pafp I've Got Fire In My Soul | Sparring Accident

[Mosspool]

𓆝 . ° ✦ Mosspool considered herself fairly adept at sparring, especially since her victory over Petalstep, which made it all the more frustrating to find her on the backfoot against Dawnstorm.

Her lungs burned with effort as she took a moment to breath, eyeing her opponent warily. She was fully prepared for him to leap at her, interrupting her attempt to find respite, but he made no such attempt. They were both in dire need of this brief moment of calm. The sparring match had been going on for longer than either could have anticipated. The rules they had settled upon were simple; they would go until one of them pinned the other. However, they had been trading blows for a while now with neither of them able to find anything decisive, and had thus settled into a war of attrition that she was decidedly losing. Out of breath and with her paws beginning to ache, she needed to find an opening soon or exhaustion might beat her even if Dawnstorm didn't.

Tensing her muscles, she hardened her resolve. She hadn't lost yet. With a sudden speed that was surprising given her exhaustion, she darted forward aiming to slam into Dawnstorm - probably harder than she should have - and force them to the ground so she could pin them quickly. Mosspool needed to end this now

✧　°　.　✶　.　°　✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: — wait for dawnstorm
• 

  MOSSPOOL — SHE/HER･ 12 MOONS ･ WARRIOR & RIVERCLAN ･ PENNED BY @empyrean !

  Longhair black tabby with deep green eyes. Mosspaw is a very tall molly, standing a head above most cats her age. She has a slim, willowy physique with subtle musculature built up from a lifetime of constant training that lends itself well to swimming and running. Long, thick brown fur falls over her form with tabby patterning across it. Her eyes are a vibrant green, and shine with a bright intelligence and confidence.

​

 

[DAWNSTORM]

die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

His breath felt ragged, rasping against sensitive muscle, feeling the crisp air breeze down a parched throat, feeling great puffs against a parted maw. His flank rose and fell with each gasping mouthful, ears angled forward, staring at Mosspool with laser focus. Risking failure to admit defeat to another wasn’t something that he could accept. Trained since he was young, Dawnstorm couldn’t fail his father. Not today.

The liquid pain brushed against sensitive nerves, igniting a bottomless pit within him, never reaching, but skimming the surface. He was content with the familiar burn of aching muscles, cracked paw pads sinking deeper into the ground with sheathed claws, something his father scowled at, but a rule that Dawnstorm found refuge in. He was used to the pain. Lessons long learned from moons worth of time and dedication. Dawnstorm had a well-developed resistance to pain. Something he prided himself on, despite all else, was the one thing he could latch onto.

Despite the pulse of his limbs, he couldn’t help but be thankful for the brief intermission, limbs too slow to react, Dawnstorm barely had time to jerk away when her body slammed into his own, knocking the breath from his lungs in great, gasping breaths-stunned.

He choked, maw parted in an open-mouthed wheeze, chest shuddering beneath her weight with flailing paws, already well knowledgeable in the bruises that would form like ripples in bright bursts of purples and yellows.

The befuddled sensation of pin pricks licked at his skin, drawing him to the surface, chest shuddering with another silent cough that was unfamiliar but not as unpleasant as he thought. It wasn’t until beads of blood bubbled to the surface, barely more than a flesh wound, that it felt odd, having another cat’s claws sink into supple flesh, but this was born out of a desperate need to end this drawn-out fight.

His mind muddled, Dawnstorm sucked in a breath, letting out a pained grunt, muzzle wrinkling, bones turning into liquid, the bi-colored tom fell limp in Mosspool’s hold, pressed into the ground, muscles sore and limbs feeling like lead. ​

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thought speech​

 

[shellpaw]

watching the warriors spar was something shellkit rarely got such a front - row view to, but the snow was light today — she ventured out with permission, and a promise to flick the powder from her ears every now and then so the frost doesn’t bite at lily - soft skin. it’s a fair trade for letting her sit, nestled in a bank of chilled ivory watching mosspool and dawnstorm circle one another before leaping in with claws well sheathed. she gasps, coos, her maw shaped in a wide o because one day, that would be her. strong and smart and quick ; not for the first time, she wonders who her mentor would be. what if it was mosspool, or dawnstorm? what if she would learn these very moves, these crushing blows..

they seemed more painful, the further along this spar went. the brown tabby slams dawnstorm to the ground, his muzzle bunched in the dirt and shellkit stands, lifts onto her tippy toes to see his face, how it twists uncomfortably — was this still part of the game? were their claws still sheathed? her voices wheezes with a sudden, tightening alarm, head swiveling for an adult. a different adult, ” um! um, please stop — i think he’s really hurt.. “ dawnstorm had been part of the colony, she knows, but did he deserve this? was that why mosspool was beating up on him? she should let go, right? she should let go. this wasn’t being a warrior, was it?

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 𓇼 𝙎𝙊 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙎𝙊 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘿

• i.
  
  
• 
  
  
• 
  
  SHELLKIT 𓆉 SHE / HER, KITTEN OF RIVERCLAN. KINDLING xx UNKNOWN, NIECE TO SMOKESTAR. TWO MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE SALT & RIVER BLOOMS. PENNED BY ANTLERS.
  delicate lilac - striped molly with sugarplum eyes.
  
  she is pallid ; platinum splotched with ribbons of shell - touched cream, wisped ends like memories of a distant shore. feather breath and elderdown fur conceals a body worn fragile by tumultuous youth, too thin in some places and round with baby fat in others. her face is short - muzzled, framed half mast by eyes coined warm, sugared amber ---------- ° ❀ ⋆
  

  currently exhibiting symptoms of whitecough. this includes a running nose, wheezing, sluggishness, and labored breathing. please keep contagion in mind.

  
  

​

 

[iciclefang]

A spar between Clanmates draws Iciclefang from her nest like a hummingbird to plump petals glistening with nectar. The tortoiseshell sits a few foxlengths from the fray, her blue eyes following the whirlwind movements of each feline. Mosspool is a formidable warrior, intelligent and sharp, refined like whetted claws after the journey to find lungwort. There's determination burning deep within both sets of eyes—but in the end, the young Ripple Colonist is overtaken, pressed to the earth with a hard thump and pinned by rippling tabby forelegs.

"Well done," she says coolly to her Clanmate. One of the poor kits—one of the ones who'd been abandoned and taken in by Hazecloud, she recalls—cries out, her tiny pelt fluffed up with fear and protest. Iciclefang murmurs, "There's nothing to fear, Shellkit. This is just a friendly spar between Clanmates. Nothing more, nothing less." She sees it that way, anyway. Her own warrior assessment had been a brutal, lengthy public spar very similar, claws extended and teeth bared. That Dawnstorm wasn't able to remain standing is a testament to his willpower, to his skill.

After a heartbeat, she rises to her white-tipped paws, padding over to where Mosspool has the snow-spotted tom pinned. "Are you alright?" The question is devoid of warmth, but she flicks a critical cerulean gaze over him all the same, looking for especially nasty nicks, for limbs hanging wrong. "Perhaps you should see Ravensong."

, ”​

​

 

[Mosspool]

𓆝 . ° ✦ Mosspool had to grit her teeth as she slammed into Dawnstorm, feeling the impact of it on her exhausted body almost as much as he did. With what strength she had left, she tried to force him into a pin.

A shuddering sigh of relief left her as Dawnstorm went limp beneath her. Pride welled in her chest. It had been a long hard fight, but victory was hers. Her grip relaxed, and she opened her mouth to congratulate her opponent on a match well fought, but she was distracted by Shellkit's cry. She blinked. Glancing down, she pulled up a paw to find the pinpricks of blood beneath them. Her eyes shot wide open. In a burst of shock, regret, and shame, she pulled quickly away from Dawnstorm, as though burned.

How had she not noticed unsheathing her claws?

Iciclefang was quick to come to congratulate her, to come to her defense, but Mosspool is quicker to shoot her down. "No." The word is spoken sharply, overly so. She would not suffer to see the rules bent, even if to her benefit. At best it was underhanded that she had used her claws without warning Dawnstorm, at worst it was outright cheating, even if it had been an accident. That she had gotten caught up in the heat of things like she had spoke to a lack of discipline unbefitting a warrior. Her ear flicked.

"You are not allowed to use your claws in a spar, unless you agree on it beforehand." Mosspool told Shellkit firmly; half as instruction, half as acknowledgment that the child was right. Forcing her face into carefully practiced neutrality, her attention turned back to Dawnstorm. "My apologies. As I have broken the rules, I have forfeited the match." She dipped her head in apology (and to hide how her mouth quirked downward in irritation). "Victory goes to you."

Her head did not stay bowed, she turned quickly away. "I will go fetch Ravensong." She said curtly, though not to anyone in particular. Her tail lashed behind her as she walked away.

✧　°　.　✶　.　°　✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  MOSSPOOL — SHE/HER･ 12 MOONS ･ WARRIOR & RIVERCLAN ･ PENNED BY @empyrean !

  Longhair black tabby with deep green eyes. Mosspaw is a very tall molly, standing a head above most cats her age. She has a slim, willowy physique with subtle musculature built up from a lifetime of constant training that lends itself well to swimming and running. Long, thick brown fur falls over her form with tabby patterning across it. Her eyes are a vibrant green, and shine with a bright intelligence and confidence.

​

 

[bubbleburst]

"GOT A LITTLE CASH NOW SO THAT SKIRT IS DIOR"​

Mosspool is a cat that Bubblepaw- despite their limited interactions with one another- finds herself looking up to the most. It is most likely because Mosspool preceded her as Aspenhaze's apprentice, and all the praise and renown the tabby seems to have are alluring to the silvery apprentice. There are many RiverClan cats who have faced long and difficult sparring matches, and Bubblepaw sees it as a testament to their strength rather than any sort of brutishness.

The drawn out match between Mosspool and Dawnstorm draws her attention as it does others. Bubblepaw watches intently from a distance. Secretly, she roots for Mosspool to prevail as the sparring grinds on minute after minute. It's almost exhausting to watch them go at it for so long. Suddenly, Mosspool seems to have a burst of strength and slams Dawnglare to the ground. She blinks in surprise. Just like that, Mosspool has ended the spar and Dawnglare is limb beneath her paws.

Iciclefang approaches the pair first, and Bubblepaw follows while maintaining her distance. She refrains from cheering, though she wants to. Mosspool seems oddly... Defeated. "I think you did a good job," she murmurs to Mosspool as the warrior moves away to fetch Ravensong, but even Bubblepaw knows enough given her tail lashing and irritation to stay clear of her path.​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[DAWNSTORM]

die with memories , not dreams .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He blinked at the sudden lack of weight, picking himself up and off the ground with a tired grunt, plumed tail swishing against the ground in confusion. What? He hadn’t won. “You—” He licked his lips, chest shuddering from a swallowed cough, brows creasing. “Did nothing wrong.” He added, turning to Iciclefang, not before his neck twisted awkwardly, sandpaper tongue rasping against the swallow wound, ear flickering. “I am fine.” He mumbled.

He didn’t see the need, to bother Ravensong for something small. His pride was certainly wounded, and no doubt his father would give him hell for losing something as simple as a spar. He winced at the thought, dark lips curling into a frown. “It is nothing.” He added, gaze shifting to Mosspool’s retreating figure. “We both lost.” He completed, helm nodding in determination.

Mismatched hues lingered on Shellkit, offering the familiar kit an awkward smile. “Alright?” He pointed to her, helm tilted in concern. He had been at fault as much as Mosspool, losing themselves in a desperate need to finish things before their limbs gave out. ​

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thought speech​