- May 29, 2023
- 234
- 37
- 28
TW: mentions of blood and injury
Golden light envelopes RiverClan's camp in comforting warmth and security. The dens swell once more with the cats who had been taken by the twolegs - families and friends reunited with the help of the traveling kittypets. Robinheart had not played a part in the rescue but she heard tales of pandemonium and haste in the moments trapped RiverClanners fled and twolegs scrambled for shelter. A part of her is glad then that she had been hunkered down in the nursery with the other queens and kits; to put herself in harm's way would defy all Brookstorm would have wanted for the mottled molly.
Robinheart basks outside of the nursery, her splotched pelt soaking in the mid morning sun as her kits toddle about nearby. They are beginning to get bolder, more curious about their home now that they've seen what is beyond woven nursery walls. She is relieved that they are safe to explore now - that the threat of harm by misguided humans believing themselves saviors is gone. Evident by the near emptiness of the recently burgeoning campground.
"Remember to stay close, my darlings," the queen reminds her children, citrine gaze sweeping across the trio who toe the invisible line she has drawn in the sand, eyeing discarded feathers and bits of reeds the older kittens grew tired of playing with. Curiosity blooms beneath infant paws and she sees how they long to follow after and copy the older kits. Not yet, little ones. They are still too small, too young to keep up with their den mates. Robinheart knows within the next moon that will all change. They'll be able to try fresh kill and learn to play and begin asking countless questions with their newfound words. She's not ready for that, even if the thought of them growing up equally warms and shatters her heart.
Robinheart isn't ready for the day where they won't need her. Where she won't be present for every milestone and able to recount them to heavenward mate like she does now.
A distraught squeal draws her from her thoughts and the queen looks to her children. She notices Rivuletkit fussing and wailing over a feather that her siblings had stolen from her, the duo proudly squirreling their stolen prize back towards the nursery. She supposes this is just the beginning of the teasing and quarrels her kits will engage in. "Hey now, your sister was playing with th-"
The air is pierced with a thunderous bay. A hound seemingly separated from its master in the chaos of days prior. Heavy paws churn loam and mud as apocalyptic beast bursts through sedge and reeds, heading straight towards its target. Predatory gaze is fixated upon prey of white and grey; a creature crying as if injured and awakening instinct within the hound.
It all happens in the blink of an eye. Protective maternal instinct floods the tortoiseshell and Robinheart is to her paws in an instant. Her heart, lodged firmly in her throat, is racing faster than her scrambling dash as she moves to intercept the blur of blacks and browns intent on snatching her crying daughter.
The hound is quick but a mother is quicker.
Like a shield she slides in front of Rivuletkit, her shoulder colliding harshly with her daughter to send her tumbling away from the beast. Blinding flashes of white (Rivuletkit's sunlit pelt? The hound's teeth?) are all the queen sees for a millisecond before she is raised skyward. NO?! No no no! A yowl escapes her parted jaws as the hound grabs her in its. She thrashes and swipes with unsheathed claws in an attempt to escape. Crushing pressure vices around her, the predator not willing to part from its new prey. A loud CRACK erupts from her hind leg where it could no longer withstand the pressure and Robinheart howls in agony.
Panic floods her senses, adrenaline coursing through her veins in an attempt to dull white hot pain. The canine's maw is slick with her blood where teeth had pierced her flesh. Her movements become erratic. She has to get free. She has to live. She has to protect her kits - Brookstorm's kits!
She twists and razor sharp claws find purchase in thinly protected eye. A pained bay escapes the half blinded hound, whose grasp loosens rather than tightens. Perhaps an untrained beast would have clamped down harder and shook their prey to tear and dispatch. Perhaps it is luck or the grace of StarClan that this hound, cloaked in bright orange collar, knows not to destroy that which it has been trained to hunt. Robinheart does not consider it as she unceremoniously drops to the ground in a heap, biting back another pained scream from the impact.
No sooner does she touch the ground that she heaves herself to her paws, crying at the buckling of bloodied hind leg, and scrambles away from the hound. In the haze of anguish and churned dust she sees others convening upon the threat to camp, teeth bared and claws out. But where are her children? My kits?! Where are my kits?! She needs to find them. She needs to protect them.
Injuries be damned the queen will not seek refuge until she knows her children are safe.
// permission to powerplay given by rae. robin has a broken hind leg and some puncture wounds. she's currently a few tail lengths away looking for her kits. anyone is free to have herded them to safety and everyone is free to chase off the hound
edit;
it’s a bingo eligible thread so have a sailfin!
[ penned by kerms ]
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