Slowly,
slowly things were returning to normal - or, at least, some sort of new normal. Luckypaw still wonders when things would feel right again, but at least he no longer trembles at the prospect of returning to the tunnels day in and day out, which is...well, he'd hoped he wouldn't
ever feel such anxiety creep into his chest at the thought of being nestled so deep beneath the earth, not after he had gotten over his initial nerves, but it's something, at least. Maybe he just needed more time - maybe that's what they all needed, and it would be fine. For now, it's one step at a time, one day at a time, and on this day, he's almost delighted to feel anything positive at all about being in the tunnels, even if it's only by virtue of displeasure at being above ground as the sky rains down snow around them. If there's one thing he wouldn't ever miss, it would be snow, probably - they'd had more than enough of it up in the mountains.
Following alongside
@cygnetstare and the rest of the patrol, feeling the cold ground beneath his paws, he's almost content, even as Rattleheart reminds them all of their objective, he feels more at ease down here than he has in moons, and it's a good feeling. Like he's stretching out, back into himself and into his own mental map of the tunnels. In the face of everything, he's not even all that worried about running into any prey for once - his hunting skills below ground might still need work, but surely all the hunting he'd done above ground had to count for something, after all that. And he'd caught something even when they'd been trapped in the mountains, hadn't he? He'd manage - he'd manage this today, and he'd manage the next day, and the next after that, and soon it would be like there had been no setback in the first place, the time lost meaning little in the grand scheme of things.
They're set to near an exit soon, he's pretty sure, and he can even feel it growing colder the closer they grow, but the familiar light he's grown to associate with an opening isn't there, cut-off and stifled by...something. Dread pricks at him, though he's curious more than anything at what's happened; it's not until Rattleheart speaks, Scorchstreak and Harbingermoon after her, that the situation fully clicks. There had been so much snow since this exit was last used that it had started to pile up, like the snowdrifts they'd encountered in the mountains. Vaguely, he wonders if this is something to be aware of - something like staying clear of the tunnels if there were any signs of water - until Rattleheart's words finally catch up to him, then Scorchstreak's. The snow is piling up outside, leaving them - leaving them
trapped in the tunnels, unable to get out,
stuck down here -
There's still some light just barely peeking in, some last remnants of the icy freedom above, but it brings no solace for Luckypaw, whose mind has ground out to a halt. The others step forward to start digging a way out, and he stills entirely, unable to bring himself to move as he stares down the blockage, as though the snow might turn to stone if he looks away for a moment. One moment, and he's on a hunting patrol, and the next it's not Rattleheart, or Scorchstreak, or Harbingermoon he sees, but Clearheart, Hazecloud, Nightbird -
Just as quickly as the thought arises, swells and snaps into place, it crumbles away, just as the snow gives way beneath their paws. Belatedly, he realizes that he's been staring, that there's snow they've dug out pressing against his own paws, and all he can do is wonder about Scorchstreak. They hadn't really talked about what it had been like, separated and trapped down there; it must have gone better for her, he thinks, or maybe she's just stronger than him,
better than him, because she hadn't frozen up as if ice ran through her veins like he had. Maybe this was something she had prepared for - maybe this is just something that
happened in Leaf-bare, when the skies opened up. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he doesn't want to think about that possibility (
can't think about it, not right now) as his stiffened limbs slacken, and he tries to busy himself with shoveling some of the snow out of the way.
The sooner they're out of there, the better, and he's just going to scoop the snow, and he's not going to think about anything else. It's cold on his paw pads, an icy shock, and not at all unwelcome, in this moment. There hadn't been any snow like this when they'd gotten trapped, he doesn't think; that had come after. This was after, and there were no rocks, and Scorchstreak is right here, and Scorchpaw isn't underground at all, and - and he's going to get out of here, and it'll all be
fine. Distantly, he hears someone outside, something about offering a paw, but he can't draw his scattered thoughts in enough to formulate a reply, only pausing for a moment to stare at where the voice had come from, as if that might materialize a response of some sort.
