can't go to hell |Border Skirmish| already there

[SMOKESTAR]

OOC: This is open now! Iciclepaw ran back to camp to inform the clan!

He rarely felt too threatened near the borders, most cats avoided the water; RiverClan was the rare exception. It would take an absolute fool to go splashing through the chilling current to reach them to cause trouble, so he rarely paid any mind to other passing patrols when his focus was hunting. If the borders scent seemed too stale he might set aside a moment to tend to it himself, ensure its done, but otherwise they had planned patrols to handle the matter. It was only when nearing the bridge did he often raise his guard, the one smooth two-leg creation that joined the river's children with the rest of the forest cats, it made getting to fourtrees a less soggy affair for the younger cats and those still learning to swim, but otherwise he thought it an abomination on their territory, a slight to their skills if anything. Hideous manmade nonsense marring the otherwise natural beauty of the land, it made him feel like the great stone and concrete nests he once roamed were creeping ever closer. His tail flicked upward to halt Iciclepaw from walking past him, their hunting had been uneventful and lacking this day for whatever reason; prey was already growing scarce as leaf-bare eased its way in but today especially seemed needlessly cruel in its refusal to give.
As the bridge came close into his sights he narrowed both orange eyes off into the distance, with the wind's direction it was hard to tell but he swore he spotted cats ahead. Before he could speak the tortie at his side suddenly darted forward, swifter than he and more sure-footed than their previous attempts to catch the land prey. It was then he saw what had sent her rushing forward so suddenly and his whiskers quivered in amusement at the sight of the black and orange brand of fire rolling across the earth with the caught rabbit twisted within her paws; it had darted out from the tall grass of the moorland in the distance directly across the bridge.
Smokethroat broke into a run to catch up to her, proud of the fact she had caught the scent before he did and acted; a rabbit was a rarity in RiverClan and this one plump enough still to feed several. "Well this made up for that sparrow earlier by far." He did not often give praise, didn't want it to go to their apprentice's heads but he would give an exception this once, "Good work."
The brief moment of relief at having caught something and pride that Iciclepaw had done so with such skill was quickly muddied by the sharp scent of hay and bitter plants; the rustle of high grass parting to let the vermin pass through. The dark tom stood at the end of the bridge, claws unsheathing into the hard wood beneath them and he scowled.
Of course with the blessing came the curse. "Weaselclaw, how is the prey running? It looks fast from my perspective. If you need some hunting pointers perhaps my apprentice can offer you some, given she seems more skilled than most your warriors."

@WEASELCLAW
​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

It's leafbare, and though it's still early, Weaselclaw has noted with some dread that every rabbit scent he's tracked today is stale. He leads a hunting party with his head held high, despite the flattened ears and the worried gleam in pale blue eyes. Though the grass is stiff with frost, there's no snow blanketing the moors today, and he's hoping against hope all the rabbits haven't gone to nest yet.

Just as he's about to give up and instruct them all to turn around, he sees the white cotton bud of a tail disappear into a patch of heather. Weaselclaw's whiskers twitch, excitement causing his breath to quicken. It's relatively plump for the season. His mouth begins to water. He gives his patrol a tail signal to stand by. They will give chase until their paws bleed if they have to -- this rabbit could feed Echolight, and StarClan knew the pregnant queen would be needing something warm in her stomach right about now.

The creature flashes tawny from its hiding spot; Weaselclaw is a brown blur, long legs giving chase. The wind is in his fur, bitter and biting, but he's alive with the thrill of the hunt and his prey's nearness. It's only when the thump of the creature's paws resound hollow on wood that he skids to a stop. The Twoleg Bridge that connects their moors to RiverClan yawns over the river, and the rabbit carelessly crosses the Clan border, intent on escaping the rabid warrior at its heels.

"Foxdung," he hisses. But it's WindClan's rabbit, had been born and bred in their hills, StarClan-gifted to feed the hungry mouths of his Clan. RiverClan has its watery depths full of fish. They don't need the rabbit.

He convinces himself, and begins to stalk hastily over the Twoleg Bridge. But before he can break into a run, the rabbit is snatched by a patchwork tortoiseshell whirlwind.

His hackles begin to raise. A familiar black-pelted warrior comes to stand behind his apprentice. "Weaselclaw, how is the prey hunting? If you need some hunting pointers perhaps my apprentice can offer you some, given she seems more skilled than most your warriors."

Weaselclaw narrows his eyes; his claws unsheathe and begin to grind into the damp wood beneath him. "Smokethroat," he growls, low and deep in his chest. "You know that rabbit belongs to WindClan! You've chosen to steal our prey." He lashes his tail, the insult goading his anger until he can hardly see anything but the insolent lead warrior in front of him.

"RiverClan is daring, to steal from us. I won't let you take what belongs to WindClan!" He forgets about borders, about the hunting patrol gathered behind him, and springs for the dark-pelted warrior with his claws out. He will attempt to slash directly at Smokethroat's chest while driving him back away from the bridge.

- ,,​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

His tail lashed at the comment, "It looks like its ours now. Maybe work on your form, you might catch it before it gets away from you next time." Like hell he was giving over the rabbit that a RiverClanner caught, it maybe have come from the moorland but the fact Weaselclaw had kept moving after it told him all he needed to know. That ex-barncat bastard had fully intended to carry his wretched pelt onto their territory in pursuit. The dark tom's pelt is bristling in outrage at the thought of it, that this fool felt himself above borders, that he felt himself owed every bit of prey that happened across their horrid hills. It was different with the river, the river was and always would be RiverClan's and its gifts as well; they remained confined to it and never wandered. Would this harried idiot think himself the owner of each bird that flew across their blood-soaked camp as well?

"Let's go, Icicl-"
And then Weaselclaw is moving further across the bridge, crossing their border deliberately with vicious intent and claws unsheathed and Smokethroat's orange gaze widens briefly before he glances back sharply to his apprentice, "Run to camp! Get r-" His orders are cut short by the sudden swing, he rocks back and can practically feel the fur on his chest rustle from claws just barely brushing over them. The inkspill of a cat answers the swing with one of his own, backlegs bracing to keep himself from being bullied off where he stood.

It looks for a moment like the tortie is preparing to throw herself at the WindClan tom in his defense and he lets himself snarl furiously toward her one last time, "I TOLD YOU TO GO! NOW!" This time his demands, biting and sharp, are met with obedience and he watches the apprentice and her rabbit vanish from his line of sight; his focus can now be given fully to the brown tabby and his gaze briefly lingers on the other cats with him. Were they going to join the fray, he would them all down if he had to; apprentices included if they were foolish enough to test their claws to his.
"If you wanted to DIE you could have just asked nicely." His blood boiling at the insolence of it all; the same scoundrel that dared to attack Cicadastar was delivering himself for punishment right at his paws and who was he to say no. Smokethroat allows himself a satisfaction of an adrenaline surge, the heat of combat igniting him into a furious inferno of coal black and brimstone eyes; a furious yowl escapes him as he attempts to tackle into the tabby to send them rolling further from his existing patrol; knowing they would join the fray at any moment.


​

 

[Jasperglare]

Jasperglare fully intended to let the rabbit go once it evaded him across the border. That was Riverclan territory. He knew trespassing was bad. He watched Smokethroat and Weaselclaw throw venom at each other with a snicker. Ha! Beef!

Will he get an enemy of his own soon? Someone to insult, belittle and fight with?? Oh, how he longed for such a relationship-

Oh.

Weaselclaw is crossing the border and attacking Smokethroat. Hm.

Well, Weaselclaw did think himself higher than him and the other rogues.....And was an authority figure...... Time to join in! A fight is a fight and Jasperglare didn't think it was his responsibility to be responsible when a higher up was around.

With a cackle he bolted across the border and would seek to barrel into Smokethroat with all the force and weight he could muster.

"NOTHIN' PERSONAL, PAL!" He growled loudly to the only black warrior.

He was here for a good time, not a long time.

​

 

[ASPENPAW_]

( ♬ ) As the rabbit dashes across the border, Aspenpaw feels her hopes fall - it had been the only one they had seen so far, and just like that it was gone, off into Riverclan. Tail drooping, she's already preparing to search for the next scent, however futile it might be, when she notices that Weaselclaw hasn't turned back to join them yet; in fact, he's heading the opposite way, closer to the border. The rabbit's already across, fully out of their territory, but her mentor doesn't seem too keen to give it up, and so the lynx point follows, drawing closer. He's not thinking of crossing the border, is he? Aspenpaw doesn't hold much love for Riverclan, but she wouldn't dare think to disrespect the divide between the two clans, not for a piece of fleeing prey. She's a bit too late to hear the full exchange, though she notes the Riverclanners just across the bridge, bitterness welling up in her once she sees the freshly-killed rabbit. It's not fair, she thinks, that Weaselclaw did all the work chasing the rabbit down only to get unlucky enough to chase it right into the paws of another cat, though there's not much to be done about it now.

Suddenly, Weaselclaw is lunging forwards, all the way across the border, and launching himself at Smokethroat, claws extended. There's no hiding her shock at his blatant disregard for the fact that the rabbit was caught on Riverclan territory, and she wants to say so, but it's clear that Weaselclaw and Smokethroat are beyond words, already clawing at one another, and then Jasperglare is racing past her, joining the fray. Anything she said now would only get lost amongst the combatants, and might run the risk of distracting her clanmates. There's no turning back from this, Aspenpaw realizes, and after a split second decision she's moving, too, racing across the bridge. Her heart pounds in her chest as her paws leave Windclan territory, but she tries to stay focused, trusting Weaselclaw's decision, perhaps against her better judgement. It's not so much a defense as it is a blatant attack, and while she knows they're surely not in the right, right or wrong isn't her decision to make; her decision now is whether or not to follow Weaselclaw's and Jasperglare's lead. If her mentor had started this fight, she wouldn't just sit back and watch, even with her minimal training. At the very least, she could try try to draw Smokethroat's attention to allow the others better opportunity to get a strike in. If she saw an opening, she would attempt to dart in, claws unsheathed and aimed at Smokethroat. If unhindered, she would then try and dart back, not wanting to get caught up in the middle of the battle.​

( WE'RE ALL JUST SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING ☾ )

 

[FINCHPAW]

---

There's panic when Iciclepaw comes back alone, with only a single rabbit as her companion instead of her mentor, she herself is levelheaded but the camp is chaos. The apprentice barely has time to explain who what and where before Finch is out the entrance, Creekjaw shouting after him. "Finchpaw! FINCHPAW GET BACK HERE WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING! CHIP YOU GIANT OAF COME BACK THIS INSTANT!"

But he's running, he's running and he can't stop. Help, Smokethroat needed help. 'And what can we do? YOU CAN'T EVEN FIGHT! YOU HAVE NO TRAINING!" That little voice in the back of his head shouts over the thundering of his paws through the territory. He doesn't know. Little Finch, Little Chip who couldn't hurt anyone, was barrelling towards the Windclan border with all the harried confidence of a salmon swimming upstream into a bear's mouth.

Jasperglare, nameless to him, is the one he's about to crash into, head bowed straight towards the tom's side should things keep on this track. Finch doesn't know what he's going to do after, he just knows he has to do something now, and his paws won't stop moving. ​

---

 

[Harry Styles]

---

➵ Clearsight, too, has been out with his own apprentice, @GILLPAW trailing after him as they hunt. They spent some time on fishing today, and they've since switched to land hunting, practicing stalking and pouncing—lessons that'll soon become crucial, as frost takes the river from them.

As riverborn as they come, Clearsight knows fishing best, but he's alright hunting on land. And his luck hasn't been so poor as Smokethroat's today, with a decent-sized vole—well, decent for leaf-bare, anyhow—clutched in his own jaws. Guiding Gillpaw through the intricacies of land-based hunting has been fun as well; the kid's a delight and he's such a hard worker.

So he's in a good mood as they approach the border, absentmindedly parting underbrush to give Gillpaw a path forward. The boy's getting a little older now, and inch by inch bigger, but Clearsight still finds himself wanting to—to make the world safer. Easier.

(He remembers those little golden eyes glittering up at him moons ago, begging to come on a patrol that might well prove deadly. He remembers a tiny little Iciclepaw splattered with Cicadastar's blood, and how close she'd come to dying that day, and how viciously determined he'd been to never let Gillpaw see a fate like that.

He can't shake the image of that bright-eyed little boy.)

The WindClan scent hits him then, and blood, and Smokethroat and Clearsight's good mood evaporates.

By the time he arrives on scene Iciclepaw has already bolted, so the warrior is faced with Smokethroat alone, on RiverClan's own territory, being torn into by two full-grown WindClan warriors and an apprentice.

There are not words for the rage that takes hold of him.

"Gillpaw," he thunders, "behind me." He means for the boy to hang back (he's just a child) but won't stop to protest if Gillpaw follows him into the fight, too focused on getting Smokethroat out of there. He's caught Iciclepaw's lingering scent by now and recognized that the girl must have already gone for help, knowing she'd been out hunting with Smokethroat.

Clearsight leans forward with hardly another thought, muscles rippling beneath blue tabby fur. "This is RiverClan land, you wretched killers,"
he snarls, fangs and claws flashing as he aims for Weaselclaw, intending to dig into the man's back and tear him off of Smokethroat.

"Go back to your damned moors!" he yowls, attempting to slash at Weaselclaw's back to further distract him from Smokethroat. He scents Finchpaw, then—rushing in blindly, where is that boy's mentor?—

But his stomach rolls as he thinks of the scene he'd first stumbled upon, and he still finds himself grateful for the hefty apprentice's appearance. Clearsight doesn't know how long Smokethroat fended them off alone for, and he can't tell what state the man is in—if he's injured, how badly—

How fucking dare they. How fucking dare they, he thinks, baring his teeth and lunging to strike with another bite.
​

---

& we've all got battle scars ✗ ​

//he's not watching his back at all, def open to a potential counterattack

 

[Coyotecrest]

I won't apologize for being who I am

Coyotepaw is traveling rather silently behind Aspenpaw, mint green eyes scanning the frosted hills of the moors for potential prey. Once a flash of ivory cotton alerted them to the presence of a rabbit the boy froze. Unsure of himself and what all the windclan signals mean he quietly looks to Aspenpaw for guidance. Apparently Weasleclaw wanted them to stop for the time being, and so the cream tabby remained in place while the lead warrior lurched forward. The sound of the fleet-footed creature no longer sounded as if it tread upon grass, but upon a sound he'd never heard before. Lips purse into a thin line and he promptly flanks Aspenpaw although nothing could have prepared him for the sight that lay before him. Upon breaking through the tall grass he witnessed Weasleclaw locked in heated combat with some cat he vaguely remembers seeing at last months gathering.

The two are hissing and yowling with claws fully drawn to tear into each other. Coyote's hackles bristle with a toxic concoction of frustration and confusion. Unlike Aspen, he had not caught bits and pieces of their conversation and thus had no idea what the pair was fighting for. As his eyes dart around he notices Jasperglare attempting to assist Weasle just as more riverclanners come to give their fellow comrade aid. The long haired apprentice that once stood beside him takes off to join the fray. In a situation of teeth and claws he would much rather be the one delivering pain than to stand around like an open target. Finally gathering his resolve, he eyes another warrior launching themselves upon Weasleclaw. Honeyed ears lay flat as he sprints toward Clearsight.

Tense muscles coil and snap as Coyote aims to launch himself upon Clearsight's back with extended claw. If he managed to anchor himself the boy would proceed to follow up with an attempted bite to the back of the riverclanner's neck. It might not have been this tom's fault as to why he was currently trapped within windclan's moors, but it certainly felt good to take his anger out on something.​

Tryna throw shade on me say a lot 'bout you​

​

​

​

 

[GOATFOOT]

Goatfoot heard that the clans fought, but he didn't think he'd get to witness a show this early! He is impressed by Weaselclaw's leadership capabilities and how swift he was to lunge into battle to fight for WindClan's prey. He's impressed by how swiftly the rest of the clan follows him in a team effort to win back the prey that should be rightfully theirs.

Despite being new to the clan, Goatfoot doesn't hesitate neither, nor does the other rogue Jasperglare.
He is the most experienced fighter here- but also the oldest and the slowest. Somehow by winding up in front of one of the youngest and most inexperienced cat, Finchpaw, it was the fairest match they both could hope for.

"Sorry," He grunts the apology and aims a heavy yet slow flurries to the apprentice's chest. claws unsheathed and prepared to meet flesh.

// @FINCHPAW im so sry​

---

Spoiler: TAGS 🐐 11/22

( primary character / "speech" / ic opinions )​

╰ ★ ჻ 001 GENERAL INFORMATION ,
· GOAT, male — he / him
╰ ‣ 144 moons . libra . ages on the first
╰ ‣ rogue . mountain-born .

╰ ★ ჻ 002 VISUALS & AESTHETICS ,
· DOMESTIC FELINE, smell of fir trees and late rainfall , status — 100%
╰ ‣ blue and white tom . scar over right eye . amber eyes

╰ ★ ჻ 003 MENTALITY & MANNERISMS ,
╰ ‣ Blunt, impatient, stubborn, loud-mouthed, short-tempered / warms up to become soft-hearted, protective, and considerate with those he grows close to.
╰ ‣ finds moderate difficult in relating to others . can be cruel, rarely shows mercy
╰ ‣ Appreciates titles such as "sir & mister"

╰ ★ ჻ 004 INTERACTIONS & RELATIONSHIPS ,
· BEETLE x HAWTHORNE
╰ ‣ homosexual .
╰ ‣ skilled fighter . average hunter .
╰ ‣ will start fights . unlikely to flee .
╰ ‣ attack in underline . penned by user @ava.

 

[GILLSIGHT]

Gillpaw was having a good day.

He's finally been able to hunt with his actual mentor - something that hadn't been happening as of late, with Clearsight's guidance put to the side as he healed from his injuries. While his fishing skills are getting better, his land hunting is still nothing in comparison, but today as the river's territory meets the beginnings of leaf-bare, he manages to catch a mouse.

It's small - nothing in comparison to his Clearsight's vole, Gillpaw thinks - but he's still proud of it all the same. He's just happy to be hanging out with Clearsight again.

However, his good day turns into something sour all too quickly. His mentor pushes some of the underbrush to the side, creates a pathway for Gillpaw to step through. The black and white tom takes a step, and he's able to see the scene before Clearsight can.

Eyes wide with horror at WindClan claws drawing blood from Smokethroat's form. Three against one, Iciclepaw is nowhere to be found.

Clearsight orders him to get behind him. To stay back, more likely, but Gillpaw but can't let his mentor go in there alone. Even with just Clearsight, the odds were unmatched.

He had to fight. And yet, he hesitates. Freezes up, fear taking over him as he watches the horrific scene before him. As Finchpaw comes barrelling out of nowhere, as others arrive.

He's scared to fight WindClan. He's heard stories about them, heard how vicious they can be. He's scared to lose Clearsight, lose Smokethroat. Of blood-spilled sights.

He doesn't want them to die.

He doesn't want to die.

But, as he watches Clearsight fight off vicious moorlanders, a blur rushes towards his mentor.

No. No.

Gillpaw rushes forward, sprinting towards the blurred form, preying to the stars he can barrel into it before it barrels into Clearsight. The form is faster, is in the air by the time he gets close.

"No!" he shouts, leaping up with his own claws extended, hoping to strike the apprentice down before the moorlander's claws can land in the blue fur of his mentor. "G-Get... Get away!"

// attacking @Coyotepaw​

​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) there's an odd sensation in willowroot's chest that she's fairly certain has nothing to do with the kits. over the past two days, every high position in the clan has sat her down and admonished her, putting it very clearly in her head that if she leaves camp alone, something bad will definitely happen. it's slightly amusing at how worried they are, but also irritating. she's well aware of how incapable she is right now, with her rounded stomach and cramps every other minute, and being reminded of her uselessness in such a dire season is unpleasant to say the best. still, she's made about a thousand promises to be careful and take care of herself, so when she tires of reorganizing the already immaculate nursery, she bothers beesong just enough until he gives in and joins her on a stroll.

the weather is relatively alright for the beginning of leaf-bare, although one would never call it pleasant. still, the slender pawed lead warrior feels delight sparking in their chest at the opportunity to finally be out of camp. pacing around bee in circles, they lead the tolerating feline deeper into the territory, towards the windclan border. stopping every few pawsteps to point out a plant that might help their medicine cat friend, the duo make their way across the watery kingdom with jaws clasping herbs. the yowls that pierce the air are the only indication of trouble, but willow's fur fluffs up anyway and they turn to their companion, eyes wide. "something's wrong," they're already moving quickly through the reeds, that odd sensation back in their throat, squeezing, choking. someone's in trouble at the windclan border, and it can't bode well for clan relations. scenting the air, the queen feels fear shoot through them as smokethroat's scent mingles with the heathery smell of the moor dwellers. not bothering to check if beesong is behind them anymore, they break into a run, and break through the reeds.

jaw slack in shock, she arrives just in time to see a grey and white tomcat launch himself at finchpaw. just beyond, clearsight and gillpaw dash into the fray. in the center, smokethroat, tangled under three windclan warriors. "what in starclan's name is going on here?" the shout echoes over the open land, although it is hard to hear with the screams of fighting cats filling the air. lip curling, willowroot's claws slide out, a growl rumbling in her chest. anger sparks, but fear mixes, her usual reckless desire to defend her clanmates torn between her duty to her clan and her kits. as beesong catches up, she turns to them, verdant gaze wild and worried. head whipping back to the skirmish, she tries to raise her voice. "stop! stop it! you dumbasses, you'll send your medicine cats to starclan early!" addressing both windclan and riverclan alike, the pregnant femme tries to scream over the noise.
@BEESONG <3 ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[WEASELCLAW]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

As he predicts, Smokethroat does not run; the black warrior meets his challenge with a snarl, the two of them rolling in a spitting, hissing whirlwind of fur and claws. Weaselclaw's own claws are hooked into Smokethroat's pelt to keep his grip. His little tortoiseshell apprentice shoots off, toward their camp, he assumes, and he curses under his breath. RiverClan will come with reinforcement, and Weaselclaw has no one but the hunting patrol he'd come with.

He feels pride as his warriors yowl their ferocity behind them; claws and teeth join his, yearning to fight for what rightfully belonged to him. The light of battle is like blue lightning in his eyes, smoldering and intense as they meet Smokethroat's glaring inferno glare.

Weaselclaw prepares to strike Smokethroat across his face when another warrior's claws sink into his back. He screeches and half-turns, facing an angry blue cat he doesn't recognize. "Go back to your damned moors!" Weaselclaw hisses in response, the pain from the tabby's tearing nails causing him to lose his grip on Smokethroat. Blood drips wetly down his back.

He loathes to turn from the other lead warrior to fight this nobody, but Coyotepaw comes to his aid. Weaselclaw makes a note to praise him to Sootstar -- kittypet-raised or not, he's fighting bravely for his Clan. Weaselclaw is free to finish his fight with Smokethroat, and he means to take every precious second he can.

Weaselclaw wastes no time. He shrieks, "This will teach you to steal from WindClan!" His claws are unsheathed. He strikes at Smokethroat's face, aiming for his right eye. If successful, the blow will be deep and maiming. He pulls away, whether the attack lands or not, before instantly lifting his other paw and slashing at Smokethroat's throat and chest area.

He can hear the molly screaming at them, can hear the apprentices yowling, the warriors spitting at one another, but Weaselclaw hears only the thunderous blood in his ears. Make it count.

- ,,​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

In seconds, as he expected, he's buried beneath a tangle of screaming moorland cats; despite this his claws remain focused on carving out their marks on the brown tabby alone and he ignores the other daggers slicing through the air and teeth ripping black fur out-he can see the spiraling dark tufts catch the air as they tumble and he refuses to relenquish his prey despite it all. There are not a LOT of WindClanners, but he is one cat and severely outnumbered and though logic tells him to self-preserve, to bolt away; his pride stubbornly wedges him into place and refuses to yeild. This is his clan and he will not let them pass, not let them stomp their paws across it as they wished! RiverClanners were not pushovers because they did not indulge in the antics of the other clans, he was going to leave his mark on every WindClanner here as a testament to that. With no other choice amidst the bodies piling up to smother him, he is a fire raging and clawing at any cat who so much as put themselves within his range, he slices air and flesh without pause.

He turns from the claws lunging into his face, but not enough; the partial turn is enough to save him both eyes being clawed but they catch on his left and the pain is so sharp and intense he briefly goes blind; darkness swills before his remaining eye and the sound of his own blood pumping into his skull is deafening, he's so stunned the next blow lands true but it is retaliated to with a lunge of its own. Smokethroat pushes past the claws digging into his throat to clamp his teeth around Weaselclaw's ear and with a sharp jerk he pulls to try and shred it to pieces, meanwhile his forepaws are seeking what flesh they can find purchase in to get the tabby off him, backlegs kicking up toward the tom's stomach; it doesn't matter, he doesn't care how-but he is not letting this bastard leave with all his fur and blood attached, he wants the bloodstains to soak into wooden boards beneath them for all eternity. When Weaselclaw attempts to pull away he would do so with barbed claws gripping him to keep him locked in place, he would have to struggle against the vice grip that was the shadowy tom's outrage, with blood dripping from his nose, mouth, eyes, even filling his ears, Smokethroat gives a piercing, enraged yowl like the crack of lightning, "I'LL KILL YOU!"

(Ooc: Vague first paragraph but if you're in the 50 cat pileup feel free to be clawed at your discretion!)
​

 

[koispots]

She getting ready to head out again with the warrior Lightning told her to be with until Iciclepaw comes back; shes calm and collected as ever, but she speaks of a skirmish. Koi does not make an effort to move, no, shes so tired of bloodshed and she looks up to to the warrior with blank eyes to watch their reaction. She only moves when she hears Finchpaw's mentor screech at the top of their lungs and her blood runs cold and its so obvious that Koi's heart has stopped. She thinks of Peachpaw laying half submerged and her fur, how it looked lively still despite the onset of rigor mortis. "FINCH!" her voice rises in her own screech, her voice cracks. Tears run down her face because as Finch runs she sees one of her last friends running to their death. As much as Koi wants to put on the front that she doesn't care she did, she cared to the point where she let it break her.

"L- Please- I-" her chest heaves. "I'm sorry, i'm sorry, I need- Please, follow, I can't let him get hurt, they're all going to die-" she bolts. She bolts from the warriors side in a frenzy and shes not thinking clearly because the boy is going to die. She can't lose them, she'd do the same for Crappie, drag them through hell and back to make sure they were safe. Her mind screams at her because Stars if she lost one more friend-

She arrives. Finch is getting pummeled by two cats, one looks old, her mind isn't working. She goes for the younger one. Claws outstretched she attempts to rake her claws against Jasperglare's face, her fur fluffing up in anger. Finchpaw can take care of the older one, right? "Finchpaw, focus!" its barked out but her voice is full of panic and …. Shes gentle in her glance to him.

She's clueless as to what would happen. Willow is screaming at them but she doesn't hear the words that drop from her mouth. Everything is slow motion.
// @Jasperglare
​

"speech"​

 

[Redpath]

The moment Iciclepaw came back calling for help, she was bolting out of the camp like an angry lioness. Kicking up dirt as she ran, her claws shredding the ground. Those damned moor rats were picking a fight on their territory! The audacity.

If they loved Starclan so much, then they should go meet them. She will happily be their escort.

Her chest tightened as she caught Willowroot's scent. Was she okay? Why was she out here? She pushed herself to run faster.

The scent of blood hit her along with Smokethroat's scent, and when she finally arrived, her heart stopped for a moment. The blood pouring down his face and throat..... Her face contorted into a vicious snarl and her pupils dilated.

She sprung forward. Jasperglare unfortunately was in her way, and she wasn't having it. She was big. Muscular. This red tabby was nothing to her. She grabbed him by the scruff and practically tossed the near bag of bones aside, earning her his ire.

"Love a she-cat that can kick my ass. Let's go, sweetheart." Jasperglare growled as he scrambled back to his feet.

Redpath glared at him. With a vicious yowl, she swiped him across the face so hard he was knocked over again.

"STAY OUT OF MY WAY, SCUMBAG." She roared, turning her sights on Weaselclaw.

She was back on the streets again. Her dearest friend dead with several cats around her. Waiting for her. But this time was different. She got here in time.

And now? She was going to make these windclan rats run home screaming in terror.

Fury and bloodlust overtook her as she flung herself at Weaselclaw, seeking to grip his neck in her jaws and to shred his side as much as possible.

She didn't want to kill him.

She wanted these cats to live with the beating she was about to give them.

Jasperglare wasn't done yet though. After he cleared the blood that had dripped into his eyes, he lunged for Redpath-

An apprentice just smacked him in the face again.

"I KNOW I HAVE A SLAPPABLE FACE BUT COME ON."

He glared at Koipaw and swiped at her, aiming to harshly bat her away rather than rip her apart.

@WEASELCLAW @koipaw


​

 

[FINCHPAW]

---

His head thuds into something solid, stopping him in his tracks and sending said 'something solid' flying. However, instead of putting in a second hit, the apprentice freezes.

"Sorry."

Goatfoot, also nameless, hits him so hard the breath is stripped from his lungs. Again and again and again, fur flying from the repeated clawing. The hits are steady, and unlike a warrior in their prime, the bicolor's weight gives him time to think. 'Think! What did you see Dogteeth do that day?' But he can't. He can't remember. Suddenly there's a ringing in his ears and the breathlessness isn't just coming from Goatfoot's punches. "Lea-" Its soft, quiet, but his face clearly betrays his panic as his claws unsheath and he puts his full force into a messy, untrained blow towards the other's face. His voice cracks as it dissolves into a soundless cry.

"LEAVE US ALOne!"

// @GOATFOOT ​

---

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : there is nothing that could have prepared him, not today. the man was settled precariously at the edge of the river, ice scuffing around the sharp edges of his paws and there is little he can do to prevent the freeze that spreads further up the rocky shore. he knows this, knows it as true as the bitter chill that rakes itself up his arms and burrows deep into his marrow. for once his mind does not trail towards suspicion ; the edge of paranoia that so often rears its ugly head remaining tucked away, suffocating beneath the weight of something much more real. claws come to scrape absently at the freezing slush, pink pawpads numb. it's then the cattail sways behind him and here comes iciclepaw, rabbit in maw. his ears perk, lifting to his paws to come closer, rounding river rock, " iciclepaw! what a catch, h -- " it happens simultaneously. windclan reek meets an open maw and his blood is suddenly frozen, the ice - cracked edges of the shore. she's speaking. she's cool - headed, too mature, and with a quick stay put, he's gone.

it's the screaming comes first. he can hear it ricocheting through the thinning willow, voices whipping through the reed swaying tauntingly ahead of him. muscles already ache, screaming with each hard stride. smokethroat's out there. smokethroat's alone. there's too many of them, a hunting patrol. iciclepaw's words knock around in his skull and it burns in his paws, burns up the length of his arms and spirals heavy in his slim chest. panic. white - hot, a wildfire of fear scorching up the tangle of his ribs. smokethroat's out there and has been since iciclepaw was sent, " scheisse, scheisse, scheisse, scheisse. " with every breath a curse, raw and hoarse. what if he wasn't quick enough? he thinks of wolfpaw, gnawed apart and bloody. he thinks of pumpkinpaw, he thinks of peachpaw, thinks of rain. thinks of crimson, sticky red and viscous and the feeling as it dries, cracking and dry between his toes. he's never truly been able to save anyone, has he? his throat tightens.

the man bursts through the undergrowth from an angle, a looming ghost of a thing, quick. the sickly dirt - scent of moorland assaults his nose and he snarls. windclanners. damned windclanners, he should have done something about them before now, but what could he have done? they fester, like a sore just beyond the gorge, open and rotting from the inside. cicadastar does not recognize a number of the patrol and icy luminaries scan their assailants rapidly and instead seeing -- "willowroot, what in starclans name are you doing -- get back to camp! " the apprentices, there are too many. finchpaw, koipaw, gillpaw -- he thinks of wolfpaw. pumpkinpaw. peachpaw. he thinks of smokethroat, finds him amongst the crowd, buried. fury encompasses him, desperate and wild, "du windclan schwein!" finchpaw struggles against an elder tom, koipaw against a lanky red. smokethroat struggles against the only one he can recognize, a stringy brown tabby, all - too familiar.

he cant be everywhere at once. they're attacking children and his mind is abuzz with terror, with rage, as ice - cold as the river had been. his vision blurs, " moorland dogs, i'll have your heads!" with that, he does the only thing he can do -- claws outstretched, he lunges towards jasperglare, aiming to send him toppling hard off smokethroat and against the jagged stone edge of the bridge. redpath aims for weaselclaw and he's grateful despite the slick of blood that already pools beneath them. terror aims his next attack and if he should have succeeded, he aims to latch his teeth into the side of jasperglare's face, canines dipping into the soft of his temple. if the little patrol didn't fall back, he would drag their sorry corpses to the border like a gift ; bloody.

− ♱ out of character information visual reference translations ♱ −

• − CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
  − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and ice blue eyes
  − gay. speaks with a german accent, ages on the seventh, penned by antlers
• 
• - shit, shit, shit, shit.
  - you windclan swine!

​

​

 

[BEESONG]

what starts as a peaceful walk, gathering the little herbs they could find along the way, is shattered by the screeches that erupt suddenly. beginning as only a couple, before becoming a cacophony. leaves and flowers scatter to the ground. beesong's pupil constricts into a slit, his claws unsheathing on instinct. he has no idea how close or far they are from the noise. his ear strains to find the direction, but it's to no avail.

his first thought, after the initial oh shit, is to protect willowroot and her unborn children. she's so close, so close, to delivering them into the world. he couldn't, he wouldn't, let anything happen to them. beesong would taste blood before he would allow harm to fall upon them.

but willowroot, stubborn and foolish as they are, turns to beesong with the obvious on their tongue. and before beesong could instruct her to move towards the camp, she does the exact opposite; willowroot lunges through the reeds, in the direction that beesong could only guess is where the screams are coming from. "willowroot!" their voice rises above their characteristic even-tempered tone. it claws out of their tightening throat, surprising even them.

he has no choice but to follow, paws thrumming in rhythm to the drum of his heartbeat in his ear. shit, shit, shit. what was willowroot thinking, if they were even thinking at all?! "willowroot, you're pregnant!" as if that would stop them. they show no signs of slowing, and beesong has to thank the stars that they've become too big to outrun him in the same breath that he has to curse them for running in the first place.

they burst from the reeds, and the tang of blood invades their senses. a scent that should not be so normal, it almost blends into that of the river and the reeds. the screeching is deafening now, nearly disorienting. beesong swallows down the fury that threatens to erupt from their lungs, teeth biting down on their tongue until the smell of blood is a taste in their mouth as well. a windclan patrol, on riverclan's territory, attacking their warriors and apprentices. "willowroot, to camp, now," beesong growls, going to nudge the queen in the direction of the island. and they intend on dragging her, if they must, until they see it. in the corner of their eye, they see smokethroat through a throng of windclan scum. blood pools from his throat, spurting across his chest and down his legs. the windclan patrol does not show signs of stopping. beesong knows, they wouldn't stop until smokethroat is nothing more than another corpse.

beesong does not want to prepare another body for burial, does not want to smell mint and rosemary and death. he does not want smokethroat to die. he does not want to live each day without seeing the lead warrior moving about camp, delivering his brusque remarks wearing his scowl. it's selfish of him, because everyone dies. it is a fact of life as sure as the sun burns in the sky. but who is he, if not selfish? it's feline nature to be, after all.

the cinnamon tabby does the unthinkable. they lunge towards the brown tabby who had struck smokethroat, and who would surely go back in to finish what he'd started with teeth locked around a dark-furred throat. because smokethroat does not know when to stop, spitting blood as he screams a murderous threat. they are alike in that way, beesong supposed.

with redpath attacking weaselclaw's front, beesong aims to wrap teeth around one of the windclan warrior's hind legs and pull it from underneath him in hopes of unbalancing him.

@WEASELCLAW​

 

[leechpaw.]

The day was shaping out to be yet another idle one, a lazy passage of time waiting for anything interesting to happen. Perched on the riverbank downstream from his mentor, Leechpaw tried not to stare. Tried to avoid waltzing up and outright asking for a walk beyond the waterlogged camp, to roam out in the frozen meadows, anything that could be in the slightest bit entertaining. But that would be improper. Disrespectful. Cicadastar was a busybody, and still his leader, the one everyone else walked on eggshells around trying to avoid trouble. Even if the busiest activity his mentor was accomplishing was staring at the water. The black-furred apprentice glanced at the leader briefly, before returning his own gaze to the waters. Fishing wasn't a strong suit, but he could perform an attempt. His curl-fringed tail swayed irritably behind him.

Bursting from the reeds like birds scattering from a tree, Iciclepaw appeared — as Cicadastar approached to congratulate her on the rabbit, the shadowy apprentice stood in turn, stalking forward to ask just where she even got such a catch. His nose twitched, the sharp tang of blood beyond the dead prey hitting his senses all at once. The scent of WindClan, recognized from his brief trips circling the border, crashed over him like a wave. And then she spoke, announcing the unfurling affray. His eyes widened in uncharacteristic shock, once again flitting toward Cicadastar for his reaction.

His mentor was already gone, charging through the cattails and reeds in a flash of vanishing grey-and-white. Leechpaw stiffened, as frozen as the ice-floes in the surrounding river before he too was bolting through marshy foliage. A split-second decision, really. The only benefit he could weigh out was that at least his day wouldn't be as dull.

Without graceful legs as long as Cicadastar's to propel him across the vast stretch of land, the apprentice struggled to keep pace. His nose stung with chilled air as he sprinted behind where he could only assume the tortoiseshell barreled toward — the arch of the border's bridge soon comes into view, the intrusive two-leg landmark suspended above rushing waters. Leechpaw skidded from the reeds, just in time to see Cicadastar launching himself at a red-furred WindClanner. He had never participated in a legitimate fight before, despite his previous mentor's best attempts to train him in combat. The senior warrior's teachings return to him, both instinct and rehearsed movement guiding his action.

Finchpaw was beneath a heavyset warrior, an unfair fight despite his aged speed. Leechpaw may have been tall for his age, but he lacked the weight needed to tackle the older cat with any hope of knocking him off of his fellow apprentice. Bolting into the fray yet without a snarl like his clanmates, he lunged for Goatfoot, anticipating to land on the older feline's back. A lesson from before, when facing warriors that outsized him. If he managed, he would sink in needle-like claws into broad shoulders to maintain his grip and bite down onto the closest area of skin he could reach. Finchpaw, though holding his own, would have to thank him for this later.

@GOATFOOT​

 

[Jasperglare]

Again, Jasperglare was bowled over. Except this time, his head hit cold hard stone and left him dazed, unable to adequately fight back against Cicadastar. Fangs bit down into the side of his face and he twisted his body to bat at Cicadastar's underbelly.

"GET OFF-"

He was going to lose his face if he didn't escape. He wasn't going to die for a rabbit he knew belonged to Riverclan now. He didn't understand Weaselclaws actions. And he wasn't going to die for someone else's arrogance. For the first time in a long time, he felt fear. He was trapped beneath a cat stronger than him, with more rage than him, and it scared him.


"SCREW THIS-"

He wriggled and writhed with as much strength as he could muster, likely damaging himself more in the process. He would attempt to flee the scene and return to his own territory on staggering legs.


​