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

[cranecatcher]

TAGS — Cranecatcher follows the cats who'd fought at the border; he feels a bit out of place in SkyClan's camp, but he feels he ought to be here anyway, if for no reason other than to wait for Cicadastar to say the word and head home. It's difficult not to feel like he's intruding on something important. So, instead of living in this moment, his mind floats back to RiverClan's territory. He hopes that kid- Greenpaw -is doing okay; Beesong is doing the best they can with him, but he still can't help but wonder what had become of it all. At least he can feel good about what he's done. Even if he hadn't gotten much of a chance to fight this battle, RiverClan's arrival is undoubtedly what had scared off those warmongering rabbit-eaters.

The feather-tailed tom lets his bicolor gaze flit over the SkyClanners. Orangeblossom looks more ragged than an old nest- and so does Blazestar, really. At least they're alive. For now, some piece of him laments, suddenly aware of the chill of the blizzard raging around him. Cranecatcher drifts somewhere near his own leader, ears swiveling to take in different modicums of conversation. None of it is very pleasant to hear. The flippant joy he tries so hard to wear turns sour just below his creamy smoke-spotted pelt. "StarClan above..." the young warrior mumbles wearily. Kin reunite with kin all around him, but Cranecatcher sits a few paces away from Cicadastar, similarly isolated.​

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[SILVERSMOKE]

Chatter filled the air of SkyClan's camp, most of it causing the tom's ears to pin back. It was only when it was confirmed that Blazestar had lost a life did he move again, finding his seat to be too uncomfortable with the knowledge that the clan was one step closer to losing its lifeline. He wanted to press for what happened, wanted to know if it was the result of a better fighter or kittypet negligence, Silver's sharp tongue remained in its muzzle tho, not curious enough to jeopardise their leader's recovery. A piercing gaze studied the camp now that a majority of the clan had filtered in, his fur bristling as RiverClanners mingled with SkyClanners, as injured clanmates were carted away to find a quiet place to tend to their wounds. Had he gotten off too lightly? Should it have been him in place of one of the apprentices? In place of Blazestar. Silversmoke cursed himself to stop thinking in such a way, unsheathing claws flexing into the snow. He needed a distraction from his own thoughts, anything to fulfill the gap in skill he suddenly believed himself to have, and it didn't take long for him to find an isolated RiverClanner.

He'd have preferred it to be a clanmate, truly. The piscine smell offended his nostrils somewhat, and he was sure if he opened his muzzle to talk to one of them, he'd have nothing in common. Still, he approached @cranecatcher , offering a stifled nod of gratitude for their assistance in the raid. SkyClan shouldn't have needed the charity, it was as shameful as losing to Silversmoke, but they couldn't deny that with the inexperience of their kittypets, it was likely necessary to save the catmint. "Did you see what happened to Blazestar? he asked them quietly, an intensity finding its way into his tone even as he near-whispered. "How he fell in battle?" The silver lining to talking to a RiverClanner about it was that, if they had witnessed the SkyClanner losing a life, they were more likely to be honest about the events. He didn't doubt that excuses might be made for the leader, both to protect his reputation and the reputation of the one telling Silversmoke, but a RiverClanner had nothing to gain from lying. They sat down close to the bengal, only to rest their bloodied leg. Even the lightest of cuts could begin to nag someone after a long time neglecting them.



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[BLAZESTAR]

Cats about him burst into activity. Daisyflight searches for her kits, Twitchpaw urges Quillpaw into treatment, RiverClan and SkyClan meet in strange, quiet solidarity. Blazestar's eyes fall on his daughter, the bloodied mark of her little face. "Morningbird is in a bad state. He rushed to my rescue when a WindClan cat kicked me." Dull anger flares in the Ragdoll's eyes, but he remains quiet, listening to Howlpaw continue. "But don't worry, I got him good."

He shakes his head, pelt ruffling like the maned lions of Little Wolf's stories. "My brave one. I'm sure you gave that rogue something to remember you by." Despite his exhaustion, he can't help the purr that begins to rumble in his throat. He leans forward, face stark with pain at the movement, so he can give his daughter a lick to her ear.

But that purr dies in his throat, remembering her comment about Morningbird. "In a bad state? How bad? They'd attack an elder?" Fear rushes through him. Morningbird no doubt gave all he had to protect the Clan that had taken him and his daughter in, the Clan they called their home now. "I will see him, before I rest." It's an order -- someone will take him to Morningbird.

His relief is palpable. Dawnglare lives, and though he looks ruffled, exhausted, he's in one piece. He's still here. Blazestar, in a rare instance of affection towards his strange, long-suffering friend, bumps his head against the sepia's face. "WindClan would not take you from me."

And who to thank for his children's safety, his friends', his Clanmates', but the tall, stately tom himself, regarding the ruins of their camp with anger like frost in pale eyes. Cicadastar. Once an enemy, unknown and skulking like a spindly shadow from the marshes, has become Blazestar's savior twice now, though indirectly. He dips his head to the other, wincing from his wound. "That's right... she's allowed her dogs to attack your Clan, and you." His voice is thick with unspent anger, but he knows there's time for that later. Cicadastar tells him to rest, and then they will talk.

Blazestar regards him thoughtfully for a moment. Then he nods. "Yes... we will, won't we," he says.

He turns to the gathered cats. "RiverClan, you are welcome to stay and rest. The snowstorm is worsening, though, and I'm sure you'll want to get back to your own camp soon." His eyes are dark as bruises as he shifts his gaze to SkyClan. "All with injuries, see Dawnglare. That is an order. After you've been cleared, we need to work on repairing our camp. I'll--" He steps forward, and the gasp that emits from his jaws is ghastly. He can't yet, it's too fresh, too sore, and he risks jostling it open if he moves too much. Embarrassed, the Ragdoll coughs, hoping to cover some of the agony that had erupted over his features. "--I'll see Morningbird, now. Howlpaw, take me to him, and then get your scratch looked at."

It's a modicum of control, one he clings to desperately. Only normalcy will repair them, only a strong leader who has shed his grief-shackles and emerged victorious.

He isn't that, but he can pretend to be -- for them.

// out; went to check on Morningbird, then to the medicine cat's den​

 

[CHRYSALISWING]

Chrysalispaw still felt the sting of Firepaw's fangs upon his neck, ivory teeth clamped against feather and yarn, yet had never hit its target. The moor-stench of the molly still hung to tapers of tousles and wisps, as though the smell of battle could never truly be washed off with licks and poultices, with cold sweat and adrenaline cutting even through sterilized domicile. And yet, he had escaped from the fray of war relatively unharmed, and even managed to land a few hits on his opponent, so the chimaera counted that as a win. He only hoped that peace would follow, especially in this cruel season. He'd rather not have to fight while his stomach still crooned of winter's famine.

Contradictory-colored gaze landed upon the gathered Riverclanners and Skyclanners, strangers and not-strangers intermingling and talking, the edges of conflict still painted upon torn skin and disheveled fur. He bit his tongue to stop the many grievances that arose, about how Skyclan didn't need the help to fend off such bony, scrawny excuses for a clan. He knew, when pride had been pushed aside, that such was not true. For now, he simply tended to his own wounds, licking at ruffled fur at the base of his nape.​