CHANCES GONE AWRY ↷ [ SHC HUNTING PATROL ]

smogstar

smogstar

STARVED VULTURE.
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Oct 22, 2022
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A guttural voice rasps out into the night, somewhere in the outer recesses of the woodland territory.

"SHUT UP."

It belongs to a dark-striped tabby, who speaks in an unpleasant and forceful whisper. There had been a noise behind him. Be it chitchat, a loss of footing, or perhaps an embodiment of his own internal dialogue, the tom provides an over-the-shoulder glare to the hodgepodge of cats on his heels. They ought to know that this operation's room for error is minimal. MI-NI-MAL. The slightest hiccup will open up an array of unfortunate outcomes, ones they are better off avoiding for their hides' sake, and Smogmaw did not intend to emulate the last patrol's inadequate results.

A thick layer of clouds eclipses the heavens above, permitting them the shade of starless skies. It isn't quite night yet, but rather dusk, as they couldn't risk all of the prey falling asleep on them. The forest's underbrush becomes thicker, denser the further they stray from the thunderpath. Passing off the rustling of his limbs as the night breeze becomes less believable as time goes on. Should StarClan favour them on this night, the ShadowClan cats shall take their leave relatively soon. He doesn't wish to spend any time longer here than what was needed.

As was planned, the patrol disperses after a while. They remain in the same vicinity, yet head off in other trajectories to cover more ground and seek more prey. Smogmaw ensures to keep his apprentice by his side, seeing how Sharppaw likely hasn't tread through this nick of the woods before.

His eyes comb through their surroundings in a squint. "Watch the trees," instructs the tom in little less than a murmur. He hasn't hunted squirrels or birds in a smattering of seasons, but as far as he can recall, scaling trees is a hell of a lot more difficult than nabbing frogs from their lily-pads.



// blitz (howling) has established that this thread is limited to 3 tc warriors + their apprentices! thunderclanners, pls wait for @BATCHIRP to reply!
// @FERNDANCE @Siltcloud. @BATCHIRP @SHARPPAW. @Tornadopaw

// retro to the gathering!
// lots of ooc notices, yippee! ​

 

Batchirp doesn't understand why he's here.

The dark-furred warrior stands within the Shadow-borne patrol, equally shaded ears twitching at the conversations around him.

Why? He can't help but wonder. Just why was he assigned for this arduous mission? Him, Batchirp - who'd been stuck training as an apprentice far longer than most, held back over his inability to focus. Someone who could have easily been Batpaw until elderhood, as deemed by his own mentor.

Was this a test? It must be.

Surely, Batchirp's place would have been taken by a stronger warrior, in any other circumstance.

A hissed-out order to shut up from Smogmaw silences the patrol's chatter and Batchirp's thoughts. Right. This was important. There was no movement for error now - not after the last patrol had brought back hardly a mouthful of mouse as their prize. They needed food, and lots of it.

But, why --

The curly-furred tom shakes his head. Focus. He needs to focus. Smogmaw lets out another order - watch the trees. Though likely meant for his apprentice, watch the trees, Batchirp tries to do. Brown eyes squint at silhouetted branches in the dusk sky as the patrol splits off into something smaller, but - as is common for the boy - his focus is torn away and brought towards something else. A rustling nearby, the creeping scent of something... edible.

"Hey," he makes the attempt to grab someone's attention with whispered words, "I think --"

I think something's over there.

His words diminish into nothing. Silence is needed for a successful mission in the foreign territory that envelopes them. And Batchirp, well, maybe Batchirp could investigate the sound himself, yeah?

Slowly, he creeps forward, following the scent's path toward nearby foliage. It's a final step forward that almost risks it all for Batchirp, as he finally spots the creature amidst underbrush - dark, beady eyes staring in his direction, long ears twitching as the critter assesses its surroundings. A rabbit.

When is the last time Batchirp had seen such an abundance of food? He doesn't know, but he knows he can't risk this any further.

A breath is held as he crouches down. Warm gaze locks onto the rabbit, a focus unwavering as he waits for his target to relax, to go back to its own nighttime feast on the foliage that surrounds it. And soon, it does. And soon, Batchirp begins to inch forward once more.

Until he's close enough. And then --

He strikes, springing at the rabbit, swift in the shadows that camouflage his form. Batchirp digs his claws into the rabbit, a killing blow brought down on his target with a snap of his teeth. Success. A prize for Batchirp - for ShadowClan - to bring home, to feed the hungriest of marsh-dwellers. Proof that the tom could succeed in something.

But, he's got no time to celebrate in the oak forest. Batchirp picks the rabbit up in his jaws, turning to go find someone to tell about their mission's success.
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tThere was a lingering part of her that reminisced that perhaps she shouldn't be there. The ticked tabby relished in the chaos that such patrols wrought, but it was hard to ignore that just a short while ago, there had been more qualified ShadowClanners ready to take the helm like Flickerfire. She was no lead warrior, too much time had passed since she'd had the strength and company to fortify her claws, but there was a murderer's intent in her gaze all the same. Emerald eyes pierce into the treelines above, her tawny belly low to the ground as she scanned the dark branches for signs of rodents or birds. It was almost vexing how few of them there were, in spite of the change in scenery. Everytime she thought she saw a shadow of prey dancing across the sky, she was instead met with a stray leaf of twig colliding with the earth below, with such a display, disappointment quickly followed. Hunger motivated the ticked tabby to press her luck. On stealthy paws, she edged deeper into ThunderClan's territory, the normally gentle smile upon her maw crooked with irate thoughts and less-than-friendly impulses.

Out of the corner of her eye, she swears she sees a clanmate catch something, her heartbeat peaking with glee at the thought that they would not go home empty-pawed. She wanted to find her own prey to harvest, yet things seemed quiet in the dead of night, a sure sign that most animals wouldn't have dared intrude on the place where battles had previously taken place. With her liberal edging forwards, she briefly, instead, focused on the air around her, the noises that infiltrated it from the rare chirp to the waning hoot. Her large ears were kept alert for the cracking of branches or crunching of leaves, things that the other patrol may have missed, things that had left them with nothing but a measly mouse for their troubles the last time. She would kill if it meant getting her clan the food it needed, and already, unsheathed claws tugged mercilessly as the grasses below.



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If you don't like me, that's your problem
Frosty night air seeps into her very bones as a frigid breeze combs through her curls. Her jaw is set, teeth clenched tight to keep them from clattering and clacking together. The lack of food has left her figure to slowly wither away, ribs protruding just beyond the silhouette of smoke and ebony twists. Cool mushy footing ebbs and flows into thick, dense foliage as they traverse deeper into thunderclan's forested territory. Smogmaw whispers for silence and her nerves are alight, firing on all cylinders as her mind drifts to the condition of the former patrol. Like the tabby warrior she did not want to end up like them, battered and bruised with absolutely nothing to show for it. This operation, no matter how dangerous she believed it to be, had to be successful. Tornadopaw only hopes that she does not come across Burnpaw tonight.

If push truly came to shove, she would defend her clan's right to live, to eat. Every cat at least deserved that mercy although she doesn't like the idea of exchanging blows with her friend. An order to spread out and search for prey is given and Tornado turns to prowl elsewhere. Obsidian paws guide her carefully through unknown land, careful to stay relatively nearby during her search. The soft rustle of foliage causes her citrine gaze to snap in the direction of Batchirp, watching as he rises with a rabbit limp in his jaws. A tired grin pulls at her lips, wishing to congratulate the tom but now was certainly not a time for words. She had not seen such a large meal quite some time, what a grand prize for shadowclan. ​
When I let it bother me, that's my problem​
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HUMBLE MY BONES WITH A CARDIAC
siltpaw | 09 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally easy | attack in bold color
Greif and exhaustion weigh heavily upon the girls mind, leaving the already too-quite girl utterly silent. Flickerfire si dead - the bright, cheery, rather spastic feline that had mentored her for most of her training... gone. Dead. A traitor to shadowclan. She wants to believe otherwise of course - it's smogmaw bringing the claim after all, the very same tom who hurt her friend. But Pitchstar seems certain, seems convinced. And it's not as though every other prominent role model in her life hasn't turned traitor. Sandra, a kittypet. Bonejaw, a riverclanner. Flickerfire - might as well have been a thunderclanner if thats where her loyalties had lied when she'd left this world.

She hasn't shed a tear - won't, probably. It hurts, yes, but no more than if her mentor had simply up-and-left her, not been killed by vicious dogs. It's a strange sensation, not nearly as jarring as her reaction to sparkkits death. Perhaps its simply part of growing up - loss doesn't hurt quite as much. Her silent musings are interrupted by a whispered shout, deadened gaze slowly turning to Smogmaw with an utter look of disdain before flitting away quickly, uncomfortable. Jaws part to taste the air - the scent of - rabbit - already on her tongue as Batchirp takes off after it, sneaking up on the pitiful creature and successfully capturing it in powerful jaws. She gives a slow blink and nod, head bowed slightly - a silent 'good catch'.

She feels no need to voice the words - they're meant to be stealthy after all.

Lithe body drops into a crouch, stick figure limbs slowly uncoiling and flattening until her dirt colored figure almost vanishes into the ground cover, even her eyes hardly reflecting in the moonlight. She wants to be ready - needs to be ready for anything that may come their way. Predator or prey matters little to the girl - they are fighting to survive. She'll help take down any who get in their way.

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† A rare determination burns in silverspot hues.

She's afraid. Of course she's afraid. To encroach on the borders enacted by Briarstar herself. What does that show of ShadowClan? That they did not respect their own values, in the right circumstances. That their leader was as fragile as he seemed. In his mania, going against the wishes of his own late kin. That there is nothing and no one they wouldn’t stoop to, to keep themselves afloat.

And was that a bad thing? Denial, it must’ve been. A measure to cope with the losses Briarstar had experienced. If we can’t go out, no one can come in, she had figured. But why would anyone want in to a hellhole like this?

Things are better, this way. The other clans had bound them to this. Found it funny to follow suit, knowing how little ShadowClan had. They shouldn’t be bastardized for wanting to live. They would not hunt excessively. Just… enough. And if they did not try to feed their clan this way, they’d just… leave, and tell the whole world ShadowClan did not try hard enough. Well, they were trying now.

She tenses, with Smogmaw’s hiss. Bites back the urge to apologize, even though he hadn’t done anything. But that too, would be distraction. His ears stay pinned to his skull, stuttering with each inkling of sound. He stuck out more, here. His head lifts to trees. Dead as they were, what would be lurking amongst the bare branches. And if she did see a squirrel, just what would she do?

Sharppaw shouldn’t be here, he realizes. His crooked tail weighs a lifetime behind him.

Batchirp lifts his head, a hardy rabbit clenched within his jaws. It should have been her.​
 

Watch the trees, Smogmaw says. In this context meant as a word of advice, another place for them to scope out and find prey to steal and take away to their territory. In hindsight, it might have been better used as a warning, for up in the trees was Flycatcher. The ground prey had been scarce today so Flycatcher had suggested seeing what he could find up in the trees. He was a decent climber and jumper, but not as skilled as their neighbours in SkyClan.

The lead warrior is not in the trees long when the faint odour of ShadowClan hits his nostrils. Perhaps it was nothing to worry about, but Flycatcher was more than a little on edge what with the dogs and ShadowClan's previous attempt to hunt on their lands. Cautious of what laid ahead, he called down to the patrol below, alerting them to the scent before revealing he would go on ahead and see if he could spot anything from above. And sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed when he finds not one but six ShadowClan cats quite brazenly stomping around on their territory. Flycatcher was not one who was quick to anger, but already he could feel the heat rising below his pelt. Although he could tell they were hunting, Flycatcher did little for the time being, watching from his perch to see if he could catch them in the act. And it did not take long. He hears one of them point out a sound nearby, and his gaze flickers to Batchirp, before watching as the mostly black tom stalked and killed a rabbit.

Flycatcher had had enough. "Thief!" He yowled, voice piercing the air and no doubt alerting the nearby ThunderClan cats. "I'll make sure you ShadowClan rats regret stepping onto ThunderClan territory!" Not giving much time for the ShadowClan cats to prepare, he is quick to spring into action, quite literally leaping from the tree and hoping to land on Batchirp and tackle him to the ground.

@BATCHIRP ​
 

He will not be joining Flycatcher in the tree, he has decided, as he turns from the gray tom to scent around them. Sunfreckle is no climber, only in emergencies and right now there was no drooling maws bearing down upon them with murderous intent but he does quickly detect something else and his shoulders hunch defensively. ShadowClan.
ShadowClan had tested them once already. He remembered the patrol returning to inform Howling of what had occurred, that they'd caught a mouse on their territory and had the audacity to attack the patrol who rushed to enforce their borders. Sunfreckle wanted to feel sympathetic, but it was hard to when ThunderClan was also struggling for food and had been dealing with dogs breathing down their necks in a near constant state since Emberstar was first killed. Whatever pity he might have felt for the marshland cats and their plight was drowned out in the rare and burning fury that rose up in his chest the moment he scented them on the territory a second time. The first was not forgivable, but he could have dismissed it as desperation, but to return just like that? The mingling scent of rabbit blood told him they were more successful this time and he thinks of the kits in the nursery mewling in hunger, of Little Wolf seconds from bringing more of them into the world at any moment who would also need to be fed. His friends had children in need and a single rabbit would have been plenty of them all.

His fur rises to fine points, hackles raised and lips curling back into a snarl and he waits for only a moment after Flycatcher has moved forward to spring upon them before joining the fray. The three-legged tom was not exactly what you would consider the most competent combatant but he was bigger than these cats by far and had the weight to throw around that would hopefully balance out his lackluster skills. If anything he intended to give them a scare worth remembering. He sizes up the cats present quickly, mostly apprentices, Flycatcher was targetting the dark one with their rabbit and the other two warrior-aged cats were much smaller than he was so he decided to focus on the one with the more slim build and went barrelling towards @FERNDANCE to slam all 20lbs of his red tabby form right into her to try and knock her off her paws. A sharp yowl of outrage escapes him, he has no intention on killing any cat for any reason but they didn't know that and he certainly wasn't going to tell them so his teeth were aiming for whatever spot he could to sink into.
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Tybalt had decided to join Flycatcher in attacking from above. He had gone skittering up a separate tree, leaping from branch to branch with the nimbleness of a forest squirrel. He remembered hunger well. It had plagued his kithood and adolescence as a city cat, and the thought of the kits in the nursery experiencing it had been enough for him to be brimming with rage. ShadowClan's hunger was of no concern to him, and he was in no mood to play games with them. Confrontation would waste their time, and talking would fill no bellies.

Flycatcher was first to leap, and Tybalt waited for @smogmaw to come closer before he struck. With a serpentine hiss, the tom dropped from the tree, twisting in the air and pushing off the trunk with his hind legs to strengthen and propel his leap, sharp claws unsheathed as he aimed to throw the ShadowClanner off his feet and pin him to the ground.

// apprentice tag @Cherrypaw
 
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What a fool Batchirp is, for thinking this would be a success.

What a fool, for not realizing this was merely a fluke, that even a successful catch would end up in failure for him. Such a large prize in foreign territory wouldn't go without a fight - Batchirp should have known that.

The dark-furred tom nods back to Siltpaw and Tornadopaw in acknowledgment, before pausing. What now? What does he do with this? Go back home? Hide it and look for something more?

He isn't certain what his next move should be, but he opts to find a hiding spot for his kill. However, he isn't able to search for long.

A force from above captures him as he'd done the rabbit, leaves Batchirp letting out a startled shout as he lets go of his prize. ShadowClan's prize.

"Hey!" the dark-furred warrior shouts in surprise, "Get... Get off of me!"

ThunderClan had found them.

"We're under attack!" he calls out in warning to the rest of the patrol, as a claim of thievery is brought on by the oak-dweller that launched himself at Batchirp. Batchirp remembers a time when this was ShadowClan - the Marsh Group's - own hunting grounds. Perhaps they would have been better off without ThunderClan around, this leaf-bare.

And oh, why was he assigned to this patrol? Why was he put in this situation, subjected to the inevitability of claw-strikes and bloodspill?

ShadowClan is relying on him, and Batchirp has no other choice but to strike back - to fend himself and make sure the rabbit makes itself a home within the marsh's kill pile. The shadow-pelted warrior aims to twist himself around under the gray ThunderClanner's grasp - an attempt to kick up at his stomach with unsheathed claws in hopes to free himself.

// attacking @Flycatcher !​
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"THAT'S WHEN STRANGE SENSATIONS, START TO GROW"​
After having two cats fly out of the trees and one from the undergrowth, they'd certainly be expecting a third to follow them down shortly. Unfortunately for them, the last attacker would not be coming up high from branches, but well hidden below in the thick bushes that covered his pelt. Under Tybalt's mentorship, Cherrypaw had grown into becoming stronger at his fighting skills most of all, and he was ready to put them to the test. This was his home--and they were enroaching on it for food that was not theirs to steal!
His eyes scanned the apprentices, and within moments, he spots his target: a black and smoky-furred apprentice, with a tense and uneasy expression on her face. She looked unnerved by standing in the midst of the thick ThunderClan forest, as if she, too, knew none of them belonged on this side of the border, and that was enough for Cherrypaw. Time to act.

Without a sound, Cherrypaw comes bounding out from the undergrowth, charging forwards as fast as his little paws can take him with the only sound being the rustling of branches and brittle, dead leaves announcing his presence. He leaps up, aiming to take the apprentice--Sharppaw--off his guard by pouncing from behind and onto his back, hopefully sending both of them crashing to the floor with his claws dug into his pelt.

”None of you should be here, and you know it!" He shouts, rage fueling his voice. We're already starving as is, they shouldn't be taking our prey!​
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If you don't like me, that's your problem
With bountiful prey secured within Batchirp's mouth, Tornadopaw barely had a chance to turn and search for her own prey to hunt before chaos erupted all around. Curly fur prickles to a degree as thunderclan warriors pours from the trees above and scuttle from underbrush beneath. Just their luck. It was foolish of her to hope they would make it out of this without retaliation. Ivory teeth grit as citrine eyes watch an opposing warrior leap upon Batchirp and an apprentice rush at Sharppaw. Standing between them both she only has a moment to decide who to aid and she opts to assist Batchirp. "Sorry Sharppaw..." Tornado mentally apologizes. They could not afford to lose the priceless prey dangling within the ebon warrior's jaws. Lunging forth, she closes distance. Jaws parting wide she aims to clamp down upon @Flycatcher's tail from behind. If successful she would pull in an attempt to draw attention towards herself and away from her fellow clanmate.​
When I let it bother me, that's my problem​
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The moments ensuing his warning were fairly eventful.

ThunderClan cats plummet from the trees like a flurry of hailstones. Their numbers appear to parallel that of the patrol's, so fending them off still lay in the realm of possibility. How many more of them lingered in the trees is something only StarClan knew, however, and something he didn't want to find out.

Perhaps more surprising is the fact that Batchirp, for the first time in his mundane existence, managed to prove himself useful. A rabbit. Not some measly mouse, but an entire stinking rabbit. They'll be treated like saviours when they return to the swamp. Pats on backs and other commendations will have to come later, alas.

Smogmaw's wide-eyed regard is fixed on the initial voice. There's no ostensible movement beyond the faint blur thanks to the dim atmosphere. With his form rendered stiff from caution, his gaze caught unawares, and not to mention his overarching malnutrition, the striped tom is effortlessly overpowered and pinned to the ground. Acute pain would sear through his shoulders as claws pierce through issue, and he collapses onto his stomach under his aggressor's weight.

Spite guides him through the agony of it all. The ashen warrior manages to wriggle himself onto his back and get a good look at his assailant. Tawny fur, piercing yellow eyes, and an advantageous amount of body weight. This fool doesn't need the extra fresh-kill. None of them do. "Giddoff'a me," he musters angrily, his features contorted in an ugly wince. "Your lot doesn't care for boundaries - Emberstar made that clear!"

The prolonged stinging in his back makes him aware that he bleeds. Smogmaw yowls, struggling to free himself but to no avail. In a moment of anguish, he inclines his hind legs into @Tybalt [Stagstrike]'s chest, claws exposed. His legs then project outward, likely tearing through flesh along the younger tom's belly if his claws meet their mark. Regardless of if his attack is successful or not, his hind paws collide with the ground below and open up a window for him to escape.

Attenuated limbs scramble towards Sharppaw's scent. The pain impairs his movement for the time being, but should his attacker cease in his aggression, the tabby would be at his apprentice's defence before long. ​

 
† A yowl pierces the air. Sharppaw's head snaps to the trees, eyes wide. Not that she took any interest in their daily goings, but she didn't know they were so alike the very squirrels they ate. Had it been a warning then instead? Should she have known–?

All around them, ThunderClan warriors crash into the clearing. Half of them feal from the sky, and the other half rumble forward on foot. Batchirp has a target written on his back– the prey clamped within his jaws. It was not so much remarkable, as it was the winter making them desperate. A blur of chestnut fur twists toward Smogmaw. Sharppaw's silence is broken then, with the bitten-back yell in his throat. Frozen, for a moment; his jaws are parted in an open-mouth frown. His first instinct was to not bother. Leave the battling to those who were good at it.

He swallows the bile in his throat, stuffing his anxieties down along with it. Unlucky, he doesn't have the chance to decide his way forward. A weight suddenly drops onto him, pinpricks digging into his back. Sharppaw's legs buckle beneath him with a panicked hiss, sending the both of them into the cold ground. Gasping, his claws scrabble at the dirt. Panicked, "Get off me!" rips from her throat, half sob, half yowl. Inherent panic, to be pinned. A prickling feeling ripples its way up his spine, needles in places they shouldn't be. Get away, away, is her first instinct, and her limbs thrash wildly in her attempt. Though– her tail is noticeably limp. If he made any leeway, he'd attempt to lash out at @Cherrypaw with his hind paws.​
 



She whipped around at the accusation shouted by a voice she didn't recognise, her claws unsheathed as she noticed the voidlike hunter fall to the ground with a ThunderClanner wrestling atop of them. Where had he come from? The distraction is enough for her to lose sight of her surroundings, and turning back around, she seldom had time to react before a large ginger tom was crashing into her. All the muscles that threatened to waste away from starvation sprung to life with aches as her spine collided with the forest floor, her legs tucked towards her belly to protect the taut flesh beneath. Wriggling about like a stranded worm, the sudden shooting pain running up one of her aforementioned limbs did not stop Ferndance from her flailing, grimly aware that a firmer grip on her could result in a one-way trip to StarClan. Emerald eyes glowered up at emerald eyes and the ticked tabby decided that the ThunderClanner had earned his ticket to the afterlife too, but with her own life in jeopardy, she needed to get her priorities in order. The hisses and yowls of clanmates pierced her ears, a sharp laugh escaping her once she realised they'd all been pinned too - did ThunderClan truly know no other strategy than to throw their weight around?

Ferndance rolled her weight into @Sunfreckle 's sole forelimb, aiming to latch onto it with needle-like teeth and use her hind legs to kick and claw at one of his stifles to try and mess with his balance. That rabbit would be enough to feed all those that needed it in the clan, she felt compelled to be by her clanmates' sides to ensure its passage back through the marsh, but she mattered slightly more at that moment. "Not to be rude, but do you really need more food?" She asked the heavyset tom through teeth that were either gritted between skin or thin air depending on prior events. Her tone didn't speak of her body's hardship, instead sounding like an idly curious she-cat. It was a dissonance further reflected through the upwards curling of her muzzle, a bloodied smile shot toward the lead warrior as if the pair were playing a simple game.

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"THAT'S WHEN STRANGE SENSATIONS, START TO GROW"​
That's a low blow, Cherrypaw grumbles to himself at Ferndance's scathing remark about the tom's size. He knew Sunfreckle was no fatter than any of them, and most of that weight came from fluff--there was no need to be rude about it. Before he could comment, though, his attention quickly diverts back to Sharppaw below him, whose shoulder bones are digging into the pads of his paws.
He could feel every bone in her body.

He stamps it back out of his expression before the whirlwind of emotions could reveal themselves on his face, but the pause was long enough for Sharppaw's hind legs to catch him, bunny-kicking him in the gut. He struggles to keep his grip on the apprentice--he considered himself lucky to have prior training with Cloudypaw in this same situation, but whether that training would last, he wasn't sure. He stomps his paws down to hopefully either knock the wind out of Sharppaw or to pin his flailing limbs down to the ground--either way, it would be an attempt to bring an end to her panicked flailing.

”We're all starving, regardless of how thick our fur is! You don't have any more of a right than we do to eat and live, let alone steal someone else's!" He yells. ”I get the struggle trying to eat, but the idea of stealing another clan's prey is immoral!"​
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The ShadowClan warrior yells at him to get off but Flycatcher holds firm. Underneath him, the black tom alerts his clanmates that they were under attack. And Flycatcher is pleased to see his own clanmates joining the fray, rushing in to stop ShadowClan from stealing their prey. He felt pity for their struggles to eat, but consistently coming back to hunt on ThunderClan land was immoral and wrong. Did they think they were the only clan starving? What made them think they were entitled to another clan's prey simply because they struggled to hunt in their own lands?

Flycatcher continues to hold firm until Batchrip manages to twist underneath him, and he feels the sharp prick of claws on his belly. He grunts a little in pain and eases his grip on the ShadowClan tom briefly. He would allow him to squirm away a little before attempting to smack his head with his paw. Or at least that was the intention until he felt teeth in his tail and felt himself pulled back slightly. Flycatcher turned his head briefly to see Tornadopaw trying to pull him away. His expression softened for a brief moment at seeing the young apprentice, before he rolled his eyes, knowing he needed to get her away. Whilst not aiming to cause too much damage if he did hit her, Flycatcher kicked out with his hind paws, hoping to at the very least get her to let go of his tail if nothing else. Regardless of the success of his mover, the blue tabby's attention remains on Batchirp, whom he glares at. "How dare ShadowClan come here and steal prey from my kits' mouths!" He seethes.​
 

His opponent hits the ground like he'd flipped a kitten, almost no weight to her; ShadowClan had certainly become sacks of skin and bones during this leaf-bare and while ThunderClan may have been slightly better off they were not doing to well either with all of the threats and chaos that had erupted around them since Emberstar died.
The lean she-cat twists and he realizes he should have given her a pummeling because the teeth suddenly in his leg earned a sharp yelp of surprise before he caught himself. His limbs almost buckled at the surprise bite, but he should've known better than to think she would just run off back to her border as he wanted, that would just be too easy. It took a lot of willpower to remain standing there still then, with sharp needles digging into his only working foreleg and one he could not risk having injured too severely less he end up having to learn to walk like a two-leg.
'Do you really need more food?' What did that mean? What was she implying by that? Was this..was she making fun of his size? Was that a remark on his weight?! "You-how dare you-you have SOME NERVE!" It pricked at him the way any other comment hadn't, he had endured the remarks of his kittypet life before ThunderClan if you could even call it that, his pampered shelter upbringing, his foolishness when adapting to ThunderClan's culture but this was unecessary and she would be paying for it. Sunfreckle still found he didn't think himself capable of killing a cat, but she'd earned a pummeling and talked a lot of talk for a cat still technically pinned under him.
Without hesitation he let his legs slide out from under him , throwing the entirety of his hefty form down onto the ShadowClanner to crush her.

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Tybalt snarled as @smogmaw spoke, gritting his teeth as sharp hind claws tore into his belly. He staggered back slightly, glancing back towards Cherrypaw for a moment to make sure he was all right. And then Emberstar's name met his ears, and rage coursed through him and burned beneath his claws. Hissing, the brown warrior reared up on his hind legs and swiped outward with extended front claws in an attempt to rake his claws across the ShadowClan tom's eyes. "Keep her name out of your mouth!" he spat, whirling around to trip the warrior should he attempt to stand.
 


As the bronze brute is sent staggering back, Smogmaw's freedom is nigh on ordained. The tabby's limbs project from this newfound opening between his and his aggressor's abdominal regions, sifting for leverage amidst the gnarled roots and soil. His claws would sink into no dirt, however, for his search is interrupted by a scathing pain that envelops his face. Just as daggers tear through the skin above his eyes, an equally violent howl tears through the dusk air. This mongrel, it would seem, seeks to blind him, and his attack would have achieved its intended results had Smogmaw not lurched away by instinct.

"Honourable" his ass, attempting to maim him in such a sadistic way.

The fight in his system is swamped by a sense of flight. It's about time this patrol made their grand exit. He shambles away. "Hnnn- ShadowClan-!" he would try to cry, but a sturdy object would catch between his scrambling legs. A skull-splitting faceplant into the ground below causes his vision to grow cloudy—but through this daze, as well as the flurry of fighting felines, does he spot their initial trail of pawprints in the soil.

Smogmaw forces himself upright and resumes his mad dash. "ShadowClan! Disperse! Retreat!" calls out Smogmaw's pain-ridden, worry-torn, dry-ass voice. "And someone grab that fucking rabbit!"

A silent prayer is issued in the depths of his rattled brain. A plea, beseeching whoever's listening - be it StarClan or some other hackneyed god - for the success and prosperity of his own feet. His ass is on the line, and he could not have them failing him.

// out! ​

 
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