sensitive topics LIKE BONE-SPRAIN, SO BLOOD-SPRAIN ── DEV

──⇌•〘 INFO //cw for death/murder, violence, some gore. tldr provided at the end

please wait for a few posts between Wolf and Sunstride! we will let y'all know when it's open
this takes place after the gathering (was gonna be set prior, but it seems close to wrapping up so hopefully this won't bite me in the ass)

The sun rouses slowly this dawn, more quickly than during leafbare but without the bright-eyed vigor of greenleaf. During the night, the clouds misted the moors with a light rain, and the morning humidity lifts the smell of well-fed soil into the unhurried breeze. Wolfsong fills his lungs with it, closing his eye and tipping his chin skyward, the fur of his throat making as though to rustle like the lea. But the wind falters, snared by drying mats the color of the dilated pupil of blood in a body's bent shadow.

Wolfsong lowers his head to watch the earth take its next drink. Her limbs lie in stiff repose, heavy skull flattening long grasses. Her jaws are slack around the drooping remains of her tongue, ragged.

He licks his lips.


──────

WindClan's leadership is primarily earned through skill and merit. This was not so in the world he knew as a child, a world he shared with Sunstride— Sunnvar, in those days. Blood determined power, whether shed or shared, and Sunnvar was the leader's eldest son. His only son. He did not have the luxury of spares if the worst befell Sunnvar, and perhaps that partly explained how greatly expectation bent Sunnvar's neck.

Certain interests, desires, and dreams known by those of lower standing— they were not to be had by Sunnvar. He would need a brood of children, a strong bond with another colony to dissuade greedy enemies. There was an understanding between Sunnvar and Wolfsong (then Ellisif) that he did not want a molly to share his nest. It was a guarded secret; there was no predicting what his father's reaction might have been if Sunnvar defied him in this, too.

But secrets seek even the barest trickle of light. Sunnvar never knew of her unwelcome eavesdropping; she judged rightly that she would get what she wanted from his guard beast, who knew how dangerously close the coil of tension between father and son was to snapping and lashing any in range. It was his unhappy silence for hers.

──────​

He had risen when the moon reigned to check the borders. With him, he had taken only two others, and it was less a patrol than it was a scouting foray. It would be far easier for a single cat to remain undetected than several, and if they were attacked under the veil of darkness, a warning would make all the difference between victory and defeat.

Of all the faces to see at the copse of trees separating the moors from the thunderpath, hers was the least expected. He found her sniffing around rabbit prints, likely in search of her next meal, and he tracked the moment the breeze shifted directions and her stiffened spine.

In the wan glow of the moon, he saw recognition sharpen her pale eyes. "Ellisif," she greeted, without friendliness. "Or are you called something else these days? Dogbitten?" She laughed derisively, and a cold smile displayed Wolfsong's teeth. He took several steps back; she watched each carefully, though the slight flattening of fur told him she thought it a safe sign. Surreptitiously, he shifted his rear paws firmly into the dirt.

"No. To you, I am Eyetaker." Too late did she realize his positioning for what it was, and her side hit the ground hard under his weight. She didn't have the leverage to twist away fast enough from the slash of his claws, tilling blood from her nearest eye. A desperate buck dislodged him, and he rolled neatly away as she staggered to her paws. She was taller, and ate well enough that he would need to avoid the brunt of her strength, but she was now down an eye. It had already affected her balance.

When he lunged for her again, it was not at her newly blinded side— she was anticipating that. She was no fool, though neither had she been clever enough to realize he would not receive her presence peaceably. His claws struck the back of her front leg, catching on muscle and tearing, and she nearly buckled as she whirled to evade him. Both sides now weakened, Wolfsong circled her, forcing her to overcompensate for her blinded eye and injured leg.

"You would have been safer had you stayed," he said, changing direction and watching her struggle to keep him in view. "Such a long journey you could have ended anywhere else. But here you are— fate smiles on me."

And it did. By the time he wore each leg into bloodied feebleness, he had taken only scratches in return. The worst wound she inflicted was the panicked drag of claws across the sides of his front legs when he took her other eye, digging it out of her face with hungry relish. Her struggles had ceased to little more than jerking flails of limbs by the time it rolled to the ground, deflated by punctures. "For hearing what you should not have," he rasped in a snarl as he made ribbons of her ears, tearing at thin skin until little more than stubs remained, heedless of her weak yowls.

"Wait, his father—" She wheezed, trying to twist her head away from him. A talon snagged her panting tongue for the snap and saw of his teeth, and her struggles made it easier to tear the tip free.

He spat its reddened corpse out beside her eye. "A weasel's tongue." Whatever she wanted to say, he was certain it did not matter. They had left for a reason, and Sunstride did not need her poison festering in his ears.

He tore her throat open with his teeth and stepped off of her twitching body dismissively, swiping fur from his mouth. A snake silenced before the dawn. A good omen for this day, he was certain.

──────​

//tldr: Wolfsong went out early with 2 NPCs to check for any signs of enemy clans (nps are watching another section of the border). He finds a cat from his and Sunstride's old colony who found out Sun's gay af (which was only a problem for him bc he was next in line for leadership). She had blackmailed Wolfsong with this info while they still lived there, which he obviously didn't (and still doesn't) appreciate. He kills her before she could tell him (potentially) important info, which he's convinced would have just been another lie.
 
[ still not open quite yet! i don't think this warrants a cw? but talk of blood and bodies jic ]

They were of a different make than the cats that made their homes here before the clans– of this, Sunstride is entirely aware. He has stood to the knowledge of their customs, their choices. They were not what he would have made. Sootstar does not lead as he would, as his father did so far away. For however long he would remain here, there were always some that would see him as an outsider. A rogue wearing the trappings of a clan cat. He may be a warrior, but it was not in the way that they others were. There comes with him a mountain's burden. Even if it is not carried entirely alone, it is carried, it is ceaseless. It has stained more shoulders and tongues than he may ever apologize for. But Ellisif, at least, does not see it as weakness. Always, he had been at his side. Always, he had been a protector.

When they had been far younger, they had fought in the snow. A playful thing, before the other had learned to wield his body as the weapon that it was. Back in the safety of history, his paws were still clumsy, and their parents had laughed when Sunnvar, shocked, had still found himself at a youth's disadvantage. He had grown to expect it in time. Formidable as his strength may have been, Wolfsong had kissed death and found its edge. Carried it with him as a weapon. There was something to be said for that strength. He knows he cannot match it.

It is with the dawn just beginning to touch the moorlands that Sunstride finds himself on patrol. The mornings did not suit him– though there was peace to be found in stillness, he is wary of the discovery. What all might have occurred throughout the night? What would be found amidst the tall grass, or scattered about the rocks? He leads in watchful silence, and frequently rotates towards the back of the patrol to instead count heads. Better to slow his pace than to turn his head, and those that have accompanied him are not faces that inspire playful chatter. It is busy and nearly mournful, filled with wary eyes and cautious silence. There is no true joy in being outside of camp when the threat looms above their heads.

Silence has stretched on long enough that there is no guilt in hoping it would continue.

Only then does the breeze shift, and with it carries familiarity, at its best and its worst. Wolfsong. Moor flowers. Blood and acrid fear. "Wolfsong!" It is not a plea so much as a roar, a bellow that rattles his lungs as he breaks from the patrol. Death, no– injury, attack, he does not know what it is he fears but defeat is not it. To lose him in silence, perhaps that is it. An attack that he did not know of, that he could not fight alongside him in. The grass pricks at his paws as he runs towards the scent and the silhouette that blocks a section of pinkening sky. He knows the whisps of his fur, and slows. Despite the heaving inhales and exhales, catching his breath from the clutches of panic, Sunstride's stance is still strong as stone.

A memory is buried beside him. He knew of her soft fur, knew her as loud laughter and gentle eyes, and the friendship shared over battle-blood and warm bellies. One eye lies beside her, and the blood that coats the ground is not that of their enemies. He has touched it. The pads of his paws are stained with it now. When he lifts them to look, it is still hot and wet. A recent kill. As recent in memory as his leaving of home, as the place he had found here. Sunstride looks between them, this dead memory and his living ache, and rasps, "What have you done?"
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  • ooc:
  • SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
    —— cis male, he - him. thirty-six moons old. lead warrior of windclan and former rogue.
    —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
    —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.

    sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red at its base and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.
  • "speech"
 
  • Crying
Reactions: WOLFSONG
──⇌•〘 INFO //not yet open!

He has made of her death a pelt, worn atop his own as a trophy of triumph over disrespect, every drying mat of blood a crown. It is a victory he has long-imagined, though never believed he would know; she had seemed content to stay, and it was enough for Wolfsong to know that she could do nothing to Sunstride across such a distance. The battle-thrill steers his heart still, and it is only when the quickened pace of approaching paws slows to a shocked stop that the world beyond his conquest lives again. He blinks, turning his head to the tall spire of sun-shape staring between a friend and the traitor.

The automatic smile dims— as if I had needed another reason to distrust you! Realization does not sink kindly, but like the drag of her claws over his skin, wounds which now ache and keep time with his heart. Does he know which I am?

"She was no friend of yours," he says eventually, after a moment of working his jaw. His trust me goes unspoken. "I do not know why she was here, but it was not for you. I could not watch her lie circles around you in silence a second time, not with how dearly it cost."
 
[ THIS IS NOW OPEN!! ]

The way that his heart plummets is akin to a rockslide. He feels each vertebrae as it comes tumbling down into its pit of despair. With them, a million questions. Each stair-step of bone jars them loose– Do I know you as I thought I had, so long ago? A beat of his heart. Can I trust what you say? With a low, building growl, he stamps one powerful paw upon the moorland earth, his eyes squeezed so intently his ears might pop. "That was not for you to decide!" He has found himself in a pool of her blood, the scent of death around him, there is no part of him left to clamor at the ridiculousness of it. The very idea that Wolfsong would be less trustworthy than this cat, this stranger he had left so long ago– it should seem ridiculous.

"You are ruled by your passions, and they will always lead you astray." What had begun to heal between them shatters once more, but rather than the drought he had anticipated, there comes a flood. A heart's-rain of what he does not know the words for, as Sunstride presses desperately closer. His bloodied forepaw digs its claws into Wolfsong's throat. Not to injure, but to haul, to pull him closer so that their foreheads might knock together. "You stand upon a thawing river, and you tease it." Frantically, for there is no reasoning with the pulse of fear, he withdraws to paint a bloodied paw across his own face. An unintentional stain, through which he claims his place at this battlefield. The patrol he had led would find them soon, and he does not know what they would make of the scene.

Perhaps he does not wish to know.
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  • ooc:
  • SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
    —— cis male, he - him. thirty-six moons old. lead warrior of windclan and former rogue.
    —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
    —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.

    sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red at its base and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.
  • "speech"
 
  • Wow
Reactions: Marquette

.°☀ AND IF IT EVER STARTS TO FEEL BAD, LITTLE FANG


Wolfsong and Sunstride's raised voices pull Sunflowerpaw to the scene; they used to be so close, they know. Sometimes it seems they still are, flowers woven in a nest standing in contrast to a resentment whose source they cannot name, only catching notice from their own observation of their mentor. Worry claws at them from the anger they hear in distant and indistinct words, from the blood-smell that carries on the wind. A fight? The pick up their pace, cursing their limping paw.

The sight that Sunflowerpaw comes upon is becoming more and more familiar: their clanmates, covered in blood. Azaleapaw was the first, a taste of death for a child sheltered from it, a nameless face lying dead at the other apprentice's paws. Juniperfrost on the other side, skull bashed in by a faceless name, an enemy too far to reach.

It is good then, that it is neither Wolfsong nor Sunstride whose blood stains the earth.

Another nameless corpse, brutalized in a manner far more deliberate than Juniperfrost had been. Ears torn to shreds, eye and tongue ripped from skull and lying bloody by her corpse. A mangling of what was once a face, a brutality they thought neither warrior capable of. Wolfsong is far more bloodied; was it him that did this, then? The thought comes through a distant haze, Sunflowerpaw taking in the scene with a silent carefulness, a detached observation. Fresh blood drips from his throat. An attack, maybe. That'd make sense. Yet self-defense feels a hollow excuse in the face of this torn corpse.

Their fear feels distant, now, hollow. There's a ringing in their ears. Wolfsong must have had a reason for this, surely. Sunstride too -- blood drawn across his face, dripping from his paws. It was -- it was probably justified. This is just the life of a warrior, right? Fighting and bloodshed is normal. Sunflowerpaw feels their paws backing away. Their eyes are fixed on the mangled face of the unknown cat. Someone from another Clan, maybe? Or perhaps a rogue, like with Azaleapaw, like the two lead warriors once were. They must have had good reason for killing her, some kind of threat made. Blood at Wolfsong's throat, don't think about it ripped open like the rogue's own. He's fine. It's fine.

Did she deserve it, this cruel death? They can't imagine what would deem her worthy of it. Maybe she wasn't, maybe -- maybe, maybe maybe they were wrong to think their mentor kind, clever words snake-tongued. No, no they can't think that. It's fine. The stop their paws from backing away. The others will be coming. They can explain, surely. There must be some reason for this.


IT'S EASY TO EXPLAIN 'CAUSE THIS WORLD'S NOT TAME .°☀

  • //
  • SUNFLOWERPAW named by their half-brother vulturemask after his friend and mentor.
    — they/them, 5 moons.
    — windclan apprentice, mentored by wolfsong.
    — reserved yet loyal, distrusts most.
    — mild limp.

    primary character, high activity. penned by saturnid.​
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SOOTSTAR
Sootstar is no patrol member, but the crying of battle hadn't been hard to hear from where she had positioned herself in the tunnels. Sootstar had taken Bluepaw out early today, she was booked past sunhigh and didn't want her apprentice left high and dry today. So in the dawn they trained, and in the afternoon the tunneler apprentice would have plenty of chores and nap time to keep her busy.

With a beckoning whisper she leads Bluepaw out of the tunnels and above ground. The scent of blood is fresh on the air, her heart quickens with alarm then she chases the scent.

The two felines stumble upon a bloody Wolfsong and Sunstride, at their paws a fallen she-cat. Masked with the scent of blood Sootstar is unable to immediately identify her allegiance, "ShadowClan! I knew those fleabags would trespass again!" Outraged, the fur along the leaders spine begins to bristle and she gives a hostile glance torwards the thunderpath.

// @BLUEPAW
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" Give them some space." Vulturemask muttered to Sunstride who seemed awfully close to Wolfsong in that very moment, and it did not look in a friendly way either. He had been bored out of his mind so had decided to leave camp and force whoever had got the short straw of the stick to come along with him on a much unpleasant walk. All for the excuse of searching for herbs just so he had a reason to leave camp. Vulturemask did not appreciate the sight he had come across though. The dead body was of little interest to him. He might not like that Sunflowerpaw was here to witness it but sooner or later they would have to get used to see brutal scenes like these. They where no longer a kit he could protect from the cruel world in camp.

Instead his attention was on Sunstride, his eyes narrowed as he simply didn't understand the reason behind their lead warriors displeased expression to thier own coworker. " Wolfsong protected our moors from an outsider. He did what a warrior should be doing." He defended Wolfsong yes, standing behind them in this. It was more of a statement though to give some sort of comfort to Sunflowerpaw who was covering at the back as well to remind Sunstride. For whatever reason their lead warrior had gone and killed another cat in a such brutal way he was sure there was a good reason behind it. For all he knows that lowlife most likely deserved it. Wolfsong was not one who would act without reason. He had always been a good mentor to Sunflowerpaw, patient and fair. That was all he really cared about.

While Sootstar released her anger on the thunderpath in belief this unkown treat had been a shadowclanner, Vulturemask would instead focus his attention on the one-eyed tom. " Are you hurt?." That was all he would bother himself to care about. Whatever went on between the two lovesick fools was beyond his interest.



 
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──⇌•〘 INFO His ears flatten as though they might batter aside the hornets in Sunstride's breath, but they sting delicate skin until he can hear his heartbeat in every lesion. Can I do nothing with your faith? The scarred crater of his eye throbs as though freshly beset by snarling dog-teeth, and as Sunstride finds yet another flaw in the bleeding rhythm Wolfsong has devoted to him for most of his life, he is in the balance as he was that snow-gnawed night. He is a child chilled by his own blood and his life is aloft in a set of jaws staring him down, capable of crushing all that he was and all that he could be.

And just as before, it is Sunstride who decides his fate. He hauls Wolfsong in until their foreheads meet and the ground slots back into place below his paws. "For you," he rasps. "I would drown for you to walk." Red streaks his face like the last light of dusk, and fanged satisfaction writhes in his gut even as his wounds settle firmly into flesh. She will go to the next life with a viper's scars and all will know whose claws wore her eye.

He inhales deeply, and an itch turns his head to see his apprentice, stepping back slowly. The compulsion to comfort does not come; though he had cautioned against the kits seeing Juniperfrost's body, Sunflowerpaw is training to be a warrior. A body does not adjust to the cold by hiding in the warmth. Eyes do not know how to see in the dark without shadow.

Sootstar emerges into the dawning light with her daughter, immediately accusing ShadowClan, and to his surprise, Vulturemask is there to speak on his behalf. He blinks slowly, gaze lingering on Sunstride before he nods slowly, the motion tugging uncomfortably at drying patches of victory's water. "An outsider, yes. A slanderous rogue." It is not a lie, though he does not specify her target.

He meets their medicine cat's eyes and inclines his head slightly. "All scrapes but for my legs, where she clawed me well. I repaid her thrice over."
 
Bluepaw is still no seasoned tunneling apprentice; every day she must dip beneath the earth is frightening and filled with the yawning impossibility of the unknown. Still, it's begun to get easier, and some of her fear has begun to dissipate. She follows Sootstar from a small opening, breathing the fresh air in deeply. She gives her pelt a shake, despairing at the clumps of mud falling from the tangles. Perhaps there will come a time where she won't care to groom herself so carefully at the end of each excursion.

Her mother is the first to scent the blood in the air, to stumble upon Sunstride and Wolfsong. Bluepaw's muscles stiffen, eyes wide at the sight of the she-cat who has been ravaged beyond recognition. Her mother rages against ShadowClan. Bluepaw almost doesn't notice Vulturemask and Sunflowerpaw's presence; she finds herself fixated on the second brutalized corpse she's ever seen.

Though she does not fully understand it, it's far from her last.

Bluepaw's ears flick at Wolfsong's reassurance: "An outsider, yes. A slanderous rogue." The young she-cat frowns, padding slightly closer to the dead trespasser. Her tongue is missing. Her eye, too, is a dark and blood-caked socket staring eternally at the wide empty sky.

"She attacked you?" She knows it is a moor runner's job to patrol the borders. Is this how all outsiders are slain? She does not know if she could have done as Wolfsong has -- torn the tongue from a cat's mouth, ruined their sight before they met their end.

Of course, she does not know. She won't know until she is the one staring down an enemy who would have her life.

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]