camp MARCH TO THE SEA ↷ [ SKIRMISH RETURN ]

[smogstar]

// RETRO! SORRY ABOUT THIS BEING LATE JADKFKLDJ

Driving the wedge between boldness and stupidity is all but a blurred line. As for WindClan, it was apparent that they fit into the latter classification without question. That Sootstar would endeavour what was nothing less than a murder plot, so soon after the clans' unanimous moratorium on trespassing, bespoke a foolhardy ignorance for the fragile peace which had just been established. Through the moor rats' chosen course of action, they have solidified their status as a hazard upon these lands. An infestation. Not a mere threat, but a menace of the most loathsome breed—and the proof lies engraved in the skins of Smogmaw and his comrades.

The remainder of the patrol in tow, the bleeding deputy ushers his clanmates in the direction of camp. Bearing a plethora of clawmarks and bite-wounds, coupled with a renewed hatred for his belligerent neighbours, a searing intensity would radiate from the dusk-toned tabby's gaze as the hollow crept into view. The fog has since lifted, freeing the swamp-scape of its hazy grip, and unmasking the twisted silhouettes of pine trees that encircle their home. Very soon, their leader's frozen gaze would befall their wounded forms. Very soon, WindClan's degeneracy will become unmistakeable, and very soon, the winds of retribution will howl through the moors.

"WindClan has attacked!"

His voice crackles with raw enmity as he crosses the entrace's threshold, and it's followed by a gasp between grit teeth. Haunches slump onto the ground in a desperate bid for respite. "Those mongrel dogs; they crossed the thunderpath, claimed our land, and openly confessed to their heinous intentions of murdering me." The words reverberate all throughout the hollow, drawing the eyes and ears of his kin and ilk. His own eyes flicker to the patrolmates who'd also been passed into enemy claws, with an emphasis on the lead warrior who dealt the most severe blow. "Sabletuft," musters the deputy in little more than a grunt, "Sabletuft claimed the first of Sootstar's lives. He split open her neck, beautifully. Another warrior had half his sight stolen by Chittertongue's claws. We could not have put up a more valiant defense, and I'm pleased to have fought alongside you all today."

In a laborious motion, the front section of his form also sinks to the soil. Pain resounds across the totality of his system, burning through his muscles like a wildfire, and his energy wanes further away in momentary increments. But, an antithetical idea gouges at the shock and anger that he so felt, and keeps him in a state of wearisome composure. WindClan needed not a bit of prodding before today's act of violence. It was entirely unprovoked, and thus, demonstrated the sheer depths of their malice; a spark to light the flame of their inevitable disintegration. Come the next gathering, when the moor rats' crimes are once more put on full display, the other clans will readily join any cause to halt WindClan's treachery, should persuasion not fail him.

// smog's wounds:
- Miscellaneous scratches all around body and limbs.
- Long gash along his underbelly.
- Several streaks on cheek, one along nose.
- Bite to the chest.

// @CHITTERTONGUE @S A B L E T U F T @>Ratwater @SHARPPAW. @Maggotfur. ​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

The patrol to the Thunderpath returns bloodied and weak. Smogmaw is at its helm, spitting about WindClan attacking them. Granitepelt flows like muted shadow from Starlingheart’s den, eyes glittering like polished emerald as he takes in his Clanmates’ injuries. Sabletuft, according to their deputy, had claimed one of Sootstar’s lives. He diverts his attention sharply to the dark warrior, tilting his head in thought. Perhaps he should be pleased to hear this—but against all odds, he isn’t. He respects Sabletuft, and he knows the other tom had simply been doing what he needed to do to survive, but…

If Sootstar dies, he will never know the truth. And he can’t let that happen.

Not yet.

“I’m glad you all came back alive, at least,” he says. “I’ll get Starlingheart.” He has nothing else to say. The gray tom slips back into the den he’d just left.

@STARLINGHEART .
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[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Sharppaw has stared at the ground the whole way here. Her walk is that of a reanimated corpse – or, she guesses, a would - be corpse, alive enough to remember the moment they should have died. Dramatic. She would've told him. He was being dramatic.

One eye is closed, the other half - mast, watching for paw steps so she knows where she's going. It hurts to keep even the one open. She hopes her face doesn't look as terrible as it feels; that she hasn't been marred beyond repair or something. And a part of her feels silly for worrying about that when Smogmaw was so much worse. The teeth Sharppaw had seen in his near - death had been the entire battle. for him, risk coming with the very patrol, apparently. He thinks he would've frozen in fear, living with the fact that entire patrols would s how themselves just to rip your life from you.

Smogmaw didn't seem scared at all, though.

The role of a leader fits him nicely, she realized. His body sags against the ground– Sharppaw can see the shifting of mud underfoot and the weight of his shadow– but despite the grit in his lungs, he sure sounds alive. Could she ever sound like that?

It's a stupid question.

Sharppaw stands by, eyes on the dirt. He sees nothing. Says nothing. He hears Smogmaw struggling to breathe, though. And he hears Granitepelt. " Yeah, " cromes a dry reply. It wasn't aimed at him– Wasn't aimed at anybody really, but especially not him. He feels stupid just for saying it. Something about the fact he nearly didn't makes him want to say something, he supposes. Granitepelt makes himself useful. Sharppaw wonders what it's like to know someone like Starlingheart.​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

windclan had gotten way too bold. they feel as if part of this is their own fault. maybe if they had done more to be more serious of showing just how much shadowclan was not to messed with, then maybe sootstar would have kept to themselves. but it matters not. sabletuft does just that. he rips a life from the pompous moor queen, and chilled's only regret was that they had not been there to see it. their tongue draws over their whiskers, dully looking over the wounds that they couldn't do anything for. starlingheart would surely be busy with all the injured. their nose scrunched slightly as the all too familiar scent of blood fills of their nostrils, dancing along and tainting the very air they breathed.

"i am proud of every last one of you for defending our lands, and i am especially proud of you, sabletuft. i've been wanting to rid her of her lives since she got them. of all the mistakes starclan had made, she has got to be the most annoying."

their voice drops at their last sentence, and they're unsure if they're heard. they don't care either.

"rest. I will help get some wet moss, and get you all cleaned up. windclan may already be rethinking their choices but believe me when I say we are far from done with them."

a punishment gained is a punishment earned. and they sure as fuck earned every bit of pain they had coming to them. their mouth filled with saliva at the very thought of their jaws sinking into the throat of a windclanner. how would their blood taste? would it be like that of a mouse, or would it taste more like those rabbits that they so enjoyed? curiosity lingers, and they move to go gather moss, and prey for those who may need to eat.
​

 

[CHITTERTONGUE]

જ➶ The whole idea that Windclan would try and attack them with a murder plot in mind is comical. Only made more foolhardy by the fact that they willingly decided to break the code just implimented not that long ago. They aren't a clan but a bunch of rogues masquerading as such. Still the battle had been interesting to say the least and getting to see the mad queen fall beneath their claws was enlightening. Pain is of little issue to the warrior even with his leg marred and covered in blood he still keeps pace with the returning patrol. The flesh missing from his shoulder hurts and yet he just grins broadly, eyes half lidded as he slips his way into camp. The rest of his wounds are minor compared to his shoulder and instead of saying anything about the the battle itself he sits down and starts licking at his shoulder. The tang of his own blood makes his maw crack in a laugh before he shakes his head and rubs a paw against his bleeding face. Indeed they have delt a hefty blow to Windclan.

So he hopes that they will keep to themselves and think about their failure this day. Flicking his gaze up he looks at Chilledstar for a brief moment before he looks away, finally feeling his exhaustion.​

 

[Maggotfur.]

EYES COVERED IN INK AND BLEACH​

maggotpaw | 07 months | female | she/her | physically medium | mentally hard | attack in bold mediumpurple​

---

Maggotpaw comes back hardly any worse for wear - sure, her muzzle hurts like a bitch, but all things considered she's quiet cheerful. She had fun fighting sunflowerpaw, had fun showing the rest of windclan their place - had gotten to witness the death of a leader in person. All things considered, today was a success. She follows along easily, ignoring the pain in her shoulder as she pushes forwards, her movements sending more blood trickling down into white and blue fur. "Do we have to wait for starlingheart, or can I go eat now?" her mentor had promised she'd be allowed to eat after their patrol - she's not going to let a little thing like an unexpected battle stop her from making due on that promise.

// injury notes were left on discord <3

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