- Jun 27, 2022
- 56
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// the tag is for bad language! and blood, of course.
It took Crimsonbite and Thistleback wrangling a wounded Vermilionsun into a tight grip to get him to SkyClan, the ex-skyclanner struggling and panting in the toms' grasps. He wanted to tear them to shreds, to hurt them just as they did him; half-blind, Vermilion finally gives up fighting when the scent of their borders comes into place. He's dragged right into camp, massive limbs bleeding from his wounds and re-opened scabs. "Get your fucking paws off of me. I can walk on my own." Vermilion curses the toms, only to be dropped onto the ground harshly. Vermilion's paws shake beneath him as wobbly legs push him up, and he finally gets a good look at his surroundings.
Nothing seemed to have changed. Being back here, though, made him want to run.
"I didn't kill that apprentice, Blaise." Vermilionsun mutters softly, moreso a mantra at this point- but as a paw shoves him forward, Vermilionsun makes his way over to an emptied, run-down den in a hollowed out tree trunk. There's guards there, designated just for him. Treating him like a criminal, a threat to those around him. Dawnglare is called over, and Vermilion spins on his heel to snap his jaws at the patrol of toms. "Tell Dawnglare to shove those fucking herbs where the sun doesn't shine. I don't want them." Don't waste them on me. He growls, turning back around to clamber his way into the den. It's dark, and smells of moss and water, but it's a den.
As his long legs sprawl out and joints pop sorely, the smell of blood damp in the air, he suddenly begins to miss the sewers..
It took Crimsonbite and Thistleback wrangling a wounded Vermilionsun into a tight grip to get him to SkyClan, the ex-skyclanner struggling and panting in the toms' grasps. He wanted to tear them to shreds, to hurt them just as they did him; half-blind, Vermilion finally gives up fighting when the scent of their borders comes into place. He's dragged right into camp, massive limbs bleeding from his wounds and re-opened scabs. "Get your fucking paws off of me. I can walk on my own." Vermilion curses the toms, only to be dropped onto the ground harshly. Vermilion's paws shake beneath him as wobbly legs push him up, and he finally gets a good look at his surroundings.
Nothing seemed to have changed. Being back here, though, made him want to run.
"I didn't kill that apprentice, Blaise." Vermilionsun mutters softly, moreso a mantra at this point- but as a paw shoves him forward, Vermilionsun makes his way over to an emptied, run-down den in a hollowed out tree trunk. There's guards there, designated just for him. Treating him like a criminal, a threat to those around him. Dawnglare is called over, and Vermilion spins on his heel to snap his jaws at the patrol of toms. "Tell Dawnglare to shove those fucking herbs where the sun doesn't shine. I don't want them." Don't waste them on me. He growls, turning back around to clamber his way into the den. It's dark, and smells of moss and water, but it's a den.
As his long legs sprawl out and joints pop sorely, the smell of blood damp in the air, he suddenly begins to miss the sewers..