TAGS — Stars above, Icepaw is absolutely terrified. Her breathing is quick and shaky as she stalks through the forest alongside her clanmates, pale gaze warily darting this way and that. They don't think they've ever been nearly this stressed before (which is putting it lightly). It's all too easy to picture the border confrontation taking a turn for the worse; what if her friends are being slain right this second? She wants to have more faith in them, knows she should, but it's so hard to be optimistic under such grim circumstances. And the woods are so claustrophobic compared to the moorland. Granted, she is used to enclosed spaces thanks to her tunneling, but it's different when there's so much undergrowth constantly touching her, brushing up against her like prodding tendrils, taunting and further agitating her.
And it's freezing cold out, to boot. At least it's dark.
She feels nauseous by the time they reach the camp's bramble walls. The little apprentice is all too eager to follow Coyotepaw's lead when he pauses, looking at him for further instructions; only he knows where the medicine cat's den is. What must be going through his head right now? Icepaw can barely even imagine. There's no time to ponder it, though — he gives his directions and the rest of the patrol is off, slipping through the camp's entrance with such purpose. Icepaw starts after them, only to falter after her first step with a pounding heart.
I can do this, she tells herself forcefully... and yet her paws stay firmly rooted to the ground.
Kill or be killed, Badgermoon's grim warning echoes in her whirling mind. She can hear the cacophony of battle beyond the wall. Their throat feels so tight. Even training makes her nervous. How on earth is she supposed to do this right now?
There's no choice — WindClan is depending on her. On all of them. She takes a step forward. Then another. It's not that she
can do this, but that she
must. If she ever wants to be a respectable warrior, one her clanmates can be proud of... if she wants to actually
have a clan to serve, it has to be done. So many lives are at stake; so many sick cats are withering away at home. Now or never. She sticks her head through the gap in the bramble wall...
And then, anticlimactically, she freezes again. The battle rages on before her; cats viciously tear into one another, shouting and snarling and slicing. She can feel herself shaking again. Thank StarClan that most of SkyClan's warriors (a generous term for those pampered kittypets) are preoccupied on the border — the situation is overwhelming enough as it is.
Come on, they urge themselves.
Come on! She's so small and unassuming, and much of her pelt is snowy in hue; if she sticks quietly to the outskirts of the camp, maybe she can just wait for an opening and make a beeline for the medicine cat's den without getting into any fights. They inhale a slow, deep breath, and finally they step through the entrance.
They hug the wall for a while, crouching so low that their belly, pressed into the snow, quickly grows frigid. Their pale gaze constantly comes back to the lone hazel bush that Coyotepaw described — her target. A shout warns the medicine cat — Dawnglare? — about the patrol's objective... kind of. They don't know that they're here for herbs. Oh no... are there sick cats in there? Are they going to think Icepaw's coming after them? What if she gets attacked the second she gets in? If she even
manages to get in — it looks like a warrior's guarding it!
I have to try. She keeps looking for a safe opening. Hopefully a WindClanner will lure her away soon.
And then Snowspark does! Icepaw's heart skips a beat as she watches him valiantly throw himself at the curly-furred molly, and then at another figure she struggles to make out through the bush's branches and all the desperate movement. Now's the time. Now or never. Go, go, go! She bolts over, running as fast as her short yet swift legs can carry her through the snow, weaving in and out of the battling felines. She's always had mixed feelings about her diminutive size, but as she ducks past everyone, including those fighting in the medicine den's entryway, she finds herself intensely grateful.
She's gasping for breath as she finally barrels into the den, glancing around wildly for the herb storage and barely even aware of the cats within. It hardly feels like she's processing anything in her frantic desperation — including the catmint.
Where is it? Where is it?!
@FIGPAW