private montage of lost things [weaselclaw]

[SCORCHSTREAK]

Why were two lead warriors assigned to fetch some idiot who couldn’t even make their own way back to camp? Far be it from Scorchstreak to question the decisions of others, but this is perhaps one of the more questionable missions she has been sent on. And she isn’t certain why she was asked, because she’s a tunneler; she doesn’t do tasks aboveground. She supposes that’s why she was sent with a moor runner as well.

"This is such a waste of time," the calico scoffs, patched tail lashing in irritation. She could be doing better things with the time that she’s spending trekking across the territory. She could be reinforcing one of the tunnels that’s at risk of collapse, or giving Scorchkit a lesson in tunneling—but instead, she’s trapped in this task. At least the company isn’t bad. She tilts her head, glances to her side where the brown tabby walks alongside her. "I’m surprised you didn’t get sent out here on your own." Weaselclaw is a strong tom, a capable lead warrior, and he’s certainly a faster runner than she is, if the situation were urgent. She wonders if he’s slowing his pace to match hers, or whether she’s subconsciously speeding her steps to match his.

Golden eyes glare out across the moorland, although her view is obscured by much of the tall grass around them. "How do you think this," dumbass, "warrior got so injured that they need us to rescue them?" Perhaps she’s being too harsh, too judgmental of a mistake that anyone could have made. But she trusts that Weaselclaw will agree with her; he could probably be doing more worthwhile things, as well.


// @WEASELCLAW​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[WEASELCLAW]

The tabby’s bad temperament is worse lately, easily triggered, and he’s glad he isn’t put with a questionable moor runner like Snailstride or Periwinklebreeze to complete this task. Scorchstreak may be a tunneler, but she’s one of the few he considers capable above ground as well. It’s clear she’s not pleased to be embarking on this mission, though he can’t blame her. He’s counting undone things on his to-do list just like she must be. “Maybe they knew this guy needed a proper ear clawing,” he rumbles, giving her a slight smile. “StarClan knows you’re better at it than I am.”

His tail whips behind him, the breeze tugging both of their pelts. Scorchstreak’s amber glare scores the moorland for any hints of the foolish warrior who’d been injured on what Weaselclaw imagines is a simple patrol. “Maybe they plunged their paw into a tunnel during a chase,” he muses. “I’ve seen less careful cats sprain their paws before.” It’s a skill he teaches his own apprentices early on—run where you know the ground is secure—but not every mentor is so keen.

Weaselclaw turns blue eyes to the tortoiseshell. “I’m sure you’re used to rescue missions, too. Bet you get more of them underground.” He flinches at the thought, claustrophobia rushing over him like a headcold.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

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[SCORCHSTREAK]

The larger warrior’s response draws a snort from her, an amused flick of her own ear. She’s certainly grown skilled at ear-clawing, although it is not usually needed after a proper scolding. She’s been told that she has a way with words; she imagines it’s mostly because she follows up on her threats. But then the tom goes on, making hypotheticals about the situation that they are about to walk into, and the idea of being called out here for something as simple as getting a limb caught in a tunnel is absurd. "If someone sprained their leg due to inattention and then made me come all this way… they’ll get more than just a clawing," she grumbles, but it’s clearly an empty threat, played up for annoyance’s sake.

Much of the irritation that she feels all but evaporates at Weaselclaw’s next words, however. He’s correct—she has been tasked with more rescue missions in the tunnels than aboveground. "We do," she says, the image of a lost apprentice flashing through her mind. Underground rescue missions do not always end in success. In the tunnels, a sprain is a blessing. Better to be put on bedrest than to be crushed beneath-

She sighs. "Unfortunately." Unfortunately. As though it means nothing to her. A clanmate, an apprentice, died under her supervision and Sootstar’s. Sootstar may have been lost as well if the tom who walks beside her hadn’t been able to convince his mate to stop. In a moment of quiet, she speaks up again, "I’m so sick of losing clanmates."​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Weaselclaw listens to Scorchstreak’s threat with a small smile. “They won’t make that mistake twice, then, if that’s what this is all about.” His tail flicks idly behind him. The wind streams through their fur, pasting his short tabby-striped pelt to his flanks and ripping through the calico’s thicker coat. There’s silence between the two lead warriors after he mentions tunnel rescues. No doubt her mind has gone where his has—to the soul lost beneath a tree’s weight in solid earth. Dazzlepaw had been frustrating, but no cat—no WindClanner—deserved to die in such a horrific manner.

“I’m tired of losing Clanmates,” she says. Weaselclaw looks at her, fighting against the misery that begins to tear at him. Since that first lost in Rosepaw to Vulturemask’s murder, he has felt the same, that these were proud and noble cats whose lives had been stolen from them too soon. Now, now that he knows just what sort of conniving, benevolent cats their warrior ancestors are—now he knows what they are capable of. The lightning that scorched the Great Rock between Fourtrees could have left his mate a pile of ashes. Now they plague her with nightmares of a carrion-infested forest with whispered voices.

“I am too.” He sighs. “It’d be one thing if all of these cats had died in battle, like Sunsetbreeze.” The red-pelted tom had died a courageous warrior’s death, at least, trying to save their diseased Clanmates with SkyClan’s hoarded herbs. “But to be picked off by rogues in our own territory…” His gaze darkens. “Some nights I awake and wonder whose death I’m to hear of next.”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

Scorchstreak chuckles along with her fellow lead warrior’s words, nodding her agreement. If this is all for something silly, they will ensure that there will not be a repeat incident. They are lead warriors and their time is valuable. But she pushes away thoughts of punishment in favor of her mounting concern, because what if this is truly an emergency that requires two lead warriors? They cannot waste time complaining when they should be moving faster.

Weaselclaw agrees with her, he too has grown weary with the many deaths that have plagued their clan. He’s right, too many cats were not given the honor of dying in battle. Too many cats have been lost in ways too grim for a WindClanner—from being crushed beneath the weight of the earth itself, to being ripped apart bit by bit, bled out on the ground and left to stink in the elements. Too many WindClanners have died like prey, and many more WindClanners have been scarred by such losses. She thinks of Venomthroat, soaked through with rain, delivering news that her closest friend was found dead. She thinks of Sunflowerpaw, grieving for their older brother, for the healer who was taken so suddenly. Who will be next? Will it be one of her kits, or Curlewnose, or Badgermoon? It could even be Weaselclaw or herself.

"It seems neverending," she comments, her tone bordering on exhausted. "And I can’t help but feel partially responsible every time." Would Tigerfrost still be alive, had she not been lazing about uselessly in her nest? She shakes her head, tail lashing. It takes a moment for her eyes to meet the tom’s again. "I suppose that could be why we were sent out here—perhaps it’s more rogues." Her claws flex at the thought, as though she expects a pack of rogues to leap out at them here. They should move faster.​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[WEASELCLAW]

Her musing—that the reason they’d been summoned is because of more trouble with rogues—causes his lip to curl and reveal a hint of fang. “Let those mange-pelted cowards cross our borders again,” he hisses, but Scorchstreak has lent urgency to his steps now. He can imagine Galeforce’s smug expression, Yewberry’s rodentlike body raising claws to an injured WindClan warrior. Weaselclaw’s fur begins to spike, and his pace quickens.

Prophetically, the scent of a cat who is loyal to no Clan begins to bathe his tongue. He crests a hill, feeling Scorchstreak’s urgent presence beside him. At the bottom is their unfortunate Clanmate, limping and facing a cat Weaselclaw does not recognize. His pelt is short, layered with tabby stripes and scars, and from his position atop the hill the lead warrior can count each of his ribs. The remains of a rabbit lay torn between the WindClanner and the rogue. “Stealing prey from our warriors,” Weaselclaw hisses, his pelt fluffing out. “You met the wrong WindClan patrol today, foxdung.” He tears down the hill, just as the rogue looks up, eyes bright with desperation and teeth bared in warning.

”This prey belongs to whoever hunts it,” the cat snarls in response. ”And I hunted it—from this weakling.” He gestures to the WindClan cat, panting and bleeding from their fight.

Weaselclaw says nothing in response, leaping for the NPC rogue with his claws extended. He rakes them down one side of the cat’s pelt, just as the NPC turns and bites into his shoulder.

// this is really just for fun and bonding LOL feel free to powerplay the npcs however you wish!

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

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