camp and if i can return the favor ㄨ disaster

Iciclefang wounds her lean tortoiseshell body away from the kits curled in her nest, her shoulders tightening at the panic heightening the voices outside the nursery. Lichentail stands, a cluster of Clanmates wreathing around them—the deputy’s eyes are wide with blue panic. “Smokestar,” the gray warrior chokes on her words as if they are bones lodged in her throat. “The gorge.”

Her breath stutters. “No,” she protests, to no one, to everyone who might be near her still. Some of the kits have roused—little Shellkit, Smokestar’s kin, and Robinheart is at the mouth of the nursery with tears slipping down her mottled cheeks. Hazecloud departs, goes to her mate on cloudlike paws, presses storm-gray fur to Lichentail’s side. The warriors, in their confusion, vow to search the waters.

Iciclefang longs to join them. She wants to be on the riverbanks, paws churning through rapids, searching for the cat who’d mentored her and taught her all she knows. An image comes to her of one glaring amber eye, of teeth flashing through WindClan fur, of battering claws and a battle-hardened body slipping through dark waters. Smokethroat—Smokestar—is gone?

She can only watch in stunted silence as the patrols arrange and begin to depart. “No,” she murmurs again, and this time the word stretches, tries to break before it can conclude. He has to be clinging to life somewhere—he has to be washed ashore, lungs full of the river, resurrected time and time again by StarClan. They will find him.


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  • Iciclekit . Iciclepaw . Iciclefang, she/her w/ feminine terms.
    — “speech”, thoughts, attack
    — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 17th.
    — mentored by Smokestar ; mentoring Cicadapaw ; previously mentored n/a
    — riverclan lead warrior & queen. mudpelt x icesparkle, gen 2.
    — former mate to Stormywing ; current mate to no one.
    — penned by Marquette.

    sh tortoiseshell and white she-cat with ice-blue eyes. confident, capable, proud, dry, conceited, condescending, distrustful.


 
Commotion outside rouses the apprentice from her nest. Back fur jutting upward in surprise and yellow gaze wide in the moonlight. Immediately, she spots a familiar coat in the masses and her throat constricts as words hit the molly. Smokestar... The gorge. Her mother's desperate gaze is enough to make her legs shake. An eerily familiar expression had fallen across her muzzle when Bumblepaw was still Bumblekit. Swinging in the jaws of a clanmate as she watched Cicadastar's writhing body drown in a mass of rogues.

Now it seemed his successor was beneath the mercy of literal waves and the imagery makes her fall onto dark haunches. Starclan, no! She pleaded silently her heart thrumming with fear. It seemed cat's left and right stood up to the task but the paw' could only feel the immense sense of doom hanging above them all. The gorge was massive and dangerous. Hardly any cat could survive such a disaster and Bumblepaw had little clue to just how many lives remained. Surely, he's fine? That's what extra lives are for, right?

The reassurance does little to sate the anxieties closing in on the youth. Minnowpaw's voice seemed to cut through her fog and absently Bumblepaw nods. Voice thick with concern she drawls out a hushed mew to any that could hear. "I-I'll stay behind as well." She feels a coward for not offering to be more helpful but the moggy knew in this state she'd be more of a detriment. For now she would cling to the thread of hope that their leader would come back. Like he always did.
 
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These things always happened too quickly. Like the river- riling up, thrashing against the shore in a rainstorm.

Since early apprenticeship, Ferngill had learned the dangers of the gorge. There was no other chice but to know its peril, unless you wanted to find out yourself. No one but a leader was infallible to its drop; or at least, that was how it was supposed to be. The dusk-dropping panic in Lichentail's eyes told him this was not a simple bursting disaster- water through pebbles, slipping past but ultimately able to be gathered up again. His sister, by the yawning maw of the nursery, mumbled no...

Ferngill looked toward her for a few long, agonising moments. This was... this had to turn out alright. The gorge was dangerous, a slipping crevice, a wound in the earth that wrought nothing but pain, but- but if anyone could survive it, it was Smokestar, right? He was strong- the warmth of fire, the impenetrability of ice. Ferngill felt his breath begin to shorten, but he forced himself to let the breeze cross through him, let a verdant eye flutter closed for a few moments. It would be alright, it had to be.

He held Iciclefang's gaze, a silent promise. "We'll find him," he asserted, darting over to the gathering group of search volunteers. "We have to." I won't rest until I see him again.
penned by pin
 
MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

A commotion pulls Snakeblink out of uneasy sleep; his side is cold, devoid of the blue pelt which has lately been pressed against him through the night. Voices rise in distress, a sharp keen in the night, and he shakes off the cobwebs of rest hurriedly as he crawls out of the warrior’s den, mind going bright and clear even as his eyes strain to make out his surroundings.

The camp boils with activity and confusion, whispers and snaps of anxious voices. Snakeblink catches bits and pieces: Smokestar and he can’t be, a few cats repeating the same assurance: we’ll find him. Understanding dawns on him in the same creeping rise as dread.

Perhaps this is the dark devastation which the eclipse heralded. Smokestar, gone? The one who faced every threat to Riverclan head-on and outlived all their enemies, their protector and friend— He shudders despite the mild air of the night. It certainly feels as if the sun has gone out over Riverclan.

He’s mostly blind in the darkness, but his paws carry him unerringly forward through the kicked-hive activity of the clan. He only stops when his front paw bumps against a smaller body, and he recognizes the young voice calling for their deputy. He tilts his head down to bring his face level with that of his apprentice, nosing at her side in a silent cue that he’s here. Hardly necessary for cats whose eyes take better to the dark, but he’s always found that signal comforting, and in the chaos he has no better idea.

”Stay close,” he warns before lifting his head to assess the situation. He can hear Petalnose organizing a search party already, but he can barely make out her shape from the shadows cast by the faint light of the moon; the echoes about the gorge he’s caught make it clear he cannot hope to join this searching party, not unless he would like to add himself to the list of missing cats they would be looking for (a fate Cindershade made sure to save him from, an eternity ago).

The limitations of his eyesight have long frustrated him, but never as much as they do now, when his skin crawls with the need to do something. Hazecloud guards Lichentail closely, all the comfort they could need or want right now— their company will not be welcome there either, not with the queen in such a state over her mate’s distress.

Thankfully, the treacherous maw of the gorge is not the only part of the territory that may hold a trail. ”We will come too,” he tells Tigersplash and Claythorn, volunteering Turtlepaw along without a thought.

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

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    Snakeblink • he / him. 51 ☾, riverclan warrior
    — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
    — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo


 
𓆝 . ° ✦ Lichentail's expression said what her words did not, and for a moment all Mosspool could do was stare at the deputies face. The news was too senseless to be believed. Smokestar was too great a cat to be taken from the clan by mere tragedy, he deserved better than that. It felt like her breath had been stolen from her lungs. Two leaders, two of her idols; surely the stars would not take them both with so little time between them? Cicadastar had been leader of Riverclan for her whole life until she was a warrior, and when Smokestar had become leader she had naturally assumed he would lead for the rest of it.

It felt like just yesterday that he named her lead warrior.

Even in her state of shock, she came when Petalnose called for aid to look for their leader. It was almost completely by reflex, she was barely aware of her own paws carrying her over. With her mind racing against the panic rising inside her, all she could think to do was what she was good at; follow orders. She barely reacted to the rising alarm of her clanmates, her expression remained unnervingly blank and her eyes a little unfocused. Even Willowroot's panic failed to shake her from her own.

It was Ferngill's voice that brought her back to herself. His assertion that they would find Smokestar was so firm, so certain that she felt reassured just from hearing it. As her gaze swept the camp she realized, suddenly, that the clan needed that certainty. Iciclefang, Foxtail, and even her own mother were all in various stages of desperation or disbelief. It was seeing her mother that shook her most of all; she had never seen Willowroot look so broken. The rest of the clan was not faring much better either. This news had shaken even the clans most stalwart defenders.

She was reminded, suddenly, of when Ferngill had rallied Riverclan to ferry all the other clans across the river during the journey. This was what made him a great warrior, he had more heart than any of the rest of them. Taking a breath, she steeled herself with icy determination; her poor substitute for his heart. "We will." Mosspool agreed with a confidence she did not feel, stepping up beside Ferngill.

Mosspool found her mother's eyes, and tried to give her a reassuring nod to reinforce the words. It felt too small a gesture for the circumstances, but she couldn't stand doing nothing. It scared her to see one of the best warriors she had ever known look so small.
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    MOSSPOOL — SHE/HER ・ 17 MOONS ・ WARRIOR of RIVERCLAN ・ PENNED BY @empyrean !
    Longhair black tabby with deep green eyes. Mosspaw is a very tall molly, standing a head above most cats her age. She has a slim, willowy physique with subtle musculature built up from a lifetime of constant training that lends itself well to swimming and running. Long, thick brown fur falls over her form with tabby patterning across it. Her eyes are a vibrant green, and shine with a bright intelligence and confidence.
 
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