A thick lens of distress draped over his weary eyes, Smogmaw extends his face through the tangle of shrubbery in desperate pursuit for a glimpse of his displaced daughter. Yellowed fangs reveal themselves as he curses himself in a low snarl, for his hopeless efforts have merely thrust Applekit further into harm's reach, not closer to safety. Wrapped in the guise of a deputy is no more than an inglorious failure of a father. One who couldn't shield his flesh and blood when they needed him the most. He cannot place Applekit's outline in his scope of vision—only the hulking frame of the savage beast, rending into treebark with its hungry sights set on his mate.
"I- I don't know what to do," he'd mutter between clenched fangs, his voice scarcely audible over the bear's grunts and growls. Dark eyes shift towards Garlickit in a cursory look. If the creature had taken note of his presence, emerging from the undergrowth would simply escalate the danger his kits were in. For the moment, its jaws lusted for the savoriness of Halfshade's blood, and as sordid as it is, under no circumstances can he redirect the bear's focus away from her. A heartrending conumdrum, to put it mildly.
Smogmaw exhales sharply as a black-tinted blur fills the gaps between the shrub's shoots. One of his hind legs moves rearwards, and he gestures to his daughter to follow in his footsteps. If it's a bear cub, he and Garlickit are simply fucked. If it's another clanmate who'd stumbled upon this anarchic scene, there may very well be a glimmer of hope.
The vague shape approaches fast, and the blood in Smogmaw's pulses at a quickened pace when he notes a familiar white streak running down the figure's visage. "It's Chilledstar," he would think aloud, putting voice to his thoughts so as to paint a clearer picture for Garlickit. Brows crease, and he studies the encroaching form of his leader as they draw nearer. He can see that, grasped by the scruff, Applekit hangs from their maw.
Whatever strain remained in his eyes is soon washed over by momentary reprieve, and when his poor daughter is placed before him. Promptly, he cranes his neck low and takes his tongue across the length of her forehead. When his gaze ascends from her, it latches onto his leader's straightaway. "Thank you," the deputy expels in a harsh whisper. The time on their paws is scarce, and there's narrow room for pleasantries in the current situation. "Have you seen my other two? Is there anyone else-"
The remainder of his words dissolve in his throat before they can be uttered, for his question is answered by another fast-approaching figure. Geckoscreech hauls along Swankit and Valeriankit by their napes, and when it begrudgingly dawns upon Smogmaw that he is now indebted to the rosette tabby, a rotten smile taints his expression. "In here!" he'd call through the thicket, in a tone both hushed and intent on seizing her attention.
In this fleeting instant of haywire reality, his kits find sanctuary. Recognising that is all the tom needs to grasp his next strategic step. His skull pivots around, facing his leader. "Make sure they get somewhere safe, please," Smogmaw requests, giving Garlickit and Applekit tender nods. He conveys a mixed look of worry and resignation. "I have to help Halfshade. Be on your best behaviour for your leader."
Not a lone breath is spared before he departs from the security of the bush. Leaving his kits for a second time, coupled with this perilous plunge into the unknown, ignites his nerves into a volatile blaze. He cannot waver, not now, and this he knows. He must make sure his mate leaves that tree unharmed—and, moreover, he needs to put a hypothesis to the test.
Clawtips taste the rough texture of tree bark, his teeth gritting together as he laboriously ascends another tree, contending with his throbbing muscles and combat wounds, all in a desperate bid to reach the elevated height of Halfshade. His paws cling firm onto branches as he makes his way up, and though the distant sight of his mate fighting for her life gnaws at the worn edges of his core, it only serves to fuel his determination in doing this right.
With Stumpyspots off yonder, Halfshade directly above, and Smogmaw positioned precariously on a branch just a bit away, the tattered tapestry of a plan begins to weave together. They're all spread enough to contend with the bear's attention while straying from harm's grasp. Maybe, just maybe, his mate can be afforded an opportunity to escape. "Open your eyes, you mindless oaf, I'm up here! ROAR!"
