HASTA LA MUERTE | silversmoke

[CHRYSALISWING]

Chrysalispaw nosed around the snowdrifts, as if he were searching for some sign of spring, some stray sprig or lone leaf to greet tired eyes. Searching for a loose trail of prey upon the wasteland of winter, such efforts seemed futile, as all the mice and rabbits and birds seemed to have abandoned such a graceless place long ago. Reedlike whiskers twitched fervently yet fruitlessly, as an intense and scrutinizing gaze scoured the territory, as though he intended to set the alabaster aflame rather than simply look at it. He would melt the ice with his anathematized gaze, if he could. Chrys had not grown used to the yawning loneliness that leaf-bare so adored, and it seemed like only the cats were left to fend for themselves. Whatever prey was once abundant now flew to bluer skies or dug to greener pastures. If only he could escape, but he found the winter to be an inescapable trap. It almost depressed him.​

The chimaera-coated cat then glanced back at the hunting patrol, heterochromatic eyes unblinking and unamused, for rarely did positive emotions grow from the garden of brimstone and brine. The patrol had spread out enough so that the others looked almost like silhouettes in the dark, ghosts upon the park of an addled mind, or hallucinations to the derided and rasped spirit. He let out an indignant huff, as a puff of cold breath spread its wings and dissipated, a heavy cloud melting into the frigid air. The acts of inhalation and exhalation proved difficult over a period of time, but he was learning to control his intake. It was a lesson of restraint, in a wicked way.

Suddenly, the snow did not flutter but fell, and the flurry turned into a downpour. Grey seeped into what remaining tinctures had permeated the forest, as if sucking the colors from the woodlands, greedily lapping it up for its own twisted fare. The outlines of the other Skyclanners grew fainter and fainter, as they had been caught by surprise as well, with panicked hackles breaking through smoothed edges of composure and tenure. He heard voices fraught in worry rustle through the din, wresting with the weather. Such sparks of civilization did not puncture his despair, though. He shook off some of the snow as it clambered upon bare shoulders and spine.

"Shit." He practically spat out the expletive, as though it were an ember to light the way, as dim as the prospective flame may stand. "Wait for me!" He cried out next, with just a twinge of fear occupying his voice, as it leached through the unkempt defenses of the adolescent. The storm picked up quicker than he had ever seen it rage before, as it howled in the very distance, a wolf's symphony with its libretto of ruination. It threatened to smother him if he did not act soon enough, but perhaps he had enough time to come up with a plan and possibly get another feline to help. Still did the dire songster of the season ruminate, much to his dismay. He wouldn't allow pessimism to blacken his chances, though. As dramatic as it sounded, he wasn't planning on dying in the snow.

@SILVERSMOKE​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

He had been alone in his first leaf-bare, having just escaped the shackles of a neglectful family, but even in isolation, he had not felt such cruelty as what the weather offered them this moon. Cold air felt like claws in his lungs whenever he breathed in, each step forward felt more difficult than the last as he tried to make sense of the snowscape before him. If any prey was out at the moment, Silversmoke would consider it a gift from StarClan. With the clan's orders clear, all he could do was try and find such a miracle before frostbite found him first. Ignorant to the locations of his patrolmates, he pressed forwards, keeping his head low as the wind buffeted his fluffy form. It was the one season when he appreciated having thicker fur, even if it did little to protect his nose and ears from the worst of winter's scorn. Silver stared at the horizon, watching in alarm as the gale suddenly changed directions, buffetting him with an intensity he had not been expecting. Instinctively, he dropped into a crouch, his tail sweeping away the top layer of snow as it lashed. So much for a sign from StarClan.

A voice rang through the howling wind, causing the spotted tabby to look over his shoulder. He saw naught but distant shapes, growing smaller and smaller against the alabaster backdrop... except for one. Reds, blacks and oranges all attached to an annoying apprentice became visible to the blue tabby, his eyes narrowed as he realised that the sudden blizzard had rattled the poor cat's senses. He heaved himself forwards toward Chrysalispaw, near-blinded by the flakes whipping at his eyes. He had no clue where his clanmates had ran off to, but they would find themselves having a stern conversation with Silversmoke soon enough. Sure, he may want to abandon Chrys sometimes, acting on such thoughts was out of the question though - why couldn't the same be said for his panicked brethren? "Oi! Over here!" Silver yowled above the wind, quickening his pace to meet the apprentice. His legs were strong from SkyClan battle training, still, there was an undeniable ache appearing in his joints as he was forced to leap through the snow like a frightened rabbit. Silver had never traversed through mud before, he imagined that snow was just as difficult at what he'd heard described to him though.

Closing in on Chrys, Silversmoke circled around them, hoping to be a shield between them and the blizzard. "Don't complain," he warned the colourful apprentice in a hiss, knowing they'd likely have something to say about the warrior sharing warmth with him (Chrys always had something to say). Silversmoke wasn't entirely keen on being physically close to his clanmates either, sometimes, such measures were necessary to prevent death whilst he thought. He saw the apprentices as young, fragile even, and he doubted they would deal with the bitter temperatures as well as the adults did. Tentatively, the tabby raised his head, wincing at the wind punishing him for the gesture. His whiskers practically glued to his face, Silversmoke spotted the shapes of trees in the distance and had an idea. "Stay low to the ground, we'll find a hollow in the roots to take shelter in before we freeze to death." Without waiting for an answer from Chrys, the spotted tabby slinked forwards toward the aforementioned pine trees. He kept looking back constantly, making sure that the apprentice was not falling too far behind or panicking. A flat glob of snow entered his good eye as he turned forwards and he let out a frustrated noise, wiping at it with a snow-laden paw.

"Do you see anything?" he asked Chrys, voice as biting and impatient as the blizzard.



​

 

[CHRYSALISWING]

The silhouettes of the patrol were consumed by the maw of white, as though the greedy beast of the winter would not stop at the agonies of his people, and aimed to destroy the very creation of an opulent spring. All except for an unfortunately familiar rosetted slate-and-stormcloud pelt, and he almost blended in with the snow itself, as if crafted from the beast that they avoided. Even in these times, Chrysalispaw allowed a scowl to crawl upon his features, as it seeped into each pore of a granite-carved countenance. He was a statue of great expression, a hypocritical paradox at times. Still, there was no time to keep such a conveyance when the monster of leaf-bare continued to carol.

"Over here!" Rang Silversmoke's voice as it wrested with the wind, like the knell of hope's bell, a hand extended in saving grace. Chrysalispaw ran-stumbled over to the older warrior, as the snow slowly came up to his paws, then his ankles. A feathery pelt and coltish limbs allowed him to traverse the wasteland that persisted, as gauche and ungrand as it made him look. Still did promises rarely abandon, and this one did not, either. He would take whatever hand was extended to him in this dire time, as much as he'd regret how it made him look.

"Guess I have no time to complain if we're gonna be frozen within the next minute." Chrys grumbled to Silver as he closed in, quickly standing up to the best of his ability, even as the wind whipped in his face and howled its tried verses of certain death. Still, the warrior's warmth crooned like a beacon through the wild sea, a light upon the vast depths, a sliver of the sun from the shadow. He followed the other's instructions with no further complaints and crouched down. Coordination was necessary when traversing a tempest such as this.

Keen eyes scanned the whorls of drafts for any irregularities, but he could see naught but the overwhelming alabaster, and not even traces of the paths that the two took. That was, until the outline of a root seemed to bay silently at him, a faint curve of a knoll's weather-beaten arm, but it was something nonetheless. Chrys figured there was the promise of a hollow or at least a den to hide in. "There." He motioned with a nod of his head in the direction of their sanctuary. ​