- Jan 5, 2023
- 228
- 51
- 28
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The late afternoon is cold and bitter. Ice glistens across the ground, shines upon the jutting meeting stone, and rests within the fur of those who were trying to heal from their bloody wounds. With breath like mist, Tigerfrost looks akin to a gruesome and gore covered predator. His eyes glow with fire, despite the cold, and his fur remains bristled and unkept, stained by crimson both his own, and not. It had been that morning in which Dandelionwish had staged his escape, and the camp was in ruins. Ripped fur and blood pools, the scent of copper and rage.
Having been tended to to the best of Vulturemask's abilities, the chimera finds himself at the mouth of the medicine den, surveying the damage with a critical gaze. After several long moments, he grunts with dissatisfaction and limps toward the outskirts of the tattered camp, stepping over shredded nests and scarlet splatter until he finally finds himself gazing upon the thorny gorse wall near the back of the clearing. This was where Coldsnap and Coalfoot had managed to escape, a weak spot in the wall itself, where the gorse had not been quite so thick. Whether age or the harshness of winter had slowly eaten away at the barrier, Tigerfrost does not know. He does know, however, that it needs to be repaired.
A few WindClanners had already started the task by carrying in fresh gorse and heather to weave into the wall, and Tigerfrost flicks his tail at the small group, speaking with bitter vocals, "Be sure to check the outside of the wall as well. We should fortify it on both sides." And thicken the barrier so that, hopefully, nothing would be able to break in, or out, again.
As for himself, the tabby tom begins to join in the work, carefully plucking the gorse away from the growing pile and ignoring the occasional prick of a thorn as he set upon the task of weaving the fresh in with the old. His front paw was swollen and painful, but a strong tug had ultimately set it back into place, and with time it would surely heal, provided there were no other complications. For now, he can maneuver the stiff limb well enough, and carefully enough, to do his intended job, even if he was a bit slower than the rest.
"Blasted traitors." A grunt, furious and chilling, "Hope they rot."
Having been tended to to the best of Vulturemask's abilities, the chimera finds himself at the mouth of the medicine den, surveying the damage with a critical gaze. After several long moments, he grunts with dissatisfaction and limps toward the outskirts of the tattered camp, stepping over shredded nests and scarlet splatter until he finally finds himself gazing upon the thorny gorse wall near the back of the clearing. This was where Coldsnap and Coalfoot had managed to escape, a weak spot in the wall itself, where the gorse had not been quite so thick. Whether age or the harshness of winter had slowly eaten away at the barrier, Tigerfrost does not know. He does know, however, that it needs to be repaired.
A few WindClanners had already started the task by carrying in fresh gorse and heather to weave into the wall, and Tigerfrost flicks his tail at the small group, speaking with bitter vocals, "Be sure to check the outside of the wall as well. We should fortify it on both sides." And thicken the barrier so that, hopefully, nothing would be able to break in, or out, again.
As for himself, the tabby tom begins to join in the work, carefully plucking the gorse away from the growing pile and ignoring the occasional prick of a thorn as he set upon the task of weaving the fresh in with the old. His front paw was swollen and painful, but a strong tug had ultimately set it back into place, and with time it would surely heal, provided there were no other complications. For now, he can maneuver the stiff limb well enough, and carefully enough, to do his intended job, even if he was a bit slower than the rest.
"Blasted traitors." A grunt, furious and chilling, "Hope they rot."