no end in sight | joining

[SUNPAW.]

/ cw; light mentions of child abuse

☼ —— Afraid, no, horrified isn't even enough to describe what the young cat was feeling as he fled from the only place he had ever known, diving headfirst into the unknown with a trail of blood in the snow following his every step as he rushed through the pine trees. Where he was going he hadn't a clue, but all he knew was that he couldn't turn back. Not now, not ever. As of only a few mere minutes ago, his life was now forever changed. Or perhaps his fate had been sealed long ago, when his mother had fallen ill. Or was it even further back, when his father had walked out on them, only to come back the very moment his life had fallen apart.

Why did he come back? Why now? Sun is only now beginning to ponder over this as he stops to catch his breath, wincing at the sudden shocking pain that surges through his back left leg. "Grrrgh!" He grunts at the feeling, not sure whether his emotional injuries outweighed the physical ones, though they are what continued to occupy his brain as he forces himself to press on through the storm with a limp in his step. The beating, the deceit, the... incident. It was all too much to take in as the words echoed throughout his head.

So you're the one that led them here? It's all your fault that they're dead!
That... that's not true! I was only trying to help!

He was, he really, really was. Or.... so he thought. Was it... really all my fault? The very idea of him being the cause of his mother and brother's deaths is all too painful to consider, but he could not deny that if he hadn't fallen into those rogues' trap they would still be alive right now. But they said they could help mama get better... They said they could help... I thought they would help...

All the sudden, the snapping of a twig could be heard, causing the tomcat's ears to stand up with alert. "Wh-Who's there!?" Sun yowls out, his voice muffled by his shivers as his yellow gaze tries to search the area, though it is difficult to see amongst the haze of snowfall. He knew he was being reckless rushing into the forest like that, especially with all the tales he had caught wind of about aggressive cats occupying these woods, but he was much more desperate to get away than worry about that, especially after he had called him a murderer and struck him.

For now, Sun stands still and on guard, unsheathing his claws as he awaits whatever is coming his way.​

ooc ☼ info ☼ ref ☼

• tldr; after a group of rogues murder his mother and brother, sun's father blames him for it and attacks him and injures his leg, but sun quickly escapes and arrives in skyclan territory in the middle of the snowstorm​
• Sun ----> Sunpaw ----> Sunspirit
  ☼ amab . he/him
  ☼ apprentice of skyclan . 7 moons
  ☼ small, solid chocolate tomcat w/white markings & yellow eyes
  ☼ "Speech" . Thoughts
  ☼ easy difficulty / in training . attack in bolded #fceca9​
• 

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[ThistleBack]

Whiskers pin to his cheekbones as he prowls the frozen earth. A gale of flakes and nettle swirl and fall around him, to traverse the trees was to jump blindly through the canopy. Thistleback was fearless, not foolish in practice so he climbs across the territory like the devil dog he was. Ears curved and nicked, catch the muffled tune of frantic footfalls.

The taste of blood thick in the air suddenly, fresh wound’s telling sweet tell. A caterwaul hangs over the horizon, and he kicks off quickly. Tail snaking behind him, whipped by the wind. What could it be? A wounded feline, of course, so who.

Wh-Who’s there!?, an apprentice aged feline, bleeding from the leg. How stark that color, that syrupy red trail contrasts with the impossibly white of the snow. A shivering mess it was, brown like the bark and scared like the cornered hare. Yet, wounded and cornered, the kid’s nails unsheathe.

" I will not harm you, young lad. " a growly throat with kind words, a bristle-backed piebald peels forth from the white shadows. Muscles rippling under a scarred pelt, grey eyes stung by the blizzard narrowed and pensive.

" This storm is too dangerous for you to be wandering out in the forest alone. What hurt you? " He prowls closer, shifting his way in a half-circle to block the wind from the young stranger. To better see, to better know, to better hear. The wind ruffles his black thorns wildly as he waits.

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OOC INFO REF

• —
  
  
• 
  
  
  ✧ T H I S T L E B A C K
  thirty-three moons
  — Lead warrior of Skyclan
  — taken by
  Deersong 9.29.22
  — mentoring quillpaw
  — very muscular piebald black and white tom with spiky fur and cold silver-grey eyes.
  — voice & accent
  — biography･ﾟ✧​
• 
  
  

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[BLAZESTAR]

Blazestar hangs behind Thistleback, letting the muscular tom lead them through the storm that seems to be picking up ire. Snow slaps into their faces, freeze their whiskers in place. He's grateful for the thick, silken ruff of fur around his throat and chest, wondering how much worse off his lead warrior is with his thin pelt.

Thistleback tastes the blood before Blazestar is, but even delayed, the SkyClan leader bristles. Feline blood -- he's scented too much of it in their forest. The thin voice that attempts hostility, guarded, sends his ears back against his skull. A young cat, mauled. A crimson trail of scattered droplets behind him, quickly covered up by the rapidly falling snow.

"Someone hurt you," the Ragdoll says simply, his eyes gleaming with sympathy. He thinks of Centipedepaw, the mauled WindClan apprentice at the Gathering, and he shivers -- not just from the cold. He waits for the young one to respond to Thistleback, but he knows they cannot stay out in this storm long. It will eat them alive.​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

He's slow moving through the snowstorm, his nose was practically frozen as the wind scourged the sensitive skin on both that and his ears. It was mouse-brained to be out at such a time, but foxes and other such creatures did not stop trying their luck just because of leafbare's scorn. Silversmoke was completing his own unofficial patrol, his heavy paws leaving deep prints in the snow as he pushed toward his two senior clanmates. They'd spotted the stranger before he had, his voice blocked out by the whistling of the wind, but it did not take long for the scent of iron to appear on the air and soon after, a chocolate figure. Silver's eyes widened as he noticed Sunpaw's height and injury, he was young, too young to experience any hardship that the wild could offer someone. The tabby quickened his pace, his scowl and flattened ears unwelcoming in the face of hardship. He understood what it meant to be alone and hurt at such an age, without a medic, there was a fear that could take over one's body and soul and make them do things that they wouldn't normally do out of sheer desperation. Sunpaw hadn't attacked them, so luckily, Silversmoke didn't think they'd reached a point of panic yet.

He cast his pointed gaze towards Blazestar and Thistleback momentarily, silently assessing the next move. SkyClan was never fussy with who they let into their home, such leniency had its pros or cons but even if they were as strict a clan as WindClan, he didn't think they would turn away a young cat in need. Smokey whipped his head around quickly at Blazestar's observation, his narrowed eyes burning into the back leg of the stranger. He prowled forwards, still fixated on the raised joint before he suddenly veered past Sunpaw, hopping through the thick blanket of snow to cover the feline's back. With a raised head, Silversmoke scanned the horizon, his mouth dry in anticipation of seeing the aggressor in the distance. He took his time assessing the trees and rocks, his claws unsheathed in preparation, but when no one emerged, he tentatively turned his attention back towards his clanmates. "Whatever hurt him didn't follow, I don't think." For a moment, his glare settled on Sunpaw for confirmation of that fact. "They'd have to be mousebrained to do so anyways, this weather could kill anyone who didn't know the territory."

Still, Silversmoke wasn't certain. He could never hate a kit enough to chase them to the edge of oblivion, but what if it was someone like Slate? If they weren't clanmates, would he destroy his own life to secure the fate of the other? His fur bristled - he already knew the answer even if he didn't want to admit it to himself. "You should get him back to camp, I can triple-check our borders if you'd let me," he suggested to Blazestar. Introductions and explanations could come when the leg was secure.



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[DAWNGLARE]

The wind's whisper brushes past his fur.

He's hardly interested in the patrol, or the hushed murmurings shared between them. The one prowling ahead cloaked in shadow, broken only by his own skeleton, bleached white within the darkness, is nothing but that. Shifting bone, the ripple of muscle packed within a pitiful form. He did not fuss over him. Neither did he pay any mind to the silver-studded tabby. Always patrolling, this one. He made himself a slave to the trivialities of life. Work, with no end in sight... For their benefit, maybe. The model warrior they might say. Though the title carried no meaning.

Blaise trails behind, and thus, so does he. Selfishly, he misses the light in his eyes. Hardly passes up a chance to trail behind, despite how eager The Lady's winds were to bowl them over. Yes, the three of them or so nobley dutiful, despite the frost crawling upon their backs. Even if their flattened ears were true to their discomfort, they only stopped for a figure in the storm.

Small. Dusted with warm chestnut. Boredly, Dawnglare's gaze rakes over him. He scrapes together any lingerings of warmth with an inhale of breath. Prickling with fear. Prickling with cold. The little one shows his claws. Pathetic mess. Did they think it'd make them any more difficult to split in half? Bad news on that front, he's afraid. Ratty, oh, he barely makes a dent in the snow.

Call it the wind, or a busy mind; however you framed it, he was not paying attention. Words of the warriors sew through and pull– but there is no knot. One sense at a time. He does not hear, but he sees, lays eyes upon the scraped leg and scarlet drops in Her paleness. It's unsightly, really. The runining of a perfectly good canvas, and for nothing at all. Dawnglare hums low in his throat, eyes drawing an unsteady trail in the snow. "You're making a mess," he says, plainly. There was nothing else to adore in the season of leaf-bare, so why not preserve what you have? Let the sheet remain clean. Allow their bones to stay pale... Briefly, he mourns the lack of a cure. Not for his injury (Wonders of the world, he always worked, and he always won), but rather, the ashen ground. It's a shame... A shame. But still, he always works. "I can fix you." He blinks, slow.

Dully, he nods along with the others. Were their no predators in sight, he did not find himself caring for the cause. Only, for the cure. But of course, not everyone was worthy. His tongue swipes across his teeth. "If Blaise will have you, that is." Slight shudder as blustering winds knocks into him. Not enough to dislodge him, but oh, he is tired.​