camp drip, drip, drip, fall ✧ patrol return

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ​

They shouldn't have lost.

She'd had numbers... Warriors who were plenty old enough to be able to hold their own against what should be an unorganized, fragmented unit of this rogue threat.

And still she finds her paw-steps fumbling, breaths shuddering against bruised muscles, a blood-wet throat. Vision swam in inconsistent fractures, showing mimicries of her clan-mates like a kaleidoscope. They are not as many in paws as she perceives, she knows there is only one traitor-belly Silverbreath. Knows there to be one shadow-paranoid Asphodelpaw. That there can only be one tortoiseshell plastered against her to keep her movements (somewhat) steady. Only one flimsy-footed Perchberry despite the shivering triplet forms that dance around him.

Blinking against the threatening dark that crowds around her like a murder of crows- lay amongst their downy, obsidian feathers and relish in the comfort they demand- crimson drips in rivulets down a snow-pale chest, fluttering as strongly as a fledgling taking its first flight (badly). If the deputy weren't so fixated on making sure her feet moved forward, rather than crumble with the bloodless numbness that ripped at her, she might have the will to be furious. Furious that they'd been made into prey on their own territory. Angry that she could hear Perchberry's protests yet did not see an ounce of blood on his paws.

Her chest constricts, throat equally tight with a gasped inhale. "Smoke....star," it was hardly more than a wheeze but he had to be told. Had to be given what information they'd found, that no one had died (this time). Before she lost details to the foggy abyss of memory, before the scents and sounds and shutter-speed moments of adrenaline faded into hazy recollection.

Robinheart's firm support is all that keeps the lynx point from staggering where sandy terrain made treading difficult. Thank stars she was safe... thank stars she was finally freed of the shackles of one stupid, ages-old mistake. That she didn't have to sit in silent vigil for another night. And in all Lichentail's worry after everyone else, the dizziness is forgotten until it sends stars into a flurried dance in front of her eyes-

Is it my turn to be dressed in mint....

Maybe Snowflakekit doesn't have to be lonely then...

And even that is a relief.


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[ a little early but for timeline's sake I wanted to get this up! follow-up to this thread
tagging participants @robinheart @CRASHINGTIDE @Asphodelpaw @Silverbreath @PERCHBERRY @claypaw ]

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CLAIM THE BURIAL I SEEK IN DREAMS

FLOWING RIVER CEMETARY​

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​

 

[shellpaw]

camp was tense today. she didn’t know why ; no one would tell her directly. lichentail set out with a bundle of warriors and apprentices and as soon as they had, a frantic murmur had fallen quiet over the remaining cats. she plays absently in the middle of camp, batting lightly at a bone left near the outskirts of the freshkill pile, stripped clean and frosted an even paler white, but her eyes keep trailing back to the same place. the dark of riverclan’s sedge entrance seemed more imposing each day, more likely to bring misfortune into their ranks. lightningstone, oxbowpaw, clayfur, reedbite.. she was almost used to the sight, now. glassy eyes and mouths that fall open like gaping fish, the awkward ruffle of fur around bleeding wounds. she snow itself begins to smell like lavender and mint.

tiny paws smack the bone hard enough to send it skittering aside when finally, finally there is noise in the undergrowth. shellkit’s tail lifts in one solid motion, scrabbling to her paws to greet the lynx point before they wandered off to tend her next duty, bouncing forward on her toes while warriors gather. the murmur grows louder until —

gasps. calls for ravensong, for smokestar, for help ring out all around her. a cacophony, a storm of desperation that rages far above her head as clan cats and weave about in panic. shellkit stands frozen amidst it all, when the smell of blood finally reaches her, she finds there is nowhere to escape it. her legs can’t move, suddenly rooted as if weighed down by river rocks. she heaves in a breath, two, three, more, more, until her head feels suddenly light and that’s funny, because she swore she’d heard that breathing helped. quick bursts of air from her mouth cast little puffs of cloud into the air and for a moment, it blurs the sight. no longer are the patrol members ducking into camp, no longer is blood dripping steadily into the snow underpaw, into robinheart’s fur. for a second, they are but two figures in the mist, one blue and one brown. she can still see the red.

then, someone kicks her. accidentally — she is standing still in midst of a sudden panic and a paw knocks into her side, sending her nearly toppling into the snow, but suddenly her paws are free and she sucks in a heavy breath despite how much it stings in her chest. there is a shrieking she cannot place until her throat is raw and she coughs, cowering low against the snow despite her elder’s frantic apologies and guilty departure. this can’t be. this couldnt be. this was a bad dream and she was sure of it, because her head was hazy and bleary as if she should be long asleep. she doesn’t like it. her cheeks are wet and she is crying, fear prickling the awkwardly toppled arch of her spine.

but the cold snow seeping through her fur brings her back. it clears her senses suddenly, and everything is too loud, too fast, too much. she crawls forward a bit but lichentail is hurt an awful lot, and fear begins to hold her paws close to her chest as she nears enough to see the damage and utter a low, agonized, ” oh nooo.. no. “ . it was bitten and bloodyafter a brief squeeze of her eyes, she aims to headbutt the points arm anyway once they hobble to a stop, if nothing else to keep her attention from fading into the black nothingness. the lilac girl’s mind is spinning again as she looks to robinheart for help, there is nothing she can do or say until — smokestar it’s a violent rasp. smokestar. she needed smokestar, and shellkit could do that. they’d be okay because shellkit would get smokestar and smokestar could give her a life, and they would be fine. she lets out a puff of breath, steps back and nods violently as if she’d addressed her alone, ” i’ll get him, i will, i promise! just — don’t go, i’ll be right back, i swear!“ blubbering, damp - faced, but brave as a three month old with no taste for battle could be shellkit backs away ; don’t go. like nearly everyone else who’d come back battered and bloody had, they couldn’t go.

as fast as her legs would take her, the girl darts towards the tom’s den. a warrior hangs around outside of it, but shellkit does not hesitate, clearing the willow tree entrance to shout : ” lichentail is back and — and she’s hurt so bad, you have to come now. smokestar! you have to come right now! “ with increasing desperation regardless of whether or not the tom was coming already or not.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𓇼 𝙎𝙊 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙊 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘿

• i. FREAKING OUT and grabbing @SMOKESTAR
  
  
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  SHELLKIT 𓆉 SHE / HER, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING xx UNKNOWN, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. TWO MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
  delicate lilac - striped molly with sugarplum eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of shell - touched cream, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore. feather breath and elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined warm, sugared amber ---------- ° ❀ ⋆
  

  currently exhibiting symptoms of whitecough. this includes a running nose, wheezing, sluggishness, and labored breathing. please keep contagion in mind.

  
  

​

 

[PEBBLEPAW]

( ☼ ) he has grown used to the scent of blood far too young. three moons old and bitter at the world, he watches his clan fall apart and recover each day. theres a reason he and riverkit and shellkit have been kept in the nursery more these days. hazecloud tries to shield them from the sight of death, but pebblekit knows what's going on, knows they've lost clanmates recently. he doesn't see clayfur around anymore, the kind tabby who would stop by sometimes to bring him and his siblings a mossball to play with. he can't find oxbowpaw, or lightningstone, and their scents have begun to fade from clan life. peb may not understand, but he knows.

(he remembers glassy eyes, crimson staining snow, horrific cries of grief and loss.)

as he crouches beside shellkit, absently fiddling with his claws, he can feel the static in camp. warriors pass and glance at the two of them with pity in their eyes, something peb snarls at. apprentices gather beside their den and whisper, tails twitching and ears back in anxiety. he saw smokestar pacing a few minutes ago before the dark tom returned to his den. there is a wave of suspense hanging over riverclan, and the tide is about to come in.

shellkit bounces to her paws and the blue dappled tomkit follows her, unease clenching in his stomach as the patrol enters camp. (crimson, he sees crimson, dappling the snow, melting holes into pure white. panting, gasping breaths, the scent of fear, fear, fear.) owl-like eyes widen in horror, snow dappled maw yowls after his sister, "shelly!" a desperate plea as the girl is knocked down. he can't bare to look at lichentail, but he can't bare to look away, afraid that if he does so, she too will fade from existence.

his sister recovers with a scream, dashing up to the deputy and then dashing away, darting towards smokestar's den with a mission. pebblekit is left alone in the sea of trampling paws, but he is small and he is smart, and he weaves through them with skill. (he imagines this is what it feels like to swim against a tide.)

lichentail is collapsed, barely breathing, and the scent of blood is overwhelming. pebblekit noses her with desperation, mumbling to himself, begging the stars to let her stay. "m-mom-lichentail!" he stammers out, dark nose pressed into the woman's fur as if he can revive her with his will alone. "ravensong!! get ravensong and moonpaw!! you have to save her, you have to!"

I DO NOT HAVE WINGS, LOVE ☼ I NEVER WILL

• // " speak "
  
  
  
  
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  PEBBLEKIT ☼ HE / HIM, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING x UNKNOWN, NEPHEW TO SMOKESTAR. 2 MOONS OLD, PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a large blue tabby with low white. pale blue fur covers the length of pebblekit's stocky body, sliced through with darker tabby stripes and spots. baleful orange eyes peer out of heavy set sockets, and his muzzle, paws, and tail tip are dashed with white.
  
  
  
  

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[robinheart]

They shouldn’t have lost.

Robinheart trusted her patrol; believed them to be safe enough and strong enough. But life had shown her in crimson brushstrokes that safety and strength weren’t enough. Not when the foe lays a trap and fights dirty. Double teaming Lichentail was a filthy move - an unfair advantage and Robinheart curses herself for not being able to help the deputy. If she had freed herself from the other rogue sooner… if she had been a better fighter… maybe the lynx point beside her would not be watering RiverClan soil with her lifeblood.

The tortoiseshell tries to ignore the throbbing pain in her flanks as she supports Lichentail every step of the way. Childishly she offers whispered apologies for bleeding on the deputy (as if Lichentail wasn’t already covered in enough blood) intermixed with words of encouragement to keep the lynx point moving forward and conscious. It hurts to speak. Her neck, exposed for the first time since her early apprenticeship, is bruised and sore beyond measure. But it is whole. It is not torn as Lichentail’s is; as Clayfur, Lightningstone, and Oxbowpaw’s had been. For that she is fortunate. She is… lucky.

“Lichentail, try not to speak right now. Wait for Ravensong,” Robinheart urges gently, her citrine gaze swathed in fear that speaking may make the deputy bleed more. That very gaze drifts to Shellkit and Pebblekit. They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t see their adoptive mother like this. But who was she to stop them? Shellkit runs off to fetch Smokestar while Pebblekit stays and barks orders with the ferocity and terror of a war torn warrior. Robinheart would obey if she weren’t worried her absence from Lichentail’s side would cause utter collapse. So she joins Pebblekit in his call to (medical) arms.

“Ravensong! M-Moonpaw!” The minimally injured warrior cries out, wincing at the strain of bruised vocal cords. They’ll come. They’ll fix Lichentail. RiverClan will not lose their deputy; her children will not lose a mother. StarClan wouldn’t allow that, right?

 

[hazecloud]

It's a struggle to keep the innocence of their little birds and it remained a vital conflict in Hazeclouds acceptance that these kittens would be kept within the nursery for even longer. It wouldn't protect them from seeing what waited for them outside their camp walls. It would not protect them if the river decided to flood their home again, or if WindClan took their chances in a moment of weakness.

Yet she knows for the small glimpses they witness from the confinements of camp that it will be nothing compared to facing it head-on. When they are not surrounded by Clanmates and kin to rush them into safety, they will face threats alone. Why not let them wait until they're bigger to start that journey?

Her focus on the kittens have left Hazecloud little room to ever feel the same concern for her mate. Lichentail was a strong warrior even if they both knew she couldn't fight on the same level as some of their Clan. She didn't throw herself into unnecessary danger, and she knew not to start something she couldn't win.

But her patrol has returned dressed in crimson and not much of it belonged to the enemy. Hazecloud rushed along with Shellkit and Pebblekit with her breath caught in her lungs and cheek fur damp with fearful tears. "What happened to her? What happened?!" She demanded the patrol as she practically coiled herself around her bleeding mate. She would not waste any breath demanding their medicine cats, the echo of yowls would be noisy enough. Instead she kept her muzzle close to Lichentail's torn ear and murmured her soft prayers.

"Stay with me, don't go just yet I can't- I won't let you."​

 

[FOXTAIL]

Foxtail is unable to stop his fur from bristling at the smell of blood in his nostrils; ears flattening as heavy pawsteps enter the camp. ...Foxtail has never been a huge fighter— he will defend and fight for his clan when needed, but it scares him to the core. What if someone he cares about gets injured... or even worse, dies from their wounds? What if he is outmatched in battle? He knows that dying defending RiverClan should be the biggest honor, and as a RiverClan warrior he should put his life on the line to defend the clan, but he fears the bloodshed that comes along with it. He doesn't want any of his clanmates to get hurt, but that's easier said than done. They're warriors after all, and danger lurks in every corner.... but yet every time he smells blood, he always reacts the same way.

His eyes widen as the patrol struggles back into camp. The blood he smelled.... it isn't from the enemy. His green eyes stare at the wounds his clanmates carry with them, their fur soaked in their own blood. Lichentail's wounds seem to be the worst— as Robinheart assists the deputy by letting them lean against her. The deputy's paws seem to shake, and the young warrior feels a wash of horror run over him as her blood drips onto the snowy earth floor. StarClan, what happened to her? He thinks in horror, feeling his heart racing in his chest. He can feel his own paws begining to shake at the sight, but then he hears Robinheart cry out. "I-I'll fetch Ravensong and Moonpaw!" He yowls, quickly darting towards the medicine cat den. He couldn't stare at her wounds for any longer.... at least he can help this way. "Ravensong! Moonpaw! Lichentail is badly injured! S-she needs your help!"​

𝐨𝐨𝐜 —— 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦

• fetching @RAVENSONG and @Moonpaw
  
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  credit to skaicraft (via insta) for the artwork <3
  
• Foxtail

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  warrior
  warmhearted
  timid
  experience: trained
  backstory: tbd
  biography: [HYPERLINK]
  credit to nopeita for the pixel & tropics for the icon <3
  

  cisgender male [he / him]
  eyes: green
  pelt: cinnamon/chocolate
  fur length: long
  parents: dawnflower and redfur (riverclan npcs)
  16 moons
  

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  ​

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[FERNGILL]

Kittens shouldn't be seeing stuff like this- Ferngill winced at the wailing voices before he even got a look at Lichentail. Snowy paws rushed toward the din, stuttered, bewildered blinking blacking out his vision. The air stank of blood and pain and panic- Shellkit was somewhere squealing for Smokestar, and Pebblekit called out desperately for help, and Foxtail leapt across camp. Quickly-welling eyes witnessed Hazecloud rushing to her mate's side- Ferngill swallowed as if he were gulping down a rock.

"Everything'll be alright," he affirmed aloud to someone, anyone, unable to remove the shake from his voice but sounding certain nonetheless. Ravensong- his friend, he was smart. A clever, talented medicine cat. Lichentail, she would be fine. Ferngill already felt the pang of worry, the distant sting off loss, and pushed it away- he could not lose someone else. RiverClan could not lose Lichentail.

But what reassurance could he truly give? Without medicinal prowess, all Ferngill had was his trust, and he didn't suppose that would be enough for Hazecloud, the panicking kittens, or Lichentail itself. Voice steeped in worry, all the fiery tom could think to do was look at the rest of the patrol. A solitary green eye was full of incredulity. "Who?"

It was all he could choke out. Who, and then maybe he could understand why- because in no world did Lichentail deserve this. They were a good cat, a good parent- they were loved by so many. Who was heartless enough to do this?​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

—————————————————————⊰★⊱————————————————————

Shellkit screaming about something is usually not cause for alarm, his little niece was loud and boisterous and made herself known and he didn't often pay much mind when she went about squealing over something or another but there is a tone to her mewls now that makes his fur prickle with unease; true horror and fear from a kitten was not so easily missed. He finally registers her words. Lichentail - hurt - now.

Dark pelted and spotted with stars he steps over the tiny lilac molly and makes his way to where he sees the patrol of cats returning in a gathered cluster around blue fur streaked in red and matted in maroon patches. A ringing starts in his ears.
He's afraid suddenly, frozen in place and stiff limbed - ordering the camp to leave him there, ordering them to abandon and he's alone again suddenly; alone and lost and unsure of which direction to turn - blood spills over pebbles and the sound is like the river itself and deafening in a way a trickle of that size shouldn't be. Smokestar feels his head spin, its selfish delirium that pushes him over the edge and has him stalking forward like a fin cutting the water through the cats gathering, "Lichentail-!"
He is acutely aware of Foxtail rushing past them to the medicine cat den, his lone orange eye honing in on his deputy and he can only think of how much the clan desperately needed her, a nursery of kits needed her, HE needed her - the very thought of choosing another weighted under a stones worth of loss was soul crushing and horrifying enough that his eye blew out in a vivid sunset of panic pinpricked with a black slit, ebony nose pressing into a chill touched forehead alongside Hazecloud's ashen pelt murmuring worries and echoing his own thoughts in a frantic whirlwind of sound. Don't go - I can't - Where was Ravensong? Where was Moonpaw? It felt like lifetimes ago that he had watched his warrior's burnt autumn pelt go whipping by to the tall reeds, Ferngill's voice whispering a demand for blame to be place and he aches to know a name as well. He hates that he knows the names of the rogues that wander his territory. He hates that he has to imprint them to his memory.
"Enough is enough." After the gathering, every able-bodied warrior would be called into a march for blood and an end to this wretched chapter.

✘ I've got a reputation and a name to uphold. ✘ Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

• OOC can go here.
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  Smokestar
  —⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  

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[ROOKFANG]

THE HERMIT ─── There had been so much. Blood? Carnage? Death? Grief? It was as if leaf-bare had sunken not just with the porcelain snow that laid waste to any livelihood but into the hearts of violent enemies, ice coursing through their veins to seek nothing but the warm pulse of his clanmates. Rookfang's tongue felt like rugged bark against his tightening muzzle, the lower jaw tightening and tightening, wounding up with his already ivory fangs. The frigid winter air reeked of electric static and bristled frustration, causing the heavy figure of Rookfang to rip itself off the glassy surface of the water he was drinking from. His head snapped towards the direction of the others, focused intensity preparing to lock on the ones who were causing such alarm. But it was not an invasion of war-mongering Windclanners. It wasn't outlandish rogues biting down on their camp and clanmates. It was Lichentail. Her slender form is desperately leaning against the support of injured Robinheart, the ruby splatters starkly contrasting her cool tones. She was hurt.

The tightening pressure of his jaw was now quickly intensified as he rushed alongside the others, unsheathed claws digging half-moons into the dark with determination as his spiky fur rose from his burning skin, damaged midnight gaze wide with horror. Rookfang's heart was thumping and roaring in his jagged ears as he awkwardly skidded to a halt beside the others, their cries and wails demanding aid from Ravensong and Moonpaw. He knew it was better to allow the others to speak than join into the chaos for their healers' aid and his hazy stare snapped to the sunken tear-ridden cheeks of Hazecloud and their child, the family's fear for the lynx point causing a bottomless pit to open within him. Ferngill's inquiry was an uninterrupted echo in his mind as the sable ash warrior went to shift to the other side of Hazecloud, heavy form briefly brushing against the other in a silent attempt of support. His steel-like attention was locked onto Lichentail, needle-thin inky pupil and foggy one tracing the injuries and her low breathing, the depths of the wounds embedding themselves into his memory. He wanted to make sure he would provide the same wounds to the ones who had done this.

His ears pricked at the Smokestar's demand. His unsheathed claws itched and screamed with energy. He wanted blood. His upper lip curled with bubbling resistance, the poisonous frustration growing by the second. "Whenever we do strike back...I'll be there." His monotone breathy voice was as heavy as a mountain, weighed by the pent-up desire to rip at every throat as his gaze slowly dropped to the ground where the trail of scarlet had been left behind. The fanged warrior hauntingly stared, hollow stillness from his stiffened form disguising the fact that he wanted to seek them all by himself, the twinge of hungry revenge had fully enraptured his heart. By Starclan's name, they would pay.​

 

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ​

Pale eyes drag agonizingly slow to look for tiny bodies so low to the ground... they are too small, impossibly small. They can't be here. Shellkit smacks her sturdy little skull into the point's leg and a winced smile pulls at pain hollowed features. A stone-stoic boy follows his sister closely, burying a tiny, cold nose into what fur is not drenched red. His sniffling... his warbled call for his mother. (That's you.)

A breath hitches in her chest to hear it, the familiar sting of tears; why now... tiny gem? What had she done to earn that right? "It's...... o..kay," is wheezed in unsteady syllables, a whistling effort to form any significant speech. It may be... the first lie she'd told in a long time. If only because she demanded it to be truth. That it might be the reality she commands by willing it out loud.

Robinheart condemns her for it... for wasting her breath that she simply does not have to spare. How could she though...? Let them cry like that? They'd only ever been tiny little things.... even now. Something to be pulled into tight embrace, to listen to their sweet purrs as they slept.

Staring at Pebblekit makes time pass in a dizzying blur... Hazecloud is suddenly there and she doesn't even remember seeing her approach. Smokestar- his nose presses to her forehead and alike a timid kit she feels only guilt; How many times had she failed? An ocean of fire burns in his eye and she swears... for just a moment... He looks afraid too.

"Be... care...ful.... There's...... more." So many more... Not just Sasha... and Deacon.. and the few that had brought Lightningstone and Oxbowpaw and sickeningly speedy death... Even more still.

So many words she could offer to explain what had happened. So many details that might better prepare him for how to move forward but any attempt to clear a mangled throat only invites a bloodied cough- the rest of the patrol. They'd have to be her voice this time.

"Don't go just yet."

Confusion swims like molasses through her head- was she actually dying? Was she the last to know it? Her vision shifts towards Hazecloud, sees her in muddled clarity, thinks to say she isn't. Why would she? It was only morbid consideration, not reality... she was fine. She'd be fine.

Yet when her mouth moves to make that promise, the world spins. Maybe... Robinheart was right. She'd wasted too much.. on so little. And none of it had been 'I love you.'

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CLAIM THE BURIAL I SEEK IN DREAMS

FLOWING RIVER CEMETARY​

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[RAVENSONG]

It almost feels like a cruel joke. First Moonpaw and now Lichentail. Ravensong almost feels frozen to the spot when Foxtail calls for him. "How badly?" He sputters, before snapping back into reality and mechanically gathering the necessary herbs and cobwebs for wounds. At least, he can only assume that is what the deputy needs. His marigold supply is dwindling, and with leafbare still in swing, he worries about the Clan's wellbeing during the rogue scourge.

He brushes past Foxtail, too worried to offer at the very least a nod of gratitude. He sees the deputy being helped into the camp by Robinheart, who seems to be sporting some wounds as well judging from the scent of blood.

"You sound awful." His voice is clipped and he trips over himself, forgetting almost his cool demeanor in the panic of losing one of the cats he loved the most. "Be quiet, rest your voice. Here's we'll help you to the medicine den." He nods at Robinheart and offers his shoulder for the two of them to begin leading the blue molly toward his den, where Moonpaw waits.

As he passes, he attempts to meet Smokestar's gaze. The desperation is clear in the medicine cat's hollow eyes. They are running out of resources. They are running out of warriors.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

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  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them" — openly suffers from chronic migraines — single, but "it's complicated"

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[hazecloud]

More of them practically swarm around their deputy in a fog of fear and concern. Voices crowd together like buzzing drones. But her name echoes like a plea from the stars and each time sent a pang that rang in her ears. Her nose did not part from the fuzzy taper of her mates ears, stuck to her side like a burr until forced away (and even then she may snap). Who had done this, she does not care. Does not want to know because is powerless to do anything about it. Still bound to their holy isle, unable to throw herself claws and teeth first into flesh that tore flesh.

The acidic stench of crimson iron had every hair on her body rise in bristling rage. Frustration built over the foundation of dread and despair. Seething anger lit a fire within her ribcage that could only be quenched with blood repaid. Whoever had laid claws so horribly against her mate would see their final moment beneath RiverClans might, that was for sure.

Another is at her side, close enough she can feel hot breath against her whiskers and for a moment in what felt like ages she drew her sights away to rest on a blaze that matched her heart. Another brushed against her side just vacant a blink before and she recognized the scent of who approached without looking at him. She felt her throat swell like a croaking frog as his pelt brushed against hers and she uncurled her tail from the crooked molly's to flicker against his in silent acknowledgement. She's scared to speak right now, she's scared of how raspy and broken her voice will sound.

Lichentail at last spoke again and she felt her head shift to meet her gaze. "Don't..." Speak! She wanted to say but harsh sandpaper sound of words wasn't what she wanted Lichentail to hear. Hazecloud could feel her heart still tethered to the blue molly as she's led toward the medicine den with Ravensong, remaining hardly a claws length behind. I can help... I can still help. As useless as she felt, she couldn't stand around doing nothing!​

 

[robinheart]

There are so many questions and murmured comments from RiverClanners who swarm the returning patrol. Robinheart glances at shocked eyes and concerned faces of each gathered clanmate. She ignores the quiet internal voice telling her no one cared about her wellbeing (why should they, her life was not on the line?) and focuses on what she can do. She can stand with enough strength to support herself and Lichentail. And she can answer questions.

“Deacon… or Thornmask or wh-whatever name he claims… led an ambush against the patrol,” she explains with a rasp, looking to Hazecloud, Ferngill, and Smokestar. “Laid a trap and waited with… with so many rogues… they just kept coming. They fight without honor - two attacked Lichentail at once,” Robinheart continues, not mentioning her own tussle as it didn’t seem pertinent. Besides, she could see Ravensong coming now. Lichentail would be okay. Treatment was imminent and hopefully just in time.

The tortoiseshell nods to Ravensong as he goes to Lichentail’s other shoulder and moves to support the deputy towards the medicine den. Robinheart follows suit with careful steps to keep Lichentail equally supported and not jostled about so their injuries do not worsen.