sensitive topics HEAVEN IN YOUR EYES [🌒] Skirmish Return


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SOOTSTAR
Heavy pawsteps and breaths let out through pants can be heard as the battled cats return home. Sootstar does her best to keep her head held high but she's resigned to leaning against the shoulder of a clan-mate. A weakness on mass display, but she would never have been able to make it back home on this night if she had not taken their shoulder.

As soon as they're through the gorse bush she stumbles away, her paws feel like mush and the terror of her dream bit at her mind.

She is far from the only cat whose been harmed, others too were returning half-alive and forced to take the shoulder of a fellow warrior. Bluepaw's ear had crusted with dried blood, her very first scar- she'd remember this night for the rest of her life. Despite the losses, they all should, the price had been well worth the reward.

"We put up a difficult fight that ended with Blazestar dead at my claws!" She yowls to the clan, most still awake, unable to sleep until the fighting patrol returned home. "We return triumphant!" Victory is declared with bloody claws, hazy eyes and a worn patrol behind her.

She glances to the medicine cat den half-expecting to see Vulturemask, in her dazed state it takes her a moment to realize the shadowy tom isn't coming. A blank stare rests on the medicine cats den and it stays there in obscure thought.

// @BLUEPAW @cygnetstare @SCORCHSTREAK @Bluepool @GHOSTWAIL @cedarbark @RATTLEHEART @WOLFSONG
open to all :)

wounds; a now closed neck would thats the source of a majority of the blood caked into her chest. She is bruised along her spine and bears several smaller scratches
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♱—— Just like their blue-furred leader, Cygnetstare is reduced to leaning quite heavily on a Clanmate—in this case, Bluepool—for the duration of their walk home. The half-moon warrior is near delirious from the loss of blood and exhaustion, but vaguely she's aware this has been a sort-of victory for them? Maybe? They're not entirely sure of that, not entirely sure of much of anything right now; the skin beneath their fur is paler still from the absence of enough blood in their veins and the world is shrouded in a smeary gray fog around the edges. At some point during the long trek back, they'd inexpertly pressed some luckily found cobweb to the jagged smile ripped into their throat; this is all they know of medicine and it had soon fallen off, but it had done its job. The great gouts of blood they'd lost on the battlefield have slowed to a trickle of red, lost among the sheet of crimson coating their colorless chest.

They will not die, but for now they are not sure of that at all. If they lose consciousness it might be a relief; even the foggy half-conscious mist through which they walk cannot shield them from the pain that circles like a vulture above their head. She can feel a dull pain radiating through her chest and shoulders; lighter claw marks mar her torso only offer slight pain. With the adrenaline of battle gone, though, a ripping heat zigzags across their throat where that idiot beast Blazestar calls a warrior had seized her neck like a dog. Somehow she has not died, perhaps by the virtue of how short the beast's opportunity had been before she'd managed to wriggle away, but she has no extra lives like Sootstar. Right now she feels a keen awareness of her own mortality she is not often concerned with.

Sootstar's writhing death-shout is far in their mind, as is the death of the so-called "Kittypet King"; victory is a distant notion that pales in comparison to the primal fear tearing through their chest as easily as the SkyClanner's teeth had through the tender flesh of their throat. Will they die? Is this how StarClan takes her? She was willing to give her life for WindClan and she would be happy with this. Cygnetstare's eyes are dull with the pain and semiconsciousness clogging their mind and they simply lean against the barely-defined shape of Bluepool and watch the camp.


  • ooc: wounds - bruising to chest, ribs, and one shoulder; shallow claw marks on torso; severe but nonfatal throat wound
  • ♱ cygnetstare — for their downy kitten-fur and perceptiveness (or uncanny gaze)
    she/they ; afab gender apathetic — windclan — tunneler — 16 ☾s
    —— cygnetstare is a corpselike chimera, split between long albino fur and a short black smoke pelt; their eyes are an unsettling pink. her creepy demeanour distracts from a strange fascination with death and an obsessive loyalty to windclan.
    —— smells like grave-dirt and blood ; sounds like vc tbd ; speech in #BF959C, thoughts in #000000
    —— peaceful / healing powerplay permitted ; attacks/contact in underline ; will start fights ; won't flee unless ordered ; won't show mercy ; will kill or maim
    —— pansexual panromantic monogamist, single, not looking ; open to friendships, enemies, casual interactions, long-term romance, plotting ; not open to unplanned battles, flings
    penned by dejavudesklamp9 on discord for plots
  • CYGNETSTARE's BATTLE INFO ——♱

    YES: injuries, scarring
    ASK: maiming, permanent injuries
    NO: killing
    — Small and skinny, hiding sinewy muscle in forelegs and chest from digging. Skilled offensive fighter but limited by size, defense is basically nonexistent; snakelike agility fighter, faster than she looks and slippery. Will try to climb on and move around larger opponents to inflict damage. Extremely brutal despite her size and will always aim to inflict maximum damage; lacks honor and will fight dirty. Battle moves often damage herself as much as her opponent.

    — Will fight to kill and maim. Will start fights. Will not run unless ordered to. Will aim to kill and maim cats regardless of age or rank, including young cats.

    — Her battles will be written very aggressively and she will always aim to kill or seriously injure opponents; this does not mean her hits have to land! I don't mind your character dodging hits; feel free to contact me on-site or on Discord to work out specifics if needed. Will have a harder time against larger cats but keep in mind she is written as a good offensive fighter who aims to kill and/or seriously hurt. I'm not open to her being killed but am willing to discuss maimings (please ask me first though).

    — Their defensive fighting skills are borderline nonexistent. All hits will land except attempts at killing or maiming that haven't been prediscussed. I don't roll for attacks or defense but try to write battles realistically.
    current health info:
    physical health:
    35%
    ↳ current injuries: bruised chest & shoulder, bruised ribs, claw marks on torso, very severe but nonfatal throat wound

 
── .∘°°∘. ── Triumphant, Sootstar announces, leading the other warriors through the gorse, all of them reeking of SkyClan and weeping wounds. It is a victory to have pried free one of Blazestar's lives, he cannot dispute that, and those of them who waited for their return did not expect a bloodless victory. Wolfsong merely hopes that Blazestar's death is worth the many injuries among their clanmates, Sootstar included. Her drying chest fur seems to lack a visible cause, but from the angle of her reddened pelt, he would wager she sustained a terrible wound.

Is that another of her lives taken? Was our victory over SkyClan truly great, or must we believe it to avoid recognizing what it cost?

His single-eyed gaze shifts beyond Sootstar to those shuffling behind her, among them Cygnetstare. Their silhouette has always spoken corpselike to Wolfsong, but today, their gait and countenance are far closer to a truer death than she has been before. Fading is his recent exuberation. The flower petals remaining in his fur do little to mask her wounded stench, and Wolfsong steps closer, knowing she needs urgent attention. "Bluepool," he says, "guide her to the den. We should not delay tending to them any longer." He seeks Sootstar. "I am not Vulturemask, but I can at least see to mending our warriors if you would allow it." This is different than the RiverClan attack, when he aided Vulturemask by the medicine cat's request. He is no longer here to approve such assistance.
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN ROGUE TURNED LEAD WARRIOR (MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING). 35 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC PARENTS. BIO, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.
  • ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
  • ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
  • ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
  • ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.
 
( 🐍 ) Admittedly, Venomstrike had been restless since the battle patrol had left them and charged over to Skyclan for a rather gruesome fight it seemed. Everyone seemed to be caked in dry blood and Cygnetstare seemed to be half alive that was enough you make a frown form on his maw as he approached with ears lowered flat against his skull. He had been worried for all of them though his eyes seemed to search the crowd for a smaller body, a monochrome face that he knew well and recognized. He had been worried for Rattleheart the most even if it was a little bit selfish of him and a part of him felt guilty for it, Venomstrike held in his breath watching as Wolfsong would speak to Bluepool about taking Cygnetstare to the den.

His gaze shifting over to Sootstar and how she declared that Blazestar had died by her claws though by the way her chest was covered in dry blood made him ponder if she had lost a life too. He cleared his throat remembering his own scar on his throat, he couldn't help but feel a tad uncomfortable at that moment and shuffling his large paws. "Are they okay? I hope that they're not incredibly hurt like... Cygnetstare..." He cast another quick glance in the bloodied warriors direction before ripping away his gaze once more to search for Rattleheart amongst the battle patrol. He lifted a back leg slightly before starting to thump it against the ground for a good moment something that he had picked up from seeing rabbits doing the same from fear. Although, there was a bit of fear in his heart for his clanmates... He was mainly upset.

Venomstrike opened his jaws before closing them wondering if he could potentially help Wolfsong though he was uncertain if it was his place to ask so he remained silent, the quiet thumping of his leg against the ground continuing for another minute. "G... Glad you are b-back..." Was all that he was able to utter out not wanting to stutter too much as he spoke which was ironically, a thing that occurred when he was upset. Or those stupid damned hiccups. He tried not to think too much on it as he stood nearby.
( ME GUSTA LA MAÑANA; ME GUSTAS TÚ )
 
Bluepaw stumbles after Sootstar and Cygnetstare, exhaustion dulling the brilliance of her green eyes and numbing her paws. The journey had been long both ways, after being denied access to ThunderClan's territory, and on top of that, her body aches like it never has before. Her movements are clumsy, her shoulder screaming, the muscles on her back protesting with every stuttering step. She has seen death—not only Blazestar's, but Sootstar's, though her mother does not say this.

She enters their camp heralding victory. Perhaps, in her mind, it is, as long as Blazestar had died at her claws. The patrol is worse for wear, but the rest of them had made it home, at least—though Cyngetstare looks to be on the brink herself. Bluepaw looks, as Sootstar does, to Vulturemask's den—and the black tom will never leave it again. She stares in dismay. Are they doomed to die of infection? Her tattered ear stings with ever involuntary movement, and her body feels as though it could rest for moons and still emerge bruised on the other side.

All ambivalence she'd ever felt for Wolfsong vanishes when she sees his pale form making its way through the throng of staring WindClanners. He offers to tend to their wounds, and she suddenly is desperate for her mother to say yes—to let him help. He is no medicine cat, but he is the closest thing they have, and Bluepaw does not want to watch anyone else die. Not tonight. "Please," she says, softly, to nobody in particular.

// sliced left ear, bruised right shoulder and along her spine


  •  
  • bluekit . bluepaw
    — she/her, apprentice of windclan
    — bisexual ; single
    — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
    — "speech", thoughts, attack
    — penned by Marquette
    — art by Meg
 
It is always the stench of blood that follows a returning battle patrol. If they are lucky, it is not solely their own– rarely are they ever. Even as well as Sunstride recognizes the necessity of battle, or the glory and pride in one well-fought, he has seen so many of them as of late. And all for naught. Nothing has changed. Not WindClan, not RiverClan, not any of the others. They tread along as they always have, with more scars and more hatred, and far less joy alongside. He runs towards the scent not for fear or for joy, but duty alone– he is perfectly in time to hear Sootstar claim victory. And though his heart soars, it quickly falls short again. Like the others, he sees the wounded. Once on Sootstar, another on Cygnet– even Bluepaw returns with wounded exhaustion.

This was not a victory without cost. How long would it be until another clan comes upon their borders? Restlessly, Sunstride paces the surroundings. Wolfsong offers his place as healer and there is no stopping the way that his paws twitch to motion. Does he not know? Does he not see that the others are desperate to steal away StarClan's blessing? That Vulturemask was killed for the way that he spoke to them? Galeforce wished them to languish and suffer, to die in pain from their wounds. If Wolfsong did not use his knowledge, they would; if he did, it would put him at risk. For that, the warrior can do nothing but despair.

"What do you require of me now that you have returned?" He looks to Sootstar, cool gaze hazy and desperately pinned upon their leader. "Do we need a patrol to secure our borders? Would they dare to send their warriors here so soon?"
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  • ooc:
  • SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
    —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
    —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests. single, will be so.
    —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.

    sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.
  • "speech"
 

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SOOTSTAR
Her stare does not break until Wolfsong enters her line of vision, 'I am not Vulturemask, but I can at least see to mending our warriors. her eyes grow wide. A decision is made, of course!.

A silent look of approval is given to Wolfsong and with a wince she turns to face the battered patrol and her clan. "Wolfsong is medicine cat of WindClan now. See to him that your wounds are tended." The decision may seem impromptu and rash, but who else did they have?

Honeytwist, Dandelionwish, Vulturemask, all gone and each of them proving to be dissatisfactory in their own ways. All she can do is hope Wolfsong will be better than they were. Yet it seems all who walk the path of healing end up too poisoned by StarClan, spun to detest their leader. She'll have to keep a good eye on the tabby, but not tonight.

Sunstride has bounded to her, swift and determined to take action to defend his clan from further attack. "They have wounds to lick too. We are safe, but we will need to discuss ThunderClan." The blue smoke has racked her brain, there was only one way SkyClan could've been prepared for them. Her claws flex into the soft soil as bitter and hateful thoughts swarm her mind, she tells herself that Howlingstar will pay, but she's not so sure she will. Not now anyways.

"Just rest, Sunstride. The clan is going to need all the strength you can muster in these coming days." And to all healthy warriors observing the conversation, she points her nose to, "and you as well."

As for her daughter they'd resume training as soon as possible. For her battle tonight she earns a look of approval. "Make sure that ear is looked at." Sootstar can already imagine the irration she'll expirence as dirt from the ceiling crumbles down into it. She'll have to work extra hard to keep it clean of infection.
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After a long night of waiting, the battle patrol finally marched (or dragged themselves, in the case of some) back into camp valiant and proud of their success. Sootstar announces their victory over SkyClan, with another life having been taken from Blazestar. It seemed that some of his clanmates suffered great wounds, but at least no one had been killed. WindClan remains strong!

The apprentice still remains jealous of the missed opportunity to tag along on this raid. Maybe, as a warrior, he would have the chance to showcase all of the skills he's acquired over the course of his training. He certainly fights better than he did as a younger trainee. "Finally, WindClan is victorious again." Snakepaw comments, pride swelling in his chest. This occasion does not quite earn a smile from him, but instead an approving gaze — something not commonly seen out of Snakepaw.

There isn't much to do while the wounded are being tended to, so Snakepaw stays out of the way and observes from the sidelines, wondering to himself, "How many more lives does that Kittypet King have, anyway? Hopefully not many." Blazestar had been killed by Spiderbloom in their last skirmish, too.

He glances upward as Sootstar addresses the clan once again, suddenly naming Wolfsong as the new medicine cat of WindClan. Ugh, why him of all cats? Snakepaw narrows his eyes, the approving look that had followed a successful battle patrol now faded from his gaze. On one paw, he wouldn't have to work with Wolfsong nor share a den with him once he became a warrior, but he'd still have to seek him out for medical treatment should he require it. Vulturemask hadn't poisoned him or sabotaged his healing in his time as medicine cat, but Snakepaw could never be too vigilant.
 
The trek back to their moorland camp is a slow one, Scorchstreak thinks. It seems as though time is somehow rewinding as they walk. Each step forward is two more steps backward. But it's all worth it in the end, she thinks. WindClan won. They had obliterated those idiot SkyClanners, and then retreated from the battlefield stained with their cowardly leader's blood. It had not been done without sustaining wounds of their own, of course; Sootstar is heavily injured, forced to lean on the shoulder of a clanmate for support, as is Cygnetstare. Scorchstreak herself—she got off easy, wounded but not so heavily as to rely on another to walk. Her opponent, the fleabitten rag of a warrior, had gotten a few good hits in but hadn't managed to keep her down. But she knows his face well and good now, will not hesitate to strike when she next sees him. He'll probably be too busy talking about pointless things such as honor when she draws claws across his throat.

When they finally reach camp, their patrol battered and yet victorious, beaten but not defeated, the tunneler looks around quickly, seeking out her kits. They must see this. They have so far only known loss, have only seen WindClan's patrols return defeated; they must witness this victory. She wonders where Liz has been, through all of this. Has he sat nervously in his den, awaiting his siblings' return? So engrossed is she in searching for her family that she nearly misses Sootstar's announcement. Wolfsong is medicine cat of WindClan now. A new healer, the fourth under her tenure as a WindClanner—she can trust that this one will not fuck it up, at least. The calico is not in dire need of help, the blood dripping from her wounds sluggish and not particularly concerning. She will greet her family first, and then she will wash this blood off and visit their new healer.
[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]
 
————— ☀ —————
YOU ARE THE DAYLIGHT

Sunflowerpaw is waiting when the skirmish patrol returns, mind a stormy swarm of thoughts. They've been on edge, lately. It's not hard to tell why. Wolfsong leaving for battle has them even more nervous, pacing camp in a way they used to as a kit, when Vulturemask would leave. They still have Wolfsong, at least. He's not their brother, can't fill the hollow in their chest, but they can cling to him nonetheless. Marching off to battle with SkyClan... They don't know what they'd do if he didn't return.

But he does, alive and unmaimed. They let out a breath, eyes shutting for a moment as Sootstar declares victory.

Their clanmates are injured, some badly — golden eyes flick to Cygnetstare for a moment before turning away — but alive. Tunnel vision cleared, pad a little closer, a shred of worry growing within them. There is no healer anymore. Wolfsong can help, yes, just as he did before. But he is a warrior. Still, they know he will try, know he will do well; Wolfsong is a good cat, of this they can be certain. They trust him, in a way they do not much of the clan. They would trust him to tend their wounds, were they injured, even if he is not —

Sootstar's words ring through the camp. Wolfsong is medicine cat of WindClan now."

...Just like that?

Perhaps they should have seen this coming, but — wait. No. No. That doesn't make sense, because... Where does that leave them? Medicine cat apprentice? But they don't know the first thing about herbs (that was always Vulturemask's expertise, not their own), but they've worked so hard to become a warrior, they've trained, and...

And Wolfsong was there for every unsteady step of it. Only one moon left... The worse option creeps into their mind. If Wolfsong is medicine cat, that means he can't train a warrior. He can't train them. Are they mentorless now? Is he leaving them, so soon after they lost the only other adult they could look up to, could trust?

Sunflowerpaw's brow furrows, steps halted in their approach to their (former?) mentor. Their gaze flicks between him and Sootstar, half-confused and half-betrayed. Their mouth works for a moment, unable to voice the far too many questions they want to ask. They settle for an echo, that's easier. "Medicine cat...?" They say softly, burning bright eyes settling on Wolfsong as they wait for an answer for a question they don't know how to ask. He'll understand, he'll be able to answer, surely.
YOU ARE THE NIGHT
————— ☀ —————


  • //
  • SUNFLOWERPAW named by their half-brother vulturemask after his friend and mentor.
    — they/them, 7 moons.
    — windclan apprentice, mentored by wolfsong.
    — reserved yet loyal, distrusts most. rarely speaks.

    primary character, high activity. penned by saturnid.​
  • "SPEECH"
  • 64267309_IEuvGOmxnhCCLcz.png
 
  • Crying
Reactions: revelations


Trailing near the back of the group, Rattleheart's paws felt like lead with every step that brought him closer to camp - a contradiction, considering how desperate he was to get back to camp. He might have been running, if not for the pain throbbing from his jaw and shoulder, a heavy reminder of the fight that he'd had with Sootspritespark. It might not have been as vicious as some of the others that had gone on - especially the one between Blazestar and Sootstar - but it still left him marked all the same. Maybe he would find it funny at a later date, the Skyclan warrior managing to give him a scar that matched the one on his opposite shoulder. For now though, it just felt like Starclan playing some kind of cruel joke at his expense. Just shifting his jaw caused a sting to run all the way up to his cheek, rendering him mostly silent for the entirety of the trek back. Save for when they had paused for Sootstar's death and abrupt, panicked revival. Another thing that weighed heavy on his mind, considering her strange exclamation when she had woken up.

Just pushing through the gorse bush felt like a cruel challenge, but at least he was greeted by familiar faces on the other side. Not enemies that wanted to tear him limb from limb, or leave him with more scars. One face in particular stood out among the crowd, with worry in his eyes echoing that of Rattleheart's own. The tunneler already feels like just running into Venomstrike's fluff, greeting his friend with a hearty hug that would hopefully sap the pain from his body. He does have some self control though, pressing briefly against Scorchstreak's side as a reassurance that he was alright before he headed towards Venomstrike. There's blood still dripping from his wounds, but it's slowed enough that he doesn't feel guilty as he presses his head lightly against Venomstrike's shoulder. "Hey. We made it back in one piece, somehow..." He intentionally keeps his words hushed, not wanting Sootstar or any of the others to think he expected them to lose.

Although was that such an unfair expectation, with the battles that they had lost before?

For now he continues to stay mostly silent, settling near the moor runner's side - close enough that their pelts were brushing comfortably against each other. His only words are directed at Wolfsong, and accompanied by a nod of respect. "Congratulations." Pity it couldn't be under better circumstances. Without a bunch of bloodied warriors sitting on his doorstep, and without Vulturemask's murdered corpse dotting the path. Regardless, Rattleheart was sure that Wolfsong would do a good job, and hopefully not succumb to the curse that had seemingly haunted all the rest of Windclan's medicine cats.
[ PENNED BY EO ]
 
Medicine cat. The phantom flicks a blood-soaked ear at the promotion, a quiet but emotionless acknowledgement of rank. Vulturemask, Dandelionwish, these were children, barely more than kits attending a clan of hardened soldiers. She had not known of the one before, but she sure that one had been no better. Children, turn-cloaks, traitors, all supposedly at StarClan's whim first and foremost before their leader. What utter nonsense. However...

Wolfsong had been hand-picked by Sootstar. She was their ultimate link to the heavens, StarClan's chosen champion. Surely, her judgement was sound, unquestionable. She knew, inextricably, what was best for the clan. Today, it was Wolfsong. If the blue smoke queen decided that tomorrow he would be crow-food, so be it. Today, he would heal.

She took a step towards the newly appointed tom, her own injuries beginning to weigh on her. The adrenaline had subsided, the thrill of the hunt fading into weariness. For today, he would heal her.
- you call for peace when it suits you
 


Blood cakes the dark fur on her shoulders, dry now but still she reeks of it. It is not nearly as bad as the wounds her clanmate managed to gather, however. She is lucky, she supposes, to have gotten away so easy in comparison but still she is mournful that she did not send the traitor she had exchanged claws with to the stars. One of these days. She vows silently. Her sister has lost a life but as they enter the camp she still declares it a victory. Blazestar had also perished at the smokes claws but he had also managed to take one of hers. She cannot help but wonder if a life for a life is truly worth it, especilly when a cat had nine like Blazestar did. If they had killed him for good this time it would be a completely different story but alas, the kittypet king had risen to fight another day. A shame, really. They would be doing SkyClan a favor.

She helps Cygnetstare stumble her way back to camp, grunting occasionally as her muscles strain and the wounds along her shoulders burn but she says nothing, does not complain. All she can hope is that one day, if she ended up in such a rough shape, that her clanmate would do the same for her. When they are in the clearing Wolfsong instructs her to bring her to his den and she complies. "Our journey is almost over, just a little longer" she coaxes then you can be someone elses problem she does not say the last sentence out loud but she certainly thinks it. Her aching wounds protest but still, she leads her fellow warrior to the safety of the medicine cats den.

 

After the battle patrol had departed, Luckykit had felt out of place, unable to find anything to dull his nerves. The nursery had felt too empty, the small gathering of cats awaiting their return eventually dispersing, and so he had eventually found a spot posted just outside the nursery, allowing him to keep an eye out for any updates as well as retain at least a shred of comfort while he waited. It's a long night, wracked with tension and anxious, spiraling thoughts, and even though it's far past the time for sleep, he's still just as tense when the first signs of the returning patrol arrive. Even before the familiar sight of Sootstar pushes through the entrance, Luckykit's already on alert, watching as the attention of his fellow clanmates is also drawn in by the quiet sounds of plodding pawsteps. The first glimpse isn't promising - they seem exhausted, splattered with blood, just like the last two battles, and he can feel his heart plummet to his paws, hardly daring to breathe as the rest of the patrol file in, some more injured than others.

Hardly is the extent of injuries taken in - the smear of blood in fur is more than enough for Luckykit, though for a moment it feels as though his vision is locked onto Cygnetstare, onto Cygnetstare's throat, and StarClan, that's a lot of blood, that's... For once, he can't even finish the thought, finally tearing his gaze away to search for another face, desperately needing to see Scorchstreak, to see that she's alive and okay, and even as he's scanning the crowd of cats that seems to blur together into one big mass, he's interrupted by Sootstar's announcement. They had...won? They beat SkyClan? It's enough to give him pause, though the implications don't fully hit him just yet, still looking for Scorchstreak, until finally - there! The rest of Sootstar's words wash over Luckykit, completely ignored in favor of taking in Scorchstreak's appearance, taking in the blood. It's not as bad as some of the others, sure, but that's hardly a metric he wants to consider right now, considering the new ugly marks around her neck.

The concept of injury isn't completely foreign to him - after all, he'd seen the aftermath of the skirmishes with ShadowClan and RiverClan, had seen the old scars crossing Scorchstreak and countless other WindClanners, but seeing the fresh injuries on his mother is almost too much. They had won the battle, Sootstar had proclaimed, but somehow this didn't seem much different from the other two skirmishes that they had instead lost. Still, those thoughts are for later, as right now Luckykit's only goal is to get to Scorchstreak, seeing her undoubtedly looking for him and the rest of his siblings. Small paws carry him forward, gaining speed as he weaves through the crowd of injured and unscathed alike, attention drawn away only long enough to see Rattleheart on his feet. It feels like an eternity and the blink of an eye all at once as he finally grinds to a halt, stopping just short of Scorchstreak. Once again his eyes wander to her wounds, then to her searching gaze, and all he can do is throw himself forward, pressing against an unoccupied limb.

"Mom..." is all he can manage at first, trying to reassure himself that she's there, that she's alive and okay and not that badly injured, all things considered. In fact, this should be a triumphant moment, greeting the victorious members of the battle patrol, and even if the mood is lighter than their previous defeats, Luckykit doesn't feel much like celebrating, other than thanking StarClan that Scorchstreak came back at all. Is that what victory is supposed to feel like, he wonders? The outcome is different, but the same claw-marked bodies still seem to hover about; perhaps, then, the gorge between victory and defeat isn't quite so large as he had expected. If that was true, then they might have been closer to victory those last two times than he had thought; the alternative, that they had been closer to defeat this time, is a terrible thought, and not something he wants to think about while wounds are still so fresh. Instead, he finally finds his voice, asking, "Did you...did you show those kittypets how strong WindClan is?" It's still a bit wobbly but it's something, words repeated from various clanmates feeling odd but not necessarily wrong as they leave his mouth.
[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]
 
Heatherpaw arrived with Snakepaw, watching the worn patrol filter through. For several beats his heart felt heavy, expecting another death, another loss, but Sootstar revealed such a surprise despite their appearance. They had won, of course he believed they won against kittypets. Even with such a sight of wounds, he could only imagine how bloodied those SkyClanners look now. Worse, maybe the tide had turned and they lost warriors in turn.

"WindClan is chosen by the stars, they knew we were righteous. They do not approve of the kittypet filth in the pines." His voice hardly over a murmur to himself, a small prayer, perhaps. He couldn't help but feel that if Sootstar had chosen him to go, they might have faired even better on their return. The scent of the injuries was beginning to overwhelm him, and suddenly Sootstar has thrusted Wolfsong into the task of a medicine cat. Had she received a vision from StarClan when he approached? He wondered if they whispered their approval to her, how blessed it was to have the knowledge of the stars.

But there was Sunflowerpaw.

He left Snakepaw to approach the lilac cat in shared confusion. "Can't Wolfsong do both...? Medicine cats still train apprentices, you should still learn to be a warrior."
WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ RED MACKEREL TABBY ✦ 9 MOONS ✦ TAGS
 

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SOOTSTAR
Sootstar is pleased with Snakepaw's visible pride. She looks at the black and white apprentice, "Only StarClan knows, but if they're kind, very few." and they are not.

Sootstar pays little attention to Sunflowerpaw's confusion and loss, whether it's because she doesn't care or didn't notice is uncertain. It's only when Heatherpaw approaches the lilac feline and questions if Wolfsong can do both.

"They cannot." Sootstar calls to the two apprentices, "He will have his paws busy and will need to soon take on his own medicine cat apprentice. A warrior will train Sunflowerpaw."

She doesn't take the decision lightly, but manages to still come to a quick choice. "Sunflowerpaw, from this moment forward your new mentor will be @HOUNDTHISTLE . Houndthistle, we will not leave Sunflowerpaw without a mentor. I trust you're capable of finishing their training."

Just like that.
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The first of her kits who she lays eyes upon happens to be Luckykit, and the little tom looks concerned for her, for the rest of their clanmates who fought against SkyClan. He rushes through the gathered cats, darting between bloodied warriors with a seemingly singleminded focus. When he reaches her at last, Luckykit stops short, looking her over—for a moment the she-cat thinks that he may turn tail, may retreat in the face of her wounds, but her son is brave. The calico smiles warmly, allowing her kit to press against her leg as he murmurs her title. The aching of her body has truly begun to set in, but she will not complain about being allowed to return home to her family. She is grateful to feel the push of her child at her leg, a physical reminder of what she's fought so hard for.

The other clans would have WindClan eradicated. They would raze the moor if they could, would have herself and her family destroyed. They are vultures, wolves, and they would not show any of the mercy they so easily beg for. Hypocrites, all of them. Her son asks if she showed the other clan how powerful the moorland warriors can be, and she nods. Kittypets. A word used to describe the cats of the streets, the cats of the houses. The cats who she's scrapped with many a time, who she's respected for their ferocity in the past. But the splotched lead warrior is no respectable fighter—he is a fool in a jingling collar. "I did. Their kittypet lead warrior won't soon forget the scars that I left him with." I'm sure his folks will coddle him when he next returns to his stuffy house.

The tunneler leans down to aim a lick between her kit's ears, an affectionate purr in her chest. "Someday, you will fight SkyClan as well. You will show them the ferocity of WindClan." Perhaps he will fight at her side, even. A boy and his mother, a force to be reckoned with. But such things are far in the future; he isn't even an apprentice yet. And so Scorchstreak curls her tail around her kit and settles onto her haunches, ignoring the tugging of her wounds. This is one thing that she missed—returning to camp after a battle, only for her beloved boy to check up on her. And Luckykit may be one of four, but is it so bad if she compares him to her first kit? She sucks in a short breath, wincing. Now is not the time to be thinking of her son whose paws are not among the stars.
[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]
 

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"

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Houndthistle rushes forward from his place brooding at a far wall, eyes previously trained on the gorse tunnel. His large form consumes the ground as he meets his clanmates, eyes devoid of emotion as he looks at them all shuffle in, taking in their wounds with stony silence. Bloodless victory was not in his book, but looking at how many warriors were injured, how much of his clan now joined him in healing, worried him more and more. The only tell for his tension was the way his ear snapped backwards at Sootstar's words, rasping his tongue over his teeth as he avoids glancing at that foolish tyrant. More and more of what he saw was proving how much of a fool she was becoming, how much the power she had secured ate at her mind, and Houndthistle, despite his unwavering loyalty to Windclan itself, couldn't help feeling frustrated at her words. How many of her warriors needed to die, be disfigured, or were injured until she exhausted all her defenses and left them open to annihilation? How much more blood must paint these moors before she was satisfied? He knew the answer, he knew it deep in his gut, but he refused to voice those concerns, voice these frustrations for to voice them was signing his and Foxpaw's death wish.

Instead, his gaze follows Bluepool lead Cygnetstare away into the medicine den, sorrow etching across his face as he watches the weird little tunneler stumble along from her injuries. He steps forward to briefly step after Bluepool, dropping his voice to a low murmur, hoping to break the grim situation with a soft joke for the pair, "Looks like ya ain' the only one with ruffled fur now... maybe we can get 'er smellin' like a cat if we're lucky." His eyes, though concerned as they glance at his friend, twinkle with amusement when they return to Bluepool, that single seeing ember shimmering like inflamed coal as he spoke. Though, as to not swamp Wolfsong's new den-finally a medicine cat Houndthistle could trust and approve, perhaps not all of Sootstar's mind was eaten by maggots-with his size, he stops short of the den, watching them before he looks back. He catches Scorchstreak race toward her kit, and he lets her have the space, instead his focus finally finds Sootstar as she announces he takes on a new apprentice. Sunflowerpaw. His brows rise in shock before furrowing in displeasure, narrowed opticals darting to find the kin of the former medicine cat. He clearly wasn't ecstatic about training that frog-brained tom's kin, no matter if he was dead or not. For once, he may actually have an apprentice he didn't like to train. The only hope he had was that Wolfsong was able to teach them even a scrap of useful knowledge so this wouldn't be a complete waste. Once his eyes find them, his single glimmer amber eye shone with evident dislike, even if he could barely see them from where he stood.


"speech"

  • text
  • Physical Health
    75%
    ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders. Currently offscreen healing thanks to Wolfsong
    Mental Health
    98%
  • Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark

    Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.

    — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
    excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
    poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
    — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
    — smells of iron, leather, and wood
    — speech is #435E75

 
TAGS — / cw for death ment/description in the first paragraph!

Familiar copper weighs down the moorland air. Scorchkit has been anxious like her brother, directionless in camp. All she could do was wait, wait, wait; wait for the patrol to return, or wait for them to not. Even the air had seemed to still with bated breath, ceasing the eddies it often threw over the meadow. But now it carries in the scent of metal-- of blood, she remembers, thick and red; lose too much of it and you'll end up dead. It's that image that she pictures as she searches the crowd for her mother and her uncle: a corpse on someone's shoulders, limp and lolling, streaks of ember fur like her own, and-

Mom.... She hears Luckykit before she sees her mother. A shock of ice stabs her chest, but Scorchkit follows her brother's mewl right to her mother's bloodied paws. She tries not to run with too much desperation, relieved beyond words that the image her mind had conjured so vividly has not become prophecy. She, like her sibling, presses her forehead into her mother's limb, too distracted with relief to take in the wounds her mother sported. She's alive, and that is all that matters. Thank StarClan, she thinks, not entirely sure what she is doing or how to pray, but praying all the same.

It's only when she pulls away that she can see the new wounds that dress her mother's flank; the new wounds that dress each returning WindClanner. Cygnetstare looks close to death; Sootstar, too, looks the same as when she had lost her last life, and Scorchkit's nose wrinkles with the coagulated scent of harm. Like Luckykit, she finds herself wondering: is this really a victory? Where does one draw the line? But her ears twitch; the murder of SkyClan's kittypet king... so that was victory? To spill another's blood until they had none left to give?

Her eyes flicker back to her mother. "Is he dead?" she asks plainly, though she must assume not, if he is able to remember any wounds delivered upon him. Surely a kittypet would not go to StarClan, after all. And then, as her mother licks the fur between Luckykit's ears, she protests for her attention: "I'll fight too! I'll fight every SkyClanner!" And she means it: those cats are hardly worth dulling a claw on. Finally, the adrenaline of WindClan's victory finds its way into her rabbit heart and pumps through her veins in steady circles. SkyClan had been truly and utterly defeated, marked by Blazestar's loss of a life. It was just the boost WindClan had been needing, a sign of strength after a dark period; the rise from the ashes. A single thought repeats: WindClan is the strongest Clan.
 
Triumphant, yes, but unmistakably wounded. Badgermoon rose swiftly upon the patrol's return, the unbearable stillness of waiting in camp breaking like a wave against rocks. Froth and blood mingled in his mind as he wound among his Clanmates, his dark tail swishing, surveying each patrol-member and trying, with his nonexistent medical expertise, to assess the severity of their wounds. Wolfsong's skills came in exceptionally handy, and when Sootstar announced that he was now their medicine cat, he let out a low rumbling meow of approval.

Sunflowerpaw had been reassigned to Houndthistle within a few heartbeats, and Badgermoon approved of that, too - and admired their leader's efficiency, even fresh off a battle. "Well done, all." he lifted his voice above the general murmurs of camp before edging his way towards Scorchstreak and two of their children, blinking fondly - and with relief - at the trio. "Your mother is not to be trifled with." he murmured to Luckykit and Scorchkit, offering the lead warrior an admiring nod. "And you two will make magnificent warriors when the time comes - I am sure of it. SkyClan has no idea what it's in for in some moons' time."