sensitive topics come to meet the reaper that awaits | murder

[SMOKESTAR]

Whatever lead the wretch back here he couldn't tell you. Was he passing by or here to cause more trouble, was it arrogance or hubris, was he seeking death in some manner? Smokethroat didn't know, but he knew he could grant him the latter easily. It had taken every ounce of his will power to not go crashing through the brush like a feral beast the literal second that familiar scent caught his senses, the way he looked more shadow than cat as he stood their bristling and glowering past the shroud of trees to the edge of the river where the rogue was moving; from this far it was hard to read expression but it almost seemed like they were searching for something. He would not be allowed to find it. On carefully placed steps the lead warrior moved, he had never put this much effort into tracking prey on the land before but this was a special occasion. The flames roaring inside his head nearly deafened him at times, it had been a long time since he'd felt so righteously full of fury that the only antidote was to sink his teeth into the cause, because he'd long since abandoned his violent ways of the past to be good for his clan. To strive to be better for RiverClan. To do ANYTHING it took to protect his clan. And right now what his clan needed was not his sensibilities, his skill in nonlethal combat, his perceptive gaze on a patrol, it needed him to be the brutal warlord he'd been in two-leg place. The obsidian carved beast of blood and bone, who ruthlessly cut down any cat who so much as crossed his path once because trust did not exist and out here you either killed or died and he would not die-he would never die.
Sunset fire gaze blinked, pupils drew into narrow slits as his quarry paused and turned to dip his head into the trickling river's edge for a drink; every instinct in his body surged to the surface with one single definitive roar of a word.

KILL.
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Smokethroat burst through the treeline with a speed he didn't knew he was even capable of, quick leaping strides carried him over the cobbled pebbles in a noisy clatter of stone and dirt but his prey registered it all a moment to slow to do anything but become aware of the shadow suddenly enveloping him. The initial hit with claws was hard enough to send them both rolling, but the RiverClanner maintained his momentum and kept upright out of the water, his clawed paws digging down into the throat exposed from the tussle and holding the other tom down beneath the churning water where bloody froth began to bubble up; his struggling carved slices in the smoke-voiced tom's face, chest and forelegs, blood splattered across the stones around them and dyed the river an almost gentle pink until finally...the thrashing ceased, the dark and shapeless body beneath the river underneath him went limp and only then did he stagger back to the shore and sit hard. Blood dripped down his muzzle, he blinked and the sting of the various cuts on his legs and chest began to dull into a soft throb.
Smokethroat sucked in a breath. Spiderfall was dead and their apprentices could once again sleep soundly knowing this bastard would never harm them again...

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[FISHFACE]

To kill another cat is a capacity which Fishface himself lacked, yet he can commiserate with the reasons that drove others to do it. Having lived amongst the clans for an inordinate length of time, he understands death is an essential part of this lifestyle, and on some occasions, it must be inflicted on others. Thus, as jumpy and jittery as he is, it hardly spooks him when he detects signs of ghastly violence on a clanmate.

Drawn to the shore by the din of a scuffle, the angular warrior has to bite his tongue when he first glimpses Smokethroat. A knot soon ties in his throat, but staying sensibly silent was more important than making knee-jerk commentary in this situation.

There were cuts on top of scars strewn across the other tom's physique, and blood poured out from places it wasn't necessarily supposed to. Given the thin and narrow characteristics of the gashes along his lower figure, it's safe to assume that another feline has brought such pain unto him. The guilty party remains out of Fishface's field of view, however, hence he also presumes the bastard either died or fled.

"By StarClan, are you alright?" he queries in a nervous tone, padding on up to the lead warrior. He stops in his tracks a respectable distance away, his eyes affixed to Smokethroat's wounds. Seeing how he has yet to keel over and die in a bloody heap, the oriental tabby fights off his urge to overreact for now. "D'you need me to get Beesong?" Fishface then asks. It was the obvious choice here, but there existed the possibility that he could help Smokethroat in a more immediate manner.

He does not ask what happened, for he does not question the judgement of someone above him.​

 

[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw was not invited on Smokethroat's excursion. On his hunt. She tracked her mentor through the riverlands, the sheer force of her curiosity driving her to the riverbank behind Fishface. The scent of blood meshes with the rich, mineral tang of their river.

Smokethroat stands, forelegs drenched in water and blood. Iciclepaw's eyes go wide as moons, but otherwise, her expression remains set. She pads next to Fishface and gives her mentor a long look before murmuring, "He hurt Ashpaw. He killed Pumpkinpaw. He deserved it." She's seen death before -- the death of a noble cat, her leader, and this does not register as anything more than a neccessary action taken.

Fishface offers to get Beesong. Iciclepaw flicks an ear. "Or... maybe Cicadastar," she says. He would like to know, wouldn't he? That the cat terrorizing RiverClan is finally dead, unable to cause anymore problems?

- ,,​

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