− ♱ ABOUT : red. like fire, like the blood that would surely run through his claws ; thick, tacky and visceral. today, he was going to kill one of his own. it was the only thought running through his mind — find. maim. murder. he would hold the midnight tom down and rip every inch of fur and flesh from his body before he would see another youth injured at his paws. he would shatter the bone within them, splinter ivory through delicate skin and pull the claws from his toes with feral, red - stained canines only to spit them back into a bloodied pulp of former facial features. he would leave the bones to the buzzards and vulture that circle overhead, pecking lazily at corpses buzzing with botfly and maggot — as that will be all that’s left of him once the river phantom was done. he arises from the medicine den like a ghost, illuminated in the low murky grey fog. a storm was brewing ; dark and tempestuous, the heavens rolling and rioting, muttering amongst themselves in rolling waves of growling thunder overhead.

a crack of lightning, alighting the sky in brilliant shades of alabaster and pale gold, “ apprentices, to your den! “ it’s loud — booming, and he feels no need to scale the river - jutting rock overhead to make his call. an unspoken and don’t let me catch you out of it. goes unsaid, spoken in the wild toss of his skull in the direction, icy eyes alight with a rage seen only during their initial descent to the river territories. it’s then that he whips around and there he is —


he rounds him, too - long limbs and low skull, orbital ears arrived back against a sleek skull. rage. embers alight with the river wind, rioting up the notches of his spine and kindling heavy in his chest, heart pumping, pushing, forcing blood through his body. limbs tremble, though not with trepidation. the man stops in front of his warrior and for a moment, there is nothing. the sky rolls, birds silent, river creatures not daring utter a word in the torrential weather, let alone the tension that strings high over the slowly accumulating crowd around them. he hopes that his words for apprentices to take cover is heard — prays his leads enforce it, keep the victims themselves away from the scene he is about to make. there is nothing telling upon his features ; the ice - chill of anger fixing his expression lax.

a beat passes. two.

the man hits him. unprompted, a sudden movement of forelimb — a heavy, brute force of unsheathed paw against cheek, claws hooking and ripping into the skin just above his temple and ripping like rabbit skin through to the ends of his jaw. red spatters his lower forelimb and the spray of it seems to nearly reach his ivory cheeks. the spiderfall’s limbs give out with the force of it and the mottled tom is on top of him nearly faster than the eye can see, a sharp - knuckled paw pressing at the base of his skull, the other to his spine, keeping him still. slowly, cicadastar leans down, his maw just aside spiderfall’s ear. his tail lashes, low and dangerous, “ a little birdie told me you’ve been giving my apprentices some trouble. “ his voice has never sounded like this before — cold. a low, honeyed growl breaking with a cruel, bitter tang, spurred tongue dripping venom. his eyes flit up, looking towards warriors who now bear features mixing with fear, confusion, outrage. pupils narrow to slits against the light and his teeth grit, jaw clenching, “ go on, rat. tell them what you’ve done. tell them and i may reconsider ripping your pelt from your bones and using the pitiful remains to line my nest. “ a quick shove, brutal against the notch of the warriors spine where skull meets socket punctuating his threat — his promise. he would have his tongue for insolence should he speak a word elsewise.

  • interacting with @SPIDERFALL.
    please wait for spider to post, and do not intervene until given permission!

  • CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
    − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
    − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers

  • none.



Spiderfall had been just sitting there, scanning the clearing and looking for the signs of Ashpaw as well as Frostpaw, the hints of a storm upon them when he was approached by Cicadastar, and there was a look of anger in the man's eyes that made Spiderfall's eyes narrow in confusion. Spiderfall had been good about keeping everything a secret, about what he did with the apprentices and his threats so...why was their leader looking at him in such a light?

It wasn't until the slap and the words that he realized, someone had told Cicadastar about what he did and...ohh, deep dark laughter slipped from the tom's maw. Oh, he will get whichever decided to slip out the truth. Did Ashpaw finally snap? Or, was it his own sister who had told on him, either way, he was angry about this and he guess there was no way he could slip out of this now. Cold amber eyes looked at the other with a look of hatred in his gaze while a snarl slipped onto his maw showing off the whites of his teeth while his claws dug into the ground below him. "I guess there's no point to keep it down any longer eh? Yeah, I have been causing some problems and ohh how I easily did them underneath your watchful gaze" venom spewing from his words as he let a chuckle come from his maw.

"You came here, claiming this place as yours, and oh, I was so mad, I wanted to see you destroyed. By doing so I tried to target those who were most vulnerable, first, it had been the adder attack, I led the little apprentice to their doom, and watch it happen before quickly alerting the others to it. Ashpaw was not supposed to make it out of that trap, I coaxed her in there, she was supposed to die that day, so after words, I forced her to keep her mouth shut, Frostpaw, my little shadow, I dragged her in most of my things yet she got in the way" he snarled, admitting to all of what he had done.

"Whoever has told you such things, well, I would love to have a good talking to, after all, I planned on doing more before you ever caught on" he said spitting in a venomous tone as he struggled underneath the weight of the leader, still he kept a dark grin on his maw, clearly feeling no guilt for all the pain he has caused, all the destruction he has caused. He did not realize how much danger he was in.

Cicadastar calls—roars—for the apprentices to retreat into their den, and two sets of green eyes shoot to the leader, then to one another. Clayfur and Crappiepaw are similarly wide-eyed, and both stand from where they’ve been lounging and talking about everything that crosses their minds. The skinny tortoiseshell bids him farewell with a look of confusion, and Clay only shrugs. Hazel eyes follow the apprentice until they disappear into the den, and then the warrior turns to inquire about Cicadastar’s order.

But the mottled tom doesn’t give an explanation. Clay watches the leader turn upon Spiderfall, and the sudden silence sends a shiver down his spine. He doesn’t understand Cicadastar’s anger, but it’s palpable. For what seems like hours but in reality is mere heartbeats, the leader stares down the warrior; Clay holds his breath, shoulders tensed and ready to…

Ready to what? Rush to his leader’s side, stand against someone Cicada so clearly feels hatred for? No, he would only get in the way. But he’s seen his clanmate bleed—seen him die. He won’t watch it again.

He exhales at the same time the slap hits, a hitch in his breath at the sight of sudden red. For all that the silence and stillness stretched on, time seems to fast forward to catch up. In a blink, the leader has Spiderfall pinned beneath him, and his voice is pure rage.

Spider, who Clay saw as no more than a friendly-enough clanmate, if a bit secretive. He’s never looked deeper into the dark-furred tom’s intentions—but oh, he should have, he realizes. Too late, it’s much too late now. And who would believe Clayfur, even if he had figured it out before? His fur bristles as Spiderfall outlines it all, words in red underlined, all out there for everyone to understand. And Ashpaw, Frostpaw, they’ve been keeping this pond scum’s secrets under threat? His chest hurts at the thought; two of RiverClan’s brightest, bravest apprentices, manipulated by a worthless piece of…

Clay has never been a particularly violent man. His tall and lean frame is not built for bludgeoning, his claws not created for slashing, his fangs not meant for sinking into others’ throats. But now, he wishes he were. He wants to taste blood, straight from the throat of his miserable fucking cretin who has hurt—hurt his clanmates, the kids who must have felt so alone for the past moons trapped beneath the pressure of black paws.

It takes everything in him to stay still, not to rush in and do something. The bastard doesn’t even seem guilty, remorseful. He seems—and something in Clay’s gut roils, wants to reject his last meal at the observation—proud of himself.

If Clayfur hopes to StarClan for the first time in his life, asking them to ensure that the rest of Spider’s life is spent in suffering, then that’s between him and the stars.
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There was a storm coming, darkening clouds rolling in and movements like the crack of lightning; swift and brutal. But it did not bring rain, only rage. A torrential downpour of fury, fire and brimstone lit up his eyes as his head snapped upward in surprise. The leader’s furious voice rings out like a war cry, he actually flinches as it sounds because it is not a tone he has heard the generally quiet and kind tom speak in. It commands respect, authority, and cries out for blood. It’s different. He finds he is not entirely bothered by it. It takes him a moment to pull himself from his shock to stand, leaving where he had been momentarily grooming in preparation for another hunt; pushing himself to the apprentice den and urging them all back and inside with muttered curses and demands. He warns them their ceremonies will be delayed if the order is not followed, he’s afraid of what is about to happen next; doesn’t want them there.

There is a whirl of black and white, flecked with gray and suddenly red; his eyes widen as their leader lashes out with deadly precision and cuts the other black cat down to pin under paw like a piece of cornered prey. Smokethroat’s tail lashes where he stands in front of the apprentice den, uncertainty blending with alarm. There is a brief and horrifying moment where he thinks Cicadastar has snapped, that the man has hit his limit and has gone mad; that he would need to be put down. His conversation with Hyacinthbreath rises into his mind like a dark cloud, how he was insistent he’d kill a leader who harmed a clanmate when faced with the same moral dilemma she had, but it is the tortie tom’s comment demanding answers that sweeps this horrid fear from his head.
What he has done…giving apprentices trouble…
There was much to be said of his feelings regarding Spiderfall. Kin or not, he had never been close nor particularly liked the tom. There was something about him that made him wary; the way Frostpaw raised her shoulders when he spoke to her, the way he was always there at the wrong place and the wrong time, the manner in which he spoke to others as if they were beneath him… What had he done…?
Smokethroat settles his expression on one of silent neutrality, the quick burst of violence has his adrenaline pumping already as if a battle was to unfold but he had his suspicions it would be less of a fight and more a massacre; what judgment was about to befall this time, what crimes had he committed to warrant the dapple king’s outrage.

“...what is the meaning of this? What does he MEAN, Spiderfall?!” His claws are already unsheathed, braced in front of the dens like an obsidian monolith but willing to break away the moment he is given a reason.

And then it is presented to him.

There is ice water in his veins for only a moment before the heat boils it up, it dissipates, like smoke swilling up in his chest and he wants nothing more than to lunge forward and sink his teeth into the bastard's throat to spill him out across the ground; it is only the realization he will be leaving the den's behind him unblocked that keeps him in place. He wants to speak, but knows that if he opens his mouth it will only be fire and heaving clouds of black smoke that will surface; there is a tension through his entire body that has him shaking with barely constrained fury.
Kill him. Send him to where the light of the heavens could not dare even reach for all the vines that gnarled its path.

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Redpath had poked her head out of the warriors den to see what was happening. Cicadastar looked really mad. It was kinda scary. Maybe she will just....go back inside.

But then she heard Spiderfall speak, and her blood began to boil. She left the den entirely and stayed at a distance, her eyes locked on Spiderfall like a shark locked on its prey. Her teeth bared and claws extended. A usually kind face twisted into one of wrath, of hatred. The intent to kill.

She could not believe she had heard. She would watch the youngest among them much closer from now on.

"You vile snake." She hissed.

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tw for eye trauma in the fifth paragraph!!

− ♱ ABOUT : he isn’t surprised when the creature begins to laugh. it’s a confirmation, and while he’d not met frostpaw’s claims with disbelief ( certainly not after ashpaw’s reaction to it ), it sends another song through his chest. he let this happen. this happened beneath his own nose, in plain sight. he manipulated frostpaw, his own sister — raccoonpaw, ashpaw. and for what? to get back at him? his skin crawls and he feels like turning angry claws on himself, to peel the sensation away until he can feel no longer. for a moment, there is a still. the skies are quiet, as is he. that chill — dread, ice - cold and bitter, draining through veins that pulse too fast, adrenaline blurring his vision. as spiderfall speaks, he can feel his heart pulsing, rushing loud in orbital ears until it’s all he can hear. that, and spiderfall’s treacherous words. heart - piercing, aching, he wants it to stop and get he forced himself to listen — forces the clan to know, to understand why his claws begin to sink low into where they are pressed to the black tom’s throat.

ashpaw was not supposed to make it out of that trap, i coaxed her in there, she was supposed to die that day, so after words, i forced her to keep her mouth shut.

a paw begins to lift, tail lashing wildly, and for a second — he seems as if he is about to step away. but there are no words for him to say. there is nothing else for him to do.

said paw comes down. a burst of lighting breaks across the sky, glinting off claws fully unsheathed seconds before they make contact with a cheek already bleeding. like that, it’s as if a dam has broken ; eyes glassy, features morphed into a snarl, lips pulled high over long fangs. he’s beating him, yelling, snarling through a tight jaw. said paw raises and falls and claws slide through flesh again. and again, “ you — will — not — “ it happens quicker than even he can comprehend. hit after agonizing hit — a familiar tack beginning to pool under toughened pawpads, warm and wet and dripping hot from sharp paws. his jaw is locked, teeth clenched enough to form a migraine at the stem of his skull, so hard he will later realize was a miracle they did not give under the force, “ get — away — “ each pause another brutal swipe, than other rip of fur and flesh and viscera building beneath stained claws “ with THIS! “ with that, the sound begins to twist into something damp after a moment, solid. it’s only when something finally gives does his mind clear. something comes loose, in the mess of the ebony tom cat’s features he feels it, catching on the hooked ends of his claws and resisting for only a split second before coming out with the backward jerk of his paw. he flicks it without thinking, almost paying no mind to the chunk of something that dislodged from underpaw.


pallid eyes flit down, rearing for another hit when — a bursting nausea hits him. he’s aware of the way his limbs are trembling under him, forces them to still, does not look at the gore he’s torn from spiderfall’s face. what remains of an eye now fills gaping socket in shades of crimson, the scent of iron wafting high into his nostrils. the urge to gag is horrific. the sight is horrific. his mind screams — kill. kill him. end it, this must be misery. he does not. he merely side - steps, chest heaving. blank stares, maw lifting upward. a roll of thunder overhead. a single paw remains pressed to a drenched throat, but he stares forward. quiet. the man will not be made a murderer again — not when a crowd was gathering, watching with too - wide eyes. cicadastar . . he’d taken out the toms eye. covered in blood - spatter and bits of sticky black fur, the darkness fades from the edges of his vision. pulsing red gives way to his warriors and —


the man moves close, leaning his head down agonizingly slow to the dripping red rim of spiderfall’s ear. his voice is a strange lilt ; a searing, violent growl, too hollow to belong to cicadastar. his tongue is even more foreign than usual, dripping cold from his barbed tongue, “ you have only a minute before i send my warriors to hunt you down like the pitiful, bleeding rat you are. “ he's panting ; whether from rage or exertion, even he does not know. the mottled tom takes a deep breath, lets the remnants of rage burn like the blazing skies above, “ pray to starclan you make it to the river before we do.

with that, he steps off the bleeding, maimed feline. should he be able to crawl away, he would let him — but a brief glance towards his lead warriors is a command : if you catch him, end him. pallid ice linger on smokethroats ember - fire gaze, heat drops of still drying blood seeping down the matted fur of his forearms. he and spiderfall. killers, both of them — only one from necessity. he feels as if he would collapse soon, and with that, wild eyes search blindly about the crowd for familiar dark stripes and electric green eyes. he wants to rest. he wants to close his eyes and ignore the bleeding, broken face of the man he’s let live amongst his ranks for so long. the man who’s hurt so many of riverclans youth, even killed — he thinks of the kits, hidden away within the nursery. the vile creature would never see them again, he would make sure of it. the man tosses his head skyward, wild with mania.

with starclan by my side — from this day forward, i cast spiderfall into exile!run.

  • CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
    − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
    − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers

  • none.

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A S H P A W.

Ashpaw watches from the medicine den, obediently within its walls, river-green eyes wide and glassy as she stares through the entrance after Cicadastar. She doesn't process the reason for the order; that she isn't meant to see this.

But someone ushers her back, a clanmate's familiar scent and a tail curling around her, nudging her deeper into the den where she won't witness the violence that unfolds. The kitten stumbles passively along, easily guided to an empty nest. There she'll curl, shell-shocked and trembling. Frostpaw... Raccoonpaw. He'd hurt them too. Frostpaw had been keeping the secret too.

She still hears some of what's happening, muffled through the den's walls. Still catches the tail ends of snarled threats.

"You won't get away with this" rings out through the camp, and the little girl buries her face in her paws and cries.

She remembers Cicada curled around her the night ThunderClan brought her home, those vicious claws keeping the world out. "I've got you." She remembers Willowroot, too, just days ago, rushing to her side to wrap her up in black smoke fur, keeping her safe.

Spiderfall had wanted her to believe she wasn't worth protecting. That her clanmates wouldn't—or couldn't. That she had no choice but to keep his secrets and pray the next blow wouldn't be so bad. She'd thought the world would end when Frostpaw told.

He was wrong, she realizes now, shaking with quiet sobs—river phantom's rage ripping floodgates open, and she feels like a person for the first time in weeks. Like a child to be loved more than a thing to be hurt.

He was wrong.

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

( ) there's something chilling about the silence before a storm. the wind ceases to blow, leaves halt in their rustling, as if the whole world is holding its breath, waiting the oncoming chaos. it goes like this- an icy sky, heavy air and the metallic scent of lightning on the air as cicadastar strides across camp, head held high, glacier eyes brittle and mean. he barks an order, sounding so frightful that the camp bustles to do what he’s said. willowroot stands with a soldier-like abruptness, eyes wide and fur on her neck bristling as she glances around camp. from the medicine den peer three heads, all young, all cats willow would sacrifice anything to protect. a low growl rumbles from her throat as she bounds towards the hollowed area, keeping her eyes fixed upon the scene.

as smokethroat moves, so does she, feathery tail lashing as she sets herself, stonelike, in front of the den, a solid, immovable force. there is no explanation for the great fuss, but the lead warrior has trust in her leader. If he barks such orders, they will be obeyed. cicadastar lashes out with quick precision and red blooms on dark fur, sending crimson droplets splashing to the ground. the rain has come- not water but blood, soaking the ground. thunder has sounded, which means lightning is not far behind.

there’s another crack from the river god and he knocks down his opponent, and it is only now that willowroot is realizing… understanding. behind them huddle frostpaw, raccoonpaw and… ashpaw. apiderfall is on the ground, hissing in laughter, a maniacal gleam in his eye, confessing to each crime with glee, and willowroot is holding themself back from exploding. they lock eyes with smokethroat across the clearing and an unspoken understanding passes between them. there is no way this man is leaving unharmed. the fury of the gods of the river will make sure of that.

as spiderfall spits out his torture of ashpaw with a frightening calmness, the smoke goddess can feel rage slowly churning in them, starting small, a pebble dropped into a puddle, and then growing with each word into a lake, an ocean, a great wave that is hell bent on tearing the man apart. “you sick fucking monster,” they snarl, teeth bared and muscles trembling with the effort to hold back. “you are not fit for even the rats, you scum of the fucking earth.” they brace themself to fling forward at any given word, sea strewn eyes wild with a frenzy few have seen.

cicadastar completes his ritual of fury, thorn sharp claws ripping into the offender’s eye, digging and scratching until something gives way. the dark femme can not bring themself to feel nausiated, so clear is their satisfaction, so obvious is their disgust for the creature writhing beneath. their king bends, whispers with a menace never before seen, and then steps away, trembling, splattered with gore, his face painted furious. willowroot shifts so the entrance to the medicine den is blocked, realizing the weight of what has happened, feeling their churning anger channel into protectiveness. “turn away, loves. turn away. move to the back of the den and stay there.” voice firm, they look threatening like this, fur spiked and eyes wild.

exiled - spiderfall is exiled. he has but moments before he must run, and there are quite a lot of things the femme wishes they could say. as cicadastar catches his breath, looking faint, the smoke strides forward from their place, lip curled in contempt. “go,” they will snarl. “go, you pathetic, foxhearted bastard. stars help me, if i see you again, you will not live long enough to hear my voice.” clenching their jaw, they aim to slam into the wounded tomcat, urging him towards the exit, hoping, in some twisted corner of their mind, that he does not leave fast enough.


Everything is cold. It all moves in slow motion as other cats begin to shout around him. It’s too loud and too quiet at the same time. It’s unbearable. It’s painful.

Spiderfall has to die. He doesn’t care by whose paw, but he hopes that the leader will finish it here and now. End him. Any day that sees this fucking rat walk the earth is a terrible one. Spider has caused too much harm to be allowed to escape with his worthless life—he’s admitted to murder, it’s only fair that he’s met with murder in return.

Guilt strikes him in the chest; how can he, someone who claims to be a protector, be so ready and willing to witness the death of another cat? He is not meant to be a war guy; not meant to wish death upon another. Would Ashpaw be disappointed in how violent all the warriors of RiverClan seem in this moment? Would Frostpaw be upset if she knew they all wanted to see the end of this scum’s life?

His lip curls, his nose wrinkles. Cicadastar’s paw comes down again and again. He wants the leader to end it all right now. Take care of the threat that this tom poses.

The leader is shouting as he hits Spider, enraged—an avenging angel silhouetted against flashes of lightning. The demon standing before Cicada doesn’t get the chance to do much of anything before gore paints the ground and the eye that was once within Spider’s skull now rests in the dirt.

It’s as though the world goes still, stops turning, for the span of a few breaths. There’s ringing in his ears. He doesn’t hear anything more until-

I cast Spiderfall into exile!

It’s so much less than what is deserved. And to hear his full name used—a warrior’s name, one given when a cat has shown their loyalty and capability to their clan. Spider doesn’t deserve to use a warrior’s name.

Spider is lucky that Clay is not the judge of his fate.

Willowroot seems to share the sentiment, and he turns hazel eyes upon the lead warrior. They look furious, throwing their weight against the tom to drive him from the camp. Just as Willow does, Clay hopes that the freshly exiled tom will be too slow on leaving.
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Twin pools of ocean blue flicker between the pair, Cicadastar seething in unimaginable anger- a deep unspoken betrayal but purely written with the pen of blood, sealing the fate of one troubled soul. It was a raw scene, a display of chilling- no truly, icing of the heart and feet feeling that was Spiderfall’s laughter. A true cruel enigma Dogteeth couldn’t possibly fathom.

They are surrounded, with eyes glowing with hunger for revenge- fury, and pure outrage. Teeth ready to bite, claws ready to score. It was a horrific roar on the ears. Nothing however compared to the brutal swing of their leader’s paw. How it tears skin and bruises to the bone. The chimera was as terrifying under the claws as he was majestic. For a moment, Dogteeth wonders if he was about to watch the inky warrior put to death. Executed under the walking grounds of Starclan themselves. Blood to stain the river for all of them to drink their fill.

Deserved but that doesn’t do away with the taste of iron it would bring to these waters. What had happened to make him like this? What demons lurked his heart for it to come to this- to children.

Eyes glaze over with tears almost naturally as he watches the scene, as an eye rips from socket and it’s deserved. Actually deserved, but the man who knows only love and forgiveness watches this unforgiving display- and can feel only, fear, lost, and tormented wonder. How can a cat do such crimes and not feel their soul ache? How can he cackle. What kind of world was he preparing his child for?, one where trust is so easily gained by those with cold hearts.

The need to wrap his arms around his daughter and just- never let go overcome him as ’exile!’ rips the air. Unable to watch any longer, the gentle cat sprints to the nursery and does just that.

  • — Dogteeth | twenty-five moons | cis-male
    — warrior of Riverclan
    — gay | crushing on n/a
    — small curly-furred blonde and tan tom with dazzling blue eyes.
    — very gentle soul / easily upset and sensitive
    — deals a nasty bite | physically medium / mentally easy
    BIOGRAPHY——— ✧
  • 0yQlsKL.png


How could this have happend?. How could this have slipped right underneath all of thier noses?!. If anything he should have known that a snake was living among them, that a parasite was here to infest all of them. If he had known, it he had got to them first they better had prayed for whatever god they believed in. Whatever wicked reasons this vermin claimed to have hurting a child was absolutely unforgivable. Someone like that didn't deserve mercy. They should get torn apart, buried underneath the very ground they walked upon. Come on Cicadastar sentence this vermin to death. He even would have done it himself if Cicadastar had asked him to, if it was too much for them to handle because to them it wasn't. Screw an eye for an eye. He would make them blind and then make them bath in thier own blood.

But no, no. None such thing would happen today. Exile was what the leader call out ti give this filthy existence a chance to flee and get away with everything he had done. Fool. What an absolute fool. Ravendusk knew enough to understand that this snake would never stop now when blood had got tasted upon thier tongue. Thier hatred digged rotting deep into thier very flesh to reach that empty hole that was suppose to be thier heart. Cicadastar should have killed them when he had the chance but he didn't. Ravendusk wanted to speak out, to demand the leader to do what was the only option to do in this situation but....

he keept his mouth shut, tightly so. No words left him to protest against thier leaders decision. All he would do was to glare at the situation at hand but oh this vermin better pray he never run into Ravendusk because if he did there would be no mercy from him. He would tear them apart and then let them bleed out in thier own poodle of blood. He would finish what Cicadastar was unable to do. He would become the reaper in the night to take Spiderfall's life so he could never hurt anyone ever again.

yes, you better run vermin.