- Jan 14, 2023
- 221
- 60
- 28
The sickly smell of crimson ichor and poultice clings close to her pelt as she lays within the mouth of the medicine den, staring into the abyss as rain pours on the outside. It streams and splatters against blood-soaked soil, washing away of what remains of WindClan being here. Their temporary camp was violated and ransacked, dens collapsed in broken heaps and herbs destroyed. It was a lowly blow, but not an unsurprising feat from the vermin that pillaged their home. They gathered in the dead of night, teeth gnashed and claws glinting in the moonlight. Vengeance drove them, cold and unforgiving. RiverClan could've—should've prepared. Why it did not cross their mind that WindClan would retaliate was beyond her, or perhaps it did, and it was rolled off to dismissal? Evidently WindClan was ever watchful, tracking down their home like a pack of rabid hounds and scouting out from across the gorge. They were too open here. Had it been the old home, perhaps it'd be a different outcome. They'd have been able to drive back the viruses that plagued their land with the help of the rivers that surrounded their camp. It was fortified and sturdy, whereas here had been half-ass placed together just enough to keep themselves out of wind and rain.
Beesong had left earlier, surely to go gather more herbs for his collection. Herbs he had to gather because WindClan shredded them. Oh, how that very thought brought enough lividness to hunt down the sick bastard and gut them where they stood. To leave their body along the border for the buzzards and maggots to feast on. The warrior begins to grow antsy, the heat of her own ire making her swelter and the walls seem to close in at a rapid pace. She casts a glance back to her, to a mangled form of black that lay sleeping in his nest. Smokethroat. He'd nearly died from the claws of Weaselclaw. Hadn't he taken enough from him already? Gouging his eye before and now pulling at the taut string of his lifeline. She had heard the chatter after rousing from unconsciousness, hearing the fretted coos of Cicadastar by his side whilst Beesong worked to the best of his ability. Cindershade wanted to be sick. They couldn't lose another warrior to WindClan. They just couldn't.
She has to leave now, to get out to inhale greedily at fresh air rather than musk and blood. So she does, slowly. Her muscles throb fiercely and urge her to rest, but she just couldn't. Paws stride a bit more clumsily than usual, her gait awkward with her limp from her shoulder. The entrance was right there—she had to get out. She had to breathe or else she'd explode. Eyes narrowed in focus, she makes a beeline for the entrance and pointedly ignores anyone who stops her. Misted rain dampens her pelt, moisturizes the dried clotted blood along her fresh wounds. It stings, but it's more cleansing than anything. She revels in it as she limps alongside the steep banks of the gorge, keeping a good distance away from imminent danger. Falls roar even an even more chaotic manner, hungrily frothing over wet stone. She stops for a moment, staring upon it as waters cascaded down rapidly and mist sprays from the bottom. She wonders if she jumped, would she be killed first by drowning or splitting open from the stones? It's a morbid thought, but something stirs within her. An intrusive thought to find out for the sake of it. Her scarred cranium shakes slowly whilst eyes squeeze shut to rid herself of it. She'd rather die at the claws of an enemy than to suffer through that.
She begins to ferment in her thought process as she walks, letting the turn of events turn over and over in her mind. She retraces back to her fight with Tigerfrost. Just his name lingering in her mind brings nothing but bitter bile in her throat, burning her esophagus with vile hatred for him. She had thrown everything she had at him, and they battled like gladiators. Tooth and claw clashed, bodies smacking into one another with screeches and caterwhauls that followed. A storm it had been between the two. He spewed putrid venom from his maw, indicating Hyacinthbreath dragged their beloved Juniperfrost onto their side of the border and Cindershade couldn't help but growl, a rugged rumble in her throat. Apart of her wanted to immediately dismiss it, to call him a filthy liar.
But there was that one voice—that voice that nagged at her to second guess her beliefs. Had she done such a thing? Lied about it and followed behind what Cindershade had saw to cover herself up?
The warrior's gaze narrows and grows cold, unmoving while she continued her trek to wherever she felt she could breathe again. She continues to stir her own thoughts, anger seeping just beneath her skin. She finally finds herself by the Two-Leg bridge, stopping at its entrance and staring. Anger burns into red-hot rage, blooming in her chest and wrenching her stomach. She wants revenge, wants to feel Tigerfrost under her claws again and tear his heart from his chest. He had bested her. They had fought to the point of near unconsciousness and he delivered the final blow and left her for dead. But she wasn't, no. The molly was far too stubborn and resilient to lose to a mongrel like him. Now her mind settles upon the beaten form of blue tabby fur, a warrior who didn't deserve the demise he did.
Clearsight.
Flashes of his smiling form enters her psyche, of him and Clayfur sharing a meal, of him accidentally ingesting sand because he was so tired. He was so different than herself—so full of life while she felt empty. He had made an impact on their clan, both living and in death. Her throat swells, threatening to constrict her breath and she grits her jaw tightly. Her molars clench and grind, wanting to crack under the pressure. Why did it have to be him? He had so much to live for, just like Smokethroat; whilst she had none. What did she have to remain on this world for? There was no family or love tying her down, only being in the clan. She wanted to scream to the heavens, to relinquish their rights upon his soul and take her own in his place. Perhaps RiverClan would heal a bit easier, knowing she was dead instead of him. They'd mourn her, she knows. They'd miss her and move on, a hole less large torn from them other than the river-tinted warrior. She'd long be forgotten before long, but Clearsight—Clearsight would be a death that would be mourned for moons.
Emotions well over here, threatening to drown her while she stands. It's overwhelming and new, hitting her like the biggest of waves. She's fighting in the current but can't resurface, that lump in her throat growing and hot tears spill from her eyes finally. They spill like before, blending amongst the rain that falls on her shsded features. She has so much built up, so much tension snd trauma, so mjch grief. She doesn't know where to put it. It wells up and over flows finally, and she's can't stop it. Claws lash out finally at something, anything. They catch upon the ground, tearing at the soil and the reeds and scoring the earth. "AAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH!" A scream tears at her throat, ripping her vocal chords asunder as she continues to take her frustrations out on the environment around her. Her freshly laid wounds stretch and scream, her body aching but she doesn't care. She just wants it out, all of it. Out. She continues until her wounds split open, their scabbing ripped apart and she bleeds again. She doesn't care. Blood will replenish, she will live. But Clearsight did not. WindClan desolated everything they could.
WindClan had won.
Beesong had left earlier, surely to go gather more herbs for his collection. Herbs he had to gather because WindClan shredded them. Oh, how that very thought brought enough lividness to hunt down the sick bastard and gut them where they stood. To leave their body along the border for the buzzards and maggots to feast on. The warrior begins to grow antsy, the heat of her own ire making her swelter and the walls seem to close in at a rapid pace. She casts a glance back to her, to a mangled form of black that lay sleeping in his nest. Smokethroat. He'd nearly died from the claws of Weaselclaw. Hadn't he taken enough from him already? Gouging his eye before and now pulling at the taut string of his lifeline. She had heard the chatter after rousing from unconsciousness, hearing the fretted coos of Cicadastar by his side whilst Beesong worked to the best of his ability. Cindershade wanted to be sick. They couldn't lose another warrior to WindClan. They just couldn't.
She has to leave now, to get out to inhale greedily at fresh air rather than musk and blood. So she does, slowly. Her muscles throb fiercely and urge her to rest, but she just couldn't. Paws stride a bit more clumsily than usual, her gait awkward with her limp from her shoulder. The entrance was right there—she had to get out. She had to breathe or else she'd explode. Eyes narrowed in focus, she makes a beeline for the entrance and pointedly ignores anyone who stops her. Misted rain dampens her pelt, moisturizes the dried clotted blood along her fresh wounds. It stings, but it's more cleansing than anything. She revels in it as she limps alongside the steep banks of the gorge, keeping a good distance away from imminent danger. Falls roar even an even more chaotic manner, hungrily frothing over wet stone. She stops for a moment, staring upon it as waters cascaded down rapidly and mist sprays from the bottom. She wonders if she jumped, would she be killed first by drowning or splitting open from the stones? It's a morbid thought, but something stirs within her. An intrusive thought to find out for the sake of it. Her scarred cranium shakes slowly whilst eyes squeeze shut to rid herself of it. She'd rather die at the claws of an enemy than to suffer through that.
She begins to ferment in her thought process as she walks, letting the turn of events turn over and over in her mind. She retraces back to her fight with Tigerfrost. Just his name lingering in her mind brings nothing but bitter bile in her throat, burning her esophagus with vile hatred for him. She had thrown everything she had at him, and they battled like gladiators. Tooth and claw clashed, bodies smacking into one another with screeches and caterwhauls that followed. A storm it had been between the two. He spewed putrid venom from his maw, indicating Hyacinthbreath dragged their beloved Juniperfrost onto their side of the border and Cindershade couldn't help but growl, a rugged rumble in her throat. Apart of her wanted to immediately dismiss it, to call him a filthy liar.
But there was that one voice—that voice that nagged at her to second guess her beliefs. Had she done such a thing? Lied about it and followed behind what Cindershade had saw to cover herself up?
The warrior's gaze narrows and grows cold, unmoving while she continued her trek to wherever she felt she could breathe again. She continues to stir her own thoughts, anger seeping just beneath her skin. She finally finds herself by the Two-Leg bridge, stopping at its entrance and staring. Anger burns into red-hot rage, blooming in her chest and wrenching her stomach. She wants revenge, wants to feel Tigerfrost under her claws again and tear his heart from his chest. He had bested her. They had fought to the point of near unconsciousness and he delivered the final blow and left her for dead. But she wasn't, no. The molly was far too stubborn and resilient to lose to a mongrel like him. Now her mind settles upon the beaten form of blue tabby fur, a warrior who didn't deserve the demise he did.
Clearsight.
Flashes of his smiling form enters her psyche, of him and Clayfur sharing a meal, of him accidentally ingesting sand because he was so tired. He was so different than herself—so full of life while she felt empty. He had made an impact on their clan, both living and in death. Her throat swells, threatening to constrict her breath and she grits her jaw tightly. Her molars clench and grind, wanting to crack under the pressure. Why did it have to be him? He had so much to live for, just like Smokethroat; whilst she had none. What did she have to remain on this world for? There was no family or love tying her down, only being in the clan. She wanted to scream to the heavens, to relinquish their rights upon his soul and take her own in his place. Perhaps RiverClan would heal a bit easier, knowing she was dead instead of him. They'd mourn her, she knows. They'd miss her and move on, a hole less large torn from them other than the river-tinted warrior. She'd long be forgotten before long, but Clearsight—Clearsight would be a death that would be mourned for moons.
Emotions well over here, threatening to drown her while she stands. It's overwhelming and new, hitting her like the biggest of waves. She's fighting in the current but can't resurface, that lump in her throat growing and hot tears spill from her eyes finally. They spill like before, blending amongst the rain that falls on her shsded features. She has so much built up, so much tension snd trauma, so mjch grief. She doesn't know where to put it. It wells up and over flows finally, and she's can't stop it. Claws lash out finally at something, anything. They catch upon the ground, tearing at the soil and the reeds and scoring the earth. "AAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH!" A scream tears at her throat, ripping her vocal chords asunder as she continues to take her frustrations out on the environment around her. Her freshly laid wounds stretch and scream, her body aching but she doesn't care. She just wants it out, all of it. Out. She continues until her wounds split open, their scabbing ripped apart and she bleeds again. She doesn't care. Blood will replenish, she will live. But Clearsight did not. WindClan desolated everything they could.
WindClan had won.
[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]
