camp NOWHERE TO RUN ✲ camp repair

WindClan has run rampant through their home, and so has the blizzard. Their dens are damaged, their barriers smashed and bent in places, their camp piled with drifts of freezing-over snow. Blazestar winces as he pulls himself out of his den, the poultice coating his stomach wound stinging in the clean morning air.

Sunlight glints, blinding him. When he regains vision, he grimaces at the condition Sootstar's dogs have put their home in.

"We've got to start working on clearing the snow," he murmurs to whoever is nearby. "We'll have to get out and try to hunt, somehow." Dark blue eyes flick to where their fresh-kill pile would be, but where now there is a snowbank.

"If you're able to," he says, stubbornly trudging through snow, "help me out with this." The cold feels soothing on his belly, at least, but every movement tugs at the sensitive lining of his wound, and he has to take several pauses to catch his breath. His paw pads have already begun to freeze, burn, alternating with prickling discomfort.

// open to anyone!! blaze is trying to clear the snow from their camp entrance! this is taking place after the raid and after the blizzard has ended!
 

Snow and raids... how could things get any worse? Sharpeye exhaled a quiet sigh as he finished licking his wounds, which were fortunately minor in nature. Despite being in the thick of it he had gotten off incredibly lightly thanks to going up against one of WindClan's young, inexperienced warriors. His better state of health meant that he was more than capable of making himself useful around the camp. And a job had just come up.

"I can help clear up. But don't go straining yourself, Blazestar. Remember to take breaks, I don't need you losing another life so soon." Sharpeye warns, a sense of irony in his words given his own habits of pushing himself too far every time. He aims to nudge his head against Blazestar's shoulder in a gentle and friendly gesture before he pads over to the nursery so he could begin to clear the snow from its entrance and to tidy up any debris scattered around it.

 
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"StarClan's sake, are you serious right now?!" Silversmoke mewed aghast, blinking incredulously toward Blazestar. It was easy for the spotted tabby to poke and prod at the weaknesses his clan had, but it was a curtness seldom offered to anyone above his rank. With his mouth dry, and irritation prickling at his blue fur, there was no way that the warrior was able to keep his mouth shut this time. As much as he liked authority, it was not more important than the clan itself, who were in no position to watch Blazestar struggle and suffer and fear getting an equally injured replacement for the ragdoll. They needed to show their strength and sometimes, that meant tucking the weakest aspects away until they could stand on their own four paws again. "I don't care if you get nine lives, you don't get to waste half of them working yourself to death in that state." The tabby stormed closer, his forepaws sinking into a large pile of snow close by to the injured leader. Briefly, he suspected that only SkyClan's inner council would be allowed to speak in such a way to their leader, but with Sharpeye also alluding to Blazestar's state, and a gut feeling that the senior warriors would say the same, he figured his outburst was justified.

Dragging his paws closer toward himself, the tabby's eyes narrowed in irritation as only a small amount of the snow moved. He pulled again, his paws nearly slipping from underneath himself as the mountain of densely packed material finally shifted. Catching himself before he ended up flat on his face, curses lined Silversmoke's already colourful vocabulary, his bushy tail lashing in wanton fury. It should not be difficult for him, he was a warrior of SkyClan, and the raid had left his skin relatively untouched save for the faint marks on his hindleg. It frustrated him he didn't have more to show for his efforts, it doubly frustrated him that his opponent had been nothing more than an apprentice-level fraud wearing a WindClanner's mask - he wished he could've fought longer. Knowing that he should at least be grateful that more harm hadn't been done to his home, he placed his paws into the snow again, staring thoughtfully at it. It was a little embarrassing to try digging again when someone important was watching. "Rest, Blazestar. Let your clan do this for you."


 

The raid had left Soil unscathed, a blessing owed to Morningbird and the placement of Mushroomkit into his care. The former loner was prepared to protect his opposite fiercely, and an ever-thinning form had guarded the elders’ den and its tiny occupant with unsheathed claws and unwavering fury during the incident, but no challengers ever came. It was understandable, given their opponents’ objective, but the old man couldn’t help but gaze with guilt at his marred clanmates.

More than that, though, were selfish thoughts swimming beneath the surface. Was he too old for this? Did cats not view him as something to worry about now? If someone had come to the elders’ den, could the moggy have even made a stand? Graying features shook violently in an attempt to clear the self-pity as the old man woke up. Cracked pride was less important than the scars his peers now carried.

Still, just because he was unharmed, it didn’t mean Soil was healthy. The cold had sapped his strength, and despite his extensive combat experience, the elder was certain that the weather was the worst enemy he’d ever faced. By the time the moggy made his way outside, he was already out of breath. Still he pushed through and, in all his hypocrisy, decided to chastise Blazestar. “You’ve done enough, youngin’” he wheezed. “Don’t care how many lives ya’ got, you’re still a kid in my eyes, and kids need to rest when they’re hurt.” Under normal circumstances, the old man would’ve launched into some drawn out story about a cat he knew who’d done just what their leader was attempting with disastrous results, but he was too tired. “You’ve led us through plenty o’ trouble, now let us return the favor.”

The moggy mustered up his strength and tried to help Silversmoke, brushing away some of the snow to make the pile more manageable before attempting to shift some himself.
 
WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧
"Well I'm sure happy you've got such good clanmates, pops! 'Cause I was about to yap your ear off for overworkin' yourself." Fireflypaw is quick to chime as he trudges through the snow, determined look on his face even as his ears disappear below the surface only for the tom to shovel his way back up. Once on his dad's track, he was able to take Blaze's place and help continue digging. This was one thing he was useful at, at least! "Why don't you go lay on some snow, pa? It'll.. Um. Cool you down." Or so I hope. What am I saying?! He feels a little chuckle leave his lips, though he busies himself instead with digging fiercely.
 
One by one, his subjects gather in humble protest. Let the villagers guide you for once, mighty wielder of the torch for thy arms grow weak from your duty. Thistleback was roosting by the childish squeals and chuckles of his restless children. His Throat throbbing under bandage, his breathing rasped from claw-kissed vocals.

He didn’t worry of himself though, didn’t fuss over how close he was to dying that day. How his jugular was nearly severed, and his kids would’ve been made half orphan, his mate left widowed. No, they were unharmed. Therefor the dragon of vengeance lies in peace.

" fussed over like a wee baby " Thistleback chimes in jest and slight chuckle, an amused smile dancing over a strained countenance. " Cheers, my good friend. " The piebald dips his chin to the leader in respectful salute before digging his own claws into the snow. Placing himself on the other side of Soil, naturally drawn to the old soul’s energy.

" it’s going to be a long day " he mutters, shifting the hardened slabs of snow that clumps rather than dusts.





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    ✧ 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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