pafp I CAN'T WAIT ☾ fox

[Moonwhisper]

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She hates the color white, hates how much it burns into her eyes when she sees so much of it piled up and spread across their territory. It's such a bright and obnoxious color, a shade that forces you to notice it despite any efforts you might give to avoid it. A white cat was like a spirit lingering within a peripheal, a white bird a flash across the treetops as it moves, the white flash of the underside of a rabbit's tail as it bolts. It sours her mood having to be out in these conditions, to hunt and patrol along this pristine landscape. She longed for the forest to return to its lush and green splendor, Moonwhisper is quite convinced only then will her good spirits return.
Ahead of her she spots a light rustle near a tree, a lump of snow moving as something squirms beneath it and with a pounce she springs upon it to lunge forward with her teeth, her maw coated in white as she withdraws the mouse that had been nesting there to vigorously shake. It wasn't much, but it was something. A clench of her teeth finished the job quick, the light dribble of red droplets stain the ground before her. Something about it twists a knot in her stomach.

She pauses her steps, staring intently at the snow before her now soaking in the crimson of the mouse she'd grabbed and dropped; her head spins. It's too red, too bright, her breath hitches in her throat as she hunches over the broken prey curled at her paws - the horrifying realization that in death all creatures look so similar. Snapping a mouse's neck was easy when it was just a mouse. Both blue eyes shut tight as she attempts to stifle the feelings, push down the bile rising in her throat. You would think she was stronger than this, that after so long she would not flinch to even the most faint reminder of that day, but something about the cold resonated within her only negative feelings, she cant help but associate leafbare with her loss.
Red on white, the crunch of snow, she sees the blood so plainly here but she does not see the equally vibrant flash of ginger fur against the ice shrouded wood to her side until it is upon her. Moonwhisper's usually quiet voice breaks into a scream, high and startled, the slush kicks up around her paws as she bolts in a panic - the fox's heavy scent flooding her senses. Her lack of awareness to her surroundings gave it ample time to sink teeth into the back of her scruff and yank, she feels her paws off the ground flailing in a despate bid to remain clutching the downy white surface. Her efforts loosen her, she feels fur rip from her pelt as she darts forward only for a shrill cackle of a bark to sound and a dark limb lashes out, claws tearing into her side with enough force to knock her over and send her rolling with an undignified cry.

☾ break all the rules - live like a queen or die like a fool ☽ —— do you care what they think

• PAFP - @WOLFWIND
  Prompt - The Color White.
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  Moonwhisper
  —⊰⋅ Warrior of ThunderClan
  —⊰⋅ She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ LH Tortiseshell point w/ice blue eyes
  

​

 

[WOLFWIND]

!! CW !! descriptions of blood and violence!

It’s quiet today; something a hunting patrol never ought to be with her at the helm.

She never meant for it to be. She never meant much of anything, really, past the vague insistence on having a good time. To be happy and satisfied, or something like that. Wolfwind has smiled in the face of death these past seasons. There’s a reason, but if you asked her what it was, she wouldn’t really have an answer for you.

Whenever she looks at Moonwhisper’s face, all Wolfwind sees is a question begging to be asked.

So things would stay quiet, then, even as her newest apprentice trails after her, likely bursting with questions of her own.

Snow crunches underfoot. The warrior’s ears are perked for any morsel the forest could spare them this Leaf - bare. She’d let her own jaws water and her belly stay empty before and kit or queen went hungry. Before Howlingstar was led to an early grave— but then, who decides whether her grave would be early or late? Nine times to make a mistake. Nine tries at life. Wolfwind only had one.

Eyes potentially catching the tail of young Bravekit’s next meal, she peers between snow and root for any critter thinking of venturing out into the snow. She wonders, did it hear her now? Was it waiting with bated breath and an arched spine, painfully aware of the creeping beast by its den? …Or was she just projecting; assuming everything had the nerves she did, seemingly meaningless as they were…

She wasn’t superstitious. Not really.

Wolfwind thinks she hears the telltale snapping of bone. A morsel by Moonwhisper’s jaws. She was the hunter that her sister never had the chance to be.

And the screaming comes, too soon, too soon. Soon enough that Wolfwind has that short moment to wonder if the neck split had been Moonwhisper’s. Just enough time for Wolfwind to wonder if she’d see her kin, split open on SkyClan’s claws. To ponder if Emberpaw, too, would be limp in another’s jaws, and Howlingstar would shake her head and wonder: How could you let this happen again?

She would not.

Wolfwind turns, a whirlwind of teeth of claws. She sees ugly russet - and - white. Black in the vicious wrinkle of its nose and a flickering tail that screams victory. She sees a heavy coat, thickened from Leaf - bare. She sees the sun glinting from mangled whiskers and blood dripping from dog - like claws. And she sees Morningpaw— her family, her apprentice, her responsibility, becoming dust before her very eyes. Too late, too late, too late. She was no Medicine Cat, she could not fix what was already broken. And she is doomed to be too late.

Moonwhisper is reeling from her injury. Emberpaw is not in her sight— but it would all be okay if she could take it down, take it down, take it down.

And maybe her lesson had been pushed too hard that day, because it’d taught her to slow down. To be careful, but she couldn’t ever make it if she minded the stones beneath the snow or the straightness of her stance. She just needed to be there, to be there. To stop the loom of snapping teeth above the forms of her clanmates. Be there. Do better.

Wolfwind springs. She pelts forward with more speed ever afforded for any rabbit or bird. She throws caution to the wind so that she could be there. She wouldn’t leap for its legs so that she could soon be shaken off. She wouldn’t leap for its back, where it could still use its jaws to wreak all the havoc it wanted. She leaps for it’s face—

And it’s the stupidest thing that she’s ever done.

And she doesn’t care as she slashes at the eyes of the creature. Only by the element of surprise, is the bite to her foreleg not as deep as it could’ve been. Fox claws score at her stomach, and white - hot pain floods alongside the drip of her blood. There are more than pinpricks of pain slashing their way across her body, and she writhes and writhes, trying to deter the beast as best as she can. To make it run, to make it bleed.

Of course, she could never win. But she’s protecting her kin. Protecting her apprentice. That’s all she can even care about. Even after two— three— four— uncountable scores of claws strike at her. There are cuts on her paws, at her legs, at her chest, at her face, but she clings on— and when she cannot cling on anymore, she still comes back with just as hungry teeth, and when she cannot come back anymore…

Wolfwind is thrown to the ground in a heap. Torn and with bruises that she could not see. She had to get up, because Moonwhisper was here; because Emberpaw was here. She had to get up, because this can’t happen again. Her limbs are shaking.

Am I going to die? she wonders.

And the beast chuffs to itself, battered, even though she would be a fool to say she’s done just the same that it’s done to her. She sees Morningpaw’s face amidst the snow, and she can never tell her how sorry she is.

So what? she decides. She slashes at its chest.

And the fox takes her eye.

She knows she imagined it smiling at her. Or perhaps her mind has filled in that blank as oppressive blackness suddenly crowds her right side. It thinks it’s won, with cruel barks telling her I've done what you could not manage to. Wolfwind parts her jaws to tell it that it’s wrong; that all that mattered to her was the others being safe. All she does is scream, instead.

There’s a thundering in her chest, the frantic beating of a heart that had done all it sought to. The world is spinning, but she’s won. She may be dying, but she feels alive.

Her legs buckle, and she collapses in the snow.

( i'll do the same as you ) ✨ ( i'll try to hold it up )

• OOC: TL;DR: Wolfwind threw herself at the fox and sustained a lot of injuries in the process; she's gone into shock :') This thread is now open! Anyone is free to powerplay the fox. @emberpaw!

• 

• [ SOON I HOPE, OR SOON AS I'M OLD ENOUGH ] WOLFWIND THUNDERCLAN LEAD WARRIOR! LITTERMATE 2 LAKEMOON; KIN TO MANY.
  
  

  SHE / HER, CONFUSED BY BUT NOT OPPOSED TO THE USE OF OTHERS
  CURRENTLY 25 MOONS OLD AS OF 12.3.2023. AGES EVERY 1ST.

  
  FRIEND TO MANY! UPBEAT AND UPFRONT. MOVES THROUGH LIFE WITH AN UPBEAT EXTERIOR AND BRIGHT EYES. MAKE NO MISTAKE! TAKES HER JOB VERY SERIOUSLY. THERE'S IMPORTANCE IN SAFETY, RECKLESSNESS ONLY GETS YOU SO FAR. ONCE A FOOL, BUT NO LONGER.

​

 

[nightbird]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ the hunting patrol quickly devolves. nightbird does not see where wolfwind and moonwhisper had respectively trailed off to, but she hears their screams. loud, with no foliage to drown them out. they seem to echo off of each barren tree until they find a stabbing home in her ears. they threaten to pin against her skull from the sound, but nightbird forces them upwards at the first unwelcome twitch.

she arrived to a bloody scene, moonwhisper tossed aside, wolfwind limp beneath an imposing shadow. she could barely recognize her council-mate, more crimson than blue, unmoving in the snow. and although she didn't spot a splash of orange fur, she scented emberpaw somewhere near.

but time was being wasted trying to decide who exactly was present, a ruddy furred predator too close to clanmates it had already had a paw at. nightbird burst from the undergrowth, the beast too distracted with its former opponent to pay her any mind. up until her outstretched claws came barreling into the fox's side to rake down an orange flank. she had its attention now, bloodstained teeth lurching for the silver fur of her neck. nightbird backpedalled to narrowly escape their judgement.

an unsheathed paw slashed across its muzzle, it was just enough to get it to stumble a few steps back so she could escape from between the predator and a thick oak. claws came diving at her hind legs with enough precision to open jagged wounds. nightbird couldn't hold it off forever, dodging wild hackings and bites. if someone else failed to help, and soon, she feared the fox would make quick work of them all.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎┌── OH, I'LL CUT YOU DOWN ⋅⋆⋅ FOR I KNOW YOU ARE WEAK ──┐‎

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• 
  NIGHTBIRD ✩ she/her, lead warrior of thunderclan, twenty-eight moons.
  ⭃ a small black smoke molly with a single white paw and pale silver eyes.
  ⭃ mate to raccoonstripe / / mentor to tba
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by vayle ↛ @vayl3 on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

​

 

[freckleflame]

snow falls, as it had since leafbare had taken its place in the white - smog sky. its the smell that hits her first. something cutting, like a wedge drawn between the crisp freshwater scent of ice around them. she is lingering near nightbird when it drifts past her nose, coils hot in her nostrils. something rancid and twisted, a hint of copper fur where she nuzzles her way into a bushel of long dead leaves that had her jerking her head back, opening her mouth with furrowed brow whiskers to say there might be something, but the snow.. the weather had taken almost each scent that wasn’t buried deep into thunderclan territory, that wasn’t root and dirt and plant decay. i can’t tell..

the screams alert her first.

nightbird takes off and freckleflame follows her, bounding through the powdered white, ” please, please, please. “ she whispers into the misted sky, a prayer that doesn’t reach past the haze of leafbare overhead. she knows who is was, led only briefly astray from their patrol. she knows and yet she begs still, that the intensifying scent of copper and blood - curling shrieks intensified. adrenaline pushes her tired bones forward ( how many times has she been out today? she can’t remember, ), skidding out into the patch of clearing after the dark - pelted molly. moonwhisper was injured, painted the alabaster snow in streaks of red she sees nowhere else but in the sheen of blood. that sickening shade, matting the off - cream of her fur, and at first, freckleflame steps towards her. the field is a mess of ivory and red and her skull whirls, ears suddenly full of cotton. the beast stands only taillengths away, rips at something soft and smoke - silver. her paws pulse, numb.

nightbird pushes right past, but she staggers — her blood runs cold as the snow, light of her paws as if it drains from under her and pools into the ground like where it halos from her friends. she wails, if it could be called that ; a bubbling, animalistic thing, hobbling from paw to paw. her head spins wildly, painfully, and she drags herself through the red - spattered banks where wolfwind lie crumpled, torn open and dripping sunset eyes into the ground. she sniffs something ugly, nose suddenly wet and freezing, lifts her paws to the red as if she could put it back in by sheer will alone. it’s sticky and warm and her head is fuzzy, far away when she utters an uncharacteristically quiet, mouse - like, ” wolf? “ but it was hardly her anymore, the way her skull gouged open at the socket in gleaming ribbons.

she wants to tuck them back in, clean the blood from her face and pretend this had never happened — to close her eyes and wish really hard that wolfwind was looking at her with blood moon lit eyes again, shadowed beneath forest canopies. to pretend she was okay, to pretend she was overthinking again. she feels sick, she feels dizzy, she feels as though she were rooted to this spot by the molly’s crumpled body because her flank still rises - falls - rises beneath the bits of too - red viscera and torn skin. it didn’t feel real, the steady stream of blood into the ground. wolfwind couldn’t be hurt. wolfwind couldn’t be hurt. she crouches next to the mollys body with her nose nearly into a soot - kissed neck and still doesn’t believe wolfwind could be hurt. she couldn’t be touched by normal means, a fox wouldn’t be her final stand. it had to be loud and explosive, it had to feel right. a blaze of glory, she thinks.

but now nightbird is fighting, valiant, claws outstretched towards the backing beasts face, and freckleflame was no medicine cat. she gapes at her friend for a moment longer. the dark lead warrior slows, and she knows she must get up.

she touches the broken mollys body with a paw, delicately, at the shoulder, the chest, the paw ; imploring a desperate im here, im here, before she wasn’t. her touch restricts, whether the warrior can hear her or not, ” i have to — i have to — “ a wild sniff, heavy blinking at teary eyes, paw prints blotted red where she backs a step away, then two, ” i’ll be right back. promise. “ she doesn’t know how soon. she prays that emberpaw had run for @HOWLINGSTAR or @BERRYHEART while she draws herself to full height. the black warrior stumbles once more, but agony finds her footing — plants her paws in the snow with claws unsheathed. while nightbird fights with quick, darting movements up front, freckleflame aims to gather speed and lurch upward onto the fox’s back, using her size to drag it back and slow its reciprocating snaps so nightbird could attack its soft neck and belly. it’s long - muzzled head pivots and latches, briefly onto her leg, and the howls something brief and cacophonous into the leafbare chill. her hind limb shakes wildly until it releases, using her forepaws to scrabble and hang her weight over the beasts back as long as she could.

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝚂𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴 -`☀︎´- 𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌 𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘠 𝘍𝘖𝘙 𝘈 𝘞𝘏𝘐𝘓𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘞

• i.
  
  
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  FRECKLEFLAME 𖦹 . LESBIAN, SINGLE. SMELLS LIKE SUN - WARMED OAK AND EARTHY MUSK. SIXTEEN MOONS. FRIEND & SISTER TO MANY. NAMED A FULL WARRIOR OF THUNDERCLAN ON 8 / 3 / 2023. PENNED BY ANTLERS --------
  
  f. she / her, daughter of sunfreckle and rabbitnose. large cream - ribboned tortoiseshell with seaglass eyes. larger than life! shades of vibrant russet, dousing swathes of shadow and interwoven with ribbons pale cream come to drape like licks of flame over a thick, broad - shouldered figure. unspecified maine coon heritage born of sunfreckle's kittypet background shows itself in large, round paws and tufted, long - furred toes set upon thick, tabby - splotched limbs. a characteristic lack of personal space leads her to a slouching, touchy posture, often inclined to lean or bump against her peers, all while bearing a wide, bright - eyed grin. she seems to sing confidence from every laugh, every word.. that can't all be for show, can it?
  

  prone to bouts of explosive emotion. all opinions are solely in - character and during these times, often untrue or said only in anger.

  
  

​

 

[batwing]

.i'll be your calm, —————————

————————— before the storm!.

▵ ———————— ◮ ———————— ▵

Predators were cruel, just akin to that of the white of snow. The wind that dusted the brushless forest, the mean curl of cold against his flank. Things had been quiet. Had. The soft noises of what prey remained during leafbare was all that the forest offered in terms of words. Birds were ever silent, leaving the Thunderclanners as the moving targets. He knew the image like it was burned into his mind, some awful snapshot that would never leave him.

The red in the white. Black draped body stretched over the ground, a Skyclanner huddled far away from harm, and his clanmate's life taken in stead. Like some kind of cruel irony, pealing screams tore the quiet asunder. His ears twitched at the screaming, emerald greens snapping up towards Nightbird and Freckleflame as they leapt away. The blood-curling screeches were haunting him again, the bubbling of red at his vision convincing him to turn to follow after them. His nose wrinkled as that cruel wind kicked the fox-scent towards him, and anger, anger and fear boiled through his veins. His paws dug into the snow, drumming after the other warriors.

As he broke into the scene, he didn't let his breath catch. Nightbird was dipping and dodging the fox, damaging it where she could- Freckleflame going to see Wolfwind. It was... stars, it was messy, and the white was nearly drowned out, it felt like. Batwing turned before his apprentice could approach the scene- witness the life-force upon the ground- his teeth snapping as he ordered her, "Go! Go get Howlingstar, Berryheart! Hailstorm! Run." He shouted at @tigerpaw. before he was turning back to the grim scene.

In the instant that he had turned, Freckleflame's leg was clamped in the fox's jaws, maroon stark against the white dripping into the ground. We can't afford injuries in leafbare. That was why they didn't go after Windclan, right? What about this? The red expanded, clouded his vision, and Batwing shot forward, claws outstretched as he snarled deeply. Leaping forward, one paw aimed to smash the fox's jaw upward, the other carving a cruel, four-thick line into the throat of the beast.

The forest took, and the leaf-bare claimed. He wouldn't let it. He wouldn't let it happen again- Little Wolf, Stormfeather. He had watched both, and the agony of the situation ripped a deep shout from him. Even as blood welled from beneath his paw, the throat of the fox ripped free, the beast's head whipped down and snapped at his forepaw.

What was that saying his father used to say? Even cut off, a dog's head still bit? It seemed to applied to foxes too. Batwing yowled in pain, the red clouding his vision. His teeth arced forward, fangs biting into the skull of the fox. For as it took his paw and mangled it, he'd take the eye of the beast, locked in a cruel parry. The inkling of hope through the rage that threatened to consume him, the one that told him either Emberpaw or Tigerpaw would be back with help, was the only reason he didn't pass out from pain.

tl;dr : clawed open foxes throat, fox bit his paw, batwing bit down on the fox's skull and took an eye :)

"speech"​

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[WILDHEART]

"DIE!" The word is bellowed like a tiger's roar as Wildheart barrelled towards the fox with the sole intent of causing as much harm as possible. A glance had told him all that he needed to know; clanmates were hurt and in danger of losing their lives! Moonwhisper and Wolfwind... the scent of their blood was thick in his senses, and the sound of cries of pain and battle drummed loud, oh so loud, in his ears! It spurred his heart into racing and locked his focus into the obsession to fight!

Already others had waded into the fight so the chances of driving the beast off was already beginning to lean more in their favour, and with the addition of his own fury they would surely see the fox off. The caterwaul he let loose was one of warning to the fox before he barrelled his body into the vermin's hind legs to set it completely off-balance. With luck it would give those close to the gnashing teeth a brief respite during the window of distraction. Not wishing to be outdone, Wildheart then aimed to sink his teeth deep into the thigh of the fox. The taste of blood ran thick in his mouth and for a moment he lost himself in it, though he was abruptly rocked back into reality as a hard kick knocked him backwards and left him momentarily winded.

The tom climbed to his paws once again with a hiss and a renewed look of determination. "Surround it! Force the beast back!" He snarled as he charged forward yet again, rearing up and aiming swipes of his claws at the fox's face, all the while being mindful as to avoid hitting any of his clanmates.
​

 

[tigerwing]

screams ripped through the air. tigerpaw knew nothing of predators, knew not of all the dangers of the world. she only knew words. stories, wicked ones gentled down by elders for kittens. but she recognized those screams of pain- she remembered the metallic scent of blood that blasted her nose as Batwing quickly entered the scene.

and while he could hide the vicious encounter from her, his string of commands instantly sending her in a scramble to turn on her heels, he could not hide the scene that she witnessed from the rogue attack, even if delirious and not entirely there. shed seen that.

but even now, she felt useless. but she could help somewhat. she could get Berryheart and Howlingstar. she could help by getting them, and they could assist. her paws ran faster than she knew they could. a blur of chocolate and red across the white forested ground.


she didn't hesitate, or stop to pant for air that her lungs desperately needed as she veered straight into camp, slamming her body through the entrance and nearly bowling into one of the cats she was sent for. "Hail-hailstorm, quick, it's - it's bad," she barely managed out. the stopping of her burning body finally allowing her to heave. she didn't know it was a fox, she didn't know what was happening. she was just told to retrieve them, and she knew those scents to know it was that bad. she just wish she knew more.

@HAILSTORM.
(since berry and howling were already tagged )

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[WOLFWIND]

Darkness presses at the corners of her vision. Insistent— insistent. See me, and for w few heartbeats, it’s all that she could see. The color white, snow and blood wiped away into darkness. She couldn’t tell how much of it was real. How much of it was only something her mind desperately wanted to see, and how much was the phantom - numbness at the side of her head. It’s hard to think about. It’s hard to think at all. The world is spinning and her fur is too - hot. Breathe. Breathe, it’s old and reliable advice, but she can’t remember who gave it to her, or if they’d known her heart would be thumbing at her insides, like this. She’s sick, and she has never been better. She is alive, but she does not feel it.

She sees a whipping wind of blackness that could be a clanmate, or it could be the dark corners. See me, please. She’d like to take a closer look, but she cannot move. Indescribable weakness— because of the way consciousness crumpled and burnt at the edges, not for the weight. Not really. She’s tired. Tired is what she was. She shuts her eyes, though she isn’t sure she can believe even that.

And then she lifts them. She sees speckled flame and soot, and she hears something like a name. She would like to tell them she hears them. Maybe she does, but she does not know what she said.

( Hardly a sound. A broken trill of an answer )

Leather eyelids help her feel the press of something she does not know. When she breathes, it’s familiar. And the worst thing is she couldn’t tell them she is happy, so long as the throbbing isn’t realized. She’s happy she can see them, even if she cannot really. If they’re here at all, then it means she’s done good. Dreams realized. The corners could creep upon her all they liked, so long as they were safe.

And then she’s gone. Something, anyways. She can hear them, even if it might be coming from the wrong place.

Is it gone? She’s not sure what she’s thinking about.

She thinks she sees it, ugly red and black pushed deeper and deeper past snow - white. Was that the fox she sees, or was it the bark of Wildheart; or young Foxkit disappearing into the wood? She’s glad, nonetheless. She’s glad.

Perhaps now, she could sleep.

and we're on our way to glory ⋆ ( where the show wont ever end )

• 
  

• does not account for scars.

  

• [ AND THE ENCORE LASTS FOREVER . . . ] WOLFWIND THUNDERCLAN LEAD WARRIOR! LITTERMATE 2 LAKEMOON; KIN TO MANY.
  
  

  SHE / HER, CONFUSED BY BUT NOT OPPOSED TO THE USE OF OTHERS
  CURRENTLY 25 MOONS OLD AS OF 12.3.2023. AGES EVERY 1ST.

  
  FRIEND TO MANY! UPBEAT AND UPFRONT. MOVES THROUGH LIFE WITH AN UPBEAT EXTERIOR AND BRIGHT EYES. MAKE NO MISTAKE! TAKES HER JOB VERY SERIOUSLY. THERE'S IMPORTANCE IN SAFETY, RECKLESSNESS ONLY GETS YOU SO FAR. ONCE A FOOL, BUT NO LONGER.

​

 

[HOWLINGSTAR]

The birdsong had stopped in the forest, and that was the first eerie happening that alerted the old woman. She lifts her head to the treetops that tower over the bramble wall, ears forward and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Something's wrong. The birds only stop singing when danger is nearby, and so close to camp? She takes a slow step forward, cautious, before Tigerpaw bursts through the camp entrance, heaving breaths and runs to Hailstorm. Fur bristling, she approaches swiftly and listens with wide eyes, frustrated at the lack of details. "Tigerpaw, what is it?" She demands, voice filled with panic.

All she can do is rush past her to the scene, where the fox has finally been driven away and all that remains is bloodied warriors and- "Wolfwind?!" Fear hitches her voice a pitch higher. She lurches forward to reach her eldest granddaughter, crouching at her side and nosing her neck. She's alive. Oh thank the stars, she's alive! "Help me get her back to camp!" She calls to the nearest cat, desperation hanging on every word as tears begin to veil her eyes. "It's alright. We've got you, you'll be okay." She tries hard not to look too hard at the hole in the lead warrior's skull. She can't stomach it right now. She can't fathom her kin having losing half her sight on top of everything else, and so she shoves it to the back of her mind and tries her best to shove her shoulder underneath Wolfwind's chest in an attempt to haul her up. With the help of two or three more cats, they can carry her across their backs.

Just hang in there, Wolfwind. You have to. I can't lose anyone else.​

 

[freckleflame]

her hind limb bleeds, but the creature hadn’t been able to clamp on enough, scraping only enough to cause more than a quick welling of blood at her heel. warriors flood through the undergrowth and the fox loses its footing — she falls to the ground just before its limbs crumble in attempt to escape, snapping one more frantic get away bite at her before it scuttles, crouched and bleeding, into the darkness. she feels the wind from it. feels the phantom pain of fangs sinking into her muzzle, but the blood never comes. her nerves catch up with her brain too slowly, skull stuffed with cotton where she scrambles up in the snow. the ground is too slippery — there is blood on her paws, red, deep — but she finds herself, lifts to full height only to huff and heave her effort into fine, cold mist.

howlingstar had arrived, sometime in the space where her head is whirling, her teeth tearing at the soft spot of her cheek because the aged tabby is screaming for her granddaughter — she lowers, struggles to hoist the stormy she-cat up before any warriors can approach to help her. she slicks herself in the shocking red.

freckleflame looks at her for a moment, dumbly. her mouth works. an open, close, open — something hoarse and brittle squeaks at the back of her throat, but it is too weak to hear. wolfwind is gored. freckleflame wears her blood like failure, howlingstar wore it like hope ; she cries for help and the tortoiseshell moves only on autopilot at first, a wide - stanced hobbling over. unlike her leader, tact does not find her now. she stares at the hole in her friends face ( her friend, her friend. for once, the word tastes like copper and death. why doesn’t it feel like enough? ), it pulses something overripe and bruised in her chest. she prays for another chance ; for the stars to rewind time and give her, the patrol the sense to follow them into the undergrowth. snow covers the scent, dapples blood in shades of ivory. the forest forgets. she would not.

she isn’t processing, mumbling, ” uh - huh. “ its monotone, unblinking — its all wrong, but she does as she’s told, moving like the undead in shamble towards her leader. she thinks she should be able to feel her paws, her wound more than she does. she thinks her body is tingling too much to be normal. wolfwind is close and she smells like juniper and warmth ( is she imagining things? ). perhaps it’s the pulse of blood, still steadily looking out of the open wound ; the sky works frantically to pack it with fresh - fallen snow, as if starclan had looked away for only moments, and apologized for their irresponsibility by staunching the bleeding. but wolfwind’s wounds still bleed, something mangled and twisted and freckleflame still wants to press her nose gently to her matted forehead, echo howlingstar’s you’ll be okay until her throat is raw and her voice is gone.

instead, she lowers her head, trills soft as if she could still hear. she returned, just like she promised. but wolfwind is half - alive, if that. she noses under her friend — the word claws her in the belly again — and slinks beneath her body, hoisting her up until she feels her flank’s stuttering pull of breath against her back. they would need another. she carries the bulk of her torso but the lead warrior’s hind legs hang from her back but it seemed to at least stall the stream of blood threading down into her shoulder and chest. still, she is close ; the feeling of grey strands mingling in her shadowed tabby own is familiar. she presses close but it is wrong — her ribs butterfly against hers but its never been like this, pelts matted with more than mud. blood finally finds its way through the thick of her own coat and it ribbons warmly over her skin.

the feeling would haunt her forever.

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝚂𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙴 -`☀︎´- 𝘗𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌 𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘠 𝘍𝘖𝘙 𝘈 𝘞𝘏𝘐𝘓𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘞

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  FRECKLEFLAME 𖦹 . LESBIAN, SINGLE. SMELLS LIKE SUN - WARMED OAK AND EARTHY MUSK. SIXTEEN MOONS. FRIEND & SISTER TO MANY. NAMED A FULL WARRIOR OF THUNDERCLAN ON 8 / 3 / 2023. PENNED BY ANTLERS --------
  
  f. she / her, daughter of sunfreckle and rabbitnose. large cream - ribboned tortoiseshell with seaglass eyes. larger than life! shades of vibrant russet, dousing swathes of shadow and interwoven with ribbons pale cream come to drape like licks of flame over a thick, broad - shouldered figure. unspecified maine coon heritage born of sunfreckle's kittypet background shows itself in large, round paws and tufted, long - furred toes set upon thick, tabby - splotched limbs. a characteristic lack of personal space leads her to a slouching, touchy posture, often inclined to lean or bump against her peers, all while bearing a wide, bright - eyed grin. she seems to sing confidence from every laugh, every word.. that can't all be for show, can it?
  

  prone to bouts of explosive emotion. all opinions are solely in - character and during these times, often untrue or said only in anger.

  
  

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