sensitive topics DEAD-EYED, DEAD WEIGHT ✧ . nightmare

[SCREECHSTORM]

✧ . With night fallen on his home once more, shadowed paws tread mud-swathed marshes. Screechpaw has no patrol he’s meant to be on, no stressor to follow him along his path, no mentor or littermate with a watchful eye over him. He is alone — for the first time in a long while, he is truly alone.

And he is content in his solitude in a way he always has been. Here, there’s no pressure to hunt if he doesn’t want to, no pressure to train. It’s just him and the sound of the marshes — a simple song in the tune of frog croaks and cricket chirps Screechpaw has forever etched in his mind, though he doubts will ever grow old.

Only a few more pawsteps later does it change. Night shifts with crimson flames alight, his favorite song replaced by his name’s call above. Murky eyes dart upward, and delight dissipates into frosted horror at the sight. His new-found foe soars, circling in its flight over silhouetted branches.

“ No… “ he murmurs, head shaking. This can’t be happening. Not again, not… not again! “ No, no, no — “ Screechpaw needs to get out of here, needs to run back to camp.

But as he twists to leave, as he tries to step backwards, he can’t. It’s as if marsh mud grips at his paws, fusing them with the ground he’s meant to be running upon. He can’t run, can’t hide from the owl that searches for him. That finds him, it’s circle slowing, shifting in his direction. Screechpaw can’t look away, as large wings push the avian downward. He tries to shout, but his voice doesn’t quite find him, as bramble-sharp talons aim straight for him at speeds quicker than his own limbs can ever take him; closer and closer, until —

“ NO! “

His voice finally finds itself as his body moves with a swift jolt and his eyes snap open in a means that only confuses him in his fright. Sharp pain cradles his sides under cobwebbed bandages as lungs gasp in an effort to gather air, a two-toned gaze darting around new surroundings. He no longer stands in the territory’s depths, but lays in his temporary nest, the smell of herbs all around him. Right.

With fright still biting at his conscience, his head dips back to where it had laid in his slumber, his gaze still jumping from shadowed form to shadowed form in the medicine den’s depths. It was… just a nightmare. The owl is gone. It can’t… It can’t get him in here, though he fears its presence still, fears it can still swoop in and strike him. Again. Strike him again. ​

✦ ABOUT

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  SCREECHPAW ✦ AMAB. He / Him. Apprentice of ShadowClan.
  ✧ . A black/red tabby chimera tom with mismatched green eyes.
  ✧ . Forestshade x Vulturemask
  ✧ . Mentored by Chilledstar
  ✧ . Peaceful and healing powerplay permitted!
  ✧ . Penned by Abri ‣ @_abri_ on discord, feel free to dm for plots!
  ✧ . " Speech " ; Attack
  

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[Briarthorn]

.·:*¨༺🕷༻¨*:·. Briarpaw had always been a light sleeper, once or twice she was sure one of her littermates had blamed it on her all-too-large ears, perhaps that was true, or maybe it was simply something that just was.
Either way, it serves her tonight when tension-laced slumber is interrupted by the sound of frantic rustling nearby, in Screechpaw's corner of the medicine den.
So far, Briarpaw had been able to get away with scarce interactions with her littermate, he had made his own annoyance with her constant presence quite clear, and against the molly's better judgement, had responded by giving the other all the space she could despite their close proximity within their temporary home.
Her head raises, hazel optics almost electric against the dim light, but she doesn't move from her own nest. Screechpaw's sleeping form thrashes, and Briarpaw shifts carefully against the prick of her own wounds, apprehensive. At this rate, he was bound to wake someone else up-
NO! The yelp bounces off the walls of the medicine den, sets the fur along Briarpaw's spine on end. Woken by his own anguish, and Briarpaw doesn't have to guess too hard of what her sibling could have been dreaming of- or more, what haunted his subconscious. He sputters, and Briarpaw remains still. "Are you okay?" The apprentice finally whispers out against the stirs of others being roused from their own sleep. While she doesn't expect much of an answer from her brother, the question is genuine, the crease in her brow bone born from subtle concern.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ALL YOU HAVE IS YOUR FIRE ⋅ ࿏ ⋅ AND THE PLACE YOU NEED TO REACH ──┐‎

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• 
  BRIARPAW ꔫ she/her, apprentice of shadowclan, 9 moons.
  ⭃ slender, lean-muscled black she-cat with sharp hazel eyes & large ears.
  ⭃ daughter of Forestshade && Vulturemask ࿏ sister to Screechpaw && Sweetpaw
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Noor ↛ @toyangel on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Starlingheart]

The medicine cat's den has been her home for nearly her whole life. It was early onto her apprenticeship that she had found herself here and when she had become a medicine cat apprentice she had been so excited about the prospect of moving her nest into here. It was less busy here, not as many cats slept here as they did in the apprentice den or the warriors den, save for the sick and the injured. When there were no patients to attend to, it was blissfully silent in here. But on the other paw it could be lonely, at times. Without Magpiepaw here, she is certain the shadows would engulf her, swallow her whole and spit her back up.

Tonight, Screechpaw is not the only cat who suffers from nightmares. Sleep is not a comfort for the black and white medicine cat of ShadowClan. Visions of green eyes and stony fur haunt her behind closed eyes and tonight is no exception. She sits up in her nest, green eye shining in the darkness. When Screechpaw cries out, her foggy brain snaps to attention and her head swings in his direction. "Hey" she says softly as she approaches, not even bothering to shake the moss from her fur "Is-is everything alright?" she leans forward and gives him a quick sniff, nose twitching as she assesses for any injuries that could have reopened, concern evident in her voice and her movements. When she doesn't detect anything physically wrong, she lets out a sigh of relief "Bad dream?" she asks, a knowing look in her lone eye.

( ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ) fly me up on a silver wing

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• 
  STARLINGHEART SHADOWCLAN MEDICINE CAT; SHE / HER ; SISTER TO PITCHSTAR, CHITTERTONGUE, NIGHTSWARM, SKUNKTAIL, AND LILACFUR. MOTHER TO NETTLEPAW, FLINTPAW AND GHOSTPAW.
  

  A skinny she cat with short black and white fur littered with scars and one singular green eye.

  ✦ Easy in battle + has little to no formal battle training
  

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[SHARPSHADOW]

It isn't uncommon that Sharpshadow wonders at night without obligation tethering him to any hunt or patrol. When he sleeps and when he doesn't is not so cut and dry as he imagines it might be for a ThunderClanner, or a SkyClanner that needed to listen for whenever their twolegs called them. And he's... maybe not happy, but content to be up, often times. When the eyes on her were less. When she wouldn't have to square her shoulders for any leader or deputy or medicine cat, after all, maybe he just... couldn't make out quite who it was, in this light. ( A lie, but he thinks it made them all feel better )

Theres yelling from the Medicine Cat's den, and suddenly me - time turns into guard duty. What has she become? ( Someone who ought to take her role seriously? Or she would be cast out? And then... she thinks that's nonsense, Forestshade didn't have the same stupid obligations. ) It's some other reason, some other reason that she comes running, hackles rised to poke in her head.

She sees no blood splatter, smells no foxes scent. If anything, a frog crawled its way into Starlingheart's nest. Still, he asks, " ...Something happen? " with squinted silver eyes. When the utterance of, bad dream, flits through her ears, she very quickly feels... unqualified, for whatever it was that was happening.​