- Jun 7, 2022
- 416
- 336
- 63
− ♱ 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. “
“ 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. “
-
@BUCKGAIT.
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.