lamb in the lion's den [wc] panic attack

[icebreath]

[ TL;DR: It's nighttime, and Icebreath silently worries for a while before suddenly standing up, potentially disturbing anyone sleeping next to her. Then she crouches back down and eventually starts to have a panic attack, loudly sobbing and gasping for breath. Feel free to have your character be as kind or as judgmental as is realistic, I don't mind any harshness! :3c ]

The sandy hollow is almost eerily quiet. Moonlight filters through the canopy overhead; Icebreath looks up to see slivers of starry sky peering down at her between the leaves. It's nothing compared to the moorland's vast, open blues. She's accustomed to this type of separation; the tunnels fall below StarClan's domain, tucked away from their watchful gaze. The prospect was daunting in her youth, when she was first adjusting to the tunnelers' regime as an apprentice -- such a dangerous job, made even more threatening by the the distance from their gods. But despite the doubt that's plagued her throughout her life, Icebreath learned and adapted. She's proven to herself that even without StarClan's active guidance, she can function in such a uniquely perilous environment. Beyond that, she can succeed. But then, at the end of the day, she could always trust that the stars would welcome her home after every underground excursion, cleansing her each night and blessing her as she slept beneath their soft light, infusing her with their divinity. It's what's always given her the strength to return to the starless tunnels every day -- her faith in the heavenly protection they impart on her, even when she's beyond their reach.

And now it's been cut off entirely. The stars' twinkling feels like a mockery, their blessing so close and yet so far, locked behind the treetops. In the blink of an eye, everything has changed... on what? A random whim? Are the stars truly so fickle? They're tainted, Icebreath muses as they recall Sootspot's declaration with unease in their pounding heart. How else could they have allowed their most devoted followers to fall into such upheaval? Sickness, death, invasion, exile from their sacred moors. There are no blessings left to give, certainly none that Icebreath wishes to accept; she can only imagine them now to be curses. The stars have left a trail of destruction in their wake, leaving WindClan oh so vulnerable in this foreign, hostile place. What new threats might be lurking in the pressing undergrowth or in the looming trees, sent by the gods they'd once devoted themselves to? The gods who had once protected them?

All of the unknowns have made it difficult to sleep in these woods, nestled among the looming trees. She's used to enclosed spaces, unlike the moor-runners, but it's unsettling nonetheless. Icebreath finds some comfort in being surrounded by so many clanmates, but not much. Anything could be lurking within the undergrowth, its form hidden in the pressing darkness and its scent blending with the overwhelming concoction of odors she struggles to distinguish on account of their unfamiliarity. Maybe StarClan is helping to conceal them.

They stare vainly out into the distance through tired yet watchful eyes, tail tip twitching restlessly, until the rustling of a nearby bush yanks her attention elsewhere. Her cheeks are warm and her muscles are taut, her claws digging into the sand to anchor herself. ThunderClan, she immediately thinks. It's so difficult to tell -- everything in this dreadful forest smells like them, and the cacophony of the windblown foliage works in tandem with her sleeping clanmates' breathing to drown out any auditory hints toward an ambush. Impulsively they stand up and take a single step forward, paying no mind to any nearby clanmates they might be disturbing. In their haste, they place too much weight on their injured paw and immediately stop with a wince, inhaling a sharp breath through clenched teeth. Their heart rate spikes with the sudden pain, anxiety pulsing through them like electricity. Her paws feel numb, her head light.

She's in no position to fight, physically or mentally. She's so tired and hungry. She could wake someone else up, or shout to scare off any possible attackers, but what if she's wrong? What if it was just a squirrel? This is a forest, after all. I'm being stupid. ThunderClan's been merciful thus far, and if they're wrong then they'll certainly be met with annoyance at best and scorn at worst. They sink back down to the ground, but they crouch instead of lying down. What if they're trying to lull us into a false sense of security? Her breathing is rapidly quickening, owlish eyes darting this way and that.

Was that the flashing of a pair of eyes, or was it a firefly? Or there -- cats' pawsteps or the scurrying of a rodent? She's starting to feel dizzy. StarClan, help me! But they can't, they won't. They're the reason for all of this. Right? Yes. It's all too easy to imagine Sootstar's piercing gaze boring into her, staring right through her, sensing her cowardice and failure. One failure after another, that's all Icebreath is comprised of, culminating into a poor excuse for a warrior who can't even act to protect her beloved clan. She could be investigating right now, or alerting someone, anyone, pushing past her feeble pain and anxiety to do what's right, but fear roots her to the spot. Her breathing is turning into gasping. It's hard to get any air. She feels so dizzy, so hot despite the cool night air. They want to run but they can't, and they hate themselves for even thinking it, and then they start to worry about waking up their clanmates with their wheezing and then they fear what might happen if they're caught in such a pathetic state. You're pathetic. How hasn't Sootstar chased you out yet? They grit their teeth, trying to steady their breathing, but the effort only stresses them further.

She will, if ThunderClan doesn't kill you first.

A sob suddenly erupts from Icebreath's dry, constricted throat, and the floodgate opens. Hunched over and shaking as if chilled to the bone, she desperately wants to run and hide -- away from her clanmates' prying eyes now, ambush be damned. But all she can do is weep.
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[Graypaw.]

Cowardice was not unknown to the gentle, small feline. It had been what felt like moons since they had evacuated her moorland home; when she hid in the brush, watching, listening to the yowls and cries of battle. She had seen the sprays of blood and the gaping wounds. Claws against claws, teeth tearing clumps of fur from the warriors and apprentices that partook in the battle. But not her. No, it was at the slightest sense of fright that the young apprentice had burrowed herself in the fauna and flora that dotted the landscapes of her moorland home. It was a choice she had made in a mind still kitten like; she had proven to be a failure; weak, foolish, selfish.

It was these spiraling thoughts that had kept her wandering around ThunderClan's territory. She doubted it was safe to be out and about on her own. The death of her mentor had left her with weeks that lacked training. She had no formal battle experience even in the safety of the training grounds. She was a tunneler, thus far, and her whiskers had not touched the sides of the dark tunnels. She had yet to experience the damp, thick darkness that embraced the tunneling felines. It was, in her eyes, a courageous job. A job she was proud of, having been taken into the paws of her former mentor with ease.

"I miss you," breathed the young feline as she turned her golden gaze to the starry sky. Her mentor, young, active, healthy; a warrior of great pride had been taken far too soon. Despite her limited relationships, her mentor had been a positive experience until the day came that they fell ill with what would later become a fatal case of yellowcough. She still remembered the moment her nose touched the cold, lifeless body of her teacher.

She found herself then in the brush around where her Clanmates had come to rest while they prepared for what she hoped was the inevitable return to the vast rolling hills of her homeland. The shift in the bush caused her to pause midstep, her nose twitching. Someone stood mere meters away from her. The scent of ThunderClan spread across the territory - she couldn't separate the stench of the forest dwelling warriors with the scent of sick, pale, scared WIndClanners. Graypaw took a solid stance and dared not move, her ears alert as the tip of her tail swayed back and forth behind her. She ducked her head, narrowing her eyes, waiting. It was as the sob erupted from the warrior that the apprentice realized it was no enemy beyond the foliage - it was a Clanmate, disturbed from her rest.

"Hey," the she-cat said in a hushed whisper. "Are you alright?" she took a gentle, hesitant step forward. "It's okay, I'm a WindClanner."

 

[FOGBOUND]

your entire existence gives me a headache, go stand over there .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“I think that is quite obvious, don’t you agree?” He heaved himself onto tired paws, observing the panicked molly with a crinkled brow. He couldn’t help but remember a molly he knew all those moons ago.

Fogbound sighed, annoyance dancing within ruby optics at the pitiful display, so out in the open that anyone could stare with judgemental hues. His thoughts drifted to Redpaw, poorly done comfort, but he had attempted, even if the sound grated on his ears.

“Icebreath.” He rumbled, tone sharp and demanding. If she kept this up, she’d wake up the entire clan and he certainly didn’t want to deal with that so late into the night. The bulky moor runner settled beside the feline, taking exaggerated breaths that made him lightheaded, but all in the name of being a gentleman, as much as he wanted to be anywhere but here. “It’ll be wise to get your breathing under control, otherwise, you’ll pass out, mhm? There. There. Might I suggest toning it down? You’ll wake everyone up with your tears, my lady.” He hoped this would give her a decent distraction, otherwise, he really would have to drag her out of the sandy hallow and somewhere quieter before she flooded them with her panicky sobs. “Can you hear? Follow me, my lady. You’ll feel much better.”

Fogbound didn’t dare touch the other, keeping himself at a distance, ruby optics narrowed. The smokey moor runner nearly veered the apprentice’s attention in search of water but thought better. If there weren’t rogues running about, then maybe then, but now? He didn’t want to deal with the backlash. He huffed, muzzle crinkling in bubbling annoyance, but schooled his expression, calmness radiating off of him in waves. ​

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thought speech​

 

[icebreath]

Inevitably, she is approached -- but not with the derision she expects. It's a gentle voice that greets her, a youthful one. Through teary eyes she peers up at the molly standing over her, recognizing Graypaw with a pang of embarrassment. An apprentice, hardly more than a kit, is witnessing her like this. Icebreath has half a mind to stop crying right then and there, but she is of course past the point of no return; her best attempt at controlling herself ends in more hiccupy gasps and eyes screwed shut, as if looking away will somehow prevent her from being perceived any further. Graypaw is a fellow tunneler, no less -- once they're back home, Icebreath will have to patrol with an apprentice who's seen her in such a humiliating state. If they ever make it home. The mental correction -- what feels like an awful realization -- yanks another sob from her weary lungs. She's not sure if she could muster a coherent reply if she tried. She doesn't want to. Acknowledging her would make this feel even more real.

Another voice chimes in, this one more brittle. Fogbound. This is a stark difference from his friendly demeanor last they'd spent time together, and understandably so. What a burden she is. What a weak, embarrassing, foolish, cowardly burden. They grit their teeth and clench their jaw in an attempt to hold back their tears, but the tension quickly becomes painful and it isn't doing much to help, anyway, so they let another sob burst from their maw, and another, and another. It's hard to breathe, and it's evident enough that Fogbound comments on it. Shame keeps gnawing at them and it keeps them frozen in place, owlishly wide eyes trained on the ground before them, their vision largely blurred by tears. Thick droplets stream down her cheeks, and if nothing else at least it cools down her almost feverishly warm face.

He's breathing. He's breathing slowly, loudly, guiding her. She tries to match it but almost every inhale squeezes little more than a tight, breathless squeak from her compressed throat. You'll wake everyone up, she internally echoes the tom. Stars above, that is the last thing she wants, but she just cannot shut herself up -- and Fogbound's suggestion sends terror coursing through her trembling frame. "B- bu- but..." they squeakily blubber, far too loud. "What if- what if we get attacked?" It's a wonder that she manages to get anything out. "Thun-ThunderClan -- I thought I heard something..."

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[Whisperwish]

Whisperwish is also stirred from her slumber, although sleep never comes easy to her these days. Ever since joining WindClan as a young cat, she’s grown increasingly more and more jaded, feeling like she must endlessly keep one eye open. She has many enemies, though it is no fault of her own. At least, not fully. She doesn’t even know where she would go if not the moors; would someone like Blazestar even take her in? She has spent many nights thinking of what she would do if she were exiled, but she thinks that the more likely outcome would be getting hunted down and killed. She is not a fighter, and while she is speedy, the rest of the clan is as well. So instead, she spends her time lying in wait, staying quiet until Sootstar meets her demise.

She quietly approaches the small gathering of cats, and her expression softens even further at the sight of Icebreath trying to break down as quietly as possible. It breaks Whisperwish’s heart to see someone shrink into themselves, becoming so small. She should not have to be so afraid to make noise, as trying to bottle it up will only hurt more. Whether it be their own clanmates, the rogues, or ThunderClan taking advantage of their weakened state, there are a lot of forces working against them. But it shouldn’t have to be like this. She hates that it’s like this. Her eyes shift towards the ground as she lets herself process her own emotions. She wouldn’t be much help if she lost her cool, and she’s used to having to solve her issues all by herself.

Fogbound’s attempt to calm her down seems to have little effect, and him pointing out that Icebreath shouldn’t be so loud as to disturb those sleeping makes Whisperwish annoyed. They have clearly already realized that, and saying it to her isn’t going to help. After the blue lynx point expresses their worries about being attacked, she brushes her tail against them in a calming manner. “I don’t think ThunderClan would bother us in the middle of the night, but just in case... maybe one of us can check to make sure?” Whisperwish gingerly suggests.

“Just keep trying your best to breathe. You can even cry into my pelt, if you wish. You need to let it all out, and it’ll let you do so quietly.” Whisperwish removes her tail, staying close in proximity but not too far, should Icebreath take her up on her offer. The silver tabby then looks towards Fogbound, hoping he’d be a gentleman and offer to be the one to survey the perimeter. “And you should go back to bed, little one,” she says to Graypaw next. The apprentice is still young after all, and needs to get proper rest.​

 

[FOGBOUND]

your entire existence gives me a headache, go stand over there .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

He huffed a quiet breath, helm tilted, listening to Icebreath’s shuttered response, tail curling around massive paws with a rumbled hum. “My lady, you speak of things that your tired mind has conjured, but all in good faith.” He shifted away from the crying feline, glancing at Whisperwish with a dip of his helm. “If it will ease your worries, my lady. I shall walk the perimeter and return with my findings.” He had never been good at comforting and supposed he should leave it to the other, offering her fur to the bubbling feline, voice squeaky and terrified.

The bulky moor runner shifted onto lazy paws, ruby optics scouring their temporary camp, tail flickering to brush against Icebreaths’ side in a silent gesture of comfort. He had little faith in ThunderClan, but even HowlingStar had morals and would not dare to attack. He couldn’t say the same for the rogues. Dreadful beasts.

Before he padded off, Fogbound shifted, glancing at the quivering molly through a ruby peripheral, helm curved just slightly. “If there comes a time when we are invaded in this sandy terrain, I can promise I will be there to be your shield. Do not worry, my lady for I rarely make promises.” He hummed. “Of course, if my words have any merit, you are safe.” He added, whisking himself away to patrol the sandy hollow. ​

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thought speech​

 

[hollowcreek]

The soft lull of sleep had crept on him like a sneaky adder, wrapping itself around him with aching joints and tired yawns. Hollowcreek had fought sleep just as he had nearly every night they spent here, his thoughts full of unfinished strategies and wishful fantasies of how they would overcome the rogues and return home.

The stress of being displaced had weighed heavier on the shoulders of their more fragile Clanmates, he noticed. Particularly to those more whiny than himself or the other moorland veterans. He hoped the trials of their situation would give their apprentices a wider perspective of how easy their lives were any other time. That it could be worse, they could all be without their precious stars and their leader undermined by rogues.

The sleeping adders and constricted further around him as his eyelids felt heavy, a lazy tongue dragged over his paw. Fangs were mere whiskers length away from sinking him into slumber when Icebreath jolted up to her paws and-

"Are you crying?" Hollowcreeks voice is hardly even a whisper over the sound of cricketsong. His Clanmates offered her support which he found meager, coddling her as though she were a kit. Irritation began to build where peaceful rest had started to take. "Frightened awake over our hosts attacking us? I thought the owls would have done that instead. You tunnelers are so small, they could just sweep you up in the night. No one would know until you're gone." Another yawn split open his jaws before he nestled his chin on his paws again.

"Have fun on your moonlight walk, if you can even catch any moonlight in this forest." ​

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"speech"​