private cheap gas station knife / buckgait

− ♱ ABOUT : the sun has finally begun to sink down over the horizon, the last dying rays of sunlight painting the skies in shades of indigo - golds. they’ve made out with the best of the best — large, plump ducks already plucked and waiting to be devoured, hares bigger than some of the warriors that drug them out. it was only a matter of time before the twolegs returned and thankfully by then, they were evacuating, making off with the prey they’d drug to the treeline. the man remained back seeing his clanmates out, making sure the campsite was clear and everyone had heard to follow along. with buckgait off probation, the man would admit that he’d found himself relying on her more. after roekit, after cinderfrost, the idea of her being a threat to riverclan waned, seeping slow from his mind as suspicion unraveled within his chest. it was a careful thing, his steps around her — though they became more steady, a foil. they worked well together and while that spurred a flick of an ear in irritation, it was a fact he could not deny.

it’s clear, we have to g — “ words are cut, interrupted by the sudden too - close whir of something that lands heavy in cracked log, splintering it apart while shatters of wood burst around them, “ schiesse! “ a spat, a wild step back and — they had to run, “ go! “ the tortoiseshell chimera whirls around, sharp - knuckled paws bringing him to a frantic sprint towards the outer lining of trees heading towards sunningrocks. they couldn’t lead them to camp — they had to take another way out, the twolegs closing in, howling and hollering and pointing. his muscles ache already, tugging and pulling with the weight of his sprint. his maw opens, panting heavily, pallid eyes searching for pale brown fur every now and then and she was there — running, a tail or two ahead and she was safe, for now. they were close to the bridge, if they could just make it to the falls, they could take cover — twolegs were notoriously slow, anyway. up ahead, there is a stick jutting from the ground, haphazard and broken. the chimera moves to swerve around it and —

something catches him around the neck and tightens, pulling him back with the speed of his sprint. the shiny ring of metal cuts immediately, slicing razor - sharp into the tender skin of his throat. he can feel the resistance where a hard knot of flesh had scabbed over his shot wound, wire pressing uncomfortably into picked, scarred flesh bundled over his jugular. blood welts in an almost - collar, seeping around where bicolored curls now sink, pressed in by the twolegs contraption. the man gasps, unable to see behind him but able to hear the cracking of fake - thunder overhead. he can hear them howling behind, hears the cracking of bark where those sharp, fiery bits lodged themself into weeping willows, “ im stuck — im stuck — ” it’s breathless, sides heaving and limbs rigid. each movement sends the wire a millimeter deeper into sensitive flesh, an attempted swallow tells him that he cant, the mere bob of his esophagus jostling his snare. buck is the only one here, and . . he takes a breath, as well as he can around the trap around his neck. he could lose another life. the man had nine, didn’t he?

tense limbs shake minutely with the thought, but his jaw sets claws sink into the ground below and buck has surely realized he isn’t tuning behind her still. the man can’t move his head, can’t move an inch, can’t even lie down if he wanted. each movement cuts a little deeper and the humans are closing it, but he cannot see it.

buck has stopped — he can see that, can see her turn around and spot him. cicadastar swallows, and it disturbs the snare around his throat, his face twisting into a grimace of pain he didn’t have a hope of hiding. this was it, wasn’t it? he was caught. not yet dead, but he would be once the upright walkers caught up to him, aiming to finish what they’d started him. there was a chance they would not wait to skin him now, and he closes his eyes, trying to think of anything other than the bloodied corpses of prey they’d stolen. the woman could turn, could say there was nothing to be done. she could say they’d torn him to bits in front of her, that there was nothing left to salvage. she could get away with it. riverclan warriors were in camp, tucked away in hiding from their attackers — there was no one to see them here. there was no one but her, and his ears swivel down just slightly. more fake thunder and he keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the dew - wet grass underfoot rather than the heat of blood lining his throat, “ theres no time, ” his voice is quiet, trained. dejected. he didn’t know how to get out, but if she came back, time would be wasted. they would catch them both, “ go home.

    he’s caught in a wire snare trap, like this! it’s connected to an old stake in the ground, she can shake it a little and get it loose for them to run,,
  • CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
    − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
    − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers

  • none.

the spoils of this one-sided war grow heavy in her maw. a firm stance beside the leading man as the other two are ushered off first. it is calm and still and that alone makes buckgait nervous. eyes upon the trees, awaiting the fleeting exit of the watching birds. a crack rings through the air, piercing the silence and slaughtering it. the birds break, leaves rustle and the men are upon them. the breakage of frantic movements and buck is ready to join in. yet, as wild eyes roam to catch sight of the riverclan leader, she finds the area empty and desolate. he is behind them. trapped once again. she fins it slightly ironic, but it all sets in far too quickly.

she could leave him. when both eyes catch, she knows that he is aware of that. she could leave him to die. arrive at riverclan and destroy everything he had made. return to the river she grew with. riverclan would all just be memories. a fleeting rumor upon the wind, something that is forgotten quickly with the turning tides. yet, she can not stop the haunting vision of seeing him as someone's son. a mother who would feel every piercing moment of her son's demise. he's a father to much of the youth, and she does not hold the same cruelty that the stars do. they've taken her daughter in some sick cosmic plan, and she would be nothing but their accomplice should she leave this killing floor.

the beasts with sticks of domestic thunder close in, and the time is waning. she does not run, does not turn. she fears nothing, in this moment what does she hold to lose? caraway...willowroot...they're happy and contempt here. raccoon is growing into a warrior. lightningstone...he was perhaps the kindest thing cicada had ever given her. she can die and be contempt with sharing the nights and days with him. with watching caraway secure her fate. her family to be safe within riverclan.

her limbs are quick and sure, as steady as the oak trees and just as unwilling to buckle with fear. "stop telling me what to do." it's a harsh snarl as she closes in on him. covering the much larger creature from the prying eyes of the hunters. the wire continues to cut into him, and she thinks about cuffing him to make him stop. he keeps moving, a beast who has lost all sense. her fangs dig into the wood stake, the wood is quick to cut and splinter in her maw. something to deter her from this. to stop playing hero and go back to what she used to be. some girl, alone under the sweeping willow. the blood fills her mouth, coats her muzzle, and stains her teeth. claws tearing at the gentle earth to reveal the cruelty of man.

buck can only ignore the stinging pain that is starting to pool. ignores the approaching footsteps as she is finally able to remove this desolate thorn from the fertile ground and free this land from its malice. a paw slips into the wire collar to allow him a breath of air, gritting teeth at it eats at her flesh and demands a sacrifice. let it and the men grow hungry.

− ♱ ABOUT : there is only a brief solace in the way she turns, meeting and holding his gaze. they seem frozen in a moment, despite the commotion behind them and the blood rushing in his ears ; in actuality, it lasts only a moment. they've no time for a staring contest despite the gleam of defiance that levels clashing eyes, now ; its why it startles him to see her lurch, forcing paws forward as it by divine lead. the totoiseshell chimera does nothing but stare for a moment, expression twisting into an almost - offense at the way her own face sets, as if annoyed by her own decision.

her snarl seems to snap him back to reality and his lip curls in response, back arching and fur bristling just slightly. grace does not find him in this silver snare, " damned idiot, why can't you listen for on - " another shot. it burrows into the ground to his right just as she latches on, pulling with time - stained teeth and the reaction is instant, wire pressing into her face and she pushes through . . as does the wire. cutting through white - mottled features, blood welling along the unnaturally straight edges of it. his ears snap back fully and he grimaces, but he does not look away. as much as his brain screams for him to turn, close his eyes, he will witness this act of sacrifice − not for him, no. he would never assume it for him, "you're going to get yourself killed. "

the stake is finally lifted, and with it a chunk of earth. his stomach turns, the image of twoleg destruction raging behind his eyelids ; the clearing, and river, the grounds trampled and ruined. but there is no time. not for thanks, not as she tucks a paw into the slip around his neck and loosens it, slicing into tender flesh like nothing he's seen. but by starclan, it loosens, and his throat clicks, lungs heaving and open. the man gasps freely for air smelling of rancid smoke and twoleg, but his gaze lifts, moon catching in frozen eyes and he is thankful again. appreciative again.

another shot.

" starclan . . " he steps back and the stake comes with him . . but he can move, and that's all he needs. his lungs and throat ache, but it is now nothing compared to the mangle of buck's face and forepaw, " let's go, we'll split at the bridge. i don't want them near camp. " a wild sidestep, but he spares a glance her way, brow furrowing. she was injured, but hopefully not enough to hinder her ability to escape. he ignores the sudden drop in his chest, grits his teeth, "don't make me come find you. " return safe.

with that, the man looks up − and runs.

  • CICADASTAR ; he / him. roughly thirty nine months old, riverclan leader
    − handsome, lanky black smoke tortie chimera with curly fur and icy blue eyes
    − gay. speaks with a thick german accent, former marsh cat, penned by antlers

  • none.