camp CABIN FEVER — Stuck in Camp

[Cindershade]

Hours and days seemed to drag by now with being confined to the medicine den, to rest her weary muscles and let what remained of her tattered skin to heal properly. Tigerfrost had really done a number on her, his claws scored into her body now and forever. They both bore similar wounds along the sides of their necks, a memorization of a bloodied battle once fought between the two. A victory he gained and a loss she was gifted. Her wounds had scabbed over, dark and crusted with poultice slathered over her. Oh, how she hated the smell. Hated being bathed in it to spare her from infection. Healing pink flesh peaked through shaded black fur, a stark contrast with her smokey undercoat. They'd soon scar and the fur would forever be lost, a remembrance of what she'd fought for.
Now, she'd spent her time sleeping, getting prodded at by Beesong, eating, or just staring from the mouth of the den and into the bustle of camp. Sablepaw had dropped by, bestowing a gift for her—a newly bloomed lily blossom and Cindershade kept it for safe keeping. Days passed by ever so slowly, as if the world had come to crawl and Cindershade grew more antsy by the day. Beesong had even caught her trying to sneak out, scolding her like some kit and she groaned. She was eager. Eager to get more into the swing of things.
The healer at least let her legs stretch by walking around camp, enjoying the sun while she could and fetching her own food. It seemed like the worst of it was over, now she just had to recooperate her strength. Her wounds were severe, buy her fellow lead warrior had seemed to be even worse off than she did. Smokethroat had nearly died in the heat of clashing with Weaselclaw— the stubborn fool he was. Of course he made it out. Too vengeful to die like that, within his own home. Or perhaps the both of them were just lucky. Her mind wanders back to Clearsight, his willowy blue form forever gone from this world. Only his memory remained now. His broken body as she felt his last breath leave him while they all accompanied him on his journey between life and death, doing whatever possible to make sure that he left this world with the support of his clanmates—and that he was loved.

The shaded molly sighed, shifting within the confinement of her nest. She wasn't comfortable. She felt as if thorns lined her bedding, poking and prodding at her chest and belly. She needed to get out, to roam and stretch her legs. Glowing eyes trace over the inky shadow within the other nest, her tail aiming to flick over his velveteen ears. "Hey, guts and glory." She jests, a smirk pinching at her rounded face. "Feel like walking around the camp with me some? Can't have you getting soft and plump while you laze about, can we?" She turns away from him then, slowly sauntering her make through thr makeshift mouth and into the clearing. She inhales soundly, taking in the fresh air greedily as the sun rises overhead. She's just about to look back to see if her counterpart would be joining her—

Until Snakeblink burst in the camp.

He shouts for reinforcements, addressing that ThunderClan was on their territory. Sunningrocks. Her heart stutters and drops to her abdomen, spinal fur bristling in rage. The audacity! WindClan had just invaded them and now this?! Cindershade is about to make a beeline out for the entrance, to throw herself in the midst of battle once more but she's stopped—and for once, she begrudgingly listens. Maybe this time she knows her limitations, knows that right now she'd just get in the way. Soon, she repeats in her mind. Soon. Soon. Soon. So as warriors fly out of the camp, she sits alone in the middle of the clearing with shoulders hunched and head low—stewing within her own rage. She's rigid as stone, all but her tail that flicks anxiously along spindly grass. "Those fox-hearted bastards!" Her scream tears from her throat, spittle slinging from bared ivory fangs. Stars, she hated this. Will they ever be able to catch a break?

// @Smokethroat Please wait for him to reply first
This takes place during the battle over Sunningrocks — if your character is at camp still, feel free to join in.

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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

What else was he to do in camp, this trashed temporary hovel they were left in to wallow in defeat and misery. Smokethroat was not often a cat who let himself mope around when things needed to be done but the fact that tabby striped rat from the moors had once again gotten the best of him through cheap tactics was a sore spot he was not too fond of having picked at.
"Guts and glory, not a very good nickname. I've only the guts part of it and that's not for lack of them trying." He'd nearly been split open, any deeper a cut and the guts part would've been a literal analogy because he'd be dragging them like serpents coiled under him; thankfully most of the damage was outside of him. Beesong was liable to just bash his head in with a rock to spare himself the extra effort if he kept up this consistent train of fighting to the brink of death. With a little more to live for he was like likely to throw himself to the wolves, but the thrill of the battle was still something he would never lose. It excited him, gave him purpose more than simple hunting or patrols did; to defend ones clan with tooth and claw was the highest honor and he delighted in it. Perhaps it was gruesome, ridiculous to others, but Smokethroat was born and bred in the streets of survival; two-leg place haunts where every second that passed was another he managed to survive despite the trials. It never left him. It never would.
He's rising to stand, to join her when chaos erupts in the camp, Snakeblink assembles their ablebodied to rush out and defend and it takes all of his willpower not to join them, to break away from the camp and race to the border where ThunderClan was seemingly setting claim to what was not theirs. Those wretched forest cats, he should have stuck his claws in Howlingstar's face when they went to their border to make clear the rocks belonged to them.
"I hope they kill every last ThunderClanner there..." But he was worried, his hissing curse sputtered out into a strained sigh. They had so few warriors not injured from the WindClan attack, they might not have the numbers for it and he wasn't foolish enough to think victory was the only option.
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