camp ANATOMY OF A TIDAL WAVE \ bad news

[iciclefang]

Iciclefang and Ashpaw had left their makeshift camp in broad daylight, full of energy, paws light. They did not have to announce their intentions to anyone -- a warrior was taking an apprentice on a walk, that was all. A warrior was enough to protect an apprentice.

She returns alone, in the dark of night. Her steps are clumsy. Every movement causes a ripple of agony that begins in her chest and ends somewhere in her midsection. Her eyes are blind, her confident gait inhibited by eyes that won't stop leaking. No sobs have escaped her -- no words at all, not since her final prayer to StarClan -- but her face is wet, and starlight betrays her grief.

Iciclefang does not make it far into camp before defeat takes over. She sinks down to her belly, wincing at the effort. I deserve this pain. What kind of a warrior am I, if I couldn't protect the one thing I needed to protect? Her early graduation had been a farce. She is no prodigy. She's a failure. She has lost Ashpaw.

At the first sign of movement from one of the dens, Iciclefang will raise her head and stare through them with vacant blue eyes. "Ashpaw is gone." Her voice is eerily hushed, and despite the anguish on her face, her tone is calm as undisturbed water. "I lost her."

For a heartbeat, the cat in front of her has a flame-colored pelt, and their eyes are seaglass-green, and they're saying, "I love you, I'm sorry. It's okay, it's okay, you'll be okay --"

When they become themselves again, Iciclefang will shudder and grasp at nothing with her white-tipped forepaws.

// takes place after this thread. ashpaw was taken by a twoleg after getting caught in a fox trap. iciclefang tried to fight the twoleg and got kicked in the ribs. her ribs are not broken but they are badly bruised.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) she trusts iciclefang for several reasons, but perhaps the biggest is ashpaw's adoration of the multihued femme. their apprentice has been clearly infatuated with her friend since well before the calico was announced a warrior. their young love is amusing and endearing, and it tugs at willowroot's heart. so, they're fond of icy, grown to trust the newest warrior of riverclan as a fierce and loyal companion to their psuedo daughter. as long as their apprentice is happy, willow will be happy. they don't bat an eye when the two slip out of camp together, pelts brushing in that awkward way they do between two 'friends.' they purr as the two disappear from view, happy to let ashpaw have a break day, happy the apprentice is out with someone she loves.

when iciclefang returns at dusk, alone and rattled, a deep spike of fear strikes willowroot's heart. they've been sitting outside the warriors' den, grooming after a late evening patrol, and at first the calico's quiet steps don't cause any alarm. it is only when they look up, verdant eyes scanning for ashpaw, that they feel this fear. icicle's gaze is hollow, frosty blue eyes haunted in the way she stares about as if trying to see if the world is real. "iciclefang!" willowroot begins, pushing to their paws and hastily trotting over. "what happened? where is ash-" and then she has her answer. a throat hoarse from grief speaks the words every parent dreads.

ashpaw is gone.

ashpaw, the little flicker of riverclan's flame, is lost, vanished from safe territory. iciclefang shutters, claws baring down on the earth, and willowroot feels an empty ringing in her ears. "wh- what?" she whispers, tail hung low, fur puffing in what she will realize later is a defensive stance. she wants to reach out, to let the young warrior bury herself in thick, pitch fur, but the calico will not want the lead as her comfort. wordlessly, willowroot's head swivels left and right, seeking someone, anyone, to anchor her from falling off of the world. "she's gone? i don't understand, i don't... how? we can find her, we can get her back." vocals desperate, the smoke tumbles deeper into her head. the feline in front of her is trembling and willowroot realizes she is trembling too.

"my baby..." she whispers, and seaglass eyes gloss with tears. ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[SMOKESTAR]

Ashpaw is gone. I lost her...
Admittedly he feels more for his former apprentice than he does the ginger she-cat that had apparently vanished in that moment. The tortie's face is one he had not seen since the WindClan skirmish; defeated and unsure. Gone did not mean death however. If she were dead the grief would be heavier, the words more cutting, piercing. But Iciclefang has a quiet acceptance to her dismay that tells him Ashpaw is alive. For now. His single orange gaze darts over to Willowroot approaching and he can not help but narrow his eye in furrowed unease to the other's panic. He'd seen her like this before, when they had found Ashpaw missing in what felt like a lifetime ago. The dark tom leans in against their side in silent comfort, but this was something he expected might happen as much as he wished otherwise. He'd seen the wires in the wood and Ashpaw was a magnet for trouble, always had been.

"...enough." He says sharply after a moment, though his expression is one of pity, panicking like this would get them nowhere. "If there was a way to go after her Iciclefang wouldn't be here reporting her loss." He glances expectantly at the tortie though there is a softness in his gaze because he knew they were close. "Explain...and then we will decide how to handle this further."
Did they even send patrols, was it possible to track her down? Should they ensure no one leaves the temporary camp along until this mess is sorted.

The little fireball was gone and he does feel a sense of despair about it, to lose one of their own was horrible. But she wasn't dead, apparently-there was a chance she could come back, but then he thinks to the coddling, the way she slept in the nursery until she was forced out of it, how she had no combat training to speak of, could barely stand on her own four paws and instantly the hope he feels is crushed. There is little to let him think Ashpaw might make it back. As cruel as it sounds she was given no chance at all. There was a reason he was so harsh, so strict, why he pushed like he did. These were not their children, these were future warriors of RiverClan. All he could hope for is that Ashpaw became a pampered kittypet where she would, at the very least, be safe. As demeaning as it was, he could see no other hope that the ginger molly would ever return to them.
"...someone get Beesong as well."
​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) smokethroat appears out of the darkness, carrying with him an authority that calms willowroot's nerves. he presses into her and she accepts the comfort with a soft noise, having fallen quiet in her moment of shock. at her friend's sharp voice, she will take a deep breath and center herself, verdant eyes bloodshot but focused. yes, yes, her fellow is quite right, as always. there is no use in despair until all the information is out on the ground. she straightens, swallowing the grief that threatens to spill, unchecked, from her throat. the one-eyed lead warrior takes charge of the situation with ease, although pity and worry still glimmer in his orange gaze. the smoke finds an odd sense of comfort in his sturdiness.

raising her head to focus on iciclefang, it is only now that she realizes the young warrior is injured. blinking away the fog, willowroot will nod. "aye, i'm sorry, i..." she mumbles, before stepping away to fetch beesong. slender paws tap quickly across the camp towards the medic's temporary den, and the pitch hued femme enters without grace. "beesong, iciclefang is hurt. please, come." her voice is level but on the verge of breaking, so she leaves it as it is.

what kind of warrior is she, anyway? too caught up in her own grief and loss to notice the injury of her clan's newest protector? pathetic, is what she is. even the way she'd allowed ashpaw to be coddled, the way she had avoided battle training until she couldn't put it off. all these things, and more, make it unlikely the spark of an apprentice should ever return. it is with a clenched jaw that the lead warrior reappears from the medicine den, hoping her friend is following.

@BEESONG ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[Cindershade]

Settled along the cusp of the make shift camp, Cindershade had settled there when the familiar sight of Iciclefang brushes past the bramble. She walks less than gracefully, as if in pain and the molly raises a brow in light concern. Didn't Iciclefang leave with Ashpaw earlier? Where was she? Her starfire gaze flits to the entrance, waiting for the flaming apprentice to return. After a few steady heartbeats and no movement was heard or seen from the entrance, she glides over and her helm slightly lowers in line with her shoulders as those words pass over her ears. Ashpaw is gone. I lost her.
Cindershade halts mid step, with one paw suspended in the air and her eyes widen in shock. Gone? What does she mean by gone? Taken? Disappeared? Dead? Willowroot's cry nearly grates her ears, causing them to pull back from her shrill. Her heart quickens and eyes grow into something unreadable; sympathy, worry, and anger all flushed into one. She says nothing and it is Smokethroat's sharp quip that brings her gaze to settle upon him and then back to Willowroot. As she slips away for Beesong's retrieval, Cindershade would brush her thick tail along the willowy molly's flank as she leaves in a silent comfort before turning her gaze back onto them. She moves to settle in front of the tortoiseshell before her, silently studying her as she awaits for an explanation. Ashpaw—little Ashpaw, gone. She was so full of love and harmony, something that the rosetted molly found so agitating buy in a way—she welcomed it. It was nice. The apprentice who wasn't much of a fighter to hear how she did fight so valiantly beside Cicadastar in Sunningrocks raid. How could this happen?
She meets the wintry gaze of the young warrior, can see the emptiness within their depths. A look that Cindershade knew too well. Iciclefang reminded her a lot of her younger self. The anguish on her face felt like looking into a reflection upon crystalline waters, a memory she didn't want to feel again. She still says nothing amidst it all, waiting patiently for Iciclefang to gather herself and explain what had happened. Cindershade could only hope that they find her soon.

​

[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[Sablemist]

In every situation you give me peace

Sablepaw sits at a distance, triangular ears that once faced forward now slump back as they're greeted with the grim news. Ashpaw was missing? But how could that be so? Some of her earliest memories included the ginger apprentice, watching her meander about the nursery closely behind Willowroot. What could have possibly happened to her? Perwinkle eyes shoot from Cindershade, to Smokethroat, and finally Iciclefang as her paws knead the ground anxiously. As it stands there seems to be nothing they can do, but she still awaits to hear the story that started all of this. ​

Don't gotta be afraid because you're in the lead​

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[BEESONG]

the stillness of night is broken. a commotion stirs beesong from the robotic motions of sorting the herbs he'd gathered and dried, and willowroot meets him at the entrance of his den as he stumbles to his paws— iciclefang is hurt. the healer hisses to himself, biting down on the inside of his cheek. could riverclan go one quarter-moon without misfortune? he shakes his head. "coming." whirling back around to his storage, suddenly uncaring of the mess he'll make of the herbs he'd just been meticulously categorizing, he scoops up what he might need based on the little information willowroot gives him; marigold, cobwebs, dock, dandelion.

the cinnamon tabby hurries from the makeshift den, eye darting through the crowd until they can distinguish iciclefang's tortoiseshell fur from the others. they weave through the throng of cats to come to iciclefang's side— but something causes them to falter, jaws clenching around the delicate herbs they typically treat with utmost care. there is no blood that stains the young warrior's fur, no lacerations carved into her flesh. the only hint that something is terribly wrong, is the tears that glimmer in the soft light of the moon. iciclefang is not like her brothers; she does not put her emotions on display for everyone to see. she is calm, stoic, immovable. to see those glacial eyes become glassy and hollow... a wave of cold foreboding washes over them.

"what happened." it is more of a demand than a question. but the answer does not come from iciclefang first; it is a nearby murmur that sheds light on the situation. i can't believe ashpaw's gone. a few words uttered by an npc onlooker bring the world crashing down on him. the herbs flutter to the ground, scattering at his paws. "ashpaw's... gone?" he stares at iciclefang as if she's a ghost walking the earth. and suddenly, iciclefang's tears make sense.

ashpaw, the sweet little apprentice who'd been nothing but kind and supportive. the kitten that he'd comforted many nightmare-plagued nights. the girl he'd watched slowly grow into herself.

gone.

riverclan has already lost her, once before, to the hunters who'd injured her and thrown her to the relentless river. beesong, against better judgment, wants to hope that they would find her again. that she would turn up somewhere, that she would come back to them alive. but could riverclan be so fortunate a second time? would he only be setting himself up for more grief if he dared to hope?​

 

[iciclefang]

Pawsteps. Her Clanmates approach, drawn from their dens by the young warrior's defeat. She struggles to meet Willowroot's frantic gaze, afraid of the judgment she'll find there. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "There is no bringing her back."

The steel teeth on Ashpaw's limb, the pelt she'd been swallowed into. The Twoleg's vicious vertical paw, the kick that had sent her tumbling into the reeds, helpless. It washes over her anew as Smokethroat approaches. Her former mentor's no-nonsense tone snaps Willowroot out of her panic. His single orange eye meets Iciclefang's, and she holds his gaze despite the sorrow weighing her damaged bones to the earth.

"It was a Twoleg," she says. A white-tipped forepaw ginger touches the area above her ribs; she flinches at the movement. "We'd just gone for a walk, and her paw was bitten by a trap. It was shiny, with the strongest jaws and teeth I've ever seen. She couldn't move at all."

Cindershade's eyes gleam, watchful, from the darkness. Her apprentice, Sablepaw, approaches with wide, fretful eyes. Beesong, at last, his question flat and full of dismay.

Iciclefang addresses them all in a defeated monotone. "I tried to open the jaws. I knew she was in pain, but she was brave. Even when the Twoleg came for her." She clenches her teeth. "I bit it's paw when it reached for her. It was angry and kicked me... I don't know if something's broken, but I couldn't move, much less reach her before the Twoleg stole her away."

The admission is almost more than she can bear. Beesong's herbs scatter, leaves falling like a tree stripped of its glory.

Iciclefang looks back at Smokethroat. "I couldn't protect her," she says, her voice softer than it had ever been, save for Ashpaw, save for the girl she's failed. "She's gone."

She lapses into silence. The confession has drained what's left of her. She awaits judgment.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

”Well, I’m sure she will be fine.”

Snakeblink’s voice surprises himself — the levity, the suddenness of it. He didn’t feel himself open his mouth. The words ring strangely to his ears, as if coming from somebody else. So far he’d only been listening, watching from the sideline by the scant light of the moon; he doesn’t think any of them noticed him here, actually. He’d been on his way to the freshkill pile. He’d forgotten to eat and hadn’t noticed until the rumbling of his empty belly kept him from sleeping. It happens often: he’s easily distracted. Easier nowadays, with the stress.

Distracted enough to have barely noted Iciclefang and Ashpaw’s departure — just a warrior taking her apprentice friend on a walk, right? Distracted enough to have missed their absence long past the duration of a walk — just friends getting swept up in each other’s company, right? His mind had filled the gaps on its own: the two girls have this thing between them, the kittish infatuation that so often makes one distracted and unaware of the time. Surely, it would be fine. Ashpaw had lived through so much already, surely she was due for a break.

Surely.

Here he is now, looking at the dim and miserable silhouette of Iciclepaw and— not even kicking himself for it. The self-recrimination that usually comes so naturally to him fails, now, to breach the wide gap of numbness yawning open in his chest. He barely blinked at Willowroot’s outburst, and couldn't muster up any thankfulness for Smokethroat’s efficiency or Beesong’s swift response. His mind is for once blessedly, terrifyingly silent.

Strange, he thinks, and then, rolling the words in his mind the way he would a shard of bone in his mouth to lick leftover blood and meat from it, She’s gone.

It fails to elicit a stronger reaction: whatever part of him usually deals with grief has, it seems, been worn smooth from overuse. All that bubbles up from the depths of his brain is… fatigue. Un-surprise. An intense, wordless I told you so aimed at himself. Like finally taking the blow he’s been bracing himself for.

Shrugging, he nods his head at Iciclefang and fails to come up with any response to her report. You did your best? She did, but it wasn’t enough: the reassurance would ring entirely empty. Thank you? For what? We’ll find her? Doubtful: twolegs are wily creatures, hard to track down, and once they have a cat they rarely relinquish them. ”We could send a patrol,” he muses, more to himself than the other cats, and without much hope. No, Ashpaw is likely gone; as good as dead.

This is just what happens to the people you love. It seems he has learned that particular lesson, finally.

Again, for a lack of another response, he shrugs. ”Nothing we can do about it now, either way.”

And, turning on his heels with a near-silent goodnight, he picks a direction — probably not that of the warriors’ den, nor of the freshkill pile — and starts gingerly making his way through the dark.
​

——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 40 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

​

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[FERNGILL]

He heard his sister's voice, first- and though it was as level as ever, he could recognise the stillness in the air. Before he saw it, his mind was already wandering- was it death, again? It was that... same sort of sorrowful quiet. Thick, tangible silence. He waded through it like the depths of the river, eyes settling upon the silhouette of his lonesome kin, stood without the other cat he swore she had left with. Ashpaw is gone.

The words froze him for a moment, as if ice had coated his form. The tightening of his jaw was the sole sensation he felt for a few long moments, stunned. Warriors flocked to her, and- and he stood, still, pathetically. Gone? The explanation did little to quell his confusion. Twolegs, again- he had not forgotten those bald, flat faces, beady eyes flooded with malice. They had trapped her- taken her. Taken his friend.

Only when his patchwork sister finished her story did Fernpaw find the strength to move again, to surge forward, weaving through the larger bodies and meeting eyes with his littermate. "It's- it's not your fault." Iciclefang had always been a force to be reckoned with- she'd managed to get close enough to the Twolegs for them to hurt her. Even if she made a mistake- even if she wasn't strong enough this one time, who could be? Twolegs were a force that had felled their leader. There was nothing even she could have done.

Maybe they were hollow words coming from the mouth of someone who would have managed even less. No more fled from his mouth; Fernpaw simply fixed her with a sorrowful expression, his throat dry, his mind processing.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[LILYBLOOM.]

The sound of worried voices draws Lilybloom over, curiosity getting the better over. Her single eye catches sight of her sister and her brow creases with worry when she sees the state she's in. "What happened?" Lilyboom asks, echoing the voices of her clanmates. The tortoiseshell can't help the shock from flooding her features as her sister explains what happened whilst she was gone. Ashpaw was gone? Taken by twolegs? The situation was different but Lilybloom couldn't help but think of SkyClan's own predicament with missing clanmates.

After Iciclefang's explanation, she lapses into silence. It is Snakeblink who speaks first giving a blunt, honest response before stalking away. Lilybloom watches him go before stepping forward and pressing against her comfortingly, nodding to Fernpaw's words. "You did all that you could in that moment," Lilybloom assured her. "It's not your fault that twolegs are such cruel monsters."​

 

[☆ Brightpaw ☆]

There's enough commotion along the outskirts of camp to distract Brightkit from her former venture of catching every single mayfly that made the mistake of settling somewhere within the ferocious kit's reach. The sun is warm on her cinnamon hued pelt and she yawns, shuddering briefly from the deepness of it. Were it not for all the worried voices rising over the chirruping frogs and birdsong, she might've curled up for a mid-morning nap before continuing her crusade against the mayflies. Finding a path beneath the many cats who had already gathered is of small difficulty for the wily and brazen young she-kit. She would not be left out of whatever was going on, even though she quickly realized that she didn't really understand what was being said. She noticed that Willowroot, the pretty cat who claimed to be her mom's friend, seemed quite upset. Even more than the others. Words like "trap" and "two-legs" and "gone" were tossed around, enough that Brightkit suspected something very bad had happened. Frowning, she pushed through the crowd to get to Willowroot. "It will be okay," the kit murmurs kindly, brushing up against the grieving mother in an affectionate gesture. "I will help look for Ashpaw!" Her declaration is accompanied by a broad, self-assured smile. Nobody could stop her from helping Willow look for Ashpaw. Well, nobody except her dad, maybe. And anyone else quick enough to catch her.​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"They are correct, not a one of us could stand to a two-leg and their cruel ways." Beesong is finally here and he flicks an eye with a thoughtful hum in silence to the cinnamon tom's examination, newly made a warrior and already out of commission for the time being most likely. A true blow to the ego, he'd be livid himself. "...you tried." Foolish as it was to even do so given the circumstances, but admirable all the same, "...do as Beesong orders you and rest."
Fernpaw is there to support his sister as well and the dark tom remembers for a moment the gangly-limbed and scruffy kitten with the large eyes that once tripped over his own feet; they were all quite big now weren't they.
He leans forward, his gesture is brief but his nose pushes just behin the tortie's ear for a moment before he is turning away to address Snakeblink, "...I doubt we will be able to do much, but it won't hurt to check the area anyways. Get a patrol together of warriors only and head out, be mindful of traps...try and set them off safely if you come across them."

That lone orange eye darts downward to Brightkit winding through the legs of the taller cats, for a moment he is irritated at the declaration but catches himself. It had been a long time since they had kits in the clan, getting used to their rambunctious foolishness was a trial in itself, but he'd seen plenty of kits grow within the camp by now and while he once was snappish and impatient with them long ago he had since developed an awkward formality instead. He'd never be quite the sort of comforting parent type as several of his fellows, but it was close enough for a tom as gruff and sharp-edged as he was.
"Brightkit, gather your own patrol. You will be assigned camp guard duty. No kits or apprentices are to wander off outside of camp for the time being. Inform me if they do."
If there was anyone at all who could spot a misbehaving kit, it was another kit and the bosy and nosy little things made excellent alarm systems in a pinch.
"...I'm going to find Cicadastar..." Smokethroat turned, nodding curtly and with his head low headed off to find the wiry-limbed leader and let him know what tragedy had befallen them now.
​

 

[Mosspool]

Ashpaw is gone.

Mosspaw felt sick. The pit of dread Iciclefang's words opened up in her stomach tore at her from the inside, and she blinked against the sensation. The thought that she would never see Ashpaw, her bright, supportive older sister again...

She swallowed.

Desperately, she glanced to the older warriors around her. hoping they would have the answers, but each of them only buried her hope even deeper. Mosspaw had never seen her mother so frantic and terrified before, and her own terror only grew in turn. Snakeblink, in stark contrast, was coldly certain that there is nothing any of them can do, and she shrunk in the face of his decree. All the more damning is that Iciclefang shared his certainty, the only one of them that had been there to see it.

Mosspaw opened her mouth to say something. Anything really. She didn't want to let the hopelessness sit in the air. Ashpaw couldn't just be gone.

Her words do not come. Instead, she attempted to press herself close to her mother, trying to find comfort for the both of them. Though she kept her eyes on the conversing warriors around her, she wasn't listening to them anymore.​

 

[GILLSIGHT]

Commotion awakens Gillsight, causes white paws to tread into the inky darkness of tragic news - words that feel like leaf-bare's frost has been cast over him.

Ashpaw is gone.

"W-What...?" Gillsight lets out, golden gaze blinking away sleep. This must be a dream, right? A nightmare? Surely... Surely Ashpaw wasn't gone too? But as Iciclefang speaks, as she details what happens, the warrior knows he is awake. Gillsight knows he's lost another - his first real friend along the river had been taken away by a twoleg, and Iciclefang bears the injuries to prove it. "A-Ashpaw's gone...?"

I couldn't protect her, the younger warrior admits, and Gillsight's own gaze settles upon his paws. This isn't her fault, he knows this, and yet his mind searches for ways this could have gone differently. Ways for Ashpaw to have returned alongside Iciclefang, for neither of them to have been harmed by the destructive ways of a twoleg.

Gillsight is aware of the dangers a twoleg can cause, is aware of what harm they can do, but he also knows that Ashpaw is a fighter; a survivor. She's been through her own struggles before, has had her light diminished only to find means of reignition again. His friend is a fighter. Gillsight will hold onto that knowledge tightly, weave it into what waning expectations the other warriors have of her return in hopes of something stronger.

"Sh-She'll be okay," he says quietly, amidst his own grief-stricken processing. "A-Ashpaw's strong. Sh-She'll... She'll b-be okay."

Gillsight looks to the stars. A silent prayer is shared to StarClan - to Clearsight - for them to watch over his friend now and keep her safe, wherever the twolegs have taken her.
​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) the gathering of worried warriors grows larger as willowroot leads beesong back towards the injured she-cat. murmurs spread like ripples across a still pond, shock, grief, and horror combining into whispers as her clanmates discover the reality of the situation. iciclefang chokes out an explanation, eyes glittering with painful emotion, and willowroot softens, feels the muscles in her belly tighten. she straightens herself, looking the young calico in the eye. "there was nothing you could do. twolegs are beyond what any of us can fight off. you did all you could, all that is expected, and for that, i thank you." the gratitude feels empty, even as she tries to express that it is not. iciclefang will always blame herself for this. the lead warrior dips her head, closes her eyes in a slow blink as she swallows back a sob. she'll be strong, she decides. the time of breaking is past.

snakebite meanders over, and there is an odd look in the gaze of her fellow. willowroot almost calls out to him as he speaks his mind and slinks off again. but then she remembers brilliant flame bouncing about earthen and snow tones. ashpaw had made it her business befriending even the quietest members of her clan. of course the lead warrior is reacting this way. so, willow lets him go to his grief. multiple other voices chime in, offering comfort and solutions. fur brushes, soft, against her own, and willowroot looks down to find the lithe shape of her daughter, desperation in her breath. she presses close to mosspaw, soaking up comfort from the touch, the familiar scent.

everyone here has lost something dear to them today. "n-nothing can be done tonight," she will finally say. "the twoleg's scent will not have faded by dawn. we will send a patrol then. iciclefang, go with beesong, they will see to your injury. everyone else please try to get some rest, if you can. comfort yourselves, and each other." she will nod to those gathered, and then sweep her tail around her daughter.​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclefang dully meets Fernpaw's gaze. "It's- It's not your fault." How she wished she could believe that. She doesn't have the strength to insist it had been her fault, but the expression her face -- that she then turns on Lilybloom -- verbalizes all she'd failed to do.

One of the kits toddles out of the nursery, their mother presumably still resting. The tortoiseshell only watches silently as Brightkit presses against Willowroot's leg. "I will help look for Ashpaw!" She looks away. Brightkit's innocence, astoundingly, seems to be shared by some of these other warriors.

Patrols. She'd have fiercely advocated for them herself, had she not been in such shambles. Smokethroat's nose touches her ear, briefly, and she fights back a wave of helplessness as she tells all in attendance, "Look at me. They did this with a single movement. Just one... kick." She struggles to her paws. Her expression is one of intense pain. "There isn't anything a cat can do against a Twoleg. Brave or not." Bitterness colors her voice, but she does not want her mentor -- her Clanmates, her kin -- to suffer a fate like Ashpaw's, or worse.

Willowroot's order is gentle, unlike Smokethroat's, but they tell her the same thing. Go to Beesong. Rest. Iciclefang closes her eyes against another jolt of pain. She won't be able to sleep, but what use is she to anyone out here?

What use is she to anyone at all?

She looks at Beesong, her expression carefully blank, before limping stiff-legged to his den.

// out!​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[CICADASTAR]

there is a franticness in the air. electric and buzzing, bringing the fur along his spine to a low bristle. the man is just venturing through the arched beech entrance when he spots them — gathering, swarming around a tortoiseshell who.. in her many moons of life, he has never quite seen so despondent. someone speaks of fetching him, but as he approaches, he lifts his tail, pallid eyes never leaving iciclepaw’s face. he searches her, ramrod straight and rigid with something he can’t quite place. fear doesn’t seem quite right, he thinks ; the fur along his spine bristles despite the tension drawing lines in his features. those around her are simpering, hushed coos of comfort he will leave to the kin taking her side. instead, he stands a tail - length away. he listens.

ashpaw. i lost her.

it was as if the ground was swept from beneath him, curved claws slipping out to catch himself in the soil underfoot, but he does not move. he stands, frozen to his spot as willowroot tries to gather themself. beesong’s herbs scatter about, their cinnamon pelt skirting into view around his paws. sablepaw, so much younger than ashpaw, lingers behind cindershade and — each of them are on edge, each milling about the new warrior with expressions painted in horror, in stress and dismay. it was not uncommon to see these days, as much as cicadastar would rather choke on his words than say aloud. the barest quirk upward of worried brows and bitten tongues, of doubt burning in the eyes of those he is meant to trust. for the longest beat, the feline does not speak. he does not move to press against willowroot’s panicked side, nor to smokethroat’s sturdy own. the obsidian tom addresses his former apprentice and it’s all that is needed — it’s all they can do.

iciclefang explains and fruitlessness claws at him from the inside. shiny jaws. twolegs. as the season warms into newleaf, they were rampant, plague - like. the knot where scar tissue tangles horrifically into the shape of their long sticks, it’s sharp tooth enough to cut through muscle and blood quicker than any claw he’d ever seen. life had seeped from his gaping wounds and into the soil underneath — a newly - apprenticed, white - splotched face weaves in and out of his memory, his hazy final breaths. by the stars, he could still feel it. the rapidfire pulse of blood in his head, the insides of his ears throbbing with pressure pooling lower, lower, until his features are too cold. death was a chill he could hardly describe, a harsh coldness where his flesh splayed open and hot viscera drooled to the grass. she’d witnessed the light die from his eyes for the very first time, trauma held from only days into her apprenticeship — but he had come back. he’d the opportunity to return, life bestown by the stars above.

ashpaw did not have that same gift. the stars would turn their sorrowful eyes upon the young molly and welcome her into the ranks, never to join iciclefang’s ascent into warriorhood. only sunrises about he had fought by her side, had watched her force a thunderclanner into the rapids despite the tender way she’d been trained. the tom does not blink, breathes only when his chest begins to burn its desperation into pain. his ears slick to his skull and he says nothing, listens to them lie — lie, and lie. ashpaw is strong, willowroot says, and the leader snaps his head towards her, but it is iciclefang that speaks first.. and he agrees. she was bitten, in pain. the chances of the ginger tabby being alive were slim, and as the tortie stalks off, he lets a beat of silence rest. smokethroat has already sent for a patrol and while the mottled leader gives him a staring look in the moments of quiet, it does not linger.

he clears his throat.

” i will not advise against a search patrol. “ he begins, and it is slow. narrow - eyed, clench - jawed. words scorch his throat before they’re so much as uttered, ” but if one of their traps have already bitten her, it’s unlikely you’ll find anything pleasant, supposing the twoleg is anywhere near. she could be.. “ he doesn’t say it. he doesn’t want to say it, teeth clicking closed with more force than necessary. dead. long dead. the molly was dead, with pumpkinpaw, peachpaw, rainwhisker, with clearsight. his throat tightens, and he mistakes it for anger, rage flaring within and cicadastar swallows hard — turns away sharply, tail lashing, ” report to me when you return. “ there is nothing else to do. nothing to do. his claws extend, but he strides away, head low. helpless, helpless.

˗ˏˋ 𓆩  OOC ✟ VISUAL 𓆪 ´ˎ˗

• i. out, he’s. whew
  
• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ 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"
  

​

 

[BEESONG]

beesong listens, still as a marbled statue. muscles wound tight to subdue the shaking of his limbs. a twoleg. the strange creatures that beesong had once loved like a family had ensnared little ashpaw in one of their abhorrent traps and taken her away from riverclan. they'd injured iciclefang with a kick when she'd tried to save her friend. not all twolegs are cruel, he reminds himself, selfishly, the same thing he'd told himself when the hunters had invaded the riverside last greenleaf. it has to be true, because his twoleg hadn't been cruel.

but maybe his twoleg had been an anomaly. like a windclanner who longs for peace.

there's talk of search patrols. beesong, for once, shares a similar opinion to cicadastar's; search patrols rarely return with good news. especially when the scent of twoleg clogs the air. the creatures are adversaries no patrol could fight, no matter their battle prowess or strength. when one is taken by a twoleg... there's little that any of them could do. i hope they take care of her, the healer thinks, like their twoleg had taken care of them when they'd been found injured. but their hope is half-hearted, and their jaw clenches at cicadastar's words. she could be... dead, beesong's mind supplies. what a horrible thought, to imagine ashpaw sprawled in a pool of her own blood, eyes that once shone so brightly now dull and staring at nothing, in a ditch far from the home she loved.

would riverclan hold yet another vigil this moon?

beesong draws a sharp breath into aching lungs. there is nothing he could do for ashpaw. but iciclefang needs his attention; willowroot's words remind him. iciclefang departs towards his den before he could herd her away, and beesong hums to himself. a pitiful attempt at self-soothing. he doesn't say anything to those grieving— anything he says would not bring ashpaw back— the cinnamon tabby silently scoops up the scattered herbs and follows after iciclefang, sticking close by her side to try and catch her if she stumbles.

starclan, if ashpaw truly is dead... help her find her way to you.

[ out :,) ]​

 

[DogTeeth]

Ashpaw’s news sends a jolt of pain through his heart, but he’s startled by how he feels so numb to it now. As if death and the loss of a clanmate was as easy as taking a blow to the chest, survivable- easy. What a sickening thing to feel, how cold it must be. Dogteeth looks down to appear mournful, but he bites his lip and after a twitch of his lower jaw he draws blood but there is no sting.

He tilts his chin up to the sky now, as the clan whispers around him, as a patrol is suggested, as everyone adjusts to the horror of the truth. " starclan… forsaken…" he mutters to himself, realizing the darkness Riverclan is left with. As if the sun and moon had both turned their back. Anger surfaces, he peers to the sky and realizes. If you want to survive this world, you needed to be as cold as the stones at the bottom of the river. As ready as the course of the rapids, and sturdy like the stalks of the youngest reeds.

He’s glad he didn’t have a family, as much as he craved one. Because losing any of them, seemed inevitable somedays. Turning on his heel with a audible swallow, he dissappears into the wet grasses.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• — Dogteeth PINTEREST
  — twenty-eight moons
  — 2023 VOICE & ACCENT
  — warrior of Riverclan
  — gay | crushing on n/a
  — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with blue eyes.
  — very gentle voice and laugh
  — deals a nasty bite
  BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  
• 
  
  

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