sensitive topics and the heavens fall | injured kit

[NAMELESS CHILD]

જ➶ tw for cat vehicular death

"...lp! ....elp! ....help! Help please!" A tiny and insignificant voice calls out from within the grass lands. Tittering on strained vocals that have been yelling for some time. She exhausted but keeps going. Her fur, her skin on her back hurts so much. Charred black, blood having drapped over her body and crusted over but she keeps going. Because she trusts her mother. She said if she needed help then all she had to do was scream, cry out for it and surely someone will come to aid them. They are still back there and trapped, needing her and counting on her to come back with help. But why hasn't anyone showed up yet. "Please, please, anyone! Help!" Tired and worn the kit pushes through the muck and grim, shrugging off briars that tug at her black stained fur. It hurts so much but her family needs her to be strong. To do this and bring back help. Panting jaws try to snap at the grass, pulling at weeds that get in her way. The heat making her back smolder like burning embers.

Her eyes haze over and for a moment she stops, her goal forgotten as the notion of rest comes creeping into her mind. Slowly she sits, paws pressing against the heated earth before she quickly shakes her head. No, have to find help. She has to find someone to take back and help them. "I need someone please!" The young kit smells of burned fur, tangled with the scent of twolegs and blood. But all they care about is seeking salvation and bringing back those that can make this nightmare end.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Sharpshadow's ears are well - tuned to danger by now... though — didn't that just sound pretentious? Even if he feels like he's barreling toward danger all the time now. Even if he's often trailing after faint scents and cries just barely carried over the wind, it feels like too much to say he's good at what he does. Feels like too much to describe what he does as if it were something worthwhile, as if he isn't always too damn late to stop whatever it was that's actually happened. Maybe it's less annoying of her to just say that she hears it, and then she appears. It's similar to everything else that she finds: scraps. A scrap of someone, still growing into herself, but clearly a kit. Strained vocals cry for help, and Sharpshadow supposes that he is here, regardless of whether he deserved such a title or not.

He doesn't know what to say at first, because he feels like a disappointment. He wouldn't command the very forest around him, forcing reeds and grass from his view until he can gaze clearly down at that whom he must save. He was no heroic figure, no showstopping face of salvation to pierce through the night. He's just... him. A sorry looking ShadowClanner sinking through the grass, and when he finds her at last, he can't really feel... triumphant, or anything like that. His eyes are tired when he finds her. He wouldn't blame the kit if she'd rather wait for someone less... him to come along.

What's he even supposed to say? He wouldn't rattle off I'm here, as if he's who she'd been waiting for... But that's all he is really. here. " Um... hi, " he tries not to wince, because then it might clue the kit into how wince - worthy he is. " I'm... " A glance around. " We can help, " he tells her. " What... " Why're you here? Where're your parents? " What do you need? " He hopes his blink spells... understanding, or something adjacent...​

 

[Snowlark.]

[ ༻❄༺ ] A common thing that crosses the marshland was, there was almost always someone crying for help. Always someone who was injured, or dying, or even going missing. Something he had grown to adapt to, and to look for or here these calls. So when the cry of a cat begging for help made Snowlark lift his head, noting that Sharpshadow had also heard as well and was quickly on the case, the younger warrior on his heels before yellow eyes landed on the form of the kitten that stood before them, asking for someone.

Sharpshadow was quick to offer help, and the young warrior stayed silent for a brief moment, taking in the scene before him while wrinkling his nose slightly. "What happened" he stated almost as a mumbled. Where was this kits parents? And why was the tiny creature on their own? Many thoughts and questions ran through his mind but in the meantime he shuffled himself closer to the lead warrior, awaiting further instructions from her or to hear and explanation from the kit that stood before them. So much for an easy patrol with out running into complications.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── Where I am going is right where I am ──┐‎

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  "speak""Thoughts"
  
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  Snowlark ❄ He/Him, warrior of Shadowclan, 12 moons.
  ⭃ Lithe long hair blue lynx sepia with high white, and yellow eyes. Stubby tail, permanent resting bitch face
  ⭃ Hailfreckle x Mudsplash
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted (ask first) / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by Ryn ↛ @/Rynnaro on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[MIREPURR]

The marshes are something to behold; for its beauty, rather than lack thereof, though most everyone aside from ShadowClan themselves would quickly disagree. There is one thing though... the dreary landscape finds it easy to swallow up wails and sobs and anything inbetween. It is almost like the pines are alive, beckoning strays underneath the shadows their crown casts upon the earth, only to be transported into another world entirely. Life is cruel — it is a fact these warriors have learned by now, but that does not mean they can't change fate every now and again.

Evidently, that is what happens today. Sharpshadow arrives first, then Snowlark, and finally Mirepurr, and those three pairs of eyes stare down at the sorry heap with just as much bewilderment as cruel realization. If their ears hadn't been keen enough to pick up the cracked cries of this kitten... it does not take life experience to be able to guess further events.

"What can we help with, little one?" Mirepurr asks, despite truth unveiling itself before the trio right away. Stench of Twoleg and iron-tang of blood are not a pleasant mix... but at least it leaves little up to the imagination. They share confused looks with Sharpshadow and Snowlark, before deciding to approach the kitten as softly as their shaky nerves allow them. "Are your parents around?" Of course they are not. No proper, alive parent would allow their offspring's pelt to be stained, their life dangling from a fragile thread.
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