camp DAMAGED GOODS ↷ [ SKIRMISH RETURN ]

[smogstar]

Night's mantle has since enveloped the wetlands by the time the last of them crossed the thunderpath. Their retreat had been unceremonious—abruptly announced during the heat of battle, which ultimately turned the organised patrol into a free-for-fall getaway attempt. That aspect carries little weight in the grand scheme of things. The danger involved was nothing compared to their reward: a rabbit, felled at the tips of Batchirp's claws. And though it was dark, and they all wore varying degrees of injury as they shambled across the border, the members of the patrol would reconvene rather quickly before setting off on their return to camp.

The ground becoming soggier is a surefire sign that they encroach on the hollow. Every step sees more muck flinging from his paws and descending into the thick shadows before him. A consoled breath draws when the outlines of pine trees grow ampler in amount, imposing on their path in an almost shield-like manner. Camp lies behind them. Having walked this path so many times before, the tom endures a gut feeling whenever he verged on home. For once, he welcomes this feeling. Those ThunderClan fox-hearts had tried to blind him, so he eagerly seizes on this familiar sense of safety.

"We return!" announces Smogmaw after crossing the camp's threshold. His grey pelt an opaque shade beneath the starless sky. The streaks across his brow and the crimson-tipped furs of his shoulders can only be made out by those close to him.

He feels gratified. An entire fucking rabbit.

If at first you don't succeed, send someone better to helm the patrol.


// @BATCHIRP @SHARPPAW. @FERNDANCE @Siltcloud. @Tornadopaw ! ​

 

[Tornadopaw]

If you don't like me, that's your problem

The veil of night paints the black smoke an even darker shade as she finally enters the safety of camp. The sound and sight of battle still playing periodically within her mind and the marks she bore across her chest and throat only served as a vivid reminder. She was still a little shaken from the event. Keenly aware that if that warrior really wanted to he could have ended her with that single kick alone. Or perhaps she'd gotten lucky his claws could only dig but so deep. Crimson glistened beneath the moonlight as she took a seat upon sodden ground, at least their effort did not end in vain. "Batchirp caught a rabbit." Tornadopaw announced, the sound horse and tired as she wrapped her tail across her paws. Grimacing she bends her neck. lapping at the only wound she could reach.​

When I let it bother me, that's my problem​

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[FERNDANCE]

"Though some of us nearly didn't return." There wasn't bitterness in the ticked tabby's voice, nor was there malice, but there was something. A quiet tempest of negative emotions, ones she hadn't had to deal with for some time, threatened to reflect on Ferndance's features, but with a modicum of elegance and decency, she was able to hide the vast majority behind a polite frown. She moved into the camp and decided against settling with the rest of the patrol-goers, her short fur frazzled and a small wound smothered in dried blood on her left paw. Ferndance didn't bother to groom the area clean, though it didn't hurt any less than the rest of her body, which had been smothered and suffocated beneath a great weight. In solitude, she reclined on her haunches, listening to the praise thrown Batchirp's way for his life-saving catch. She appreciated it too, she wanted to tell him, she just wished her own life hadn't nearly been sacrificed to attain such a lagomorph. The clan had run away instead of helping her, had it not been for her lucky bite, she may have been watching them from StarClan.

She didn't know what that meant, but she didn't like it. It made her stomach flood with butterflies and a rare panic grip her heart. She could be expendable in the eyes of ShadowClan, her individuality stripped for the sake of feeding someone deemed more worthy. Ruffled paws shuffled closer together. No, she didn't like feeling worthless at all.



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[Halfshade]

After the first patrol had gone so poorly she had her misgivings on the second. Afterall, according to Pitchstar ThunderClan already knew what they were up to and would be ready for it; Flickerfire's betrayal was something she had no real feeling on one way or another. Perhaps someone else would feel anger at it, righteously outraged over this disrespect for her clan, but Halfshade felt an almost cool indifference. ShadowClan cats held loyalty to what kept their stomachs full, maybe she was being bribed with a tasty treat now and then. Every cat for themselves after all. Was she a little ticked off? Mayhaps, but then again she never really liked Flickerfire much so any fuel to add to her dislikes only gratified her further. Girl was a right fool.
A sudden, familiar cry rises up at the edge of camp; the patrols return. She expects the stench of blood, copper and too warm in the air, but the sudden whiff of prey is what has he curiously wandering over quicker only to stare at the rabbit gripped in Batchirp's jaws with an almost incredulous look. An entire rabbit. That was the entire nursery fed, every elder, several sick cats, most of the apprentices: it was almost as big as Tornadopaw herself perched there grooming away red stains and slightly trembling. The torbie scans the others, noting that though victorious several seemed irritated and with the ThunderClan stench so thick she can only assume a patrol ended their antics early. But still...an entire rabbit.
Pale paws carried her along over to Smogmaw to push her muzzled into the side of his disheveled head, not even bothering to be wary of the muck and grime kicked up along their frantic run back that spotted him like the dappling of a newborn deer.
"Look at you lot, against the odds returned with something precious~" High praise for high standards, "I hope you left some wounds to remember you by on whatever pine forest cats got in your way."
Wait until Pitchstar saw this, even his grouching and dour face might offer up a rare smile at the sight of fresh prey for the starving clan.
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[DOGFUR]

The lack of very severe wounds—from as far as he could tell—indicated that this had been a great success. The rabbit was the crown achievement of it all. ThunderClan rabbit, he thought, pale yellow eyes raking over the forbidden prey. He wondered how it would taste. He likely would not be able to get much more than the bones of it, he assumed.

"Some?" He parroted, head turning toward Ferndance. His tail, twitching and jittering out from behind him cast thin shadows against the ground. "What happened?" In a unknown mimicry of Halfshade, the tortoiseshell stepped forward to get a closer look at Ferndance's pelt.

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[BATCHIRP]

The rabbit he carries is heavier than what he expects - a strain in shoulders bruised by the impact of a ThunderClanner as he walks.

It's weight is comparable to the burden of guilt that grows with each pawstep, with each glance his warm gaze gives towards the rest of his patrol. Further injured than he is, each one of them. Though he can feel where the oak-dweller had landed upon him, his wounds are hardly visible in comparison to Tornadopaw's - who he should've helped - or Ferndance - who chirps that some of them nearly didn't return.

"I caught a rabbit," the dark tom echoes behind Tornadopaw, placing the kill down before those who'd awaited the patrol's return.

Batchirp should be proud of the catch - or, prouder than he was, he supposed; a twinge of triumph hidden beneath everything else - but he can't help but feel like he hadn't done enough. Like he should have stayed back to help everyone else. Like he's still nothing but a coward, through and through.
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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

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"you... did good, batchirp. it's a good catch."

chilledgaze pads over, looking over everyone with a twitch of their nose. their ears pinned back in anger, before an uneasy smile parts their lips. they let out a brief laugh, tilting their head as they tapped their tail against the ground.

"those stupid squirrel-brains have absolutely no idea. none."

they briskly laughed again before breathing out a sigh. their smile faded and they only straightened themselves out. once we gain our strength back... we will be stealing again. out of spite. maybe even- tch. no. they rubbed their muzzle before they nudged a npc to go get starlingheart.

"alright, if you have any injury... sit. starlingheart can determine the severity. no matter how small you think it is, you can't make that call."
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[SNOWMASK]

"Tornado! Nady!" The molly calls out with clear panic in her voice. What is wrong with this place? Sending a mere child to do their dirty work. Her eyes are cold, a glare on any adult that gets in her way. The only one she has softened her gaze for is her child and she looks arouns the smaller molly as she tries to gauge just how hurt she is. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anyway?" Her nose gently nudges her daughter before she finds herself slowly trying to calm down and keep herself from clawing anyone's ears off. "You should have let someone else go. Prey or not you are not old enough to be risking yourself like that." The mother frowns and glances up at Batchirp who managed to get a rabbit. It is a good catch and something that will feed them but she doesn't have the want to congratulate him on his deed. So instead she merely looks away and tries to lick at whatever wound her daughter might have.​

 

[FERNDANCE]

Dejected from the celebrations, the ticked tabby turned her attention to her friend, offering an uncertain smile to the younger tom. She didn't want to worry him with something that could've been seen as a melodrama, but it felt important - a warning to him that companionship may not have been guaranteed by creed alone. "When the call to retreat was made, I couldn't follow, and no one tried to help me. Some overweight kitty had pinned me down and was trying to smother me and I just... oh I probably would've died if I wasn't good at biting things." She explained to her friend, her pupils narrowing as a stray paw grazed over a swollen piece of flesh on her neck. By StarClan itself, had not one piece of her been spared the pain of being crushed like a grape? Mourning eyes hovered over those who welcomed the patrol back, and realising her plea for answers would likely go unanswered, she shuffled closer to Dogfur for comfort. There was a certain understanding she thought she'd shared with ShadowClan, that despite all their weirdness and wonderfulness, they'd have each other's backs through thick and thin. She guessed it was alright if they didn't, but it made her wonder what all of that hunting and patrolling had been for if she was worth less than a bunny.

"It doesn't feel good, I would've stayed behind for them... well... most of them..." she muttered to the tortoiseshell, conflicted between feeling despair and confusion. Feelings weren't things that Ferndance appreciated, they could get in the way of her fun and just make life way more complicated than it needed to be. As much as she held on to the thin glimmer of hope that some poultice on her bruises and a nice long nap would cure the bad thoughts, deep down she knew it would take a helluva lot more soul-searching to reach a verdict on the events of the hunting patrol.

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[smogstar]

Further remarks made by his patrolmates be damned. Their words cascade through one ear and straight out the other, as the whole of Smogmaw's focus pivots to the approaching molly. "Hey there," he cooes, the beginnings of a smile marking the warmth in his inflexion. She is the one he wants to see the most right now. Addled by both the pain in his face and the triumph he felt in their success, Halfshade just being there evens out the turbulence in his mind. He eagerly accepts her gesture, pushing his noggin into her own with commensurate appreciation.

"Batchirp, the tom of the hour," applauses the tabby, imparting a wayward glance to the black-furred warrior as he speaks. Out of those on the patrol, Smogmaw certainly hadn't anticipated the diminutive warrior as the one to find success—both he and Ferndance prevailed as hunters, while apprentices like Tornadopaw at least showed enthusiasm for the cause. "WindClan'd be jealous the way he caught that rabbit so swiftly."

To his side, the ticked she-cat's condemnations hang in the air. They aren't as easy to ignore as the prior pleasantries. It is true, regrettably, that the patrol's retreat had come as a tad reckless; yet, it was a reckless mission right from the get-go. The fact she still stands upon her paws corroborates how good of an outcome this happened to be.

His gaze shifts to the deputy. "ThunderClan, of course, met us with dulled claws and yellowed fangs," affirms the tom. The exultance in his eyes has diminished somewhat. "We managed to escape before they called reinforcements. But those mongrels sought to torture us." Smogmaw flicks his head askew at that remark. "One tried to blind me," he says, "and another came close to squeezing the life out of Ferndance. So, I called a hasty retreat, and by the sounds of it, I should have taken more care. For that, I am sorry."

But he did not feel sorry. Not a mere shred of it. The flaxen she-cat's complaints fall on apathetic, black-tipped ears. She cannot act as though she'd been the lone sorry soul to have a close call on that patrol. Not in good faith, at least.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Night-slickened fur bristles with the heat of battle. She rolls her shoulders. They stung, pricked and battered by apprentice's claws. Sharppaw's still winded, his chest heaves and his paws are heavy. Only a single catch is shared between them.

But its something, and its plump, juicier than anything ShadowClan has seen in moons, juicier than anything that made its home in the marsh, she was nearly sure. One piece of prey was monumental for the season. Even better that they had outperformed those who came before them. Bile in her throat, something strange resounds within her.

Raggedly, he would pad beside Smogmaw, though he would be quick to scuttle away at Halfshade's approach. high praise, the molly sings. Chilledgaze, too. He doesn't care. He doesn't care what they thing. Side-glance, silver spots drift to Batchirp.

It should have been him.

And isn't Tornadopaw lucky, to have someone to dote and croon over them the moment she walked into camp? Her mother was stupid, though. Sharppaw would rather have anyone else, than someone like that. Sharppaw's blood still pumps– and maybe, that's why she doesn't make the effort to hide her scowl. The rest of them did not matter, of course.

"Tornadopaw can hunt herself. It's j-just another patrol." Mumbled with a downcast grimace. The molly herself hardly looked like she's hunted a day in her life. Sitting on the sidelines for a spar, as she did. How long did she plan to coddle a cat whose fully grown? (What did she have that Sharppaw didn't?) If Ferndance should hate anyone, it should be the molly who couldn't show a scrap of worried from anyone who wasn't her kit.

Sharppaw averts his eyes, only to hear a sickening tone of voice that he never has from his mentor. Muzzle scrunching, Sharppaw makes a face.​