- Aug 5, 2022
- 603
- 117
- 43
@BIGFANG @COPPERFANG. @BLUESTRIDE
tw: blood, death, mention of choking
ThunderClan had dealt with more than its fair share of rogues over the moons. Not that the group of three knew anything about it. They were all young, cocky, and self-assured, eager to prove themselves against the cats of the forest. There was no other purpose to seeking out a clan cat than to fight.
The trio milled about in the forest for some time, travelling from the twolegplace and making it to ThunderClan land. Despite their desire to fight, none of them were particularly eager to go waltzing into ThunderClan camp looking for one. They acted as though they could, each one bigging the other two up to try it, but none of them committed to the task at hand. Instead, they lounged in the early sun and waited, and waited, and waited. And finally, the sound of approaching chatter stirred them into action. Wicked grins were exchanged between the trio, and as they slunk through the bushes to sneak up on the patrolling cats, they exchanged eager whispers of the fight to come.
***
Flycatcher was glad that the day had warmed up since he was assigned to this patrol. The early morning had made it seem like the day ahead would be cold and bitter, but the clouds had parted and the sun shone down upon them.
The lead warrior had walked ahead of his patrol, following the scent of a mouse, his nose already close to the ground when he moved away. “Gotta be quicker than that if we want to keep up with the prey this morning!” He teased, before slipping away. Although in better spirits because of the nicer weather, Flycatcher was also in a good mood because he sensed it was almost time for his and Flamewhisker’s kits to be born. Of course, there was no exact way of knowing, but when he had last spoken to his mate she seemed certain the time was near. She had jokingly told him not to stray far from camp lest he missed the birth, and he had calmly reassured her that he would be there no matter what - even if he had to be called from as far away as Fourtrees.
Continuing his pursuit, Flycatcher can spot the mouse ahead, darting between the roots of a tree. He crouches, leaning back into the familiar stance, ready to strike.
“Gotcha.”
The word comes suddenly from the right, and Flycatcher barely has time to pull himself up, before three shapes come barreling out of the bushes at him. His lips part, attempting to yowl a warning, or a cry for help, but finds the air knocked out of him when a large black tom, smashes his shoulder into him and sends him spiralling to the floor. The blue tabby attempts to stand up, but is stopped by the black tom pressing a paw on his shoulder, claws digging into his flesh. The tom leans down, teeth dangerously close to his face, taunting him. Flycatcher had never been the best fighter but he’s fought warriors like this before, he knows what he can do to try and get free.
Flycatcher turns suddenly, the black tom coming with him in surprise. Flycatcher then manages to get his hind paws on the other tom’s belly, putting all his weight into kicking out and hopefully getting the tom away from him.
He succeeded in staggering his assailant, taking the brief reprieve to jump to his feet and call for assistance.
“Help!” He called out, hoping his patrolmates would be near enough to come and aid him quickly. Certainly, Bigfang would give these rogues a good thrashing. “Rogues are attacking-”
Flycatcher cannot get any more words out before the rogue is on him again, and this time not alone, as the tortoiseshell she-cat, and silver tabby tom join their companion. Flycatcher could fight well when pushed but even he cannot stand a chance against three highly aggressive rogues.
He thrashes, kicks, yells, and does whatever he can to get them off of him. At one point, he catches the ear of the big time, biting down as hard and pulling back. He tastes blood in his mouth but he’s genuinely not sure whether it is his or the black tom’s.
The four of them grapple until he hears - and sees - the shapes of the other warriors coming to help him. Despite their sneak attack on him, it seemed that when faced with a fair fight, the rogues didn’t have the nerve to continue.
Flycatcher isn’t sure if they leave of their own accord or whether one of the others chases them away but they leave pretty quickly. With the rogues gone, Flycatcher should have gotten up, or been attempting to at the very least. But what he doesn’t know yet and only slowly becomes aware of as his breathing becomes more laboured, is that the damage had already been done.
A cut too close to his neck.
It wasn’t very long but it was deep. He could feel his blood pooling out of it, could feel it in the back of his throat too. The very thing that kept him alive now threatened to kill him too.One of the other warriors is close by, and his green eyes snap to them swiftly, a panicked expression in his gaze. He’s looking at them for help or comfort. Assurances that everything was alright, despite the fact that it clearly wasn’t.
No, I’m not supposed to die like this!
He was supposed to be old and grey, passing peacefully in his slumber, his life marked by endless loyalty to his clan and kin. His kits would have grown up and had families of their own, their children - his grandchildren - pushing him for stories. But no…he lies there powerless, his life unfairly cut short by some opportunistic rogues. His rapid breathing begins to slow, and his gaze wanders, to everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Suddenly he is vaguely aware of the presence of others around him. It takes a moment to discern who he is looking at it, but when he sees familiar pelts, he knows his family has come to him in his final moments.
He sees his proud-faced father next to his gentle mother, and beside them are his sisters Cricket and Bee, their expressions sympathetic. And twisting between the legs of Bee, are two young kits. He had never known them in life but they were familiar to him all the same - Butterflykit and Lilykit.
It warms his heart to see them all again but apart of him selfishly wants to shoo them away. He wants to tell them he can’t go with them. He has to get back to Flamewhisker and the kits soon to be born.
“Flame…” He whispers, her name carried away by the breeze.
There is a final, shuddering breath and then nothing. Stillness.
But he wasn’t gone just yet.
His new starry-hued self stirs from his body. And accompanied by the daughters he had lost so long ago, already twining themselves around his legs, Flycatcher ascends to StarClan in peace.
ooc -
