saw Clayfur raise a paw, claws extended. Her muscles tensed, ready for the battle to break out the moment he did. Instead though, the apprentice in his clutches wriggled from his grasp as he tried to strike at her, and she turned to watch with wide eyes as the Riverclanner fled.

Cicadastar gave the order to attack in the same moment. Flinging himself into the fray with a vicious cry, and the battle broke out around him. As her clanmates crashed into the Riverclan warriors, to everyone but her the apprentice under their paws was forgotten in an instant.

Mosspaw wouldn't let the captive escape.

Without a second thought, she gave chase. Pushing through her exhaustion, she relied on the adrenaline pumping through her to give her the speed she needed to catch up. Winding through the legs of clanmates and enemies alike, she found a path to dart through the chaos. As soon as she was within reach, Mosspaw attempted to bite down on Cottonpaw's tail and pull her backwards, attempting to stop her from fleeing the fray.

//attacking @cottonpaw​