OFF TO WAR 〘 STEALING HERBS 〙ˊˎ﹤

[Fireflyglow]

WE'VE BEEN DOIN' ALL THIS LATE NIGHT TALKIN' ✧​

Fireflypaw feels the drag of breaths leave him as something pushes past, and jaws weakly snap out in an attempt to stop the intruder. Hot blood, heady above the smell of WindClan. His eyes adjust, and Fireflypaw realizes that Dawnglare has begun to fight back with Figpaw's assistance. He can hear the yowls of victory as WindClan goes to escape their camp, hears his sister chanting cheers. His ears adjust.

Mushie is wailing.

It's instinctive, the way he tries to wedge himself up once more- to help the high priest, to go comfort Mushroomkit. But he collapses once more, exhaustion in his bones. Mushie, mushie, mushie- He's chanting, trying his best to will some sort of prayer from his mind. Don't cry, She echoes, reminds him. His consciousness fades out then, darkness consuming him. Just a few moments of rest.​

 

[snowspark.]

An exasperated huff tinged with frustration escaped him at the sight of the blocked entrance ― everything was going wrong, so wrong. Juniperfrost managed to slip by, probably due to his sheer... aura of intimidation. But Snowspark? He reached his limit of fighting for a good few weeks. And then suddenly, a small body was running along at his side. His head whipped around, expecting a Skyclanner chasing after him or apparently now even a Riverclanner, only to momentarily relax upon recognizing Icepaw through the haze. Where was her mentor? She was following him now, leaving him responsible for her safety.

Instead of charging through the obscured entrance and risking yet another tussle, he turned sharply on his heel and darted toward the bramble barrier surrounding the bloodied camp. It wasn't the greatest of his ideas, but if it worked, it worked. Twisting his head to shield his face, he crashed through the brambles, leaving a sizeable hole for Icepaw and any other lagging Windclanner in his wake. It hurt, naturally, with thorns scraping at his already-wounded sides, bits of brambles clinging to him even as he tumbled to freedom on the other side. Once he ensured Icepaw was behind him again, he would regroup with the rest of his retreating patrol, eager to leave this stars-forsaken territory.

out!​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"RUN, YOU MOORLAND FOOLS! Back to your wretched territory!" Smokethroat is angry with how quickly the retreated sounded, furious even. He had not gotten his bloodsoaked retribution and it seemed he had torn open his eye again in the ensuing chaos if the feeling of wet warmth on his face was anything to go by. Beesong would be furious, but what would the medicine cat expect of him anyways. He had been cleared to leave the den, resume his duties, and sometimes his duties entailed dropping everything he was doing to go chasing WindClanners across the forest. As if he was going to stay behind, be reasonable. The dark tom's single orange eye finds Cicadastar in the gathered cats, does not look in his direction as he paces forward to check the area for lingering rabbit-eaters and his foot solidly steps down into something cold and moist like a melted puddle of snow, but it is not because as he withdraws his paw back the 'puddle' resists and springs back with him; long stringing globs of....was this fucking saliva. What-egh-gross-why...who was drooling out here in the middle of an attack?! The white spotted shadow flicks his paw rapidly in disgust to dislodge the remnants of it. Absolutely vile, was it a WindClanner that did that? Awful cats the lot of them.
He turns back around to the mess that this camp had become, makes his way over to some SkyClanners and glances around cautiously as if unsure what to do with himself while he was here; he'd come for combat and it ended. Smokethroat was not in his element when it came to socializing but they had a lot of injured cats and he didn't know who their healer was-didn't pay SkyClan much mind prior to this.
"Where even is your leader?" He turns, asks the first kittypet clanmembers he can see.
​

 

[hyacinthbreath]

♚ Her teeth sink into fur, and Hyacinthbreath lets out a snarl of satisfaction as blood coats her tongue. It isn't a killing bite, but she sure wished it was. He needed to die, he needed to die right here- WindClan would be safer without him, she could return home sooner if he was gone. Die, die, die! But weight shifts, and Hyacinthbreath feels the world turn around her. She pulls herself close to the tom's pelt, digging her claws in deep. Her breath is knocked out of her from the weight on her, and she lets go, claws skittering across the snowy ground. Fur tufts hang from them, blue and bloody.

The demon speaks, but Hyacinthbreath doesn't care. "Maybe you should shut your mouth before I rip it open." She levels her gaze with his own, cold cyans matching with violet-tinted fury. His movement past her is quick, as expected from someone used to the moors, and a growl of pain leaves the molly as claws rake over her flank. These herbs might have saved your son, but with such weak genetics I doubt much could have been done. He speaks, and she curses him. "DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY SON! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT." She yowls back, teeth grit together as she chases after him. Her teeth snap for his tail, once, twice, but with her injured flank she winces. Juniperfrost escapes, bowling into Leechpaw to help Coyotepaw escape. She slows as the WindClan cats escape, scrabbling through bramble despite the pull on their fur.

Her lips part, and a furious yowl escapes her jaws. "THE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU, I'M GOING TO SLIT YOUR THROAT MYSELF, YOU FOX-HEARTED BASTARD!" She snarls towards the retreating Juniperfrost, panting softly. She limps over to Leechpaw, favoring her back leg. Coyotepaw had ran off.. "You okay, kid?" She asks the tom, breathing raggedly; Smokethroat is asking where their Leader went, all of a sudden. She hopes he's not dead, but then again, he has lives to spare, doesn't he? "Should we wait for them to return to camp?" She suggests, wincing softly as she seats herself down. Her eyes wander to the side, seeking out Cicadastar for approval. Is this what you wanted?

// ended interaction with @Juniperfrost , checking up on @leechpaw. making eye contact briefly with @CICADASTAR ​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞

 

[CICADASTAR]

GUTTA CAVAT LAPIDEM : its commotion. cacophony of pain and desperation set just above the howl of blizzard wind. he rights himself after the rough shove, sets his icy gaze on the petite apprentice and then — willowroot, aiming to pin her and its in that moment he moves his attention, claws unsheathed against the powdered snow. battle rages on and its not long before a sun - swirled tom yowls for retreat and the triumph that erupts within his chest feels nearly manic, surging with energy. a retreat. once more, windclan cannot finish the fight they’ve started — and once again the smoke is chasing after them as they run, teeth bared, fury forcing his limbs forward. and there, man of warm cinnamon and alabaster, batting at a drooling, mad - looking molly before she turns, bolts for the exit with leaves of herb scattering out behind her, “ look at you all, tucking your tails again! cowards! vermin! “ its bitter, its vitriolic — theyre running, and the man chases them, aims to snap at @NIGHTMAREFACE ‘s tail on her way towards the hole they’d come through.

cicadastar stumbles to a stop, hisses loud into the flurries beyond skyclan’s gorse wall, hopes it chases them back into the moors, “ is everyone alright? all accounted for? “ a look up, spoken to the clearing despite how ice blue locks momentarily upon @DAWNGLARE, panting clouds of mist into the chilly air. he sees @hyacinthbreath approaching @leechpaw., draws near to where they all gathered now. she glances up, speaking in an accept rivaling his own and his chin tilts upwards just slightly. she did well.. she did very well, and his thoughts show in the approval beaming along the sharp lines of his snow - dusted features. the warrior she had taken on was hulking — and she’d taken him head - on, fought on behalf of the rivers and for that he steps alongside her, lowers towering ears, “ geht es dir gut? “ quiet, barely audible above the blizzard raging around them. a thick, curled tail comes to rest briefly against her side, a comforting presence before eyes finally fall to the subject of her attention. leechpaw, tangle of dark waves thankfully unbloodied for the most part.

cicada looks him over quickly, efficiently, settles between him and the silver molly, “ good form, leechpaw. “ voice soft, approving — despite his slimmer size, his opponent had turned tail in retreat. he knows all too well the difficulties of their build and his apprentice had done well from what he’d managed to see amidst the fray. blood spatters the snow beneath them, winds harsh enough to force pallid luminaries closed against it. where even if your leader? smokethroat. his gaze snaps towards the white - speckled tom, feels a snap on the edge of his tongue, anger still simmering low in his chest — but its a good question, and he inclines his head towards the skyclanners around them, cranes his ears forward to indicate that he was listening, “ what were they stealing? and for starclan’s sake, why? “ herbs, obviously, but what?? were they truly that desperate? had the stars finally dealt their punishment upon the moors, seeking to pick them off before the clans call for violence once more? a final sickness in windclan, and the lanky chimera would be lying if he says it isn't deserved.

a brief look around the clearing and . . he feels out of place here, looming shadow of the river — hidden most often within the reed and cattail. he is too open, too vulnerable, and the twolegplace looms far, far too close. hyacinthbreath speaks and a sigh billows from dark lips, “ yes, i have to speak with blazestar . . “ with the windclan patrol still limping towards their borders, he didnt trust his patrol out without him — they would remain here until he finds the reigning ragdoll, and not a moment longer . . but his gaze slides towards the more recognizable members of skyclan, searching their expressions. was blazestar safe?

− ♱ information visual reference out of character translations ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−−−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

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[BEARHEART]

(

) Bearheart had been on the brink of buckling but he sucked in a sharp breath and continued to hold his position at the medicine den entrance until he was certain that the WindClanners were finally on the run. Unfortunately with some of the precious herbs, but perhaps with a lot less than what could have been. The rotund tom collapsed down with a wheeze of relief. Though he could stay down forever, there was still work to do.

After a few long moments he mustered up the strength to wander to the heart of the camp where he could address everyone present. "RiverClan, you have our thanks! You're true clanners with big hearts! WindClan however... such cruelty and malice, to attack a clan's camp and to put young kits, the elderly, and the sick all in the path of harm! They have no sense of honour, no sense of respect! But everyone here, you stood strong in the face of this turmoil and for that you should be proud! Blazestar should be proud too! Now then, the injured should get their wounds checked. Everyone else should patrol the outside of the camp to ensure that those fox-hearts don't come crawling back."

Bearheart then looked towards the RiverClanners with a more serious expression. "I'm sure that Blazestar will be here soon. Please wait a while."​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

He lands, crashing into the body of the mange-slicked warrior with a hiss in his throat. Retaliation, though. Of course, and quick. Windclan was built for this, after all. Slashing before they ever spared a single thought. Spitting metaphorical venom (as well as real, actual bile that he would be washing off for moons) alongside the swipe of her claws. He chokes back a hiss, feeling pinpricks score across across his chest. With the loosening of his grip, she manages to worm away, scrambling to pick at the scraps of her petty theft behind her. He can find satisfaction in how she managed to drop some, but not all, and – far too many still remained clamped in her slobbering maw. At least, he can shift focus when he sees another slam into her. “Send her to her grave," he hisses to the warrior, before spinning on his paws.

One, two, three– the battle draws to a rumbling chaos, and here, he can count the casualties. (That is– in the sense of beauty, with each slash of paws and flesh ripped open, a part of that soul was sealed away, lost with a kiss. Ugly welts would soon scar in their place, and here... this would be his responsibility.) The death is not so literal, at least, he would not think so. And his silent gaze falls upon An elder. Fallen leaves, bundled and bloodied. That little one lies beside him, and she is loud.

The scent of cowardice gradually wanes away. Gone, with the call of their warrior, flooding through the gates like a stream of vermin. Hive mind, all in service of their queen. And the traitor goes with them. He is no better than the rest of them. He always knew.

Heaven's salvation, dark sloped head and a white blaze snap at that Windclanner, more hound than cat. They flee with their pitiful bounty between their jaws, all of them. He freezes in headlights as that gaze meets his, just a heartbeat. Long enough for his whiskers to twitch and his eyes to widen. But as quick as it game, the moment is passed.

Paws white as the ground they walked on came to stand beside the fallen body of the elder. And with that, beside Skyclan's warrior. Beside the little one. Ragged, oh, certainly. His body sags, but it lives. Just faintly rises and falls with the whisperings of life. Dead-eyed stare, Dawnglare gazes upon him. For all the size and the fur, he was just the same. His time runs shorter with every breath, but it was not quite it. His tail brushes against the girl's flank. And, not unkindly, “Hush," he goads. “He will be taken care of." Sonorous tone, “Trust in Her."

With a sweep of finality, his gaze lifts to any others it may meat. Torn Skyclanners. Riverclan, identifiable by their lack of injury, if nothing else. His own wounds distantly ache between parted fur. But it was nothing dreadfully urgent, no. It rises and falls, a heave of breath. “They wanted, my catmint," he grits in reply. “They're unwell, I had been told. 'Spare some, for me?'" His voice is distant, speaking to no one in particular he supposes. The tip of his tail, flicks in wait. The battle over, the casualties seen, and yet, his claws still itch after an unseen enemy.

He would kill him, next time he saw him. “He could not take no for an answer."

A tongue swipes across bitten lips as he half-listens to the blabberings of another. This one, who had blocked his den. And for that, he supposes he may be greatful. His body remains static, but his eyes flick to him, and to Riverclan. “Blaise is... out."​

[ ended interaction with @NIGHTMAREFACE , (badly) trying to comfort @MUSHROOMKIT, addressing @CICADASTAR & @Smokethroat ]​

 

[MUSHROOMPAW]

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"Wait for an opening, then get Dawnglare."

Its one of the thorn tongued warriors that stands guard over the elder first, then Twitchpaw, heart lain bare. Yet all that can fill her mind is a single name, Dawnglare.

Dawnglare, Mother, Starclan. All synonomous in this one instance.

She waits, she cringes watching the high priest fall and then chase off a slobbering, mange-ridden hound of a cat, and then she's off, meeting him as he arrives. Its no smooth bolt, no sleek stride of a bird in flight, it is the tumbling gait of a newborn fawn as she lollops through snow that near collapses in on her ears. "D-Dawn-" Her voice is between a whine and a sob, tiny body shaking with the force of trying to breathe so she may speak. "Dawnglare, grandpa he-he-" She can't hold back the anguish, sound coming from her vocal chords as panic squeezes her lungs as she tries to control her breathing.

Starclan could fix it, Mother could fix it, Dawnglare could fix it. He had to.

Long, bleeding sunset fur brushes against her and without turning her steadily freezing face towards the medicine cat's fur, she leans into it. She knew his distaste for uncleanliness, and even in her frenzy she remembers it. Trust? She trusted Dawnglare. She couldn't see Mother, she couldn't see Starclan, she respected them, hoped for their existence and memory to be carried until forever burned out like a straggling fire, but Dawnglare was here. He'd always been here, and she trusted that more than anything.

"The patrol." Her face falls again as she nearly enters peace, and her eyes draw towards the camp entrance. "Everyone was outside-What if- Please-" There was no way a group that big made it by unnoticed, not when her grandpa and her were seen to almost immediately, unless there was no one to notice anything. She staggers forward towards Cicadastar, knowing not his name, his position, but there is a regality to him, a respect in these unfamiliar eyes towards him. "Please-sir tell me you sent cats to the border!" Her voice cracks as she stumbles into a divet, staring up at him with haunting realization.

//stumbling away from @/DAWNGLARE addressing @CICADASTAR ​

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ALL I CAN DO IS DREAM ─

─ FOR I AM SO, SO TIRED.