LOOKING FOR A KEROSENE CURE [ ★ ] SAVING CAMP . MOOR-RUNNERS

[Bluepool]

Smoke blackens the sky and Bluepool can no longer tell if it is morning or evening or something in between. When she looks upwards, she is not greeted by the familiar sight of blue or of their ancestors looking down upon them but rather by an endless expanse of clouds. If StarClan was watching, even through all this, what were they thinking? Surely, everything would be alright right? StarClan would not allow for an entire clan to be wiped out entirely right? It's what she thinks but then she remembers everything terrible they have done under the name of her sister and she wonders if the stars had decided that WindClan was a plague, an infected leaf that would take down the entire vine if left unattended.

Running is a welcome distraction from the thoughts that go racing through her mind. Her muscles scream with the effort but she pushes onwards, running faster than she ever has. In her mouth, she holds the water soaked moss she and the other moor runners were spending all their energy fetching from the sun-warmed pool to bring back to camp. If they soaked the gorse, then perhaps the fire wouldn't be able to consume everything in its path and that was only an extra precaution for if it managed to jump the trenches that Scorchstreak and the other tunnelers were currently working away at.

Sorchstreak. Her heart twists when she thinks of her mate, of how the fire-touched molly had refused to meet her gaze. Later, there would be time to reconcile but for now, they had a home to save. It would all be for nothing if they couldn't at least do this. "Put a little bit more here!" she barks the order out as she motions to the wall closest to the nursery. If nothing else, the queens and kits would need safe shelter when they returned the most and if need be, the elders could sleep with them. "We need more... two more cats go to the sunwarmed pool, now!" and may their paws be swift.

// this takes place at the same time that the tunnelers are digging out the trenches, anyone who stayed back in camp during the evacuation is free to post in this

( ➸ ) test my worth in blood

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  BLUEPOOL WINDCLAN LEAD WARRIOR ; SHE / HER ; SISTER TO SOOTSTAR & MINTSHADE
  

  A small framed moor runner with a blue toned pelt and black stripes. Her tail is cropped and her eyes are golden in color. On her chest, she sports a large 'X' shaped scar.

  ✦ Difficult in battle. A skilled fighter + isn’t above using dirty tricks in order to win
  

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[FEATHERSPINE]

Featherpaw felt as if her mind had not ceased oscillating since finding out of Sunstar's death. It had boucned from sadness to rage to lostness, and now coiled cautiously around something akin to hope. It did not show on his face; the chocolate tom still help the same look of fervent disdain that stained his expression so relentlessly, though within the yellow embers of sharp eyes, one could see the flickers of determination.

The worry that licked like inferno at his bones for the tunnelers was forced away, shoved beneath the steel trap of her heart, and Featherpaw's restless consciousness settled desperately on one thing- the mission. Her mentor. Bluepool would not be his mentor for much longer- the meeting that would make him a warrior would come soon after this smog had parted, surely- but despite his misgivings of her penchant for wasting time, or her often-whimsical moods, he regarded her highly.

She would not admit it, of course. It wouldn't do to inflate her ego.

Put a little bit more here, she barked, and without question Featherpaw swiftly obeyed, soaking the gorse outside the nursery; her moss was beginning to run dry, though. It seemed he was not the only one- Bluepool's next call was for volunteers. Thoughtless but for duty, Featherpaw stepped forth immediately.

She said nothing. Yellow eyes met the somehow-warmer golden of her mentor's gaze- for a few, fleet seconds she held Bluepool's look. Within needle slit pupils was an assurance, barbed and hardy like everything Featherpaw did. You can trust me to do this without you. Between them had sparked only a fraction of a moment, but that would have to be enough- for, heeding the order, Featherpaw took off like a falcon. She was not naturally fast, but Bluepool had trained her legs to be strong and swift- peregrine-flight, she flew toward the sun-warmed pool with purpose, fire within her melting the frost of her soul. ​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[SNOWGLARE]

જ➶ It's too hot. He can feel it baking his skin. Searing his flesh . But he keeps his maw shut to avoid any suspicion of what is going on with him. If he starts panting they might send him away to Riverclan and he wants to do the best that he can to save the camp. He knows he is fleet of toot and that he can cross these distances to bring back water logged moss as quickly as he can. With Slateheart hurt he feels the need to do so for him as well, knowing he would have been here to help if possible. His paws quickly shift across the drying grasses, gaze hazy at best. He can't spare a thought to Starclan. If this is some divine punishment or not. Those that are alive need his attention, this place that he stands upon. Turning his head toward Bluepool them he gives a sharp nod of his head. Swiftly he turns, perhaps too fast, and he follows after Featherpaw. Close to the pool paws crumble for a moment and he takes a deep breath in. "Come on, Kat. Get up." Nausea rolls and he shakes his head before pushing himself to his paws, with moss in tow he quickly starts to soak the moss he has managed to collect, eyes glancing to the apprentice.

"How are you holding up, Featherpaw?" He asks with a rough rasp to his voice. Pink stained hues flick back to the water as he continues to quickly put lore and more moss into the heated liquid. Hopefully the flames will be deterred enough to not burn down what they cover up. But at the same time he wonders if saving the camp is worth it? Can they not take up shelter somewhere else and Starclan if they exist can't they send them some much needed rain to make all of this stop?​

 

[Quietcrow]

☾ ⋆*･ﾟQuietpaw was stuck in a daze, and while he desperately tried to shake it off, it wouldn’t leave him. It was as if he’d been trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Sleep had long since lost its appeal, and he was just staying awake by sheer willpower now. His worries prevented him from even closing his eyes for too long in case something else happened.

At least the most valuable have been moved to Riverclan. He contemplated it for some time but decided against it. His throat itched and burned from all the coughing due to the smoke. But so long as he didn’t say anything, his scratched throat wouldn’t reveal itself. So no worries; he didn’t talk much anyway. Quietpaw also really didn’t want to leave Windclan, even if his home was slowly being wrecked by flames. No one was willing to give up on their camp both tumblers and moor runners doing their best to keep the fire at bay. Quietpaw couldn’t stand the thought of being somewhere else if he was still alive he’d rather be around helping out.

His body wobbled a bit as he walked; it felt good to push himself and use his hard-earned muscles, running back and forth. But the fatigue ate at him. Quietpaw submerged his moss back into the pool, letting it fully soak up again while sitting down for just a minute. He sighed and looked up at the blackened sky, scowling as if it were the sky’s fault for all their problems. 'Could Starclan even see how much everyone is struggling through the smog?' At the sound of other cats voices, he plucked his moss back out of the warm water. He nodded politely to the others along his way back to camp.

ooc Information

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  Quietpaw — he/him ･ 8 moons ･ apprentice, Windclan ･ PENNED BY @Ghostunes!

  A timid mostly black tom with white markings on his chest and backTags ​

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[rivewhisper]

"TAKE ME TO YOUR ORCHARD, SO SWEET"​

Her paws burned, but she would not stop. She couldn't. Fire licked ever closer to that of Windclan's heart. Anger and firey determination had her drumming her paws against beaten earth, eyes squinted against smoke and her lungs burning. Moss, clung in her jaw, full of water soaked her tongue and her throat. Water dripped over her mouth, onto her outstretched paws. Her belly-scar ached, nearly screamed, with each full extension of her body, but the tabby couldn't fall or fail. She couldn't. She can't.

Her darker browns pass that of lighter, her sister flying past her. Blue eyes snapped on Featherpaw as he headed for the sun-warmed pool again, Rivepaw just returning to camp. Her sides were heaving, but she moved in an instant to start soaking gorse here and there. The nursery, first- finishing the job her sibling had started, then towards the medicine den, trying to ensure their herbs were saved. Worry prickled down her spine as she worked, ears flattening against her head.
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"yuh"​