private my pain ₊ no i'm not game ₊ otterbite

[gracklestep]

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More than ever they needed swiftness underneath their paws... required the wind they were named after to carry them hurriedly across the moors. Prey struggled to be reborn, to recover in the shifting piles of ash that unveiled new, baby blooms. He is no stranger to hardship, to the high-stakes game of hunting when there were few replacements for failure. Life outside the clans had taught him that survival.. had taught him that above all else, he is his only reliable friend. There are none that he can whole-heartedly give himself to, not even Mintshade, for all their shared laughter and stubborn will to keep themselves afloat above all else, they are allies of circumstance. Friends that remain that way only when sun is shining, when the world is bright.

He chooses kindness, perhaps uncharacteristically, to make her life a little easier. She is a mother now (the math eludes him, he doesn't seek to pursue it) and there are hungry little rats that beg for her nutrients. She is hungrier now than ever before despite the flatness of a belly that had once looked more appropriate to her appetite... he humors her request this time out of kindness. Not because it means anything special... not because he has a sneaking suspicion that two inkling spawns are in part, his fault for existing. She won't say it... and he won't ask.

Pursuing a rabbit across the gorse and heather fields, Gracklestep forgets for a moment that life is not as simple as chasing hares and teasing his clan-mates. That preservation of the self takes a lot more effort than cats give him credit for... So when his paws carry him over slats of manufactured passageway, he loses sight of borders in favor of the promise of a bite to eat. He lunges those last few steps perfectly aware of himself... of his surroundings... that he seems to be alone and safe to make this risky grab at outstretched rabbit legs. His strike is precise, careful, and practiced... it throws his prey off balance and it stumbles wildly to crash unceremoniously to the ground, waiting for glistening teeth to sink in and end that wheezing cry all at once-

And he does. Without hesitation or remorse for the imaginary lines he has crossed because he caught it.. it had been his from the moment he set eyes on it. And it would be hers now. Theirs.

Leaning down to pick up his catch, sharp ears catch the sound of undergrowth snap... and where golden pools flick up to search for its sound, he is met with hungry greens. He is familiar with that color... with the color of spring grass and emerald... of bubbling poison, searing acid. Mintshade comes to mind most immediately... but it won't be her that reveals itself in blue hues from the shadows.

He rights himself, straightening and stepping away from the rabbit in a bid to show his willingness to leave. "Sorry... I got a little carried away," he admits, glancing back towards the bridge, counting how many strides he is from safety. "I don't want any trouble... I'll leave. You can keep the rabbit even." An offer that tastes bitter on his tongue, that stings his lungs that had worked so hard to catch it- could these river idiots even dream of that kind of speed? "No hard feelings, hm?"

@otterbite​

 

[otterbite]

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- The scent of smoldering ash still lingered around the copse like a ghost. Singed like the moors itself had been with WindClan scent, with only the passage of time to heal. Smokestar had given his Clan mere seconds to accept that he had played the savior to the moor-rats only for it to be his last decree.

Otterbite wondered if there was any connection behind it. There had to be- a sacrifice for WindClan's survival? Was there a give and take for it?

His stare fixed onto the waters below him, rolling and bubbling over itself, too dark for him to see his own reflection. It's all quiet aside from what thoughts shout and push in his own head. Scrabbling claws against a hard surface have his eyes snap to attention. Ears shift in alert, WindClan scent rapidly encroaches over River.

Crashing thoughts become more frenzied as he sized up the other tom. He's taller, but Otterbite can't imagine much power with him being all bone.

"I don't want any trouble..." The exhale from his nose is hot, chest already puffing from adrenaline. This one's a coward, ready to turn tail just at the sight of him. Killing him would be a mercy.

"No... No hard feelings." Claws sink through rabbit fur and he pulled it closer, pushing it behind him. He doesn't move, though, surely the trespasser could understand why. And he waited, watching through half-lidded eyes as he turned to return home and try to squeeze another rabbit from the ash. A single swing and the WindClanner has shown his back.

Otterbite jumped.

The bridge is still slippery from the rains, his lunge isn't perfect. However his claws still break through into flesh as he scored down the enemy's body. His earlier observations prove correct in that his fight would not be perfect, he wouldn't go down haplessly. Legs buck and muscles tense to swings but Otterbite doesn't let go, only adding his weight in motion and sent them both tumbling over. The river, he could drown him-

Flashes of white speckled fur, lifelessly rising to the surface. Surrounded in a halo of ice. The water was cold, his fur felt frozen, how many lives did he have left that night?

The water is cold.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── IM OUT OF CONTROL ⋅❁⋅ OH, HOW I BURN FOR YOU ──┐‎

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  OTTERBITE ✩ he/him, warrior of riverclan, thirteen moons.
  ⭃ scruffy blue/black chimera with a white tail-tip and green eyes. noticeable kinked whiskers
  ⭃ adopted son to pikesplash // former apprentice to coyotecreek
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay requires permission / / underline and tag when attacking or making an action toward
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by beatae ↛ gonkpilled on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[gracklestep]

˚₊⋅───────── /ᐠ - ˕ -マ ─────────⋅ ˚₊

The hushed, too-calm response is enough to unsettle him... He is already distantly aware that WindClan has overstayed their welcome (even if he was not among the copse corpses that needed somewhere to shelter) and does not relish having to explain to Sunstar why RiverClan might be more furious with them than usual. His ear flicks, considering, careful... Did he trust that, at face value, that this shadow-formed tom was being sincere?

He eyes the distance to the bridge again, a nervous tickle in the back of his throat as he measures his lengthy strides compared to the stumpy build of the fish-eater across the way. Two... three... four long strides... after that he'd have enough grip on the bridge to really tear off into the plains again. The rabbit slides across the dirt with too much force, shoving clots of dirt in its pristine pelt and making Gracklestep's own bristle. Ungrateful idiot... he didn't even know how to care for tender meat like that, did know what a pain it would be to get that gunk from its fur to take a hearty mouthful of it without having to cough up spit-wetted mud.

He exhales sharply through his nose... waits a heartbeat... one more... and he turns on his heels to bolt.

Moor-runner... gorse-sprinter... rabbit-hearted and deer-legged. He hears the tear of brittle grass under hungry claws long before he can feel the hot breath of a hunter on his tail. The bridge is there, under-paw, fills him with a swell of relief that he might dig his claws in and really fly-

Otterbite feels like a cinder block against his back, a lion's leap snatching onto pitch fur and stealing his balance out from under urchin-spine legs. So much for that... The tug of slick wood tugs at his elbows harshly where they unceremoniously crash and tumble. He doesn't remember twisting around, doesn't remember the hare-like kicks he scores at chest and belly with. At some point there are more swipes closer to his shoulders, like they are move into deadly embrace as they teeter towards the edge-

The fall is sudden... and the air is frighteningly chilly for the end of spring.

It stings the tips of his ears. He remembers that feeling. Tugs at his whiskers as the platform above grows a bit further away. He'd seen others take the same tumble, known it to be survivable even... Smokestar's little theft of Cottonpaw had proven that as RiverClanners had tossed his clan off the sides in hopes of drowning them.

Drowning.

Right... He pulls in a startled breath as the cold cuts along his back- His enemy still clings to him, heavy as a sinking stone as they rush further under, so quickly. Gracklestep knows his paws move to shove himself free, kicking the RiverClanner up and towards the surface- but his desperate act in the interest of self preservation lends him to the river bed all too suddenly. His enemy reaches towards the sun light, towards the air and he plummets in equal force.

When... had the river gotten so shallow... Had they already sunk that far?

The sensation of a splitting headache lasts only for a second. Then nothing at all.​