private PICK A STAR ON THE HORIZON ⸝⸝₊・slateheart

[dimmingsun]

Should anyone manage to pick out his pelt amongst the yellowing grasses, they'd surely think Dimmingsun has lost his mind. He can't even refuse the idea; his paws are carrying him towards danger, towards the very fire that threats to overtake and destroy everything. He narrows his eyes, willing them to ignore the sting, but he has to stop and wipe the built-up tears away if he wants to actually use his sight. The world is bright with danger around him. It'll swallow him up if he's not careful, and he has to sidestep the roaring flames in order to keep his fur on.

StarClan, help me.

He hisses, both in frustration and desperation. The lack of Slateheart was not initially this anxiety-inducing, but with the newly acquired knowledge of more than one fire coming towards them, he couldn't possibly sit still in camp and wait for his Clanmate to return. He's lucky he even managed to pick up Slateheart's scent - it's gone now as his senses start failing him, but the vague direction had been the only thing to go off of. Dimmingsun has to find him. Just be alive, please. They don't need another vigil.

"Slateh-" His voice cracks, smoke invading his throat and lungs as he's forced to inhale. It makes everything so much worse, his insides burning just like the moor is. Dimmingsun doesn't miss the irony. Another cough racks his body, but he wills himself to yell again. "Slateheart, where are you?"

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INTO THE NIGHT ✦ I DRINK AND DRIVE

• 
• DIMMINGSUN ✦ WINDCLAN WARRIOR
  ────── HE/HIM ✦ PENNED BY KARMEN ✦ 04/15
• @slateheart

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[slateheart]

Everyone has been on edge since the fires began. But Slateheart, more than ever, had been longing for Horseplace. He'd jump on any opportunity to venture there, any opportunity to see if the barn was on fire - if the cats there were alive. No such opportunity presented itself, and he had never been able to get close.

He scarce mentioned where he was going when he left camp today. Going to scope out the fire's progress and update his little map in the sand, a task he's taken upon himself over the past few days. Alone, he insisted to the camp's guard, and left without any further argument. Slateheart's paws carried him towards Horseplace, where his long-lost and newly reunited mother now lived. How hard could traversing a fire be? Just avoid the flames, he told himself; it should be easy enough. But he could have never expected the harsh assault on his face and lungs.

The walls of flame were growing closer each day. Slateheart was moving about, every which way, to find some kind of opening to pass it. Horseplace was just behind, and he could only see the vague shape of it through the heat-manipulated air. He knows not if the building burns. Desperately, he thinks, if he can just get through and find Silverfoot, he can bring her home to WindClan; she'll be safe there, and evacuate with them if needed. So focused on the dreams of finding his mother, he doesn't even recognize his own smoke-filled coughs.

He is lost in his thoughts as he trots along, in a daze, when suddenly he feels the ground dip underneath his right paw. It sinks into one of the Twoleg-built holes, sending his face forward into the warm dirt behind it. As Slateheart's body collides on the other side of the hole, he feels a pain sharper than any he's ever felt before rip through his shoulder. His body stiffens, and his mind becomes alert; ripped out of his desperation, he can hear the crackling of the fire around him now, feel its tongue lapping his pelt, and the smoke that had he had been breathing in for several tail-lengths burns through him, drowning him.

And now - he's stuck. It's easy enough to pull his front arm out of the hole, but the pain is unforgiveable, and the limb has fallen limp and heavy. Standing on it is not an option, he discovers, as he places his paw down in an attempt to turn back home and falls flat on his face. What were you thinking? Slateheart scolds himself - he wasn't.

It's the best he can do to limp away from the wall of fire, dragging his forelimb along with him. But with each step back towards camp, Slateheart feels the toll that his body has endured ever since he arrived in this StarClan-forsaken area. His tongue lulls out of his mouth in an unsteady rhythm as he fights for consistent breaths; his eyes burn and he allows his eyelids to fall to a squint. Then, as if a miracle sent by StarClan themselves, he hears his voice through the crackling of fire, carried by none other than a cat he'd grown to consider a new friend.

Dimmingsun is calling for him. Slateheart raises his chin and picks up his pace, though each swing of his shoulder tears through him with a pain strong enough to dizzy his head. He's cursed to take it slow, despite the impending danger. "I'm - here!" he calls back, shaken with a cough in between. His voice comes out in a loud, broken rasp - he's in poor shape, and he knows he can't endure this much longer.
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CHARACTER INFORMATION — ♡ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ♡ — OUT OF CHARACTER

• 

  slate slatepaw slatetooth SLATEHEART
  ━━ MOOR-RUNNER WARRIOR of WINDCLAN
  ━━ 23 MOONS,, ages every 6th
  ━━ LYNXTOOTH xx ADELAIDE xx SILVERFOOT
  ━━ SIBLING to GRAVELSNAP and ASHPAW
  ━━ MATE to none | PARENT to none
  ━━ MENTOR to none | MENTORED by LYNXTOOTH​
• 
  
  
• speech is #bbbb88​

 

[dimmingsun]

Slateheart's voice is carried by the wind and over the wall of fire. Ears twitch and perk up, searching for the source and ignoring the even louder noises as the reds and oranges destroy the world around him.

"I'm coming!" he says, just for good measure, as he is stopped dead in his tracks. This is a risk he has to take — the only way he sees forward is jumping over the flames, legs and momentum hopefully carrying him high enough to keep the white fur of his belly on... all without the certainty that Slateheart is truly on the other side. If Dimmingsun's eyes won't land on that black pelt, then this effort is all for nothing, and he is wasting both of their times.

But if he doesn't even try...

His paws pull at the remaining grass under him, claws sliding in and out. In moments like these, he has to wonder: would his life be easier if he wasn't so damn attached to all of his Clanmates? Running head-first into danger just for the chance of saving another is bound to burn him eventually. Literally or figuratively. He'd find out right about now.

There's no more time to dilly-dally.

Finally, Dimmingsun gathers up all his strength. He crouches low and pulls all his limbs under him, waits for a heartbeat longer, and pushes himself into the air with a mighty kick of his hindlegs. His forelegs stretch out as if he's a bird whose wings would get carried further if the wind aids him. Oh, he hopes it aids him. The green of his eyes disappear as he shuts his eyes and squints enough to hurt, pulling all muscles in his face. He's preparing for the scorching pain, for the realization that he cannot possibly help Slateheart if the flames catch him now.

And then he lands.

He all but collides with the ground, a loud thud solidifying his lack of grace. Dimmingsun's dizzy with the relief that he has all his whiskers and even his tail. The time he spends crumbled is only a moment, enough to collect himself again and take a breather.

Up in a flash. As if proof of him still being alive wasn't enough, his body threatens to sag again when he sees Slateheart. His friend is in one piece, fur and skin in-tact, breathing and looking just as bewildered.

He doesn't need to know why Slateheart decided to come here. "Come on," Dimmingsun breathes, unflattering as it escapes him; the heat curls uncomfortably close around them. "Are you hurt? We have to hurry."

---​

INTO THE NIGHT ✦ I DRINK AND DRIVE

• 
• DIMMINGSUN ✦ WINDCLAN WARRIOR
  ────── HE/HIM ✦ PENNED BY KARMEN ✦ 04/15
•  

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[slateheart]

Slateheart must be star-blessed to be this lucky in spite of all his foolery. Just as soon as he calls out, hoping that Dimmingsun's voice wasn't a heat-fueled delusion, the golden warrior calls back - he's nearby.

There's a moment of hesitation after his promise. Every second that passes feels like a minute - every minute, even longer. With the sky warped and hidden by illuminating flames, there's no telling the time here. All he can do is count each breath - in, out, in, out - as he awaits the arrival of Dimmingsun. All the while feeling completely and utterly.. helpless.

Slateheart almost doesn't see the bright warrior leaping through the wall of fire, at first. Surely another illusion, he thinks, a StarClan cat emerging from the flames to take him home. But the cat lands with a graceless thud, and it's then that he realized what Dimmingsun had just risked for him. Wordlessly, his green eyes look past him towards the fire he'd come from. Dimmingsun made that leap, and by the stars if he didn't arrive unscathed as he did, Slateheart would never forgive himself.

Are you hurt? the warrior asks, and Slateheart nods. If time were not of the essence, and his throat not aflame, he would've cracked a joke; where do I begin? Not only his forearm, but his watering eyes, his smoke-burnt throat, his fur that he's sure has not gone untouched. All he can do is nod and rasp in response; "My forearm."

From where he had misstepped into one of the Twoleg's trenches. He can only hope that the damage does not last. Given a swift burst of adrenaline by Dimmingsun's hurried command, Slateheart pushes himself up with his three useful-yet legs. Another test of pressure tells him that his forearm cannot carry his weight, but with Dimmingsun here to support his balance, he will be more than able to walk. The only thing is.. the walls of fire. "I can't jump like you did," comes another rasp. Slateheart looks around, fighting to keep the panic out of his weary face, to no avail. There has to be another way out.

Then, his eyes fall upon an opening - brief, he assumes, but sure. Where the grass had burnt away and left only kindles and dirt - at least, until the wind sweeps another flame through. If they can make it through before their opening closes, they'll at least be out of the circle of blaze that closes them in - if they're lucky enough, it'll be more clear on the other side. "There. Quickly!"
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CHARACTER INFORMATION — ♡ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ ♡ — OUT OF CHARACTER

• 

  slate slatepaw slatetooth SLATEHEART
  ━━ MOOR-RUNNER WARRIOR of WINDCLAN
  ━━ 23 MOONS,, ages every 6th
  ━━ LYNXTOOTH xx ADELAIDE xx SILVERFOOT
  ━━ SIBLING to GRAVELSNAP and ASHPAW
  ━━ MATE to none | PARENT to none
  ━━ MENTOR to none | MENTORED by LYNXTOOTH​
• 
  
  
• speech is #bbbb88​

 

[dimmingsun]

I should've come earlier is the first thought that crosses Dimmingsun's mind upon Slateheart's nod. He should've paid more attention, followed the trail sooner- no, he should've went after his Clanmate right away because nobody should be wandering alone during a time like this. Self-inflicted guilt washes over him while Slateheart presents the hurt that'd physically hinder him from an easy escape.

As if trying to make up for it, Dimmingsun is by Slateheart's side in a flash, acting as support that wouldn't crumble no matter the amount of weight put on him. He's frantic as he peers around themselves, fire on all sides. Without the ability to jump, they might have to risk burning themselves after all.

But Slateheart finds an opening anyway — calm and collected enough to be perceptive despite their situation. Dimmingsun's whiskers twitch, his pupils all but slits as he stares at it. Their only chance, but one that is unstable, at the hands of the wind's mercy... or lack thereof.

"Okay," he says, uncertain. Then he repeats- "Okay." -more confident now. His heart is beating so fast he's afraid it might jump out of its place, but he has to push through the animal-like fear. "You first. I'll be right behind you."

He doesn't want to give voice to his thoughts, of the possibility that Slateheart might stumble and fall. There's no version of this where Dimmingsun would leave him behind.

The flames continue roaring around them, and Dimmingsun wonders if they're coming to life just to chant their doom. His paws hit the ground with enough strength to hurt later, but if all he gets out of this is some scorched pawpads, he'll thank StarClan for the rest of his life. Slateheart is in the center of his vision, hyper-aware of how painful it must be to run this fast with a leg like that.

Then, the other reason of putting himself in the rear shows itself. They're inches away from the opening now, and it seems Dimmingsun's glare has done the trick, because there's little to no breeze that'd close the gates. But... just to make sure: his jaws find themselves buried in the back of Slateheart's neck, grabbing him by the scruff, grunting with the effort of lifting him. There's enough adrenaline rushing and pulsing in Dimmingsun's body to manage upholding the extra weight for long enough to be clear of immediate danger, hauling Slateheart over the most threatening part and making sure no white paws touch the ground in that precise moment.

The landing is a lot less graceful, just like before. Smoke and fear have a joined chokehold on Dimmingsun, and with his mouth too preoccupied to take in proper breaths, his lungs all but give out. He has to open them to take an abrupt inhale, and Slateheart slips out from his grasp, sending them both sprawling on the ground.

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INTO THE NIGHT ✦ I DRINK AND DRIVE

• 
• DIMMINGSUN ✦ WINDCLAN WARRIOR
  ────── HE/HIM ✦ PENNED BY KARMEN ✦ 04/15
•  

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