both haunted and holy ✘ wires

[SMOKESTAR]

He sees the shimmering lines strewn up and thinks of how he would have lost his head if not for the baubles of dew lining it that caught in the light. How the thin spiderweb-like twine was nearly invisible until you were right within its fold; tangled and hoisted upward to be choked to death. Hung for display, forcefully ascended. Smokethroat stares and can not help but imagine the sight of a swinging body, necklace of bubbling blood and steel; he sucks in a breath so sharp it hurts his chest and for a moment the world is spotted with black stars as he comes back down from the brief moment of panic that threatened to overwhelm him. It was fine. He had seen it, he could see them now, strewn across this path and tightening around the trunks of trees, choking even the forest they were placed in. Did this mean those two-legs were back again? The dark tom's tail lashes behind him, he doesn't know if he's prepared to deal with that situation all over again. A second time, skewered to a tree, blood on his face, they would be better prepared but that mattered little in the long run. He flexes his claws against the ground, leans forward to examine the singing wires with scrutiny, he didn't know how to remove them. They could be set off, perhaps tossing a long branch, but for one big enough to be safe he'd need help to do it and right now he found he could not move. There was a tension drawn across his back he couldn't place, a worry burrowing.
Smokethroat was afraid. He wasn't often, but lately it had been bothering him how things were; a subtle change he felt only he could see in the clan and more importantly in him. The wires only reminded him of the frailty of life, of further upset. He wished they could go back to the idealic days before last leafbare when the world made more sense and the clan was still new, still unburdened by the grief of existence.
Exhaling he turned to look around for something, anything, to toss onto the wire and snap the trap so that it no longer hung suspended like a gaping maw for any poor fool to rush into. If he couldn't then maybe tossing moss over the shining strings would at least warn a cat they were there more easily.
​

 

[FERNGILL]

There were many things that slipped Fernpaw's mind, many things he did not maintain. His lack of talent was not borne from a lack of trying, but it was no secret his memory and technique had always been severely stunted. One thing, however, that Fernpaw had never forgotten was the ravage of the invading two-legs, not long after he had become an apprentice. His first patrol ever had involved scouting for whatever was traipsing across their land so carelessly, and though his senses had been muddied by the newness of everything and the overwhelming variety of strong scents, he had not forgotten what some of their methods looked like.

He caught the glint of the wire in the sunlight, highlighted by dewdrops and pulled too taut to be spiderweb. An observer of beauty, Fernpaw could at least tell the difference between the natural and man-made. Tense, he stopped in his tracks; he daren't get closer, especially not when Smokethroat was already handling it. His sister's former mentor and an undeniably trusted presence in the Clan, Fernpaw felt almost as if it would be insulting for him to offer to help. Why would Smokethroat need him?

Still, he cleared his throat. No harm in asking, right? It was always better to try and do the kindest thing you could. "Need any help?" the small tom asked, uncertainty ill-hid in his voice. ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclefang pads up behind Fernpaw and Smokethroat, her eyes shining with unreadable emotion. Thin, silvery strands like spidersilk stretch across their territory, but she remembers all too well how easily a cat can be wounded by it. Her first patrol ever, like Fernpaw's, had been to verify the Twolegs were encroaching on the wetlands, and her second patrol...

She'll never forget the feeling of Cicadastar's blood splashing over her.

She suppresses a shiver. The trap hangs empty now, but it's gaping opening is full of promise. Of threat. "How many of them are?" She will help them too, but the thought that those overgrown pests would be invading them again, when they'd already been invaded so many times... the thought causes her blood to steam.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

He is startled by the voices, briefly hackles rise and he jolts as though shot; his distraction so maddening he had not even heard Fernpaw's less than stealthy approach until the young tom had spoken and even then he turned with that single eye wide in alarm; and a touch of fear, as though he had expected someone else behind him instead. Smokethroat bristled, pausing a moment to lick his own shoulder as Iciclefang approached to chime in; his gesture pausing midstroke to raise his head and acknowledge her. "...several." Muted, dismayed, he hates the sight of them glittering and he'd nearly jumped into one in his surprise. Fernpaw is given a sharp look before he only nods, "Have you ever set off a trap before?" He asks, but doesn't wait for an answer; his demonstration would go on regardless of the reply given. A long stick is found and he secures it between his teeth with a firm grip. In one fluid motion he turns, drops it and gives a step back and the wire springs to life; a ringlet of shimmering silver looping and coiling, a metallic serpent-in moments it binds the limb in a suffocating snare and tightens until it burrows into the wood, locking it in place. Smokethroat exhales, breath shaking despite himself.
The less he saw of these wretched things the better, he can only smell copper now.
"There will be more, tread carefully. We'll need to let Cicadastar know about these..." Patrols going forward were going to be even more dangerous, he longs to return to their camp once more where the territory did not linger so close to two-leg fire nests where once, long ago, they came with thunder and dogs and stole something precious.
​

 

[lichenstar]

Coming along had been mostly a willing thing... they didn't have much fondness for being totally isolated and while the prospect of scrounging up some lunch was always enticing, fishing all by themself was less than appealing. Padding not too far behind even Iciclefang, their pale eyes stayed fixed to the ground, nervous that any one misstep might cost them an entire paw or worse, break their tail again. That was a painful recovery and meant a long period of time with inhibited balance which meant no bird hunting... and Lichentail so loved showing off their skills at catching birds.

At the soft pondering that came from Smokethroat, the blue point picked up their head to look at him, shaking their head in reply. "I can't say I've had to before either... It's no small horror that Twolegs leave these out here on purpose." Devices of cruel torture at worst, a painful death at best.

What inspired such insanity was beyond their scope of reasoning, a small nervous sigh expelled instead to calm their nerves. Would this always be a passive threat they'd have to watch for? Looking at Fernpaw, they flicked their tail anxiously, "Please be careful. These are hard to get out of."​