duskclan DRAGGING HOLY WATERS — duskclan

[GRANITEPELT]

By the time the rebels stop chasing them, the sun is laying waste to the sky, spilling blood across the horizon and pinkening the snow-blown bellies of heavy clouds. Cracked pads come to rest on stubbly, bristling grass. The moors lie somewhere behind them—Granitepelt tilts his head down, inhaling as his flanks heave in and out from exertion. They are nowhere now—in no Clan’s territory, and as he tastes the air, he’s dismayed to find the only thing resting on his tongue is the scent of snow and the tang of blood from his companions’ torn pelts.

“We should be safe here,” he rasps, turning to survey the stragglers. Who had made it away alive, uncaptured? Sootstar herself is not with them; they’d been forced to abandon her, limp and glassy-eyed from the jaws of her killer. He finds himself searching for a ghost-white pelt, for indigo eyes. Had the she-kit gotten away? “Who are we missing?”

A flake of snow winds its way down. It lands on the tip of his nose; his exhale melts it.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 20 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

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[juncoclaw]

-ˋˏ ༻☽༺ ˎˊ- Scratched and bruised, Juncopaw has seen better days. Her once sleek and beautiful fur was now ruffled, knotted and adorned with cuts. She winced as she followed Granitepelt and the others out, not daring to meet their eyes. Defeat was a new sensation.

There was an unusual quietness about the silver molly as the cats settled into their temporary resting spot. She barely felt the need to address her wounds, too stumped and shaken by their defeat. After a moment, she finally looked up to scan the crowd for Mockinggrin, but even then felt useless. What use was a mentor now?

Who are we missing? Granitepelt asked, and in response Juncopaw's teeth bared. "Snakehiss," she spat, recalling the way the former deputy turn-tailed at the last moment. "That fox-hearted coward. We were.. we were so close!" She thinks of all the cats that had left their side leading up to the battle. Cottonfang, Bluefrost. Who else were they missing now that had willfuly turned to face their true Clan? Would they have won this battle once and for all if the traitors were still with them? The thought of victory being only a couple pairs of paws away made her blood boil.

With a frustrated growl, Juncopaw kicked at the snow underneath her and let herself fall into a loaf position. Sulking. Her life was over.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── I AM THE ANGEL ⋅❁⋅ SENT DOWN FROM ABOVE ──┐‎

• 
  
  
  

• 

• 
  JUNCOPAW[/color] ✩ she/her, moor-runner apprentice of windclan, seven moons.
  ⭃ an antagonistic blue-silver tabby chimera she-cat with green eyes.
  ⭃ mate to no one. daughter to former gin rogues. apprentice of mocking-grin.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by ixora ↛ @.ixora on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Thriftfeather]

The bleeding has stopped on its own twice now. Thriftfeather moves incorrectly, and feels it once more start anew. Exhaustion colors his every step—how long have they been walking? Even now, so close in the aftermath, the battle exists in Thriftfeather's mind as innumerable dizzying sensations, the sight of blood over snow. He tries to muster more than a rapidly growing dread and his body offers him nothing more than an unsteady exhale.

"I don't see Bluefrost," He answers dully. It hurts more than he thought it would—he can almost forget his wounds, "We don't have space for traitors. We don't—" He flexes his claws as if overcome with anger. The movement is a comfort, "Those who stayed are dead. They may as—they might as well be." Thriftfeather wishes he could be overcome with wild emotions—he wishes his words would come fast and loud, he wishes they would take up physical space.

And now the scraps of what was WindClan—truly WindClan—is being lead by an outside implant. Thriftfeather tries not to be rankled by this; Sootstar trusted Granitepelt enough to name him deputy.

"We'll... I can gather up some nesting materials," Thriftfeather starts, remembering the long shadow left by the burnt sycamore, "And tomorrow we can..." He trails off, his dread redoubled. He was going to offer an herb patrol but they were still without a medicine cat. Were they going to limp away from battle, only to die from infection in the following moon? "What—what else do we do?"​

DUSKCLAN WARRIOR ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 11 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[THORNRUNNER]

"Sootstar," he snaps. He likes Granitepelt. He likes these cats that he has followed. Neither of those truths can keep his fanged tongue in check now that their leader is gone. "We're missing Sootstar." All of this had been for her. To please her, prove himself to her. The thought that she could have lost this battle remains as absurd as it had ever been. Now all that he has proved himself to be is a weak traitor following other weak cats. But Granitepelt — Granitepelt had been shunned before. And he had still made this of himself. They could still come out on top. If not in WindClan....he does not know, past that. This whole life of his seems like an unending nightmare.

"What did Wolfsong put on wounds? Cobwebs. And–" And foul smelling leaves. With a sharp exhale, the warrior shakes snow from his pelt. "No. We need shelter if we're going to survive at all. We can't — we don't have the luxury of a future anymore. Just tonight."

——ˏ͛ °•*⁀➷ 𝑨𝑳𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝒀 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑫  ╱╱ 10.30.2023 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑵

• OOC. —
• THORNRUNNER. HE - HIM - HIS. YOUNG MOOR RUNNER OF WINDCLAN. SOOTSTAR LOYALIST. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ——————————————
  ——  a densely-furred yet sleek chocolate tabby with high white and several scars hidden within his fur. he carries himself with cocky confidence and a sharp cunning in icy blue eyes.
• "speech"

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[DUSTWHISKER]

Dustwhisker imagines he runs as swift as a moor runner behind Granitepelt. Though he is merely a tunneler — and an injured one at that — he doesn’t carry the stamina that some of his former clanmates hold. His lungs burn with exhaustion, and by the end, he finds himself trailing behind.

The tom is relieved to stop, and pale eyes search for familiar landmarks upon their destination. There is nothing. WindClan and the wretched forest beyond it is no more. Juncopaw’s words reach him first, and Dustwhisker lets out a snort. Should they be surprised? Should they be surprised that Snakehiss turned their backs on them too? The black and white tom seemed more hung up on Sootstar’s daughter than Sootstar herself. He looks for the gray smoke upon the remains of their group, but its only their new deputy he sees.

“ Is she dead? “ he finds himself asking, a frown pulled on his face — had the stars decided to steal her too, then? Did the stars decide to intervene as they always do to win a battle they were on the wrong side of? Dustwhisker wouldn’t be surprised.

Ears twitch at Thornrunner’s words. Cobwebs, shelter. They’re starting over, again. “ Shelter isn’t going to be necessary if we all bleed out, “ he mutters with a swish of a dark tail, holding his injured paw close to his form. ​

✦ ABOUT

• 

  DUSTKIT ‣ DUSTPAW ‣ DUSTWHISKER
  ── Loyalist Tunneler of WindClan
  
  ── Breezecurl x Stormtalon
  ── AMAB; He/Him
  ── A black tabby/black chimera with dull yellow eyes.
  ── Mentored by Breezecurl
  ── "Speech"; Attack​

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[RUMBLERAIN]

For the second time in their life, Rumblerain is forced to flee the moors; but this time they do so with a small pawful of cats. The true WindClan, the scraps of what was once a proud Clan, chased from their home by rogues-led traitors once again. It is by the grace of their argument with their mother that Rumblerain escapes mostly unscathed. It marks them as suspicious, no doubt; ruffled black-and-white fur unmarked by blood, out of place among the torn and to-be-scarred pelts of their Clanmates.

They're shaking, they realise absently. And not from the cold, even though the frost draws cold lines through their pelt.

"With any luck we can do both." They murmur, mostly to Dustwhisker. Louder, to Granitepelt, they summon a weary veneer of enthusiasm to their maw. Would they appreciate that? "I got out alright. I can do what's needed." Let me do what's needed.

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[Ebonylight.]

*+:｡.｡ Ebonylight lingers at the back of the gathering, a shadow writhing in place as he trembles with a fury he can't put into words. He doesn't care that they lost - he cares more that his kits are still back there. That Nightingalecall was still fucking back there. He looks down at his blood-crusted claws before furiously shaking the scarlet drops free.
"Ill join you, Rumblerain" Ebonylight says, forcing his grin into less of a snarling grimace as he turns sweet snake eyes upon his fellow moor-runner - former moor-runner he supposes. "What if we focus on hunting? See if we can find some shelter along the way." He figured he may as well keep busy, and earn some favor under the new leadership, Granitepelt, though he doesn't have a strong opinion on the guy who failed his first mission for Windclan.

*+:｡.｡ Updated 1/2/24

• 
  
• 
  
  
  
  GENERAL:
  ‡ Ebonylight
  ‡ DFAB— He/They/She — Pansexual
  ‡ 17 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
  ‡ Windclan — Moor-runner (Loyalist)
  ‡ Mates with Nightingalecry, father to Frightkit, Deathkit and Witherkit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ‡ Physically hard | mentally hard
  ‡ Attack in bold black
  
  injuries: None currently
  ‡ recovering from pregnancy

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[GRANITEPELT]

Juncopaw’s hiss causes Granitepelt’s ears to flick forward. “If we see that fox-hearted traitor again, we’ll flay him alive,” he says, though his words are dull. His body aches from running, from battle—the heavy-pawed cat he’d fought with has left him bruised in more than one place. His narrow green gaze twists to find a golden pelt. Bluefrost isn’t with them—and neither is Nightingalecry. They’ve no medicine cat, no leader, no nothing, not even a whiff of prey on a snow-tainted wind. Granitepelt listens to the cats as they fumble—what should we do?

“Sootstar is as good as dead. They killed her once—and if she’s alive after that, they’ll kill her again,” he mutters to Thornrunner, to Dustwhisker. His tail twines behind him. “We should… we should find some shelter for the night, at least. We’ll have to nest together like we did in the WindClan camp for warmth.” He exhales, his breath pluming cloudlike before his face. After a few heartbeats, a look of determination flashes across his visage.

“We don’t have the privilege of cowering and simpering. We have to survive, first and foremost. Rumblerain, you and Thriftfeather and Ebonylight start gathering nesting materials.” He turns to Thornrunner, his mouth twitching. “You… you start looking for cobwebs. We need to at least stop the bleeding. The rest of you, make sure you keep any wounds clean. We can’t afford infection.”

He turns to Dustwhisker and Juncopaw. “We should see if we can find any fresh-kill. It doesn’t smell promising, but—” He flicks a tattered ear, “We have to do what we can now. We’re all we have left.”

And he… he is leader of this band of survivors, though at the moment, he can’t imagine what’s so glorious about that.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 20 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — windclan warrior. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

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[GHOSTMASK]

Ghostpaw is a late arrival. She's not sorry for it, the way she'd hidden away from the bloody fight for WindClan. Battle does not become her; it's inelegant, all the wrestling in the dirt and saliva-filled snarls. She slinks from stubbly grass cast in sharp relief by a sun that bleeds across the sky. Her father, flint-eyed and wounded, snaps commands to the sad scraps of fur that have tagged along with them.

Instinctively, her muzzle wrinkles. This is not what she wanted. This is not what she was promised. This is not what she is owed. She had wanted a crown of stars, a clan of lean bodies and sharp fangs, unafraid to make the right decisions, the bloody ones if they had to. To do what Chilledstar, what her mother and brothers, what every weak-hearted ShadowClanner had been to afraid to.

Not this. Not barren ground and bruised cats, not life without a medicine cat or a leader or a hierarchy or a nest to sleep in.

We're all we have left, her father says. She does not want to be part of the we, this sad little we, but what choice does she have? ShadowClan is forever gone, Starlingheart's tender touches and Applepaw's steely eyes, and how can she run back to them with moor-scent on her fur and lies on her tongue? They could never believe her, surely. WindClan is a clan of glass and shadows, shaky and false, and when they had shattered she had been part of the wrong shard.

"I'm here," she mews, low and melodious with the faintest touch of a rasp. "Father," Ghostpaw adds like an afterthought, stepping forward. "I can help hunt." With that, she twists on her paws to go look for food, regret bitter on her tongue.

"speech"

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[RUMBLERAIN]

"We can hunt once we're settled." Rumblerain promises Ebonylight, something kindly crossing their features as they look to him. Maybe, with some luck, they'll be able to bring another massive hare home after finding enough moss to tide everyone over for now. The best hunters of WindClan, even so far from the moors (it's naïve, but a kitlike hope stirs somewhere within at the thought). They're so much closer to Highstones here, too, looming in the sky, jagged peaks so much larger than they're used to. It's a little creepy.

Shaking off the feeling as best they can, Rumblerain beckons towards Thriftfeather with an inviting curl of their tail. A familiar curiosity sparkles in pale eyes, threatening to override their discomfort. "Let's go see what this territory has for us."

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[BERRYSNAP]

While not instructed to search for fresh-kill or any kind of supplies, she finds herself turning to Granitepelt "I can stand watch tonight if needed." As close as she was to giving birth, she would attempt to avoid the heavier duties will still contributing in a small manner around the clan. Awaiting an answer from their new leader, she would survey their makeshift camp to see what they could even do without rest.

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