sensitive topics now im hoping you get closure || grave injuries



I would post a thread of what occured, however it is not yet complete. Please be aware of blood and grave injuries throughout this post, and mentions of previous death. ////

Milkthorn spent his entire life wanting to make windclan proud of him. Wanting to be someone that others looked up to. He was confident, but when had that all faded? When did he become insecure, and struggling to connect with his clan? The rosetted warrior wouldn't know. He wouldn't know when they would look to him and see someone different then the kid he once was. He tried, tried so hard, and worked so hard every day. But he had fallen back on communicating. He had fallen back on even taking care of himself. And perhaps that was when his sisters life was taken, before his very eyes.

He would never seek to make others proud of him on purpose, not when he watched his sister fall to her demise by their own mother for turning away during the final fight. Milkpaw, help- i.. dont want to be, i dont want to follow them anymore. i cant keep being like this- The words had shocked him. And it was less than seconds, their mother was before them. Set to kill them both, set to kill her daughter, overhearing the 'pathetic' words that spewed from her lips. Milkthorn had killed his mother- but he was too late for his sister.

Her last dying gasp was that she was proud, that she was glad to see he returned from the journey. But it wasn't as if he wanted that. He didn't want to hear that, not then. He wanted to hear everything was going to be fine. But it wasn't. It was never fine after that, it seemed. It was, but it was different. And he filled the cloud of change he wasn't used to in work. And in more work.

To see Thriftfeather back was a blessing from starclan, he thought. He thought he'd be doing the right thing. In his head, he was defending a lead warrior that still kept her loyalties tied to Windclan at least.... and a previous warrior of their clan, who wanted to see the clan grow. Because, he couldve brought them to Duskclan- instead he abandoned everything to be with Windclan. To bring his children to Windclan, and strengthen their soldiers. And he seemed the happiest Milkthorn had ever seen his friend.

Friend. Such an odd word to come from his maw. He wasn't sure if anymore that word felt so easy to use.

Thriftfeather had said he would've killed Milkthorn if it was demanded of him. But could he blame him?

Maybe he wasn't as loyal as he thought he was. He didn't think he could kill Thriftfeather if it was asked of him, even now.

He had spent days, weeks; worrying over if Duskclan would seek the borders for Thriftfeather. Or just push their luck, anyways. And he didn't know why he hunted out alone on this day, so close to the border, but he would come to regret it. His hare that he had caught was no longer there, just the scent of it in the air. And Milkthorns body would be splayed on his side, his breaths ragged. Thick blood spilled from his maw, from his neck, and his stomach. Two against one wasn't a very fair fight, was it? But why should he give the benefit of the doubt that Duskclan would decide to be fair?

There was more than just his own blood spilled across the moor. There were tufts of fur noting that he managed to get the others as best as he could. And even if not seen, he knew. He knew, that right now, if he died, he died trying to protect Windclan, right? But.. he failed. His catch was gone. They went back across the border, and he was left here. He let out a haggard breath, blue eye slitting. There was pain, pain he never felt before. It was different from the usual emotional pain. Or the pain of getting a slice or a cut. His head throbbed, an eye entirely swollen and warm with blood. His stomach was sliced open to what felt like shreds. His neck fucking burned.

And for the first time in his life, he began praying for mercy from his wounds.


 
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It was the scent of blood that wafted into Celandinepaw's nostrils first, that stark metal like a blade pressed just upon the satin skin of a throat. It was unlike that spilled form prey's veins, for the magnitude was far too great to belong to a rabbit or songbird. Now that she picked through the tangles of scent trails, there was the trace of a hare intertwined with that of struggle and strife. The golden molly followed it with hesitant step, as though her brindled pelage could be stained with sanguines if she were not careful, rusting upon the sheen of her willful naivete. The spotted tabby was practically useless when it came to combat, and even more so in the art of evasion, for she knew she could not run as quickly as her peers. So, the wheat-hued molly only wove through the wildgrasses, hiding behind each thin strip of green even if it would never conceal her rounded form. She stopped once the aroma purled through her senses in rough waves, saltwater force that almost pushed her muzzle backwards in of itself. The moorland heaved in exhaustion as scarlets stained its flanks, as though the body's heart itself had been raised ungently towards the sky, exposed to the cruel and biting winds. Celandinepaw saw him, with scars and punctures upon the tomcat's figure, like it had been marred with strikes of varnish and chalk - as they did not belong upon the canvas that she knew, almost pasted there from when she remembered seeing the Windclan cat last.

"M-Milkthorn! Hey - oh, oh my. Milkthorn! Are you o-okay? Don't worry! I'm - I'm going to get help! I'm going to help you! So - So stay here, okay?" Celandinepaw shrieked as she shoved at the sides of the warrior's grievous flesh, as if fur variegated in an overwhelmingly garish red would heed her call, wolds of muscle and sinew naked upon the harsh fires of the sun. How long had he been here in this state, with only the strength for a flutter of the eyelid to reveal welkin-blue of sorrows? It could not have been long, as even an inexperienced feline could understand that nobody could survive such dire injuries for long. Which meant that he did not have much time, and for each second that Celandinepaw spent dawling within the sea of her own doubts, the closer the other slid towards that grand, unknowable abyss of death. He would not come back from that, and nothing she could do would save him once he skipped over that thin boundary. Quickly did the medicine cat apprentice rush back to Windclan's camp, if only to retrieve her mentor and whoever else could help, or at least to gather cobwebs or marigold or whatever she needed. "Cottonsprig! Scorchstar! Anyone! M-Milkthorn's been hurt! Please, he's wounded!" It was incredibly stupid for her to simply leave Milkthorn to his own vices (even if only for a few moments), but panic ran through her like rosy blush of a sore morning, peaking upon her very form like it aimed to make her painfully aware of her brittle body of knowledge. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him, but she would also never forgive herself if his last moments were cradled within her own incompetence, rolling him about like a little marble in cupped palms. Forgive me... and please, hold on.

  • OUT OF CHARACTER. Attempting to fetch @cottonsprig and @SCORCHSTAR

    — MEDICINAL EXPERTISE: Celandinepaw is the current medicine cat apprentice of Windclan. Although she is quite new to her position, she also has much expertise with treatment regarding infectious diseases and basic remedies. As for anything more complex... you're better off asking a more experienced medicine cat.

    WOUNDS★☆☆☆☆
    ACHES★☆☆☆☆
    INFECTIONS★☆☆☆☆
    BROKEN BONES★☆☆☆☆
    CONTAGIOUS ILLNESSES★★★★☆
    CHRONIC ILLNESSES★☆☆☆☆
    POISONS★☆☆☆☆
    KITTING★☆☆☆☆
    TRAVELING★★★☆☆
  • jap5D3a.png
  • CELANDINEPAW & TRANS WOMAN & 13 MOONS
    —— Medicine Cat Apprentice of Windclan / Mentored by Wolfsong & Cottonsprig
    —— A shorthaired, wheat-yellow spotted tabby with yellowish-green eyes. Somewhat pudgy, though lean and able to hold her ground in the wild.
    —— Extroverted and unafraid to speak her mind, she is a friendly and affable face in Windclan. Though ditzy and somewhat cowardly, she tries her best to help her clan. She is prone to outbursts when spurned or stressed.
    —— Penned by Tempest. Contact on Discord (naruk4mi) for plots and threads.


 
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