camp I THOUGHT THAT FIGHTING WITH MEANT FIGHTING FOR & post-raid

[BLAZESTAR]

The walk back to camp, even supported by @ThistleBack, is excruciating. Every step causes him to gasp in agony, and the frigid air that rushes into his lungs cause his chest to scream back at him. Blood still weals from the nasty, jagged red line, and the scarlet trail he leaves from their borders to their camp is long and uninterrupted.

The flame point is relieved to detect RiverClan scent through the muddied WindClan and SkyClan bloodshed. Cicadastar had brought his warriors here, to help them, and Blazestar sags against Thistleback's shoulder with relief.

"Who's hurt?" He rasps immediately, to the first SkyClan or RiverClan cat who had remained in camp. "Is anyone... is everyone alive?"

He lowers himself to the ground, unable to remain standing any longer. His panting is harsh. His breath is as cold as the air; nothing plumes from his mouth when he exhales. "The herbs... they wanted our catmint... did they get any?" His eyes roll about camp, frenzied. "Where's... Dawnglare? Fireflypaw, Figpaw?" Fear clutches icy claws into his heart. Surely even WindClan wouldn't attack the sick, the injured?... But he finds he has no faith in that assumption.

// takes place after this thread and this thread! this is for the clans to regroup. this is open to any riverclanner who helped skyclan and open to all skyclanners! :3​

 

[Mountainheart]

Mountainheart struggled back, dragging his dislocated limb along the snow. It hurt, it burned, his wounds were the least of his worries. Those would heal, scar and be fine. But what about his shoulder? He was unsure.

He tripped over himself a few times, grunting in pain. When he finally arrived in camp, he let himself rest on the ground. He looked around, feeling a burning fury rise in his belly.

They ravaged the medicine den. He had not shown mercy before, but should he meet them in battle again, he would make sure to be even more brutal.

After all, Windclan touts themselves as the strongest, why go easy on them?

He let his eyes close. He hoped Dawnglare was alright, and that he hadn't been hurt too bad. Because if he was, he was about to be very angry.

Attacking a healer was shameful. But this was Windclan, and there seemed to be no depths to their depravity.
​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Silversmoke was pacing around camp like a caged animal when the rest of his clan stepped through the camp's entrance. Blood soaked the male's muzzle where he'd tried to help a wounded elder, with thinner, crimson lines masking the tabby markings on his hind leg. He was able to stand tall, but Silver's maw twitched sporadically as if threatening to curl upwards at any transgression. Simultaneously disappointed that his fight had ended so soon and angry at WindClan's actions, the spotted blue tom wished they had the strength to run to the moors right then and there. But, his eyes weren't as blind as his judgment, with Blazestar in such a state, there was nothing the clan could do but count their losses and hope that the enemy had not run off with all of their supply. Large eyes recognised the frantic nature of their leader, asking question after question about herbs and the wounded cats, and the state of his clan. Black-tufted ears flattened and the tempest strutted closer, his tail lashing. It was irritating he didn't have a detailed report of what had happened, he'd barely got a chance to breathe before his groupmates came back.

"Some injuries, some herbs stolen. No one's dead as far as I know, but you look just about ready to be," He looked the Ragdoll up and down, his usual scowl growing tepid with worry. He looked to Thistleback for answers that deep down, he already knew, and shook his blood-matted fur out. "I should've been at the borders instead of trouncing about here..." He hissed to himself, spinning on his heels and prowling a short distance away to begin to clean the blood and muck off of himself. Silversmoke didn't want to stop and see if other SkyClanners had lost their lives, but he kept his gaze on the entrance all the same, feeling his heart race with anticipation of the worst. No one had died in the camp, but that hadn't been down to Silversmoke. If anyone had died in the territory, the blue tabby convinced himself that he could've made a difference if he wasn't stuck on guard duty. Unsheathed claws dug into the snow as his tongue rasped over his maw, trying not to flinch at the taste of Morning's blood. It should've been WindClan blood he was tasting, it should've been WindClan blood...



​

 

[Orangestar]

Over twenty-five moons of life in this ridiculous forest, and Orangeblossom isn't sure she's ever felt this tired. It isn't quite pre-dawn, no hint of the sky lightening through the snow-laden clouds above their heads. She's at the back of the procession, leaning heavy against @Sharpeye as they trudge through the snow. RiverClan accompanies them, river-scent wreathing among the pines Around them, her Clanmates check in with each other - how many dead? How many injured? One death, all injured to varying degrees. Bananapaw had been walking - she'd passed her eyes over her sister just long enough to confirm the fact and then moved on. Blazestar had lost a life. How many did this leave him with? She'd been here since before this was SkyClan, and yet she doesn't know.

Brown eyes linger on Blazestar, head of the procession and using Thistleback as a pillar of support. Their pace is slow enough not to lose anyone in the snow, even as the bramble-wall of camp comes into view and relief makes her sag against her escort. Yet, a small flicker of jealousy flits between her ribs - she should be there supporting him, not limping and bloodied at the back of the patrol. That stupid WindClan patrol leader. What was he thinking, starting a fight over herbs they'd demanded? He'd gotten one of his Clanmates killed. And where was Duskfire or even Sootstar? Had this been a new lead warrior none of them knew about? She doesn't care, but a part of her itches to have him under her claws again. WindClan are cowards, and that's all there is to the matter.

The scent of the moors hits her nose again and Orangeblossom stiffens. White paws, bloodied, still for a moment as the tattered bramble wall looms above them and a terrible realisation sets in.

"They attacked the camp. It ... was the fight a distraction?" Foggy as she is with blood loss and as much as it hurts to croak even this to Sharpeye, she can put two and two together. Her mind flits to @Hailstone and she surges forward, only to stumble and curse under her breath as her bleeding leg buckles in protest. He'd been in camp, opting to wait for the dusk patrol to return before heading home with Bananapaw. StarClan, let him be okay. Please.​

 

[sheepcurl]

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, her slash hurt like nothing else. She was sure that her last injuries hadn't even hurt like this, a fire-y throb, but perhaps thats just because she had slumped against the ground and had to be carried half-dead back to camp. She watched the blood slip from her throat, rest upon its white backdrop and she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, inwardly cringing at the metallic taste of the Windclanners blood. At least Dawnglare was fine, at least those she protected inside were fine (she hopes so at least).

Blazestar and the rest of the patrol has come back and she jerks her head to look at them, a hiss of pain tumbling from her mouth. "We are fine. Injuries, yes, uh..." she trails off, remembering Morning. Stars, her throat and chin hurt, curse that Windclanner. It didn't help that it crossed over her old scars too, which brings a grimace to her face. "Si." is all she responds with to Orange, sending the deputy a look as she stumbles. She moves to help prop her up, flicking a curled ear as she gauges just how bad it truly had been. Oh... If she had been quicker out the den could she have prevented some of the injuries? She and Dawnglare had been the only authority figures then and she had failed her clan.

She turns her head to cough, the frigid air uncomfortable against her pelt. "Those injured need to go see Dawnglare..." quiet, she trails off. "Everyone is fine." she speaks to Orange, hoping to erase her ease. Not everyone is fine, shes not sure how Mornings condition is, but she has faith. She has to have faith.​

"speech"​

 

[Ashenclaw]

[ ☾ ] Long, talon-like claws dug into the ground below in frutration, though it was only snow that was bunched up in his toes instead of satisfying grass. He had let her get away- he hadn't been able to stop her. That blue point cat had slipped through his paws and got away with some catmint, and he couldn't believe this is what it was for. Some plants that could have been in any of the other clans. What was the point in Shadowclans' alliance if they could support the one clan? It was all madness and he sat on his haunches with a distant look to his gaze, before a familiar orange pointed pelt came into view.

Blazestar!

Then the rest of the border patrol followed in behind him, looking battered and bruised but was it more ego bruising or physical? More than likely both if he had to take a guess. Green eyes then subconciously shifted through the group of cats until spotting a familiar orange tail, leaning up against Sharpeye and never looked so exhausted. Hailstone shot up to his feet and hurried over towards @orangeblossom and @Sharpeye with a polite nod to the other warrior. He could take care of Orangeblossom from here, and he aimed to nudge her over onto his side to relieve the pressure off of Sharpeye.

"Ora, are you okay?" he asked softly and put a paw under her chin softly, she was bleeding and he looked around for Dawnglare or anyone who could help Orangeblossom with her wounds. Should he go ask Dawnglare if he needs any help? Or maybe Fireflypaw?

——————————————————[---☾---]——————————————————​

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[Sharpeye]

☁ Sharpeye walked with Orangeblossom, more than happy to assist if it meant ensuring everyone made it home safely. However, it seemed as though their home had suffered a terrible blow. WindClan... had low had they stooped in order to get their filthy paws on their herbs? Anger rippled through him, but he didn't have time to dwell on it when the she-cat he had been supporting decided to lurch forward. "Steady, Orangeblossom, conserve your strength. Please, keep leaning on me until we get inside. We can assess the damage then, but have faith in our clanmates." He could understand the worry but he knew that they couldn't haste, lest they make their injuries worse.

Sheepcurl appears, and then Hailstone. Sharpeye looks relieved, even more so when they're offered some reassurance about the others. Even if it might have been a lie to bring them false peace. He'd take it for now.
​

 

[QUILLSTRIKE]

CUZ I DONT REALLY LIKE ANYBODY​

---

He's bleeding.

He knows it, can feel the warmth of it dripping from his chest, his face, his side, but he can't bring himself to acknowledge it beyond that. He doesn't feel the pain like he should, knows it should sting and burn and scorch him far more than it does, but he isn't present enough to feel it all right now. He follows after his clanmates wordlessly, steps mechanical as blood trails in the snow wherever he steps, everything running on autopilot. His brain has staggered to a stop because he knows if he lets it start again he won't find anything good in the thoughts to follow. Nothing but fear, shame, disgust.

The fight had been a disaster.

All of his training, all the work and the supposed fucking 'progress' he'd been making had meant nothing.

There's a part of him that tries to find comfort in the fact that had it been another apprentice who'd jumped him that he would have won, but that doesn't matter because it wasn't another apprentice. It was been a warrior, a big grey son-of-a-bitch even by Quills standards, and he just couldn't fucking handle it.

All he could see was his father.

It had paralyzed him, froze his brain over until he couldn't think, couldn't remember anything he'd learned. All he could feel was claws and teeth and the weight of a bigger cat, and he hates himself because why had he frozen up like that? He'd fought, of course he had, but not like a warrior. He'd fought like a fucking child, desperately clawing and thrashing, teeth snapping wildly with no plan. And he'd lost that fight, there was no doubt about it.

So he refuses to think about it, refuses to speak, to look at himself, to look at anyone, because he knows that once he does everything will come crashing down on him. How weak he'd acted, how pathetic he'd been, how fucking embarrassing it was for a cat like him to panic like he had. And he just doesn't want to feel it right now, so he keeps it turned off. All of it.

He stands in the snow as the clan reunites, mismatched eyes dangerously empty, watching but not really seeing, listening but not hearing. His body is tense, the muscles in his shoulders and legs tense as if his body can still feel the phantom touch of teeth and claws looming over his skin and is ready to lash out or bolt. He looks distracted, maybe angry, to the untrained eye, but it's anxiety that sloshes thick through his veins like ichor. He's hurt, should probably look for something to slow the bleeding, but he doesn't because he still can't feel it properly and he doesn't want to.

So he stands and watches-but-doesn't-watch the clan reunite, enjoying every moment that eyes don't turn toward him.

OOC- He's got a gash on the left side of his face that runs down his chin and neck, some deep claw marks along his right side, and a bad set of punctures in his chest. Various cuts, scrapes, and bruises as well, but none as major as the above. He's bleeding pretty bad tbh and is only still on his feet from adrenaline and the fact that he's disassociating a bit right now. He may or may not have had a panic attack in the middle of his fight with the warrior and is still recovering from it.
​

---

skyclan - male - 10 months - bisexual - homoromantic - single - very tall tabby tomcat with broad shoulders

 

[Howlfire]

The blood on Howlpaw's face has dried now. She was mercifully spared from most of the fighting, but the newly acquired scar speaks of her involvement in defending the medicine den. Although WindClan has since retreated, Howlpaw is still on edge, her fur puffed up and her amber eyes darting around as though half expecting the moor cars to come streaming through the bushes again. Howlpaw is still on edge even when the SkyClan cats return, so amped up with anxiety that for a fleeting moment, she really does think WindClan has returned.

The reappearance of her father, leaning heavily on Thistleback to even stand and walk. "Dad!" She calls out, rising to her paws and hurrying over to the leader. Howlpaw wants to press against him desperately and extract what little comfort he could give out of him, but seeing the state he's in she holds off. "Camp is fine all things considered. Just a few injuries between us, but Morningbird is in a bad state. He rushed to my rescue when a WindClan cat kicked me. But don't worry, I got him good." It's a playful little note to alleviate the situation somewhat, though Howlpaw's eyes blaze with a hint of pride. She looks between her father and Thistleback. "You should go and see Dawnglare," She urges softly, though she doubts either needed to be told twice.​

 

[Honeysplash]

❝ INSTEAD OF WORRY ABOUT WHAT YOU CANNOT CONTROL ✧°.☀ ————————————
There was a slight limp in the motion of walking for the young she-cat, and her shoulders felt like they were on fire. The blood had stopped pooling in her eye so she could see through the crusted scabs now but that was about all that was good. Blood still ran down her right cheek from her ear and she could feel her muscle become sore, she was ready to just plop down into her own nest comfortably and sleep for the next moon or so. Though that wasn't going to happen right off the bat and she knew that because of how protective her family was over her.

Bananapaw game to a slight stumbling stop beside Quillpaw and looked up at him for a moment before snorting very loudly. The young apprentice then bent over laughing so hard she felt like her lungs would collapse before straightening up. She licked at her own chets to stifle her giggles and shook her head slightly, "We sure showed those rabbit eaters whats for!" She exclaimed to Quillpaw and looked around at the camp. Could be worse that was for certain.

speech

[penned by wolf - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ SHIFT YOUR ENERGY INTO WHAT YOU CAN CREATE ❞ ​

​

 

[SLATE]

Slate trudges back into camp along with the other border patrol members, a disgruntled scowl present on his sharp features. That... had been unexpected, to say the least. Fighting on snow had been a new experience for the former rogue, and it was truly something he'd rather not do again. He was utterly beaten, exhausted from the use of energy. SkyClan had won the fight, with RiverClan's aid at least, but that still did not excuse the fact that blood was spilled and WindClan had committed a despicable act of violence.

It appeared that the camp had been raided separately, which only made anger simmer within him more. Slate was not a loyal SkyClanner by any means but his brother could have been killed—he could have been killed—over some plants! The gall of those crowfood-eaters. "They... took one of Blazestar's lives." The statement is uttered with hesitance, as if even he's uncertain about what he's saying. Slate had been lectured on the "powers of StarClan" and all of that nonsense, but never had he witnessed the overworld's supernatural abilities until the conclusion of the battle. Blazestar's bloodied, limp body noticeably breathing itself back to life; there was a chance that he had simply sustained a deep blow and had lost consciousness, but that lifeless glaze over the leader's eyes... Slate had seen it before. It was unmistakable. He couldn't fathom this.

What must Blazestar have felt in those final moments? Had everything been swallowed into darkness or did the "light" exist, after all?

Anyhow, the ragdoll tom was up on his paws and managing to hobble back to camp, so at least he was not completely incapacitated. Slate, on the other hand, had luckily not sustained any deep wounds save for some scratches along his belly and a bite to his hind limb. The large tom accidentally twists it in an awkward manner, earning a sharp hiss through gritted teeth, "Gah- motherfucker bit my leg." That motherfucker, in particular, being a former city rogue. No longer were they on neutral terms; they were enemies as far as he was concerned. In fact, the whole of WindClan could eat dog shit for all he cared. They were rotten thieves, a pain in SkyClan's neck, and parasites that needed to be removed. Hopefully a plan of retaliation would stem from this not-so-minor incident. Blazestar wouldn't let this slide, not when he had lost a life and many cats had been injured... right?

Then, he realizes — his brother! He hadn't been on the border patrol with him, meaning he had been in camp when those moor rats launched their raid. "Where's Duskmane? Anyone see him?" Slate meowed, lifting his head and glancing around to try and pick the blue smoke out of the crowd.

​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ SLATE
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. twenty-nine moons old. warrior of skyclan; former rogue.
  —— unrefined, rough and tumble rogue who is not accustomed to clan life. only trustful of his littermate, duskmane.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  quite the hulk of a cat, slate stands above the average clanmate with an arrogant gait. he has a dark gray ( bordering on black ) colored pelt with a pale-brown-tinged underbelly and whisps of tan at the tips of his chest hairs. amber-colored eyes contrast against his dark palette. notable features include a jagged scar across his right eye and two small scratches across the bridge of his nose.
• —— decided to officially remain in skyclan as a warrior
  

​

 

[COSMOSBLOOM]

"Careful, Blazestar," he comments as he follows alongside the flame-point and his support, slow and steady as they near their home. The scent of both the river and the moors doesn't seem to leave his nose throughout the whole journey, only growing as they get closer and closer to camp, an inkling of fear growing once more with each step.

Had WindClan attacked there, too? Had they killed those without extra lives to return them to SkyClan?

A mess awaits them as they arrive back into camp.

Cosmospaw doesn't think he's ever seen the camp so in shambles, so destroyed. Even in light of the Great Battle, it's never looked so bad.

But, on the account of those who'd been in the camp, the destruction is only that. Destruction, void of death, void of loss - if one weren't to count the herbs snatched. Just injuries, within what remains of the clan's walls. For that, Cosmospaw is glad.

He licks at his chest, at his own wounds - far more minor than what lays upon some of those around him, he thinks. Things could have been worse. Might have gone worse, if it weren't for RiverClan's help. They are safe, and everyone is alive. That's what matters, in their broken camp.
​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

Lungs still heaved from anxiety and exertion, though the battle was long since over. Worry was wingbeat in his chest, the flutter of a beating heart in the worst possible way. But- pride surged within him, even as a kindling ember. No matter the aftershock that thrummed in his ribs, he had done something brave- had shirked the cowardice of which he was so often accused in the moment when it had truly mattered. In the returning patrol, wide olivine eyes sought out his mentor, eager to tell her of his accomplishment, sure at least she might be proud- but in the reunion the tang of blood tangoed upon the air, drifted toward him- and attention was snagged, seized.

There, bleeding- gushing with it, face gashed with claret strike- Quillpaw.

Immediately did Twitchpaw's face fall, crumpling into a frown. He was bleeding, badly- features scarlet-painted, eyes looking... somewhere else. Forward did he step, and then again, again, again- all until he was running, snow and mahogany blurred beneath him. "Quill- Quilllpaw!" he called, worry fraying his voice, dipping into disquietude. What had happened? Who'd done this? Well, obviously some Windclanner, but... "Quillpaw, what- what are you doing? You need to get help, you need- you need to get help," he urged, trying to force himself into the chimera's line of sight. He'd- if he stood here he'd lose a load of blood, more than he already had- he'd faint, he'd be... really, really hurt. And- he didn't want that, he didn't want...

\ fretting over @Quillpaw ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : it was somewhere he would have never expected to be. he feels out of place — looks it even more, smoke singals against the raging blizzard. skyclan camp is an open clearing with heavens roaring overhead, thing of brambles and bracken and he longs for his home with each passing moment, toes itching to the familiarity of pebble underpaw. river creature, he is rarely seen outside of gatherings and it shows in the way he tends silently, helping to pick up some of the scattered leaves of catmint that pepper the clearing and marr the snow with half intact, seeping leaves — keeping busy, avoiding idle mingling lest his paws itch to move. with delicate teeth would he pluck them up by the stems, carrying them like fragile mice towards the arching hazel bush dawnglare nests within. each step is followed by a jerking chill, biting up the lengths of his limbs despite his thick, war - tangled pelt. cicadastar tucks his tongue at the back of his maw, unwilling to touch the bitter herbs in any way he could taste, before depositing another bundle where the cinnamon - toned tom would surely collect them.

then, a rustling at the entrance and his head lifts, pallid eyes settling on the man that lumbers through, supported by a spiky tom the man vaguely recognizes as thistleback from previous gatherings. man of fire, however pale and extinguished he looks — “ blazestar. “ a breath of relief, though dissimilar to that of the warm, welcoming familiarity around him. the ragdoll is asking of casualties, of injuries, and as he draws nearer to the patrol, he realizes that they are far more injured than most of those within camp. he speaks of figpaw, fireflypaw, and he knows but one of them, the little seal point. his son — mirrored in his hulking form already, dashed with his mothers color. pallid eyes flit over him, over the shredded molly being fretted upon, over the apprentices, fur tangle and seeping with crimson, “ starclan . . “ the scent of the moors were heavy upon then and it would make his nose twist in disgust should his expression bear anything but the hollow stare of dawning, dreaded horror.

the elder. howlpaw speaks his name, morningbird, and his ears swivel back just slightly. silent. flurries rage on about him, tugging curls against the harsh winds and he does not move, tilts his gaze just slightly to the haze - ridden sky to save blazestar the pain of being watched — of an audience in his grief.

kittypets. he is surrounded by them, some still reeking of twoleg and the dry, dust - ridden scent of pellets and he shuts his eyes, hopes that those around him blame it on the roaring storm around them, wind - whipped. no longer does he burn in his hatred — instead he simmers in its wake, feels the coils of shame crawl beneath his skin. the pines . . he can smell them faint beneath the snow and his jaw clicks, he sniffs, feels his sinuses burn along with his memory. these claws had taken their previous leader, ones that now slide sharp and idle through the frost underfoot. many thanks had fallen upon his ears, upon his warriors, and he had taken them with nothing but a quiet dip of his head. house pets, some. he’d regarded them in the same polite, if not prim and reserved way. who was he, now? he thinks of beesong, thinks of blazestar, of the warriors that fought about this camp. his eyes squeeze tighter. they wanted our catmint. cinnamon - kissed tom, dawnglare, he’d said as much. a sliver of blue opens, fixates on the king until —

they took one of blazestar’s lives.

ears swivel forward and suddenly he is much more focused, polite aversion of eyes forgotten to zero in on where the man stands, “ two leaders now her mutts have attacked. “ its to himself, mostly. angry. droning. his forearms ache with the way claws dig underpaw, and the mans daughter mentions seeing dawnglare, “ she’s right, “ his pallid gaze attempt to meet the flame point’s own blue. there was little telling what windclan could do — sootstar’s blatant disregard for the lives of her warriors meant danger for the man at any moment. vulnerability could not be afforded, “ everyone is . . safe. a little one had run to our borders for help, he is with beesong. “ though his words are calm, cool, there was a dip to sloping vocals — they would speak, away from prying ears, when the skyclan leader was stabilized. perhaps the snow would lighten up in the meantime . . the trek back to the rivers would be dangerous in this blizzard, “ rest. we’ll speak when youre well. “ thats it. he does not move any closer, does not expect a thanks — nor want it. repayment, he would say. instead, he lets those around him mill about, licking injuries and finding kin, ignores the nagging sensation to find dark fur to lean into against the raging chill.

he closes his eyes again.

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−−−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

"Here." his announcement is strange, pinched thin between gritted teeth. The calamity is quelled, those deeper in their stupor lain to rest. Namely– the elder, his body heaving within that dip in the earth. Nothing detrimental, but old bones were more brittle. Nearly eager to collapse, his knees had buckled, and now they lay still, save for a gentle rise and fall. Things could have been worse. Corpses strewn and burried. But they had not been. Skyclan remains, the remnants of their torn vessels stand before him now, alongside Riverclan. He is relieved to see Blaise on his feet, even if he looks no better than a corpse. "The other two are still breathing."

Relief in the safety of his friend, but never to be banished, his anger remains. White-hot and scalding. His fur bristles like dead pine. His face remains set in it's grimace. A ruddy-twinged tail flicks back and forth in irritance. Every word rumbled piles his annoyance. High, higher, until it was bound to come toppling down in a flash of claws and teeth. Skin pricks uncomfortably; refuses to settle. No effort is truly made, no, She glowers too, the ground rumbling with the weight of Her wrath. They stand around without a care in the world, all of them. with Riverclan here, they ought to drive Windclan out. Push further, still, run them out of the holes they live in until they squeal for mercy. All but one, but one... An exception could be made, always, they could be made by his word...

Snow-touched paws patter at the ground with Sheepcurl's words. His god-given duty, he knows, he always has, but his mind shrieks all the same at the thought of strange paws rippling inside his den. His lips curl in a grimace, but soon, he stows it away. Sun-touched gaze rakes across the extent of his work. The so-called deputy... None of the council remains untouched. Mange-bitten faces, the lot of them, fussing over each other. A headache throbs at his temple. His acknowledgments are dull. Blank-face, sizzling hiss.

But his gaze would snap upward, with the announcement of Blaise's lost life. It does not change, but oh, he stares, and knows he will be talking to him later.

He hardly finds it fair. Doomed to look after the myriad of tortured souls, deserving and not quite so. (Potential thieves, all of them. What of the rouges who Blaise so kindly let into their sanctum? No good, flea-bitten, flesh-rotting...) And Riverclan's shadow, looming, not-so-subtly, speaks of discussion between the two. What was there to speak of, aside from Windclan's demise? Oh, he hopes, and he prays.

Dawnglare huffs a grunt, acknowledging the work cut out for him, but unwilling to see them, just yet. His paw taps at the ground. Narrow of his eyes, "Blaise." But a word, his summoning.​

 

[QUILLSTRIKE]

CUZ I DONT REALLY LIKE ANYBODY​

---

Somebody's talking to him, but it's not Bananapaw. He barely even registers she's there.

But someone else is speaking and he knows it, but their words don't register, their form an out-of-focuse blur at the edge of his peripherals because he wont look at them. He's tired and wants to sleep, wants to go somewhere dark and quiet and mercifully empty. Whoever it is, they're persistant though, forcing themselves into his line of sight until he has to look, has to see, and it takes longer to register than it should, but eventually his brain surfaces enough to understand that its Twitchpaw.

His thoughts seemed to latch to the cat, digging their claws into it because its solid ground beneath his feet that isn't on the verge of crumbling beneath him. Twitchpaw. Yes. There's familiarity in that, but not the kind that makes his skin crawl with thoughts from the past. He looks upset, afraid, but Quill can't figure out why, can't connect the dots when the answer it spells out is his own well-being. So he shrugs it off, because Twitch is always nervous about something and he still can't hear what they're saying properly because he's not listening. He doesn't want to listen, but he thinks he might be okay with seeing. Yeah. And maybe it makes it easier that Twitch wasn't a part of the border fight, because on some level Quill knows it would have robbed him of even this if he had been. He wouldn't have even been able to look at the other apprentice if they'd seen him crumble like that.

He didn't want them to look at him like he was broken.

There's no world for Quill beyond what he see's, his tunnel vision filled with green-gold eyes and mahogany fur as he continues to zone out, only now his brain isn't at a complete and total stop. Its scattered and disinterested in his surroundings, rolling random, barely cohesive half-thoughts together like a drunk man.

Furs tangled.. should fix it sometime.

Shaking a lot...

Cold, maybe?

He doesn't hear the concern or the words they say, doesn't want to. And it doesn't click in his brain that he's acting weird, that he's blatantly ignoring the other and just looking at them. He hasn't even realized there was a second attack lead on the camp, or that the distress on their face is because of the blood trickling off his body in an alarmingly steady drip.
​

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skyclan - male - 10 months - bisexual - homoromantic - single - very tall tabby tomcat with broad shoulders

 

[Daisyflight]

"SUREFIRE, YEAH, THE SETTING SUN WANTS COMPANY"​

Daisyflight was towards the back of the return group, but it did not quell the force with which she entered camp. Asmear with snow and muck, she lashed her frayed tail and bustled in on shallow breath. A sharp look tore through those gathered, seeking her family or apprentice.

The oak-chalk stripe of Twitchpaw caught her eye first and so the warrior wreathed her way through the throng with abandon, blood still seeping from her shoulder. Each step stitched hurt deeper, tying her stride to a short stumble. "Twitchpaw- are you injured?" A fumbling assessment took place, Daisyflight trying to look him over without disturbing his talk with Quillpaw- whom she offered a stout nod. "He’s right, you don’t look well. Both of you, get some… help.” Even affirmation sloped into distaste, the topic of Dawnglare’s healing a wound of its own.

Speak of the plush devil, and he shall appear. Her ears fell back before flaring, flag-like, as he brought news. ‘The other two are still breathing’. One of those must be Figpaw. Where were her other children? Too frantic to trust her assumptions, the calico lurched from the pair of apprentices towards the medicine cat.

"Figpaw’s safe?” Daisyflight trilled, voice hush in pain. Her daughter will have been in the medicine den, where the thieves struck. If Windclan had hurt her- She resumed her search for her family, twisting in on herself to look back at the entrance. Had Snowpaw returned yet? "Violetpaw, Butterflypaw...!”

/ checking in on @TWITCHPAW and @Quillpaw , looking for her fam
​

✿ ✿ ✿​

 

[Snowpath]

He's trailing behind the cats returning, a faint limp to his steps where claw marks had torn up his left flank and left him with a bloodied streak down an entire side; he finds he doesn't so much feel the pain as he does notice there's a heaviness to it. When RiverClan had arrived the reason for the fight itself had been revealed, a distraction and a good one at least. It had drawn out most of their stronger warriors to the front lines and left the camp unguarded say for the occasional remaining and the daylight warriors as well.

The blue tom lifts his head, golden eyes wide as he gazes around the chaos of the camp; there are cats on the ground and one is the old timer, his immediate worry flits to his sisters and Greenpaw as he does not see any of them immediately. Someone whispers about catmint being the reason they were invaded and his heart thunders as he realizes that meant the medicine cat den. Snowpaw is moving then, more expedient as he makes his way to the bush to push his head inside but he's cut off by the cats already lingering around it and blocking his path; frustrated he turns and spots the spotted pelt of his mother whipping her head around frantically. He doesn't hear his name, but he's stumbling over all the same.
"Mom, they were in the medicine cat den-make them move so we can see Figpaw."
​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

Quillpaw was looking at him- looking, but was he really? So many times had he felt a look without sight behind it, but this was... this was wrong, because Quillpaw was not the type to look at him yet fail to see him. In fact, the chimera was one of the only cats that Twitchpaw felt truly saw him. Looked past the jitters and the stammers, and... spent time with him without looking annoyed. But- now, now he wasn't just looking past the dithering nature. Now he was looking past him completely. Looking at him, but not at him.

His name, in a honeyed voice, frayed and sweet at once- startled eyes broke away for a moment, and found the face of his mentor- blood again, but where should he look? Injured friend, injured teacher? "No, no, I'm fi-ine," he choked out, worry hitching the words in his throat. It was no lie. In the carnage he had managed to avoid any sort of harm save for the slight twinge in his rib from short fall; that which was sure to soon disappear. Her family occupied her mind and her attention then, and Twitchpaw gave Daisyflight a thankful nod before turning wide eyes back to his friend.

His friend. A good friend to him, and now- now it was his chance to do something good. Quillpaw had helped him learn how to catch a bird, and his time had come to return the favour. "Quillpaw, Quillpaw, please," Twitchpaw's voice wobbled in his throat, the threat of tears fraying his tone. Strength came with the desire to help, and he wanted so desperately to aid in some way. Burning within him like the surface of the sun, a blazing want. "Please, Quill- you gotta- listen to me, okay? We- we have to get you help. I'll come with you. I'll- I'll be with you, if you want, we just- you need help." Fidgeting on the spot, restless- he let his kinked tail point in Dawnglare's direction. He wasn't the healer's hugest fan, but- he knew what he was doing. He could help in ways Twitchpaw just couldn't. ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[QUILLSTRIKE]

CUZ I DONT REALLY LIKE ANYBODY​

---

Quills looked at Twitchpaw a lot since meeting them. At first it had been out of curioisty, and then simply because he liked looking at him, and maybe thats why he notices that something isn't right. Its not just the usual jitters that have the other so upset, and without even meaning too, Quills brain begins to move a little more, and he starts to focus without meaning too. Its not much at first, but theres something inside of him thats pulling, trying to claw its way to the surface because Twitch is upset.

Green-gold eyes leave his, and he feels his heart drop. His thoughts aren't complex enough to ask why, only to acknowledge that he doesn't like it, that he misses the attention. Sluggishly, his eyes follow to where his friend is looking, and he's able to recognize Daisyflight, can hear her words bleeding through to him.

"...right...dont't look well...help."

His gaze is blank as it meets her. She was there with him, in the fight at the border. She'd probably seen, would probably tell Twitch....

The wave of nausea and light-headedness that hits him is unpleasant as he slowly starts to return to himself. His body feels like its buzzing, his head feels foggy and slowly the noise around him starts to tune in, like a radio station finally surpassing the muffled static to trickle in something coherent.

He doesn't like it.

He draws in a breath, and its shaky, unsteady, but Twitch is looking at him again, and he's talking, and Quill can finally understand what he's saying.

And.. Oh.

"Quillpaw, Quillpaw, please."

It's me, he's scared for me.

Its the first fully coherent thought he's had since returning to camp, and on its heels comes Bananapaws words from when they'd gotten snowed in together. "I'm sure Twitchpaw will be worried for you." she had said, and at the time he had shrugged it off because it was easier to say 'twitch worries about everything' than it was to admit that someone might care for him specifically.

But its hard to say that now, when out of an entire clan of bleeding cats he's standing in front of Quillpaw, sounding for everything as if he's on the verge of tears.

It squeezes something in his chest, a vice on his heart he hadn't known was there to begin with, because nobodys ever looked at him like this before. Not pity, but something else.

Dont cry. he wants to say, but when he opens his mouth the words won't come. He wishes they would.

"Please, Quill- you gotta- listen to me, okay? We- we have to get you help. I'll come with you. I'll- I'll be with you, if you want, we just- you need help."

Again, his eyes follow the trail he points out, only this time they land on Dawnglare. But he understands, he knows what Twitch is asking of him, can hear the words spilling from desperate lips, and that thing inside of him that keeps pulling toward the other apprentice has him nodding dumbly in agreement. Because even if every fiber of his being just wants to disappear, he'd still follow Twitchpaw anywhere, even if it was into Dawnglares den. Anything to keep the tears in their eyes from actually spilling over.

OOC- gonna make the twitch/dawn/quill thread now :D
​

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skyclan - male - 10 months - bisexual - homoromantic - single - very tall tabby tomcat with broad shoulders