private getting that tilted feeling — badgermoon

[GRAVELSNAP]

Gravelsnap hasn’t been able to get the thought of RiverClan’s fury off their mind since the night that they followed Sunstride into the river territory and sank their claws in dangerously close to another tom’s eye. They understand from the gathering afterward that RiverClan lost a warrior, a cat who didn’t deserve to die for his clanmate’s mistake—Gravelsnap is not so foolish as to believe that one cat, or one leader, can stand for an entire clan. They also understand that the entirety of RiverClan is enraged, infuriated by the attack. He wonders is the river cats are regretting their decision to shelter Hyacinthbreath yet. They will likely retaliate against WindClan, and if Sootstar’s words are true, ShadowClan will join forces with them. Even though the clan has mostly healed from their injuries, WindClan surely can’t stand strong against the might of two clans bearing down on them.

The black and white cat stumbles from the patch of dirt that they’ve claimed as their sleeping place, putting too much weight onto their mostly-healed paw in the process—a sharp hiss leaves their mouth—and with quick, hobbling pawsteps they make their way out of the camp.

The sky is black as pitch, moonlight cutting a bright slice through the dark. They shouldn’t be out here on their own, they know—but the idea of any of their clanmates seeing sends ice water trickling down their spine.

Gravelsnap is a warrior, no longer a kit. They cannot afford to be fearful, but they are. They are afraid of the other clans. They are afraid of a fight that WindClan will not win. They are afraid to watch their friends fall in battle. They are afraid to die.

What if they are taken elsewhere, murdered in secret? What if no one finds their body? What if they are branded a traitor, the same as Hyacinthbreath, in death? What if they die alone?

Their stomach tightens painfully. It turns, like they’re going to be sick, and they screw their eyes shut to ward off the nausea. The what ifs that normally float around their head like clouds now feel like rocks, like boulders tumbling down a mountainside—banging into their skull from the inside. Their head is pounding, vision blurred with what they can only assume is tears. Their heart pounds, beating against their ribcage—is this what a heart attack feels like? Are they dying?

What a horrible place to die, they think deliriously, all alone and crying like a kit. You’re a warrior, your father’s son. Act like it.

Curled in on themself, the warrior whimpers into the night. Please let it end.



@Badgermoon
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[Badgermoon]

Badgermoon was not acquainted with fear in the same way Gravelsnap was. Though he did not know it, this was surely one of his greatest strengths, nothing less than a blessing from StarClan above. It was not because he was uniquely courageous, or because his prowess as a warrior meant he had nothing to fear; no, his fearlessness was the child of that deep, dark hunger inside of him. Buried deep like a vein of ore, gleaming blood-red, he contained in him a snarling, ravenous fury which consumed everything inside of him when the time was right. Times of war, instances where he lost control: in these moments what lived within him broke free of its restraints and consumed everything inside in a terrible whirlwind, fear included. It made him a relentless opponent, to be certain, but it also meant he fought without regard for his safety - it meant he survived each battle through a combination of luck and violence profound enough to overwhelm his enemies, not strategy, cleverness, or collaboration. And, of course, it meant he did not fear battle - at least not for himself. He did worry about his Clanmates, about their bodies and minds before and after a battle, and considering that one of immense proportions seemed now to be brewing, he had much reason to worry at the moment.

Thus Badgermoon had been unable to sleep and, dismissing the relative carelessness of leaving camp in the middle of the night without anyone joining him, had departed the safety of the hollow to roam the moors. StarClan's eyes are on me. he reflected as he crested a small, moonlit hill: he swore he could feel the stars' gaze bearing down on him. Yellow eyes flicked up, briefly, to study Silverpelt - but the deputy stiffened as a quiet, pained sound drifted through the night. He inhaled, trying to catch a scent - Gravelsnap? He spun, alarmed, concern for the young warrior blooming in his chest: had they been captured, harmed? He could scent no other Clans, nor rogues, but the fear-scent was sharp. Badgermoon descended down the heather-dotted incline, apprehensive but not entirely hostile - perhaps they'd just seen something frightening. Hawks or a looming, RiverClanner-shaped shadow. Anything more imminently dangerous he would've been able to scent, certainly. He reached the bottom of the hill and, veering past a tall patch of cottongrass, finally spotted Gravelsnap, curled in a tight ball and crying out into the darkness.

"Gravel." the bicolor tom's voice was soft but not pitying, and he approached slowly, moving his speckled paws with caution. They seemed to be deep into some sort of painful, panicky fog, but he could see no injuries. No injuries of the body, anyway. Badgermoon thought. Concern filled his heart, and it was not the concern of one Clanmate for another; it came from a place of fondness. Gravelsnap was someone he'd known and liked for several moons, now, and it pained him to see the youth so distraught. "You're alright, Gravelsnap. It's alright." he murmured these words as he came close to the other black-and-white form, and attempted to lay beside the younger cat. If his closeness was permitted, he'd inch forward and try to wrap his larger frame around Gravelsnap, a low, deep purr resonating from his throat. Not a purr of happiness, but one meant to comfort. "It's okay. You're not alone." ​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

The sound of movement draws his attention, fleeting as it may be, but it only causes his panic to rise further. An enemy patrol, come to drag him off into the night? Some kind of predator, prepared to sink claws or fangs into him and eat him like prey? He truly is going to die tonight, isn’t he? He sniffles, screwing his eyes further shut—his breathing picks up, and he’s certain that whatever approaches him is coming to send him to the stars.

As though he’s hearing through mud-clogged ears, a faintly recognizable voice reaches his ears, and he tucks his face farther into his side. It takes a few more long, slow moments before the voice becomes clearer, and it’s Badgermoon, isn’t it? The deputy sounds as though he’s coming closer, and Gravelsnap can only curl in on himself even more in an attempt to hide. The next words are even closer, and a body presses into his side, a purr rumbling through the older tom’s chest. It doesn’t do much to settle his nerves, but he’s no longer alone, at least.

His voice is small, shaky with nerves as he mumbles, "I… Badgermoon?" The older cat murmurs that he isn’t alone—Gravelsnap sucks in a sharp breath, lifting his head from where it’s pressed into his own fur. His flanks still heave with the weight of each breath he takes, feeling as though he’s somehow still drowning out of water. He’s not alone. He’s not alone. "I’m sorry." He isn’t sure what exactly he’s apologizing for—being outside of camp? Being a burden? He hates being a burden. If his father saw him now, he’d surely get a nasty lecture, maybe more. "Don’t… don’t tell my dad."
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[ DEATH OF A DREAM ]​

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[Badgermoon]

The younger cat didn't recoil from his touch, which was something of a relief - Badgermoon wasn't especially gifted in the whole "comforting others" department; his primary tactics were "get close" and "say nice things". Those had been enough to get him this far, and it seemed like it was working now - or, at least, he didn't appear to be making the panic worse. Perhaps sharing tongues will help. thought the yellow-eyed tom, attempting to rasp his tongue over Gravelsnap's bicolor coat, leaving space for them to speak. When their words came, they were fragile, tremulous, and Badgermoon felt his heart break a little. "You have nothing to be sorry for." he meowed quietly. "But if you feel like you need forgiveness, you have it - of course."

The warrior shifted, letting out a tiny huff at their request: half-amused, half-irritated. "Your father won't hear a word from me." it was no secret he wasn't a fan of Lynxtooth, despite Sootstar's opinions on him. The ginger tom reminded Badgermoon disfavorably of Juniperfrost, but he, perhaps regrettably, was still alive. That's not nice of me. he mused. Then again, Lynxtooth isn't nice, so fair's fair. Badgermoon had a whole swarm of questions he wanted to ask, but he felt that to do so would be to overwhelm Gravelsnap and perhaps send them back into the throes of their panic. Instead he remained still and quiet, merely trying to groom the younger cat's coat.​