camp not a violent dog - why do i bite ⸸ return

[Magpiepaw]

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The older he got the more he wished he could just walk a straight line properly and not bump and sway around like a leaf caught in the wind, it was more and more apparent how irritating it was when it had never truly bothered him before when he was a kitten and much younger apprentice though that was probably because he did not have to offer his back for support to corpses. Magpiepaw stumbled along, Chilledstar was not a terribly big cat but it was a strenuous and awkward affair trying to keep walking in the right direction with the leader's battered form leaning into him so heavily; it was like fighting a strong gust from a storm, being threatened with its howl to topple to the ground but he grit his teeth and persisted. The scent of camp was not far off, swamp water and old carrion caught his nose and it was a blessing that would wrinkle any other clan's muzzle in disgust but for him it was sanctuary and safety.

His head is a blur of worry and regret, if he was a more capable fighter he might have been able to help - to prevent this. The little training he'd had with Rainecho is nothing more than a breath of cold, dissipating into willoy tendrils and vanishing from his collective memory. Stars how he wished they would grant him power for his service to them, fix his legs or strengthen his claws - but supernatural abilities as gifts from their ancestors was such a stupidly comical idea that he snorted in displeasure at having even thought it. His paws skid in the snow leaving warped and messy tracks as he lumbered onward, the familiarity of the landscape rising into view and he would sigh if he did not need the air to keep himself upright.

"Someone-HELP ME." His voice is impatient, snapping with a click of his jaw as they pass through the briar tunnel and its all he can do to not buckle under the monochrome statue bearing down upon his back and side, stronger and more capable of walking cats needed to assist him further to the den because he had reached his limit several pawsteps ago and it was all spite and viritiol carrying him forward from that point on.

——— ⸸ I'm the kid in the rain. Celebrate the insane ———— ⸸ Yeah, never goes my way

• Ooc - Following the events of THIS thread. @CHILLEDSTAR. but no need to wait!
  Chilledstar has injuries to shoulders, sides, and stomach. some deeper than others but none of them are life threatening (Copy/pasted info over!)
• 
  
  
  Magpiepaw
  —⊰⋅ MCA of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/They
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/a white throat and blue-violet eyes.
  —⊰⋅ Has mild cerebellar hypoplasia (Wobbly cat syndrome)
  
  

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[SERPENTSPINE]

sounds of the marshland deafen thin, vein - trickled ears ; the chattering of crickets and toads arising from somewhere out in the great, putrid dark. serpentspine finds it fascinating. his kithood had been spent in a place where even the insects do not sing, where the birds do not chirp their songs into the sky — until chilledstar had taken him away. to a place where the stars still scatter over the skies overhead instead of that thick smog, and life still mills about despite the persistent scent of old rot. filth suited filth, and the obsidian tom fit here better than he ever had anywhere else. he listens to it now perched upon a particularly flat expanse of mud, letting his rosebud fur blood further russet in the dim lighting. his ears angle, willing calmness to his nerves, listening to the cacophony of insects and clan cats around him. they buzzed all the same.

it still follows him, he knows. a gut punch anxiety that keeps heavy - lidded eyes flitting to their spatter orange corners whenever the shadows shift behind him. his past haunts him like a dog at his heels, snapping just close enough to his pads he can feel the spittle of rage dampening his fur. he lives on the edge at all times, teetering at the bluff of panic when a twig doesn’t quite snap just right past the briar entrance. he can hear something, too. something.. shuffling.

somebody help me!

so despite his plummeting chest, he does. snakelike limbs unfurling from beneath him to carry whip - quick to the follow where they all enter and — blood. blood, snow, mud and the reek of something strange and yet too familiar lingering under his sibling’s ruffled pelt. the tom releases a sound like something dying ; like the agonal breaths of a deer clipped and lying frantic on the thunderpaths side. despite it, he has always been trained to work — to continue, to do as he was told and so he does, feathered tail tucking fully between his legs and ears flat when he ducks alongside their medic to chilledstar’s side. what happened, what happened, stars, what happened lingers desperately on his tongue but he can only offer quick, frantic licks alongside his sibling’s cheek to clear the blood that had long matted there. iron fills his mouth, but he props himself sturdy anyway ” i’ve got you, i’ve.. i have you, i’ve got you. getting you to starlingheart’s den, c’mon, lean on me. “

he aims to angle the leader’s head against his shoulder to rest and uses the opportunity to look towards magpiepaw. fear, despite his siblings extra lives. how many did they have? his heartrate quickens and there was so much blood, ” they’re going to be okay, right? they’re fine, they’re.. this isn’t — this — who could? “ blubbering fool that he was and always had been, his father’s quit that crying had never changed the too - painful ache in his chest. it looked so bad.. it looked so bad, and why did they smell like that?

𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 . ⊹ . ࣪ ˖ 𓄒 ࣪ 𝙄𝙎 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒

• i.
  
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  SERPENTSPINE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𓆦 HE / HIM, WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. JAGGED xx SHADOW, YOUNGER BROTHER TO CHILLEDSTAR. EIGHTEEN MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE BRACKISH WATER & COPPER. PENNED BY ANTLERS ---—-----
  plush black tom with ghost rosettes and blood orange eyes. serpentspine makes for a sickening, alluring figure ; like filth - ridden flora sprouting from the putrid wetlands, he forges himself into a disgusting, enchanting thing with age. born the color of old, clotted blood ; feathered black and kissed russet by the sun, oil - slick and sheening. compact, shorter than average ; broad at the shoulders down to the forearms from a life of crouching in the undergrowth. forged like the writhing reptiles that permeate his homelands, long and spiked ; jutting the thinner parts of his coat along a jutting spine, splintering fur cast in spikes up a slim, vertebrae - bumped neck. pretty and strangely soft featured amidst his sullen clanmates, framed by heavy lashes and a smoldering orange gaze. he holds himself with a draping posture, dramatics built into his very form.
  

  a tom haunted by his past and known to do anything he can think of to outrun it. coping with hedonism ; flamboyant and flirtatious, but known to run at the slightest hint of emotion.

  
  

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[Starlingheart]

There are times in life where Starlingheart had once felt like everything would be okay. When she had first been named as Bonejaw's apprentice and it had been just her and her aunt. When Briarstar and Pitchstar had been alive and there. When Granitepelt's love was new and fresh and good. Now, it feels like her whole world is crumbling around her piece by piece.

When Magpiepaw comes stumbling into the camp with their leader precariously balanced upon his back, she can feel her heart stutter, can feel it plummet straight into her stomach. "Magpiepaw!" she cries out as she herself stumbles forward to meet him. Serpentgrin is already there, helping to take the weight off of her apprentices shoulders. Blood stains her apprentice, blood that she is not sure is his or the cat he carries on his back.

"Let's get-let's get Chilledstar to my-to-to my den" she says her voice quiet and then she looks to Magpiepaw, her green eyes full of worry "Are you okay? Are you-are you hurt?" She is not sure how she would fare if he was.

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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

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

---

before they came back to life, there was a brief moment of peace. it couldn't have last more than a few breaths– could starclanners breathe?– but it was... nice. to say the least. there was no worries about what would happen to them next. their body seemed out of view when they closed their eyes and they couldn't hear anything but the soft twinkle of stars that attempted to shine within their pelt. it lasts for a few seconds before they're told its time to go back now. their neck having healed, but eyes still bloodshot as their wounds dripped crimson. the peace never lasts, and they wake go magpiepaw, and have to lean against him to get home. they wished they didn't. he didn't need to see them like this but they're hardly in any condition to do anything else. their gaze is nothing short of blurry as they step on unsteady gait, pausing with a sharp breath in.

"w-wait a second, l-little bird..."

they need a second. they know they need to get back to camp but for some reason, their lungs can't hold so much air, or at least that what it feels like. heavy panting and wheezing, trying to compensate for complete loss of air. how dizzying. magpiepaw shouts for help, and chilledstar winces at his voice, which is quickly followed by serpentspine's. they lean into his hold and off of magpiepaw to give him a break. their little brother taking care of them, and he sounds so worried.

"i'll be okay."

they wheeze with a nod of their head as they head into camp, blinking at starlingheart's words.

"i... i don't think he's hurt... ph...physically at least."

they'd made sure of that. it was an easy decision. their life over magpiepaw's? easy choice to give up theirs for him. they could be replaced had this been their last life. magpiepaw, however, couldn't.
​

 

[pipitclaw !!]

A lazily dragged tongue finds itself over his paws, trying to clean some of the muck from between his toes only because he'd been nagged to do so. The effort seemed futile, given the twigs and leaves stuck in the rest of his pelt, but it was at least a way to pass some time.

Worried that maybe his over-chatty nature might be annoying half the clan, Pipitclaw had opted to pick a handful of 'safe' friends to prioritize and with none of them at his side... it meant taking the role of observer.

For all his wanting to usher in a better spirit to the clan culture, it didn't seem like StarClan cared much for peace. They were supposedly weavers of fate... why didn't they do more to prevent bad ones? ShadowClan's territory was plenty foul in smell on its own but it is particularly daunting today... metallic breeze foretelling of trouble long before Magpiepaw's voice registers in his ears.

All at once, others descend upon the two that return to camp.

Curiosity maybe... or a need for knowledge... it drives his paws forward, watching as the swarm surrounds and overtakes Chilledstar near completely. "I assume that's thanks to your own hard work," he interjects, glancing over the cuts that drizzle blood on bicolored fur. "Are they gone," sunflower eyes move to follow the trail, "I can make sure of it."​