sensitive topics DAMAGED ODDITY // ShadowClan Skirmish Return

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

//tw for wound descriptions, blood, rot, also she might appear a bit crazed through the thread NOTE; cats cannot smell the "rot" she's referring to INJURY LIST; Deep cut at the 'brow', right eye is crusted shut from blood, several minor scratches along body, deep bite wound on neck Half-conscious, Sootstar stumbles home with the support of a clan-mate or two- if anyone could bare a shoulder. Cats of the patrol had gained anywhere from scratches to severe wounds, Houndthistle's eye scratched to bits and Sootstar's breath shaky from a life loss. StarClan- or the power her lives held, had managed to close her neck wound for the most part, but tiny droplets of blood still trickled and one of her eyes was forced shut from dried and crusted blood. Gasps and petrified yowls sound from the clan as the patrol enters through the gorse tunnel. Defeat did not have to be announced, it was worn on their pelts and the gashes the harbored. Sootstar waves the cats helping her off and stumbles to the medicine cat's tunnel, sitting outside of it she points her nose to its entrance, her warriors needed to get treated. As for Sootstar? She's been healed efficiently enough for now… she's more concerned about the scent of rot that won't leave her nostrils. Is it coming from her pelt? Could her clan smell it too? In distress she chuckles, "Oh… Starclan!" What did you do to me? Where had you sent me? // @HOUNDTHISTLE @WOLFSONG @Firefang @sunflowerpaw @Mintshade @Azaleapaw << other battle participants you don't have to wait to post

 

[GHOSTWAIL]

WindClan was all-powerful and unstoppable in Ghostwail's burning eyes, an empire sprung forth from a phoenix's ashen, sooty wing. She was so endoctrinated into her own myopia of her clan's certainty that the sight of a bedraggled patrol initially sends a ripple of anger up her spine - who were these intruders? Prisoners taken by their illustrious queen, no doubt a show of her mercy and...

...no. No, no, no. That was the illustrious queen - maimed, dejected, cackling to herself amongst the throng of cats that she lead back to camp. Ghostwail narrowed her eyes the merest, tiniest amount at the lot of them (excluding her majesty, of course.) She was not to be blamed in this, she had no doubt fought with courage and righteous, star-given strength. The others, however... the others were a rot upon all of WindClan for allowing such a blow. Mongrels! In a perfect world, they would be executed or exiled for their incompetence.

But it was not a perfect world, so Ghostwail sits silent, vaguely awaiting an order, her burning eyes seeking out the thing. She would be sure to instill in him a healthy sense of understanding about these matters. He would not fail their queen as these scraps of fur did today. He would be better.

@Thriftpaw (all opinions are ic only)​

- you call for peace when it suits you​

 

[SCORCHSTORM]

TAGS — Most kittens know loyalty only through the blood that runs in them. Their parents live somewhere, so they must love that place, too-- and that is where their thinking starts and stops. Scorchkit, though, knows the meaning of loyalty: from her earliest days, Scorchstreak and Badgermoon have taught her the important lessons that would keep her in line as she grew. WindClan is the mightiest clan. WindClan is the swiftest clan. WindClan is the clan closest to the stars; the clan who loves each other the most; the clan who she ought to live and die for, should it come to it. WindClan is strong because its members are strong; Sootstar and Badgermoon and Scorchstreak and every other warrior that makes up the queen's council (though, admittedly, Vulturemask is left out of her mental picture). Scorchkit would do well do grow up like them, to model their strength and will.

But when the warriors pour through the gorse tunnel, strength is not what she sees. Red blood cuts rivers through their fur and pollutes the air with metallic stink. It makes the kitten's nose wrinkle; it's not a scent she's used to. And it makes her nervous. The newness, the way the warriors trudge through camp, the ichor that pours from Sootstar's wounds.... Houndthistle seems to have fared only hardly better. Were they all so battered? The kitten's white-tipped ears pin to her skull. WindClan is the mightiest clan. WindClan is strong because its members are strong.... She tries to repeat her mantras in her head, but she is quick to her paws, thin tail tucked unceremoniously between her legs, hoping to find Scorchstreak or Badgermoon for comfort.​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Their return is marked by the overwhelming stench of blood. Yowls resound from those in camp witnessing the ShadowClan patrol's undignified collapse. Weaselclaw ceases his conversation with the cat before him, his fur bristling. His mate smoke-and-silver pelt weeps blood, and the look in her eyes is nothing short of haunted. The cats behind her are in worse repair, but for the moment, he has eyes only for his leader.

"Sootstar!" His own growl is desperate and choked with rage. He abandons his post, bounding closer in a feverish attempt to press his muzzle to hers. He closes the distance between them just in time to hear her chuckle, and his blood seems to ice in his veins. "Oh… StarClan!"

"Did you lose a life?" He demands, looking helplessly to the cats who'd staggered into camp behind her. "You need to be off your paws. You need…" His sense of helplessness is enflamed, threatening to engulf him in its inferno. ShadowClan has solidified itself as an enemy of WindClan more than once, but now Weaselclaw knows he must make it his mission, too, to destroy them.

The exhaustion pulling at his tabby pelt is palpable.
​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──⇌•〘 INFO 〙 Sunflowerpaw, he knows, had not been terribly injured; their opponent, a fellow apprentice, had seemed reluctant to engage them aggressively. They hadn't needed his intervention, for which he is glad. WindClan has taken many wounds from this battle, far more than any of them could have anticipated— and he glances at Houndthistle's eye, his bloodied pelt. He should be the first Vulturemask attends to, so Wolfsong indicates to Sunflowerpaw to wait until the larger feline has entered the den. He watches him carefully all the while for any signs of weakening; if need be, he can prop him up long enough to be seen by Vulturemask.

He is no medicine cat, but there will be quite an adjustment for Houndthistle to make in the coming moons.

As he exhales heavily, his gaze shifts to the WindClanners who have come to meet them. Scorchkit, in particular, who has seen her first WindClan defeat. Weaselclaw is understandably concerned for his mate, who would be dead if the stars did not favor her. As though a defeat was not enough, the ego of the shadow-skulkers must be bloated after triumphing over Sootstar personally.

"Sunflowerpaw," he murmurs, looking over at them amid the commotion. "Your opponent. Do you know why she went to such lengths to avoid hurting you?"
​

 

[Mintshade]

ShadowClan were all pathetic worms, only capable of overcoming obstacles by swarming like rats; she felt a gnawing guilt and anger at having had her own opponent slip away to dash off. In the brief moment she'd used the opening to check on Azaleapaw there was blood on the thunderpath and a ringing in her ears from piercing yowls as he sister lost another life. She should've gutted that tom when she had the opportunity, when he was pinned under her, a useless thing that barely fought back and instead chose to chase an easier target; one already battered by another.
Mintshade walked stiffly, mostly unharmed outside a minor cut on her cheek and a spotting of bruises on her belly; but nothing she could not just grit her teeth and ignore for the most part. Her focus instead was in walking alongside the life-lost leader, head low and offering what support she could with her much taller figure to Sootstar.
It is only when the other pauses to wait, clearly seeking out Vulturemask and muttering to StarClan did she turn her head and notice Weaseclaw's approach and question, "Only the one. Thank the stars they fixed it quick...go on and rest, I'll help Wolfsong get the rest of the patrol checked out."
And she needed a word with her apprentice, she had done well-more well than the acid-green eyed shadow had expected of her. She was warrior age soon and she well enough deserved it after today.
"Azaleapaw, where are you? We're going to fetch moss if you're not too banged up."

---

[Ooc]
-Is helping @SOOTSTAR along! Looking for @Azaleapaw
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[SCORCHSTAR]

Unease creeps through her body, trickles through her veins like ice water, as the first cats enter the gorse tunnel. This is no victorious return for the patrol that set out to kill Smogmaw, to defeat ShadowClan on their own land. This is… loss. This is defeat, the chiming of death's bell. An ill-fated attack had ended in something of a tragedy—but as she counts tails, counts heads, she can see none missing. A small victory, then.

Looking at Sootstar, though, Scorchstreak thinks that perhaps there was a life lost. The leader looks worse for wear—looks shredded, torn, ripped into. And Houndthistle—his eye. A frown twists across her muzzle, and she moves toward the cats—then from the corner of her eye, she spots her daughter. Scorchkit, named after herself, precious and innocent, cowers with her tail tucked, staring at the returning clanmates. The tunneler strides forth, aims to wrap her bushy tail around her kit's body. It is a sight certain to toughen up any naïve child—WindClan is not invincible. There are fights to lose, always, and the scars across her eye are harsh reminders of this fact. But she understands that some sights are too gruesome, too damning, for the eyes of kits. Let her daughter experience these sights when she becomes an apprentice, but not yet. Let her have one more month of innocence. Scorchstreak leans down to murmur to her child, comforting, "Scorchkit, we should go back to the nursery. Vulturemask will need to treat them, and we don't want to be in the way." Frame it as being helpful, not as cowardice. Running away is not cowardice when you are still small enough to be plucked up by a hawk.
​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[Azaleafrost]

She was almost too tired to seeth, but worry not, Azaleapaw always has energy in reserve to to just that. And boy, was she seething with fervor right now. That apprentice did a number on her, she was battered and bloody, her wounds stung and she was half sure the swamp germs were going to mold or something.

She follows the defeated patrol back home, gaze to the ground as she walked. She did her best, she told herself. But was it enough?

She saw Sootstar die right before her eyes, be held hostage, right before her eyes. She felt a good bit of turmoil over it. On one paw, sucks to suck. On the other, someone she had viewed as such a powerful figure had been laid low in a matter of seconds.

Perhaps she would enjoy it more if circumstances were different.

She was bitter they had lost. Angry that Shadowclan had beaten them at all. She wanted revenge.

Her head lifts as Mintshade calls her name. Was she in trouble? "I'm here..." She pipes up.

She looks herself over. Was she good enough to collect moss????

.......

She can still function, so yes.

"I'm okay for now, I think. I can help collect moss." She says finally.​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

cw// description of pain, blood, and injuries.
Houndthistle's trek back home is marked by ragged staggering, the large tom's once proud, colossal stance now reduced to stumbling and leaning heavily upon a clanmate. The left side of his face is shredded, eye sealed shut to hide whatever damage lay beneath his lids, caked and coated in deep rusting crimson. The rest of him fares no better, as his shoulder is matted and darkened almost black from crimson where the putrid creatures bit him, chest and stomach a line of matted red where he was clawed into. His ears are back in rage, that fire of hatred and shame burning in his single red eye that looked down at his paws, fur still bristling as he lurched into camp behind Sootstar. His body, now no longer numbed by the music of battle, burned with each unsure, trembling step. Once in camp, he swayed off the clanmate who helped him, stumbling once from his own weight-a blessing and a curse-before his head swung in the direction of the medicine cat den. His gaze didn't meet anyone's his ears merely twitching as he heard Scorchstreak murmur to Scorchkit and in response to Weaselclaw's fretting of his mate. She still has lives, the rest of us don't... some lead warrior, He thought venomously, but he tried to keep the worse of his wounds from sight for the sake of the kits and any apprentices.

He felt Wolfsong's gaze on him, but he didn't look back, merely trying to make his way to Vulturemask's den without landing face first infront of everyone. Shadowclan already took too much, he couldn't let them take his pride aswell.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  57%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders.
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

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[GRAVELSNAP]

CW ;; there's a part in the 3rd paragraph that gets a little graphic

Gravelsnap is minding their own business within the camp, eagerly awaiting the return of the patrol that Sootstar has taken with her to the ShadowClan border, when it finally happens. Pawsteps reach the gorse camp entrance, and then cats are shambling through. They all look horrible, Gravelsnap thinks, exhausted and wounded from the fight that had certainly taken place. Everyone looks defeated, which tells them all that they need to know—WindClan has lost a battle. But then their eyes land on their blue-furred leader, and Gravelsnap's heart falls to their stomach. What happened? What went wrong? How had they failed so badly?

When they spot Houndthistle, though, their blood runs cold. Suddenly, the blood-crusted state of their leader means next to nothing to the young warrior. The massive tom can't even stand on his own, it seems, leaned against a clanmate as he is. He's covered in wounds, giant horrible gashes that gleam black and red with blood and muck. There are too many injuries for Gravelsnap to keep track of as he looks over the older warrior. "Houndthistle…"

Hazel eyes flick up to the older tom's face, wide-eyed gaze raking across the ruin that's been made of it. Will Houndthistle fall at any moment, will he collapse and die now that he's within camp? For a moment, the broken body of Sunsetbreeze flashes through their head—and then the image flickers to Houndthistle lying dead, both eyes torn from his skull, blood pooling from a cracked-open mouth. No breath rising from his lungs, no rough voice to tell them tales of his life before WindClan. Only an empty corpse, a friend who will never be again.

No. They blink rapidly, shaking their head even as tears begin to track sluggishly down their face. "Let me help you, please," he all but begs, stepping closer to his mentor—now and forever, for as long as Houndthistle lives, he'll be Gravelsnap's mentor. "Lean on me if you need to. I'll help you get to Vulturemask." As much as he dislikes the clan's healer, the damage done to his mentor isn't anything that can be fixed with rest and a good meal. And for once, Gravelsnap doesn't dread the feeling of another's fur brushing against his own, won't flinch away from the touch if his mentor accepts his help.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

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[RUMBLERAIN]

"WindClan is strong because we all came home." Rumblekit, crouched beside Scorchkit almost protectively as their sister cowers, whispers a modified version of the mantra they'd all been taught. Even as they do, however, their shoulders are trembling- red runs rampant through the patrol like a vine that ties them all together, an odd tang in the air that disquiets their thoughts and turns their stomach. They watch Weaselclaw rush to his mate's side, takes a small amount of solace in the way he cares for her, but a little frown settles on the tall kitten's features over something he'd said, even as their attention wanders more and drifts between the other WindClanners with a wince.

A familiar scent tears their attention from Houndthistle's grisly eye and Rumblekit glances up as Scorchstreak curls around them, herding them carefully back to the relative safety of the nursery.

"Momma ..." They look up at the queen with a faintly puzzled expression. "What did Weaselclaw mean when he asked if Sootstar lost a life?"

// @SCORCHSTREAK
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[VULTUREMASK]

It wouldn't take long before Vulturemask would come out from his den to meet his injured clanmates. He did not needed to ask if they had won or not. The defeat was painfully across all of their faces. He would scan each of his clanmates out to decide who needed his assistance first. Sunflowerpaw was the first he would settle his eyes on but they did not look to have got hurt badly, thank starclan for that - and then his eyes would move quickly to the rest overlooking Sootstar despite the gossips around him that she had lost a life. Since she had more lives to come back with she hardly was his top priority to treat. So his eyes moved on until his eyes settled on them, Houndthistle, the one who had threatend to hurt his baby siblings back then. Secretly he would find glee in that starclan finally had punished them for threatening his siblings who had been too young to be guilty of any crime. Served them right. He felt no sympathy for this warrior and thought getting his face scarred for life was a well deserved punishment he felt satisfied with. On the surface he showed nothing putting his profersional mask on.

" Gravelsnap help me get Houndthistle inside, i will treat him first. " He said and with that the medicine cat retreated back into his den to prepare everything that he would need. Marigold, goldenrod, dandelion leaves for the pain. With any luck Houndthistle would be placed in one of the nest now by the time he turned himself around again to head back over to them. Vulturemask worked in silence as he used spiderweb to stop worse of the bleeding, and moss to clean the warriors wounds and leaves to cover their scarred face with before he would put goldenrod on the wounds to help them to recover faster. Marigold to stop the infection and stop whatever bleeding that still might not have stopped. " Eat these." he would instruct as he then placed the mashed dandelion leaves in front of them to help relieve them from some of the pain. The eye injury he could do nothing about more then to treat it like a regular wound.

Once done Vulturemask attention left them as he instead focused on whoever next would need his assistence. " Who is next?." and instantly he was searching for his next patient to treat. He was sure he was gonna be busy for the rest of the day.

// first patient; Houndthistle // let me know if i missed anything about his injuries! i could edit and fix it if i overlooked something! unfortunately he cannot do anything about his eye beside treating it like any other wound!
herbs used; marigold,goldenrod,dandelions (for the pain )
also make sure to let me know if anybody else are in a bad state because vult is gonna priotize them first!



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[SOOTSPOT]

The commotion surrounding the patrol's return had reached even the deepest depths of WindClan's tunnels, the two worlds colliding when the smell of blood permeated the air like petrichor. Sootspot poked his tricoloured head out of a camp burrow, furiously scanning for one particular face amidst the crowd of defeated fighters. It didn't take long to find it. "Mother..." he muttered, his breath catching from surprise. At that moment, the spots of dirt upon his back and the mauled Houndthistle held the same importance, both dismissed with ease as he moved past them and drifted to his family's side. His ears momentarily touched the back of his skull as Vulturemask insisted on treating someone else first but he inhaled and steeled himself from the anger. How could this happen?! What use were warriors if they couldn't protect the heart of the clan?! The words of those around him told a tale that appearances already did: life had been lost, one of his mother's, she was one step closer to joining the very ancestors that had forsaken her. It wasn't a pretty thought. The small tunneler attempted to fall to the leader's side, hoping to act as a second pillar until the medicine cat remembered what his priority should be.

He grimaced at the blood touching the edges of his long fur, trying his best to ignore who it belonged to. Sootspot looked out to the clan, their despondency causing him to tilt his head upwards in defiance. No one could believe Sootstar was weak, he refused to let them. Sootspot raised his voice. "Where other leaders have fallen after one blow, ours has risen again and again! Despite our defeat today, she has proven she is a true leader, legitimised by StarClan, and not one of the false idols ShadowClan places upon their highrocks with the change of each season! It is StarClan's blessing that will see us rip the hearts from those swamp beasts the next time we meet them." It was a promise one seldom chosen for combat found easy to make, as his yellow-green eyes scanned the crowd, he wondered how many truly believed what he was saying when he lacked the experience of a moor-runner. 'Their opinions don't matter.' He reminded himself, his tail pointing to the very skies he claimed their enemies had forsaken. 'I am more WindClanner than they would ever be.'


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[SUNNVAR]

The chaos of defeat has a peculiar taste. It is not as Sootstar fears– not the rot that she feels clings to her, but sweat and panic and dirt. Among the crowd, he is small and lost. He weaves through it not as a combatant but as a helpless warrior left behind. Useless. Far too clean to stand among them. Already some of the others have met those returning; as Sunstride joins them, it is with a quick scan of their heads. He can count them. See them, not on the ground but at his height. And even with the blood and the fear he could ask for nothing sweeter than this. A sharp exhale of relief gusts past his fangs. Where the others crowd around their leader, speaking of her strength and her cunning, how strong she must be to stand before them still, it is not her face he finds himself approaching first.

Instead Sunstride comes at Wolfsong's blind side to crush the curve of his skull between the warrior's ears. How greatly I hate it still, seeing you go to battle without me. At least this time he had returned. Not on the shoulders of his clanmates, but on his own four paws. He breathes in deeply and lowers his head until it touches his neck, the crest of his shoulder. Some playful facsimile of battle, or a desperate outlet of nerves, Sunstride bites at the side of Wolfsong's throat and shakes lightly at his fur, like a dog would to its toy. "I should have more faith that you will return safely," he exhales as he grooms what he had just mussed. "Will you wear any new scars from this?" Sunstride steps back and circles some, seeking out the worst of the pale warrior's wounds.

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. thirty-eight moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests. single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

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[SCORCHSTORM]

TAGS — Rumblekit finds her side quickly, pressing their trembling shoulder against her own. WindClan is strong because we all came home. Maybe they're right, but as Scorchkit stares at Sootstar's gash and Houndthistle's eye, she can't help but wonder if they'll really be okay. What does it mean that WindClan suffered such loss? And in ShadowClan's territory no less-- she supposes she can be grateful that they weren't beaten in their own home, though her young mind struggles to understand the true gravity that type of loss might carry. She's still staring wide-eyed when Scorchstreak wreaths her tail around the two of them and whispers soft comfort. Scorchkit allows herself to be herded back to the nursery. Helpful, she thinks. I'm helping because it's hard right now.

Tucked away inside, she is still not free of the heady copper scent that pollutes the camp air, but at least she can no longer see each grisly injury in vivid detail. Bicolor eyes turn instead to Rumblekit when they pose their question, and she looks expectantly up at their mother, wondering how she might answer. Outside, Vulturemask takes Houndthistle into his care, and Sootspot rallies around Sootstar's bravery and strength. She's too young now to fully grasp it; too addled by the sight of red rivers to think it through. But the message is clear enough: StarClan favors Sootstar. There is, at least, comfort in that notion. The kitten curls into her mother's comfort, questions locked behind a muzzle that can't articulate them, but content to listen.​

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[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Sootstar watches Gravelsnap lead Houndthistle to Vulturemask. The medicine cats eyes only grace her for a second before they move on, her fur bristles in disscontempt, expecting more of an acknowledgement of her wounds from the medicine cat, but truth be told there was no pleasing her. She didn't want to be poke and prodding right now anyways. Thankful for Mintshade's help is appreciated, Sootstar once more finds herself thankful for the sisterhood they shared. She tries to reposition herself comfortably, but no matter which way she sprawled, sat, twisted or laid down her wounds still jabbed and ached. It was nothing she couldn't handle and she does her best to bear her injures in silence. Her name is yowled, she looks to see her cinnamon-striped mate rushing towards her. Did you lose a life? Only one. Thank the stars they fixed it quick. Sootstar represses a snort and allows her sister to pad away in search of her apprentice. She wonders what type of wounds Azaleapaw had sustained, hopefully little. "They didn't take it without a fight. It took two of them to take me down. Smogmaw and some other ShadowClan scum." She had not recognized the Tom who had lunged for her throat, by the time she had woken he was gone. "But we retreated." They were defeated. She looks away from his icy eyes. Sootspot, her eldest son is at her side, she looks at him in the way many mother's look at their kits. Sootstar is shocked by his following words, loud praise and talks of future victories flooding his speech. Pride glows in her green gaze, in this moment she sees a leader in him; something she had once commonly seen in her two oldest. But the newest litter had left them out of the spotlight for quite sometime. "Sootspots is right. WindClan strikes fear into the hearts of all our enemies. We have conquered more than we have been defeated, we will heal and come back stronger than ever. ShadowClan still has wounds of their own to lick too… we gave them a good fight, not all was in vain." She rises to wobbly paws to address her clan, if Sootspots had spoken to them she should to. They needed not to worry, they needed not to doubt her.

 

[MIREPAW]

જ➶ The horrible smell of blood is what brings the young apprentice running. The panic clear in his heart the moment that he sees the state of his leader. How dare Shadowclan even think that they could do this. His muzzle is tightly clenched as he watches, knowing there is little that he can do to help in anything. But soon his muzzle suddenly drops open like a log as he sees his own mentor and the way he is covered in blood. The way his face is covered in it. Houndthistle is too strong to let them win and he prays to Starclan that the other who did this is more bloodied. He stands, shifting back and forth and then he starts to approach even as Gravelsnap helps his mentor. His eyes gleam with his anger but worry is more clear in the seafoam orbs. Yet what can he do, what can he do? Taking a deep breath to try and quell himself the young apprentice tries his best not to get in the way of the adults.

He presses his nose carefully against Houndthistle's leg, just letting his mentor know that he is there. If he needs him he will be there. His tail snaps back and forth as they move him away and toward the medicine cat. The flame point's stomach feels sick, like a pit of stones has dropped into them and he breathes out. Turning he looks to Sootstar then as she speaks and yes. She is right. They've won way more. Shadowclan'll be sorry. "Yeah! They'll think twice before lying about Windclan."​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

Houndthistle stumbles, grunting as his legs shake under him. Within moments though, Gravelsnap is there, begging him to let him help him, which, given his current situation, Houndthistle can't argue. His head weaves as a nose is pressed to his leg, head drunkenly swaying to look at Mirepaw before he brushes his stubby tail on the young apprentice's flank, reassuring him. He leans heavily on his former apprentice's shoulder as Vulturemask appears, leading him into the medicine den before his grubby paws are on him, cleaning and bandaging wounds. Houndthistle makes discomfort noises in response, hissing as particular herbs are pressed into his wounds and wincing with a baring of fangs in a threat as his eye is tended to, ears back in discomfort, before more damned herbs are shoved at his muzzle. Houndthistle grunts appreciation, snorting in response at the instruction before begrudgingly chewing and swallowing the plants.

With a huff, Houndthistle lays back, head leaning on the flank of Gravelsnap if he's still there as he looks out toward the camp, listening to his clanmates rally around a loss. His jaw sets in quiet discontent as doubt weaves its way through his thick skull, latching on like a leech at the idea. His own opinions, like usual, are shoved to the back as he closes his eyes, exhaling as he awaits any of his companions to join him in the medicine den.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  57%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders.
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in none currently
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

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[GRAVELSNAP]

Thankfully, the older warrior agrees easily, leaning his weight against them, and Gravelsnap suppresses a gasp at the feeling. It's not quite skin-prickling, but it's… wrong. It's Houndthistle, though, so they shove thoughts of wrongness aside and plod on, supporting their mentor as best they can. Wide hazel eyes scan the camp for their useless scrap of a healer—there. The dark-furred tom is already on his way over, telling them to help move Houndthistle to the den, and such an order would cause them to resist, to bare their teeth and snap. But then they glance at Mirepaw—the poor apprentice looks caught somewhere between terrified and furious, and Gravelsnap can imagine how he must be feeling right now. If they saw their mentor this roughed up, they would be just as upset. They offer the younger tom a half-smile, hoping to give him some kind of comfort. But there is also steel in their gaze—if Houndthistle dies, he doesn't just leave behind Gravelsnap. He also leaves behind an apprentice who isn't too far off from becoming a warrior.

He cannot die, no matter how extensive his wounds.

With that thought guiding his actions, the black-patched warrior throws his full strength into keeping Houndthistle upright, feeling at though he may crumble beneath the form of the larger tom. But he can't crumble, and so he grits his teeth and bears it, helping to move Houndthistle carefully to Vulturemask's den. They watch with an expression of discomfort as Vulturemask pokes and prods and touches the warrior, but at least the older tom still seems to have the energy left to protest the sting of wounds being aggravated.

As the other tom rests his head against them, Gravelsnap sighs. They had once thought Houndthistle indestructible, untouchable in battle. He would never fail, would never get injured badly enough that he couldn't come back from it. But now… he looks broken, in a way. His eye is a bloodied mess, and Gravelsnap wonders briefly whether there is still an eye underneath the injury at all. Will he be able to see out of it again? It's not right, that such a powerful tom looks so weakened. "I understand what you meant, back then. But I want to know who did this to you. I want them to suffer."​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

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[LUCKYPAW]

The air is tense, all of WindClan awaiting the return of their clanmates, and the restless energy makes Luckykit uncomfortable. He hardly understands the intricacies of the skirmish, just that WindClan was going to fight ShadowClan, and while logically he knows that WindClan is strong, that Sootstar is a great leader, he can't help the curl of unease settling in his chest as time drags on and there's still no news. Rather than join his siblings, Luckykit tucks himself away in the nursery, relishing the safety of the enclosed walls and the small separation from his other clanmates, though even that can't curb his thoughts entirely. In his naïve young mind, there is no option other than victory for WindClan, no way for them to return anything less than the proud warriors they are, and yet the thought that someone might still get hurt lingers at the forefront of his thoughts. He's been hurt before, kitten scrapes and bruises, and he's seen the scarred-over aftermath of such battles, but the concept of fresh wounds is something entirely new and altogether unpleasant.

After what feels like an eternity, gasps and cries of outrage begin to reach his ears and Luckykit follows the sounds, small paws carrying him to the entrance of the nursery to allow him to peek out at the returning patrol. It's nothing like he could have imagined, his worries of new scratches paling in comparison to the sight that greets the whole of WindClan. Pelts stained red with blood is a worrisome sight, and though it's hard to make out particular injuries from his position, Luckykit can't miss the way they all seem to droop. Perhaps it could be written off as exhaustion from the battle, from the myriad of injuries coating the returning patrol, but it seems to go deeper. All throughout camp, there are cries of WindClan's strength, that they won't be beaten down so easily and that ShadowClan will still suffer, but he can only focus on one thing in that moment - WindClan lost this battle. It's written in every claw mark, in every promise of vengeance, but the idea is so foreign, so wrong that Luckykit can hardly believe it himself.

How could WindClan, mighty as they were, be defeated by the likes of ShadowClan? The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and a new worry in his heart, that his clan might not be so infallible as he had always believed. Scorchstreak begins herding his siblings this way and Luckykit finally snaps back into motion, slipping back into the nursery where he can no longer see the aftermath, though he's sure the scene will remain seared into his memory for a long time to come. He wants to curl up into his nest, to drown out everything and hide away until everything feels right again, and yet he waits just inside the nursery entrance for his family to join him, lashing tail and troubled gaze betraying his uncertainty. ​

[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]​