sensitive topics DELILAH AVENGE MY GRIEF | collapse

[SCORCHSTORM]

Scorchstorm is not sick.

This is what she tells herself, anyway. Her body is heavy and hot with grief; her lungs disagree with her at times, but the have ever since flame coated the moors. Now the new growth dusts the hills in lime and lavender flocking. Time has not been kind to the wound, she thinks, because to think anything else is terrifying.

Kits, apprentices and warriors alike have begun moving in to the badger sett. Wolfsong has promoted a new apprentice in Cottonsprig's absence. Scorchstorm will do her part to help, just as she had before — but this time, there is no journey into the mountains. What can she do for her Clan now? She needs to ensure that their number of healthy warriors do not dwindle; she needs to ensure that hungry mouths are still fed, especially as they are increasingly unable to hunt for themselves. Everyone, surely, senses this need. They know what needs to be done. Scorchstorm just does not know when to quit.

Frostwind and Sunstar accompany her on her mission. It is simple enough — a hunting patrol that she guides towards the ShadowClan border. She tries not to be obvious with each cough she stifles, inexplicably convinced that it is nothing, despite the sticky shame that comes with hiding. She cannot be sick. Not while Splinterkit is so ill, and Bilberrypaw; not while Cottonsprig is away, and Sparkspirit has disappeared; not while Rattleheart has left a gap in Sunstar's council (not to mention in her heart). She will not allow it as long as she has duties to perform.

Orange and black ears prick suddenly. The scent of a rabbit on the wind drills itself through dripping nostrils. Scorchstorm drops to a crouch and flicks her tail so that her patrolmates might do the same, had they not already. Slowly she creeps forward, raking her gaze through the horizon with an intensely instinctual ferocity, and then she sees it. Prim and white, an unusual color for a moorland hare, it sits kinglike on a nearby hill. She looks to Sunstar first — her former mentor and current leader, it is the natural instinct that she would look to him first — and then to Frostwind, attempting to confirm their readiness for the hunt. She and Sunstar could chase it over the moorland to a tunnel entrance, where Frostwind could lie in wait for the kill. It is how Weaselclaw had trained his kits, she remembers. She discards the thought, and without a second glance at her patrol, she runs.

Her lungs do not last her as long as she wished they would. With each bunch and expansion of the muscles, she loses air, and she cannot gain it back; her breaths come ragged at the edges, spasmodic in their rhythm. Her ribcage explodes in a burst of fire, but StarClan, the damned thing is just within her grasp! She can almost feel it — it slips between her long, white claws, itself a specter on the moorland, but she will kill it and she will bring it back to her Clan. She has to. There is no other choice. The flame-streaked warrior finally pounces with all of her might, and her claws extend for purchase in the hare's snowfall pelt, and...

She cannot catch it. She never could have; it had never been real. Scorchstorm misses her landing; she tumbles and splays across the earth, her labored breath whistling in and out of her. Had her limbs given out? Above her, the sky spins. It takes her several heartbeats to glance at her claws, only to find nothing there. Where she might have once wheezed a laugh, she now coughs, and then coughs some more, and then again for good measure. She has failed, and that failure rings out across the moorland. It would perhaps be the most humiliated she has ever felt in her life, except that she is not quite lucid enough to experience such an emotion — instead, she busies herself with breathing, a very simple act that she cannot seem to get quite right.

"'M sorry," she mumbles to the first cat that tries to nose her up. Her eyes slip closed. She is out cold.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌 ✧

• ooc. OOPS! ALL YELLOWCOUGH! </3 also for clarity's sake, the rabbit she saw was an illness-induced hallucination, and not actually real. it can be assumed that she scared away any prey in the immediate vicinity of this "hunt"!
  tagging @SUNSTAR and @FROSTWIND as on patrol with her, but open to all & no need to wait!
  
• SCORCHSTORM —— warrior of windclan, mentored by sunstar & badgermoon . scorchstreak x badgermoon . littermate to rumblerain, frostwind, and luckypaw ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a broad-shouldered tortoiseshell with low white and dual-toned amber eyes. extremely loyal to sunstar and her family, and enjoys a deep connection to the moorlands
  ✦ demigirl / she they pronouns / lesbian / 16 moons & ages every 1st
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / will not flee / may show mercy. fights honorably and with great ferocity. can tank a few hits, but is not the sturdiest cat in windclan. starts fights with the intention of finishing them permanently, but will not aim to maim or kill obviously young cats
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

• 

​

 

[SUNNVAR]

✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ However necessary hunting may be, he does not agree to this out of a desire to provide. It is good to be away from camp. Illness slinks between their paws like snakes in the grass; each cough and sluggish heaving breath had him staring warily at his clanmates. His own health was of little concern– though many sets of claws and fangs had ripped lives from him, StarClan still had more in store for him. Even if this sickness sent him to visit the stars another time. . . it would be well worth a clanmate's life. Out here at least he does not have to worry about death. The ill are tucked away and the lungwort will at least carry them through those who are already ill. If he is not in camp to see it, there is no room for worrying about those they may lose, or the treatments that may fail.

Out here, it is this patrol and the hares — and the struggle of only three limbs. Though his speed is not hindered, his pouncing most certainly is. It is better that he works with the tunnelers. If it were scared near the mouth where a clanmate sat in wait, he would not have to risk stumbling paws or a poorly-landed leap. At least Scorchstorm had not inherited this weakness of his. Badgermoon had taught her better. Such thoughts do not come without pieces of trouble. Even as leader, however, he follows her decision. Curious eyes narrow upon her, yet he does not question. Even as she leaps, even as her claws come down upon nothing and Sunstar is trailing behind a cat that inexplicably begins to wheeze —

"FROSTWIND!" the burnished warrior bellows, glancing around to where her littermate had gone. Her heart still beats. Though her breath is unsteady, after a moment lingering with his head beside hers, he can feel a shallow exhalation against his cheek fur. "Fetch Wolfsong and Celandinepaw– now." The sleek tom will be faster beneath the moors than Sunstar would be among them. And there is no questioning the necessity of speed here.

𝐈 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 ╱ ️️️ ( 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝗕𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐆 ) ️️️ ️️️ ⌞06.17⌝ 🟒ᨒ

• 

  ✧₊⁺ ️️️ ️️╱ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ OOC. asking for @WOLFSONG and @CELANDINEPAW !!
  

  

  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑. SUNSTRIDE. SUNNVAR.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ MASC ️️️ & ️️️ AMAB, ️️️ HE – HIM – HIS.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ SECOND LEADER OF ️️️ WINDCLAN.
  ᯓ✧ ️️️ ️️ ️️️ NINE LIVES: ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆ ️️️ ⋆̴͖̻̌͛ ⋆̵̼͈̐̿̓̏͝ ⋆̶̬́̀

• 
  a large chocolate and white rosette tom with seaglass eyes. the first thing many see when looking at sunstar now is not his proud posture or boxy build, but the scarred stump that remains of his front left leg. a wound that would have killed most other cats took one of his lives; not even starclan could repair it.
  
  
  a rogue brought to windclan in a search for greatness, one of sootstar's most loyal warriors turned into her downfall. with a mate and kits to worry about, and now nine lives from starclan with a missing limb, windclan's leader has much to prove.

• "speech"

​

 

[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── He intended to approach Scorchstorm earlier, after Splinterkit's relocation, but she has now left on a patrol and the dread that takes Wolfsong is fed by guilt. He should have spoken with her sooner; now, it is very likely the illness has progressed, to say nothing of the cats she has come into contact with in the meantime. Will he never crawl out from the shadow of failure cast by his son's death and Sunstar's missing limb?

In Frostwind's wake, he moves to pursue the patrol, and fortunately, on the tunneler's swift heels, it does not take long before Wolfsong spots his mate's tall silhouette. So too does he immediately recognize the telltale shape of distress in his outlines, no doubt guarding the collapsed Scorchstorm. Wolfsong bustles forward with another burst of energy, bending beside the young warrior. She is unconscious and does not stir when Wolfsong brushes a paw over her forehead, and he swallows, thinking of Bluepool, of Rattleheart, of the wayward Rumblerain— Scorchstreak will not lose her daughter. Wolfsong will not see her gone, either; he watched her grow from kit to warrior, and he should not have to outlive another young clanmate.

"You know what must be done by now— we take her to the badger set. Frostwind, you will keep your distance; Sunstar, Celandinepaw, and I will manage." He will treat her there and, StarClan willing, she will recover.
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 46 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
  
  — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
  
  — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
  
  — ★★★☆☆ KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
  
  — ★★★☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[FROSTWIND]

꙳•❅* There’s a line of tension between himself and his sister, one that won’t be loosened simply by proximity. But as yellowcough winds its way through the clan once again, not even a full year after he’d nearly lost his own battle against it, Frostwind’s concern for Scorchstorm has only grown. He has the tunnels to duck into, to remain a recluse tucked away from the rest of the clan, but his sister? She’s around other cats all day long, and she had been around sick little Splinterkit, too. He worries for her. He’s fought the sickness once and won, but so many others lost. He can’t lose her, not to this. His own health doesn’t matter, not in his eyes—he’s beaten it before, he tells himself. He can beat it again.

His attention is grabbed by the flicker of a tail, signaling that she’s caught a scent, and although he can smell rabbit as well, it doesn’t seem particularly fresh. But the calico seems to think otherwise, because her mismatched gaze turns to the top of a hill, where absolutely nothing is. She looks back at Sunstar, and then him, as though she’s seeking confirmation. Frostwind doesn’t see what she’s spotted, but he rolls his shoulders all the same, readying himself to dive into a tunnel and give chase as soon as he catches sight of it. Even with his preparation, though, he isn’t prepared for Scorchstorm to take off suddenly, chasing after something that must have gone right under his nose. He only watches, struck dumb by confusion, as his sister races off after whatever she thinks she’s seen. There’s nothing there, but she pounces anyway, only to sprawling across the ground. For a moment she doesn’t move, and the worst conclusion strikes deep within the tunneler’s head: she’s dead. A simple hunting accident, one wrong fall, and he will find himself digging a grave beside the rest of his deceased kin—too many of them, now. His heart pounds in his chest, and he’s hardly thinking as he sprints off after her. "SCORCHSTORM!" No, no, no. Please, this can’t be happening. Please. But Sunstar reaches her first, and his roar is enough to pull Frostwind’s paws to a sharp stop.

The leader tells him to get Wolfsong, and desperately he stares at his sister’s fallen body. He can’t. He can’t leave her, not like this. Not when her breathing is labored and she isn’t responding to anything… what if this is the last time he sees her? He needs to go, wants to turn—the longer he waits, the worse it will get—but his paws are rooted in place. He can’t even gather himself to step closer… until at last, Wolfsong appears, as though the mere mention of his name brought him running. When the golden-furred tom approaches Scorchstorm, the terror that had seized his limbs finally abates, and Frostwind is quick to rush forward to stand at his sister’s side.

Before he can reach her, though, the medicine cat is ordering him to keep his distance, and panic sends his heart stuttering. He shakes his head, continuing to march closer—he’s faced with two moor runners, toms larger than himself, but they won’t keep him from his littermate. He’ll push through both of them if they step in front of him. "You’re crazy if you think I’m just staying away." His nerves are frayed, that much is clear to see. The tension in his jaw, the back-and-forth grinding of his teeth, would be enough to tell if one were to overlook the stiff muscles that ripple through his form. His eyes dart from the unsteady rise and fall of Scorchstorm’s flank, then to Wolfsong, then to Sunstar, and then back. Let me see my sister, or I’ll… I’ll…

❆ outpace the dawn

• ooc: —
• 
  FROSTWIND ❯❯ he/him, tunneler of windclan
  ❆ scruffy black and white tom with icy eyes. sly and calculating.
  ❆ son of scorchstreak and badgermoon ; brother to scorchstorm, luckypaw, rumblerain
  ❆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ❆ penned by foxlore

​

​