BUT YOU'LL NEVER BE ALONE | search patrol

[BUCKFIRE]

Buckfire braves the storm, his head ducked and ears pinned as howling winds batter the patrol and whip against their pelts. The chocolate tabby's teeth are gritted as he musters every ounce of his energy and willpower to keep going. A shorthaired tom like him was not built for this weather; his composure against the cold is tethered as much as it threatens to lose itself completely. How the wind howls is like an unexplainable symphony to his senses. Buckfire would much rather observe from the comfort of a refuge, but right now, several apprentices' lives were at stake. When the news had been broken in camp, the moor runner couldn't help but volunteer to look for the missing youths.

The group had pushed on through the dark moorlands until a cluster of forms was spotted in the distance. Swirls of snow clouded most of Buckfire's vision but he knew that there were cats out there. "Over there!" He shouted over the gales toward the others.

Stars above. Let them be alright, Buckfire thought to himself as the search party advanced toward the apprentices as hastily as they could manage. His heart only sinks into the pit of his stomach as he catches a whiff of blood, the sight of an apprentice's mangled form only growing clearer as he approaches.

Wind, blood, injury ( is she alive? ), wind, confusion, more wind. Buckfire doesn't know what's truly right to do in this situation; all he can do is follow his gut. "We need to get everyone to shelter!" The former barncat calls in hopes that the blizzard does not drown his voice out. Whether they sought refuge under some bushes or made the trek back to camp, they needed to move before they all froze to death.

𝐈 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍 ✹ . + ˚ · 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃

• no rolls required ( health roll can be optional if desired ) + any apprentice present in this thread is free to reply! otherwise, warriors only on this patrol </3

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  — buckfire / 34 moons / he/him pronouns
  — windclan moor runner / former loner
  — sh chocolate tabby w/ orange eyes, bite marks on left foreleg, nick in left ear & scratch on right side of lip
  — click for tags

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[SHEEPPAW]

Sheeppaw drifts in and out of his peaceful sleep.

Where...? The cold brushes across his prone form, snow blanketed around him like a veil. He can't move. He hurts to breathe, as he feels his paw laid out twitch slightly. Peeling his eyelids slightly, blurry forms were coming closer. Is it the fox? He takes a rattling breath... it shakes his figure, as he twitches an ear. The blizzard swells as harsher winds form near him and the cat who came to... their foolish aid. His tongue feels like mud as he only manages weak mewls escaping his mouth. "H-hurts..." This was all her fault— He... He should've been the responsible one, he's older.

The black smoke can only see foggy shapes of black and brown, a few others that he can't think of. It hurts so bad. She can't smell a familiar scent with the snow drowning his senses. She feels so numb from the tips of her nose to her tail. The snow around his bloodied form feels... nice. It was nice...

She hates it.

He wants to help find the others, did they escape? Did they find... or get to shelter safely? Please, don't let them be dead. Sheeppaw let out a weak groan, he grits his teeth together as he feels the wound at his neck sting against the cold. Limbs twitch, there is a beat of static between pain and the feeling of static non-pain. He hisses, biting down on his tongue while he slips his eyes close.

⊹ ⏜ ۫ . 𝙎𝙉𝙊𝙊𝙕𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙄𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙐𝘿𝙎 ᶻ 𝘾𝘼𝙉 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝘼𝙐𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘽𝙐𝙄𝙇𝘿

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• no ref yet </3​

• ( WHAT? THE FACE? ) ꕤ ‧₊˚. SHEEPPAW. ╱ windclan apprentice.
  ⤷ CLOSETED GENDERFLUID ; HE / SHE
  ✶ CURRENTLY 13 MOONS OLD. AGES EVERY 29TH.
  ✶ undecided / not actively looking — mentoring none.
  ✶ a lanky, longhaired black smoke with high white and blue eyes
  ✶ thoughts ; "Speech, B9D6F2" ; attacks only
  ✶ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✶ smells like night air & windblown heather
  — all opinions are ic
  
  → biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone

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[downyfur]

It wasn't just their apprentice.

Out of all of them, that's the one thought that keeps them upright against the wall of wind and snow. They press against it with eyes screwed shut and freshly-healed ears glued to their skull. Even Buckfire's rich chocolate pelt is hard to see in the storm, but his yell punches through the chaos with ease. "Heatherpaw!" the tunneler yowls at the smudges in the distance. Let her be okay, they pray. Even if all the other apprentices died, it'd still be salvageable as long as she was okay.

Their relief turns to sludge as the patrols draw closer, pooling in their gut like tar with each glint of red that pops from the scene. Slits of blue sweep the huddled apprentices, hastily counting them off in their head. Whatever number they conclude, it's far too many. They've all been out here for far too long, judging by the unwalkable state of some of them. Stars, are some of them even alive? Sheep-paw's dark face emerges from the flurries, half-buried in snow; they hardly see the energetic apprentice sit down half of the time, let alone just lie there.

Buckfire calls for shelter. Thistles and thorns, they curse. They'd know exactly where they were if they'd taken the underground route, but this is the opposite of that comforting blackness. Was it better to beeline for camp, or try their luck at finding shelter nearby? Downyfur grits her teeth. Instead of deciding for the entire patrol, they attempt to shove their shoulder beneath Sheep-paw's and prop him up. "Someone help me get him up!" she calls to the rest of the warriors.​