BECOME THE HUNTED — carrionplace patrol

[PITCHSTAR]

the moon hangs heavy in the night sky, casting weak light onto the patrol weaving through the swamp. the towering fences of the carrionplace gleam in the distance- the patrol's destination. pitchstar could already smell the stench of the twoleg dump, his lip curling. "we're almost there- keep your guard up." rats are a dangerous vermin to hunt, even for the strongest shadowclan warrior. with sharp teeth and a mouth full of bacteria, their bite could easily land someone six feet under. but they've fed his clan when other prey is nowhere to be found. pitchstar has no choice; he tells himself this in spite of the doubtful looks he's given. they'd do this if they were in my position, too.

the leader stops his patrol at the edge of the carrionplace, a hole in the silver mesh border in front of them. their gateway into this trash-filled hell. the stench is overpowering this close, crawling down pitchstar's throat and choking him. you'd think i'd get used to it after all of these moons-! "right. everybody in." the rosette tabby motions for his patrol to file in, watching as they pull themselves through to the other side, one by one. finally, as the last of his clanmates squeeze past, pitchstar would follow. the cold metal of the fence scrapes his back as he crawls through the opening, grunting as he stumbles out next to his patrol.

"we don't leave until we have something, understood?" pitchstar grumbles, swinging his head to regard each member of the patrol with narrowed eyes. as much danger as he's putting his clan in by hunting here, they'd better keep putting rats on that damn pile.

the fur along his spine prickles as he stalks through the twoleg garbage, his ears swiveling to try and pick up any sound at all. squeaking, scurrying, scratching, anything that's normally heard at night when the rats roam around the carrionplace. there is nothing. all that pitchstar hears is the wind howling, but the wintry breeze is not the cause of the shiver that runs through him. it's too quiet.

"something's wrong," pitchstar hisses, half to himself and half to his patrol. his paws slow, until the leader is frozen in place. he doesn't like this- his skin crawls, the feeling of being watched burning through him. it's silent, but they are not alone.

[ @GRANITEPAW @Mapleshine @Halfshade @. Heatherpaw . @spidersilk @RIBBITLEAP !! the attack will begin in my next post! ]​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

( ¡! ❞ ) Granitepaw slinks behind Pitchstar, scowl set deep in features used to wearing rage. His stomach cramps with every shuffling step he takes, the hollow of his belly pounding almost in tandem with his heartbeat. The Carrionplace, unlike some of his filthier Clanmates, holds only dark memories for the gray tom. Starlingheart had been maimed by one of those filthy white-faced rodents here, and Granitepaw had been the cause of it, though none of his Clanmates know that part...

"We don't leave until he we have something, understood?" Granitepaw meets his mentor's gaze with icy understanding. Had he even a mouthful of meat in his belly, the gray tom might have protested against this expedition, solely on the basis of what had happened to Starlingheart.

But he can't do that. He doesn't even have it in him to argue with Pitchstar. In fact, the quarrelsome apprentice dips his head to his mentor in a rare show of understanding, obedience. Even a tadpole-brain is right sometimes. This is one of those times. None of them could afford to go home empty-pawed.

Granitepaw tastes the air as he parts from the crowd, troubled by the lack of prey scent. There's only the almost sour stench of Twoleg trash without any of the accompanying sweetness of ratmeat. He gives Pitchstar a puzzled look -- Something's wrong, the rosette hisses lowly.

"Come out here, you ugly bastards," Granitepaw mutters, creeping close to an undisturbed pile of rubbish. His claws unsheathe, moonlight glinting from their curved surfaces. "We can't afford to wait for them all night." Part of him wonders if he'll keel over if they have to trek back with nothing at all. It certainly feels like it -- he's unsubstantial, withered, like his Clanmates. He feels a shade of himself, and the hunger drives him towards foolishness.​

( TOOK YOU HOME, PUT YOU ON THE GLASS ; I PULLED OFF YOUR WINGS, AND I LAUGHED )

 

[Halfshade]

"Of course, grab a little squeaker each and move things along~! Very brisk wind tonight isn't it?"
It was chilling almost.
This patrol was her punishment she supposed. Had to give it to their deputy to hold a grudge and then make a proper payback at a later date when she'd all but forgotten the entire ordeal. She was going to flay them alive, they were lucky she liked them. Any other cat trying to pull this on her would have been met with a hard no and an even harder swing if she was feeling particularly vindictive. Telling Pitchstar to sod off to his face was not beneath her but also wasn't worth the massive whining fit that would ensue as a result. So she was stuck coming along despite her apprehensions. It was not the rats themselves that put her off, but the company. She'd eat a thousand rats to never have to listen to their leader grunt and grumble about the prey pile every single day, so the hunt was worth it in the end even if she worried they'd all get sick eventually. Well, survival of the fittest she guessed.

Halfshade strut along behind the leader, @. Heatherpaw . dutifully at her heels, and glanced around with both mismatched eyes listing off in a side glance out of boredom until they came to an abrupt stop and suddenly her fur was prickling electrically along her entire body. Something was very wrong indeed.
Where was the panicked scurrying from before on usual hunts? Where was the skittering and squeaking of vermin fleeing their predators? Why had the once noisy and disgusting place of decay fallen so silent now of all days? The torbie took a hesitant step back, her tail flicking up and then down in a loop to the apprentice next to her in a wary and guarded manner and slowly her teeth began to show as lips curled back in cautious alarm.

​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

granitepaw snarls a taunt to the silent shadows, but pitchstar does not seem to hear him. his ears are straining for any hint of squeaking, and the swinging of his head to and fro is growing frantic. seeking out any movement in the dark, finding nothing.

the tension that falls over the patrol is palpable, pitchstar's fur prickling with the nervous electricity. there's something wrong, his mind repeats to him. it urges him to flee, back through the hole in the fence where they'd come from. but he's promised his clan that this is the only way to survive the winter. we don't leave until we have something, remember? he swore to himself that he would not leave the prey pile empty! his clan would eat.

"they have to be around here, somewhere-" pitchstar's cut off by the sudden movement in front of him. a swarm of wiry black fur and sharp teeth surrounds the patrol within heartbeats, malignant beady eyes gleaming in the dim moonlight. the leader's heart drops, copper eyes widening.

he knew that this was a possibility, but the abrupt, sharp pain of rodent teeth and claws digging into the flesh of his shoulder still shocks him. pitchstar reels back, screeching. the horde of rats have descended upon the patrol faster than pitchstar could bark out a command to his patrol, and within heartbeats, the rosette tabby is covered in the squirming, squeaking vermin. each one that he knocks away with unsheathed claws, another comes to replace it. razor-like incisors embed themselves wherever possible, and even the adrenaline pumping through his veins isn't enough to numb the white hot throbbing.

"attack! don't let them overtake us!" it seems like there's a hundred of these bastards, but pitchstar isn't going down without a fight. shadowclan needed this prey. ​

 

[RIBBITLEAP]

His first big outing as a warrior and it's this. A trip to the carrionplace, desperation riddled within their hungry patrol for a chance to catch something, anything to feed the clan. Such an important mission, to such a foul-smelling place.

Ribbitleap trails behind the majority of the patrol, a careful stride as he scans the area. He's yet to deal with hunting rats - has yet to see them in action - but, he's been warned. He's been warned that they aren't like mice. They're bigger, more vile, more apt to fight back.

Food shouldn't fight back.

It's eerily quiet as the lot of them stroll through discarded twoleg objects. For a moment, Ribbitleap fears their food source had disappeared, had been struck by leaf-bare just as their primary food sources. However, the atmosphere feels... off. Like they'd walked into a trap, like someone - or something - was plotting for their demise.

Ribbitleap opens his mouth to speak, to ask if anyone else felt the same, when the trap is set off. Vermin strike Pitchstar first, sharp teeth of multiple dark-furred critters visible from where the brown tabby stands.

Ribbitleap doesn't think he's ever seen this much prey at once, back in ShadowClan. Doesn't think he's seen so much, and now it's all coming towards them, as if punishing the patrol for the hunger that ShadowClan finds themself in. The young warrior crouches down, prepares to strike as rats split off from their pathway to Pitchstar, and head straight towards him.

"Get away!" Unsheathed claws swipe at the vermin that cover him, panic setting in. Their bite is just as sharp as it looks, pain bubbling up in Ribbitleap's shoulders, his sides. He tries to ignore it, tries to push past it, as more and more rats come his way. Where were they all coming from?

He can't stop his attacks, can't let up as he knocks vermin away in what seems like an impossible fight. ShadowClan needs food, and the patrol can't fail this mission.
​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

( ¡! ❞ ) The pile of trash Granitepaw threatens is silent, still. An eerie shadow has cast itself over the cats in the patrol, and the gray apprentice feels himself struggling with a sense of foreboding. Stupid rats can't do anything to us, he thinks with false, hollow confidence. If anything, they've all just gone deeper into the debris to hibernate a bit, right?

But like Pitchstar, Granitepaw is suddenly aware of multiple pairs of beady eyes gleaming like berries covered in dewdrops. The gray tom hisses and recoils as a writhing mass of brown-gray bodies shoot from Twoleg rubbish and begin to swarm over his mentor, his leader.

In a rare showcase of bravery, Pitchstar fights; Granitepaw sees the hunger stark in his leader's amber gaze. They will die trying to catch their meals, and he hisses with irritation. Stupid, stupid to do this and risk death!

A stinging pain shoots up his hind left leg. He snarls and half-turns, batting at the creature with unsheathed claws. It had sank its long yellow fangs right into his lower limb, and Granitepaw thinks for a miserable second that it's injected whatever poison rats have in their teeth straight into his bloodstream.

His claws connect with the hideous creature, and it goes sprawling, squeaking weakly. Three more pour from the group attacking Pitchstar, sensing their damaged brethren.

Granitepaw's flanks heave with effort as he bats a rat with all the ferocity he can manage. It lands somewhere with a sickening thud, pleasing to the ears, but two more replace it. He backs away, the blood beginning to well from his leg and stream down between his toes. They're more than outnumbered -- they're outmatched.​

( TOOK YOU HOME, PUT YOU ON THE GLASS ; I PULLED OFF YOUR WINGS, AND I LAUGHED )

 

[Halfshade]

It was morbidly fascinating in a way, she had never seen rats swarm in droves so thick they looked like shadows reaching out across the carrionplace in a chittering mass; a writhing cloak of vermin shrieking bloodlust. Halfshade falters for only a moment in silent horror and in the brief second it takes to snap back to composure Pitchstar vanishes from sight and for a moment its as if he was ripped from existence but she can hear the man's feral snarls of rage and panic nearly muffled under his assailants. The dark pool swills around them, the sound of many tiny claws scratching and scrambling for purchase circling the small group of cats and lunging sporadically in unison, it felt very much like fighting one giant rat, a centipede of a rodent with many limbs and several entangled tails thrashing about; Halfshade heard Ribbitleap shout, newly named a warrior and driving forward to assist the rosette tom so buried he is nothing but the occasional flash of rust red and ebony claws, behind her Granitepaw yowls furiously and the crunch of brittle bones sound not too long after. Her paws are moving, dancing in place as she swats and bats at the encroaching swarm but she's only sparred their vehemence briefly before one finds an unguarded leg.

A shrill, screech of alarm escapes her and warps into a guttaral and un-ladylike snarl and she kicks back with such force the rat was dislodged by the jerk of her leg alone and goes tumbling; now she's furious. They can't leave Pitchstar, as much as she despised the man he meant a lot to several cats she was fond of and frankly she didn't think Chilledgaze had it in them to lead anytime soon; ShadowClan could not losing stability so far into leaf-bare, without a properly trained healer. Bonejaw's lying and deceitful fleeing flickers into her mind once more briefly and fuels her annoyance. She should be out her suffering in rats, not her.

"Hold on!"
She feels another bite, twists her head around to sink her teeth in sharply to rodent clinging to her right flank and rips it free to throw it into the sea of its bretheren. Blood fills her mouth, a tongue swipes out around her jaw and she's thankfully once more for her thick coat; they can't seem to get a good bite on her where her fur is long and plush, though her legs and face were still terribly exposed. Assuming Granitepaw is behind her as well as her own apprentice, Halfshade darts forward to join Ribbitleap in a desperate attempt to free Pitchstar from his murid burial. Her claws find several in one violent and sturdy sweep of an arm, she feels them part before her briefly and takes advantage of it to lunge forward with her teeth to find any part of Pitchstar she can get a hold of, ears flattening as one bites down hard onto the side of his unguarded face and eyes closed tight.

​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

the eerie stillness of the night shatters. yowls erupt from his attacked patrol, drowned out by the furious squeaking of the rodents who've decided to retaliate. pitchstar thinks he recognizes ribbitleap's voice amidst the disarray, screaming for the rats to get away- what rotten luck the boy has, his first patrol as a warrior ending with bloodshed. such is the misfortune of shadowclan.

there doesn't seem to be an end to the rats in sight. they keep coming, swarming the patrol, an ocean of brown and gray fur. ribbitleap and halfshade come to his side, knocking rats off of him; but it's no use, is it? they would surely only drown with him. there's just too many, and in the back of his mind, pitchstar knows he should suck up his pride and call for a retreat. before someone dies. before he dies.

"bastards!" pitchstar howls. another's claws hook into the bodies of rats clinging to his shoulder, ripping with them flesh and blood. a smarter man would've pulled back by now. but the hunger that's dug a hollow into his stomach pushes back against any sensibility. desperation outweighs rationality. shadowclan would eat tonight.

one rat leaps toward his face, sinking its teeth into the skin above pitchstar's left eye. another pair of incisors embed themselves into the sensitive skin of his ear. blood is quick to fill his vision, drenching everything in crimson. pitchstar screams from the pain that sprouts in his facial features, swinging his head in a frantic attempt to dislodge the vermin. they hold on to him, despite his efforts, and with panic seizing his chest... his own claws rake across his face, blood welling from the scratches self-inflicted as the pair of rats are finally flung back into the swarm.

halfshade's own teeth find purchase in his shoulder in an attempt to pull him away, and with blood clouding his sight, the leader lashes out at her without thinking. he could not see, but his mind screams, rat.

[ the call to retreat will most likely happen in my next posts! ]​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

As soon as one rat is dislodged, another takes its place, tearing at Granitepaw's shoulder. His hiss is loud and spraying, snakelike, but he can no sooner direct his ire towards the rat clinging to his left side than one of the ugly rodents is latching itself onto his cheek. Blood sprays from the wound, across his vision, and he screams with rage.

He bats first at the rat clinging to his face, and with satisfaction and relief it lets go with a squeal once his claws connect. The flesh is parted beneath his eye, but it's nothing compared to the wrenching agony in his left shoulder now.

"We can't fight them," he snarls to whichever adult cat is listening to him. He gives them a wild look from across the junkyard, his ribs heaving. Halfshade tries to assist Pitchstar and earns a blind swipe.

For a heartbeat, Granitepaw realizes this is his chance to escape. His chance to make it back to camp and warn everyone about the dangers of the Carrionplace, to tell ShadowClan they're all better off starving to death or eating crowfood. It's his chance to be rid of Pitchstar for good, for the swarm will eat every last life he has, just as the Thunderpath had eaten Briarstar's. Halfshade's death would be nothing more than a bonus.

The gray apprentice hesitates too long, blood dripping down the right side of his face. He leaves too many opportunities for another cat to notice his hesitation.​

 

[Halfshade]

Claws suddenly catch her face, not from a rodent but certainly from a RAT and she hisses in alarm at them scoring the bridge of her nose and setting off a stem of blood that only seems to draw the swarm to her face; she would be beating this man to death in the middle of camp for this later, but right now she needed him alive. With any assistance possible from Ribbitleap she was pulling back and digging her teeth in tighter onto the rosette leader so he's not drowned once more beneath writhing squeaking bodies. Its only then does she realize only she and the newly named warrior are doing anything and she shifts, twisting to the side so she can look back out of the corner of her eye to see Granitepaw motionless; a hesitance in his form that makes it quite clear he is not just deciding the best approach to assisting them, rather, his eyes are a wild flash of green in the dark.
Once it feels like they have a better grip on getting Pitchstar out, that he won't just be pulled back into the mass of squeaking terrors, she lets go and whirls around with a snarl to the slate gray tom, blood dripping from her nose and sliding forward to spill over her maw, "Get. OVER HERE."
She would drown him in the vermin bodies if he tried to pull a fast one, she had no idea if Pitchstar was even still alive or was on the verge of dying but given the swipe he'd made at her she reckoned he had enough fight left in him they could drag him a good distance once he had hobbled his rat bitten hide further to the exit of this hellish place.
​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

his claws connect with skin, but to his surprise, it is halfshade that hisses in his shredded ear and not a rat. pitchstar hesitates for a second too long, eyes blowing wide... he'd hit halfshade? he's still blinking blood from his vision, but if he could see- there would certainly be guilt that he would have to crush underfoot at the crimson beading along her muzzle.

it isn't his fault; she shouldn't have grabbed at him without warning in the midst of a battle-!

her teeth dig farther into his shoulder, out of determination to pull him from the horde or vengeance for his blind shot at her, he isn't sure. pitchstar hisses at the stinging caused by his warrior, but he doesn't have time to yowl at her to stop. there is a sudden burst of white-hot agony, burning down the side of his throat. rodent incisors sink into the delicate flesh, and pitchstar screams, full of desperation and fear as blood spurts across his chest. he's back in the outskirts of the swamp, then, pinned beneath a traitorous she-cat as his life bleeds out from the gouges her claws had created. no, no, no! not again! "sh- shadowclan, fall back! retreat!" he has to get out- he couldn't die here, in this twoleg wasteland, devoured by rats.

all too quickly, that determination to bring back food for his clan becomes a frenzied need to escape from the poisonous jaws of death.

another frantic screech tears from him, and pitchstar rips the rat from his throat with his own claws. flung to the ground, the rodent squeals and scurries back into the throng, soaked in the leader's ichor. pitchstar's already trying to push his way through the sea of vermin, wild eyes fixated on the silver mesh they'd slipped into this hell through. "get out! back to camp!" rodents cling to his legs, the rosette tabby stumbling, but he does not stop. red creeps into the edges of his vision, a tunnel that can only see the exit ahead. ​