from bad to worse ✘ Council Meeting

[SMOKESTAR]

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He feels as if he has stagnated like water pooled from the river, a puddle left to steep in the sun. Outside an initial outburst, he feels he has had no time to mourn still - but he doesn't know exactly what it was he wished to mourn at all. WindClan's treacherous behavior was only a single claw on a set that cut him and he feels more tired than he thinks he can even adequately explain; weighted down by the world so heavily its a wonder he had the energy to even be righteously angry at the gathering. Emotionl dettachment aside, something needed to be done and it was gratifying the other clans were all on the same page as far as their view of the moorlands. At the very least, differences aside, they had allies and would not face this issue alone. He'd called the meeting several days after the gathering, allowing the clan to burn out the embers of their fury and get back to their duties before bringing it up once more with hopefully more clear minds and sensible approaches.
"...we can not let WindClan's transgressions be so easily forgiven or forgotten, but leafbare approaches and I worry what a war may do so early into the cold seasons. Is it worth the risk? What options do we have? The other clans, at least, are on our side and that much is clear but will they fight or do they share the same concerns?"
Herbs would be harder for Ravensong to find when the chill killed the land, wounds would risk festering and growing worse - even the more minimal of them. The river may very well freeze over and flood again, leaving them without a proper camp another year in a row and putting them closer to WindClan's border yet again as the Beech Copse was their only real place to set up in that would not risk the waters overtaking and allow them room. The nursery had just cleared out, at least, several new apprentices to be taught hunting to assist in keeping the clan fed but would they face the same prey shortage as before?
"...I would hear your thoughts..." He prods lightly, a nod of a gesture to each of his council in turn in the hopes of gleening more insight or ideas.

——✘ when does ripple become a tidal wave ———✘ when does a candle become a flame

• Tags - @lichentail & @Snakeblink & @Petalnose & @iciclefang & @RAVENSONG
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  Smokestar
  —⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  

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[lichenstar]

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

The decaying leaves rub against tangled fur like burrs, tugging at them and pulling until it is the half-dead willow's branch that is forced to release. Summoned like the bitter cold of a biting breeze, this would be the first time RiverClan's council gathered in completeness since the rogues... and with Iciclefang among their rank, the blue point couldn't help but want to see what thoughts lay nestled behind a frosty gaze. She had to have come back different... there was no way her undertaking through such great expanses had left her to stagnate- Ferngill, once thought a beloved, unfortunate failure, had shown his merit and remained haunted for it. Mosspool, a stalwart, unflinching example of the 'good warrior' now even more hardened by their difficulties... Hazecloud who spent her nights shifting and squirming, kicking at Lichentail's back... and that was only half of them.

Her attention had sat sightlessly upon her toes, staring at the earth there as Smokestar's baritone lulled a message of frustration... uncertainty. How to proceed with WindClan, now backed by the support of the other clans? Leaf-bare was practically upon them, risking an all out war- it was incredibly justified, if the public outcry was clear- but was it worth pursuing now remained the ultimate question.

"I fear waiting will teach them their actions have no true consequence but our heated words," it is shared absently, articulated clearly despite the distance of her focus. "But.... we are stronger now that yellow cough has been handled- half of our strongest warriors do not wander random plains and distant places."

The other clans were harder to speak for, would they allow cowardice to turn their bellies upwards in appeasement to the stars? It was truly only ShadowClan else that had to fear tense borders. Briefly, she thinks of their missing kits, would Chilledstar give up that search to focus on defending the claim they all had to Highstones? They never struck her as a compassionate type... Or one with any sort of humanity, really. She blinks, the world comes to detail again and she lifts her head to look at the variety of pelts around her.

"Ravensong," his name falls from her mouth with a sting, wondering if he remembers the fury he'd spat on his tongue to have fled the rogues, to have been blinded by fever and mistaken their invaders for WindClan? "It will ultimately be your burden we have to fear for... I've no doubt our warriors will fight but it's after the fight I'm concerned about." It stayed unspoken on her tongue, that he is alone in his duties and far from experienced the way Beesong had been- the abrupt death had stifled his ability to learn. While he had treated wounds before, handling the aftermath of a war was not the same as the occasional scuffle Rookfang got into, the off and on bruises of Petalnose's battle practices, the thorns in apprentice's paw pads.

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WELL IF YOU WANT MY BLOOD I'LL MAKE SO MUCH BLOOD

THAT YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING DROWN​

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[RAVENSONG]

Why, Ravensong thought bitterly, had StarClan allowed WindClan to continue with their transgressions. The tall, dark medicine cat remained silent, his features stern and unreadable. The worst of yellowcough had been shaken from his pelt, but a hollow emptiness remained behind those eyes and chest.

"You are right. We may loose cats if we declare war." He blinks slowly. "That is a given, and," His eyes shift over to Smokestar carefully. "If that is something you want to have on your paws." There is perhaps a silent exchange between them at that point. Ravensong knows more about Smokestar than the rest of the council and it feels strange to not have the council foaming at the bit for war. He would have to wait for Petalnose's thoughts.

"We are so fervently against bringing kits to life in leafbare... we should show the same respect to our living in leaf-bare." His ears twitch again and Hazecloud enters his mind. He does not like war, even if he dislikes the other Clans politically. "Besides all that, no blood should be shed at a sacred place against another Clan." Left unspoken, of course, was the challenge that Sootstar's Clan could still even be called a Clan at all.

☾₊ ⊹ 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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[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

War...

Snakeblink kneeds the ground with his claws, thoughtful. He doesn't like the thought; doesn't want to throw their clanmates, their kin, into the teeth and claws of Windclan cats, to be wounded or killed for a feud borne out of Sootstar's bloodthirst. But he's aware of his own cowardice enough that he can take a step back and realize: they may not have a choice here. And they're strong – stars, they're strong, even the smallest of them. He remembers the blood of rogues under his claws, Beepaw and Cicadapaw's ferocity against cats twice their size. If the other clans join in... And if, he hopes, the stars are on their side.

”It's a risk either way,” he hums, glancing at their medicine cat first. ”We can ill-afford to lose any of ours, but how long can we manage with our direct access to Starclan cut off this way?”

So much of their strength – their leader's survival, their medicine cat's knowledge – comes from Starclan's guidance. How long before another plague strikes, before they need another omen to save them from illness or outside threats? His eyes draw back to Smokestar. He does not wish to lose another leader – not so soon. Nor another medicine cat. Another friend.

”No matter what we choose, we will have to act fast. The later in Leaf-bare we are, the weaker we will grow.”

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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

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• — Snakeblink • he / him. 46 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[Petalnose]

Sharpened ears swiveled carefully at each opinion. For once she waited patiently, ingesting all the information the council passed. A curt nod in agreement was shared towards Lichentail at the strength their clan was gathering again. However, tensions and definsive walls had to be set for leafbare. In attack she'd set forth without a complaint, however, her clan was what she had served. Selfish desires tore. Selfish desires destroyed. Her youth had shown her the hard way.

Petalnose blinked heavily at the flash of her recent dream, breathing a long breath as she glued her gaze upon Ravensong. The apprehension and intelligence of his words were hard to reason against. Herbs were going to die. Clanmates were to struggle.

Faith. That was something that was rough of topic to her, she recalled her talk with Aspenhaze upon it. How Starclan frustrated her. How it felt as if they weren't there for their clan. It was difficult to bring up but within her settled a debate against herself. For this once. "Starclan may guide us through this and see our actions to gain this sacred place access again." she begun, ears quivering to take in Snakeblink's words. A hum of agreement, she curled her tail around her paws as she realized she was last to set forth her words. "I agree, it's a risk but who knows what would happen without the access. Riverclan has always rose up time again and maybe Starclan will give us this strength." Siren like eyes settled within their leader's amber gaze, "Whatever is commanded will be followed." Have I ever went against them? ​

 

[iciclefang]

She is the last of the warriors to gather in Smokestar’s den, and she is the last to speak. The tortoiseshell sits calmly, her tail nestled against ivory paws, as one by one the cats begin to lift their voices against WindClan. Lichentail, the newly-named deputy of RiverClan, is the first to name her one fear—that the longer WindClan is left unapprehended, the bolder they grow. They turn to Ravensong and ask for his counsel. But his is a medicine cat’s voice, a voice of reason against claws that spoil for vengeance, hers included. Snakeblink advocates for making a swift decision, regardless of what Smokestar decides, and Petalnose points out that not having access to the Moonstone is a boon for the Clan.

After a few heartbeats of silence, the youngest lead warrior clears her throat. “As you said, Smokestar, the other Clans were on our side. Many of them said they stood with us.” She remembers the puff of Blazestar’s hackles, the curl of Howlingstar’s lip, Chilledstar’s open challenge. She remembers the camaraderie she’d shared with cats from all four of those leaders’ Clans, their pelts brushing against one another during a hunt, the comfort of sharing tongues after a long day of traveling. “But they are waiting for someone to act, I suspect. They will not rise unless we ask them to. Unless we plan on war, I fear we will hear nothing from them.”

She shrugs. “As much as I want to tear the fur from a WindClanner’s face…” She swings her pale gaze around to meet each of the senior lead warriors’ faces, and then the deputy’s, and then the single burning eye of her leader. “Perhaps there is another way to show RiverClan’s strength, but if we involve the other Clans, it will be war.”

The Iciclefang from moons ago would not have hesitated to call for that very thing—but she thinks of Steepsnout, of her father limping around camp, of Smokestar’s ragged body returning to camp, weak from his wounds, of the kits who’d watched their father get flayed alive in the middle of camp. She closes her eyes and waits for a response from her superiors.

, ”​

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