pafp i didn't mean to fall in love tonight ♡ drowning

[brookstorm]

No really, it's okay. She's shaking her fur out, discarding nursery debris as Robinheart coyly plays with her. Brookstorm finds pools of godly ichor, squinted in good nature and warmth, and murmurs back a simple, “A promise is a promise,” before parting the reeds and taking her leave. She anticipates an hour, maybe - that the sun will glide across cloudy skies for no more than a few perceived meters before she returns home. She's righting her own wrongs in their imperfect little world, and so surely the weather will afford her with kindness. The sun will not blot out again and clouds will not grow in number. She will return once more. She does not think for a second that she may be wrong.

Her first steps out of their camp warn her. A drop of rain, singular in its descent, splashes against her nose. A few unsettled strides and another droplet crashes onto the crest of her curled ear. Brookstorm furrows her brow but decides it a blessing; fish enjoy light showers. It fools them, she thinks, for they must think the rain to be dragonflies or tadpoles flicking the water's surface. Her path diverts, as she decides her partner would better indulge in something scaled rather than something feathered.

Brookstorm settles on the riverbank when the rain begins to descend a little harder. She watches the flashes of silver, just beyond her reach, and waits patiently at the bay. Minutes go by, and none come closer. She worries that hours may pass before her patience pays off and decides, foolishly, that she can wade into the water some and risk scaring off a few fry. The rain has grown angry, but she's determined, and a clawed paw swings out at a shiny flash. The fish is quicker than her - her vision is obscured by the rain - but something else grabs a hold of her.

Water plants - maybe if she were Moonbeam she would be able to identify them more cleanly. Her claws shred what they can reach but the tumultuous waters thrash the rest of the flora. The grass weaves itself around Brookstorm's wayward paw, and yanking her limb free doesn't seem like an option. She sidles closer, awkwardly, and tries to level her paw with the water. Fear doesn't worm its way into her chest yet, but she can feel it tickling the ends of her limbs. Ears fold down as the water around her begins sloshing harder. She tries dipping her head beneath the waves in order to nip herself free of the greenery, however such idiocy seems to be her end.

Brookstorm is unsuccessful in her first attempt, and when she tries to right herself for air once more, she cannot. Another paw is tangled in weeds and the river has risen with a fitful, angry current. Panic clutches her and though she tries to remain calm, doing so does not help her. Her chest burns with the lack of oxygen and she takes the chance to nip and bite at the crabgrass more and more. She's able to free one paw, however in her own unsteady work she feels herself becoming lightheaded. The water is unyielding and hardly lets her twist enough to free her other paw. It's a final cough, expelling the air that'd been lost in her chest, that does her in.

Waves crash over her body again and again, however Brookstorm is unresponsive. Eventually she's swept back to the shore, and though her body acts on its own (heaving out water, forcing air back into her lungs,) the stone blue molly is largely unconscious. The world has seemed to have lost her, and she reacts none to those that find her eventually.

[ pls wait for @lichentail & do not post in this thread if you have posted in robinhearts thread! they are happening at the same time :) ]
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[lichenstar]

✦　˚ 　✧ ˚　.˚　✦ 　✦

CLAIM THE BURIAL I SEEK IN DREAMS FLOWING RIVER CEMETARY ✧

• The rain obfuscates normally clear vision... it drizzles in such feigned gentle assault, bounding off the ground in joyous final outcry before sinking into the rapidly dampening earth. It feels more and more like it has become a collection of tears, poured in great sorrow over the reeds, sliding down them as if they were the soaking cheekbones of RiverClan itself. The land breathes... it shudders a mournful sigh as the wind rushes past, shaking the leaves that try so desperately not to weep with the rest of the world.
  
  Perhaps that melancholy feeling isn't really felt in the hallow bones of cattails and dribbling creeks... Moons ago she'd suggested that even the river needed rest but now, it seemed like personifying the territory was a sillier notion. One to be mocked and shoved down quietly. Whatever distraction she hoped to find in the mindless motions of hunting is soured by the insistent storm... Climbing the slick bark of trees would be far more difficult than it already was on dry days and few birds went hopping around the forest floor for grub in such foul weather.
  
  If she believed StarClan had control of such things, she might assume they were laughing at her.
  
  Plans change... always so suddenly and never when it's convenient. Paws turn, a new path chosen. The strings of fate wrap tightly around the ankles and pull. Pull in such a way it isn't even registered as a tug, a nudge, a willful guidance towards a future laid out carefully in the ripples of raindrops.
  
  At first the sound of the river's crash against the shore registers as nothing but white noise.. the foam slides across the bank, frothing in its anger. The swell that comes with rainfall encourages its reach, further and further still, grasping at the already damp strands of fur between her toes. And it's normal... to expect such lashing frustration. It splashes... again and again, beating down the pebbles that line its borders.
  
  In the distance up ahead it almost looks like she might've found luck in the form of a fallen bird.
  
  Paw-steps quicken, eager to grab it before it becomes too thoroughly soaked, before its feathers are completely ruined by the torrential downpour... It looks bigger than she'd thought... much bigger. Not a duck... it still has the ashy feathers of a young swan that has not yet molted into stunningly pristine plumage-
  
  Because it isn't a bird at all.
  
  "Brookstorm?" If not for the trickling of water from the corner of her mouth, it would be easy enough to assume she were just taking a nap out here... It wouldn't be the first time she'd wandered out into a spring shower to have some time alone but... she'd thought things might've improved between her and Robinheart after a sincere nudge from their last discussion. Her chest doesn't rise and fall like it should, it is half so confident, as if struggling- it gives away the fact she is not merely dozing at an inconvenient hour- "Brookstorm!"
  
  Curled ears do not flick with agitated movement, do not tell Lichentail to leave. No biting tongue to lash at her to be left alone- Panic-shaken paws press against her shoulder, a frantic shake to rouse her. A plea for razor-sharp eyes to glower at her like they usually did. "Can you... can you hear me?" It is a fruitless question, one that will not be given answer... the longer the silence lasts, with only the furious river to respond, the more she shivers. Teeth sink into thick, heavy fur, a wash of river-water squeezed into her mouth with the bite and she tugs, pulls at her scruff with anxious need. All she had to do was... get her home. Moonbeam could fix this. She could fix it if she just got her home-
  
  It would be fine.
  
  But the progress is abysmal, it is hard enough to drag an adult that competes with her in size even when she is not firmly anchored by pounds of stored water in her coat. Paws slide and scramble in the small rocks, yanking only a few hairs-lengths with each pull. Damn it.... Another futile attempt, just to feel a sharp stone jab into the tender flesh of her pad and gouge it, Damn it!
  
  Is anyone even around...? Giving up for only a moment, the lynx point paces a few long strides away, stumbling over the pain in her paw, calling for help like a fledgling fallen from its nest, "I need... help! Someone!"
• about
  speech hex code ✧ #6368A5
  ooc notes ✦ i am in miserrryyyy, there aint nobody who can comfort me oh yea~ why wont you answer me? the silence is slowly killin me! ah yea~
  tagging ✶
  penned by tieirlys
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[Hawkcloud]

The downpour falls ceaselessly before Hawkcloud's leaf-colored gaze, the she-cat driven to an unusual silence where she stands at the entrance to the warrior's den, just beneath the shelter of the reeds, watching. Even as the angry cloud-covered sky roars with distant thunder that the sunset-furred warrior can feel in the ground beneath her paws, she merely stands. The sense of a powerful storm brewing, the promise of flashes of lightning hanging on the horizon, the sight of the rain drumming upon the river and making the waters leap — it's usually another one of the many phenomena that brings Hawkcloud excitement. But today, the cheerful she-cat feels unease settle within her like a fog, something she cannot explain until she realizes she can hear the distant cries of Lichentail.

By the time she reaches the riverbank where their deputy waits, attempting to drag Brookstorm's lifeless body by her teeth, Hawkcloud is soaked to the bone, too. The storm is relentless, beating down on the cats beside the river even as the she-cat's eyes land on Brookstorm, heart-wrenchingly limp. The older warrior will be alright, Hawkcloud is sure, but it still sends a strange sense of panic immediately into the she-cat's blood. She remembers seeing Foxtail like that after he'd fallen mercy to the river, too, and it makes her stomach sink. Both the memory of that day, where he'd crashed beneath the ice, and the sight before her now. Still, her brother had been alright afterwards. Surely Brookstorm will be, as well.

For a few panic-stricken moments, Hawkcloud can only stand there as the rain batters her pelt and drips into her eyes, watching the unmoving she-cat and Lichentail on trembling paws. Help drag Brookstorm to safety, or fetch Moonbeam? What would be most helpful? After those agonizing heartbeats of hesitation pass by, Hawkcloud finally bounds forward and sinks her teeth into the older warrior's fur, too, pulling her along with all her might.​

 

[SWAMPHOWL]

It’s luck that brings Swamphowl to the scene, nothing more. He hadn’t heard the struggling, hadn’t seen Brookstorm struggling in the water. Two other cats are struggling to drag her along, and the brute figures he may as well put his brawn to good use here. ”Let me help,” he says, tone short and clipped—not out of any disdain, but simply because he isn’t quite sure what words to say in this situation. So, he doesn’t use any more words, instead moving forward. He grips her scruff between his teeth just as the two other RiverClanners beside him have, and he pulls, helping to lighten the burden of Brookstorm’s weight considerably so they can move her quickly. She needs to be seen to, as fast as possible. He’s heard horror stories of what could happen after a close call with drowning such as this.​