private PLEASE DON'T GO AWAY 𓆟 [ mission ]

[claythorn]

Claythorn had been trusted with a mission. Well, of sorts. Her and an apprentice were to investigate and attempt to find out where cats were being taken. Her stomach still felt sick with the thought of Moonbeam and Troutsnout being taken, but those weren't the only ones. She had fed, and waited for the cover of night to come down before she found her accomplice. Ospreypaw, as far as Claythorn knew, was probably not receptive to those of the colony, but Claythorn put aside any differences tonight.

Her question was quiet, as to not stir the cats in camp who needed their rest for patrols and hunting tomorrow. "Ready?" She questioned, and when Ospreypaw confirmed, she turned and began to lead out of camp. Claythorn had a rough idea of where they were going, considering the awful sound, smoke, and scent trails left from other's captures lead straight towards them. "Watch the ground for traps." She murmured softly, her own eyes searching for glints of metal in the foliage.

Of course, she was ready to lay her life on the line to get any of them back. Thoughts brushed briefly upon Moonbeam, the ghostly pelted, blessed in order to hear Starclan. Troutsnout- dependable, kind. Both loved and needed by their clan. Even just that, and Claythorn was fueled over and over again at the thought of families and friends and loves being separated. "Head down and low." She instructed softly as they began to grow near the camp, campfire light casting strange shadows.

@Ospreypaw
perch

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK ⋅❁⋅ GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? ──┐‎

• "speech"

• 

• CLAYTHORN she/her, warrior of riverclan, eleven moons.
  ⭃ LH chocolate torbie with mismatched golden eyes, scars across her right cheek and over her left ear. cold exterior and threatening glares, built for stamina/battle and not swimming (tall/muscled)
  ⭃ mentored by darkbranch (npc) / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ no current love interest / / only child
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[Ospreypaw]

TAGS — Ospreypaw delighted in this show of trust from Lichenstar. To be given a mission as important as this is an honor she only half-expected to receive, and even then she assumed she would be waiting until warriorhood to see it. But even though she takes great pleasure in such a thing, the apprentice is dedicated enough to her work that she knows not to revel in it right now. If she wants to be successful in this venture, she'll have to keep her head down and —

Head down and low. There's the burr in her pelt. Claythorn leads this expedition, really, and Ospreypaw is just her shadow. It's no time for rivalries, she tells herself, because it's not, not when Moonbeam and Troutsnout and more are missing. Part of her is still convinced that Troutsnout has been spirited away to the moorlands, and yet she creeps towards the wobbling shadows of the twoleg camp anyway. Citrine eyes scrape the reedy grass for any signs of traps or otherwise that would hinder their mission. The water's surface is alight with twoleg flame.

Acrid smoke-stench, a cacophony of garbled tongue and crackling fire, the tangy scent of metal structures that the twolegs have holed up into; these are the things that crowd her senses as the pair gets closer to the twoleg camp. Ospreypaw's pelt tingles with apprehension. She's nine moons old now, but... she can see the twolegs, and though they're still a ways out yet, they're huge. Their paws are nearly the size of her whole body. She keeps her head down and carries herself low to the earth without thinking about Claythorn's instruction.

Silver-knitted jaws part to take in any scent she can, trying to keep herself on the trail of her lost clanmates, but.... it's too muddled. The apprentice shifts her gaze to her warrior companion for the night, yellow eyes imploring. "Can you tell where they went from here?" she asks, hushed so as to not draw attention to themselves.​

 

[claythorn]

Given the gravity of their relationship- well, that was generous. Relationship, this was just an apprentice who didn't like her. Whatever. She was used to that- but given that? Claythorn was keeping this as professional as possible. She didn't want to risk Ospreypaw or herself getting captured because they slipped up. Regardless, ears are perked and vision forward as she stared at the camp.

No, she couldn't smell anything else- the reek of smoke and twoleg had covered up the last trail of cat, but given the fact they knew that twolegs had been capturing cats, and this is where the twolegs were... Vision tried to squint against unnatural night-time light, trying to seek any pelts anywhere in the camp. She responded to Ospreypaw in a quiet tone. ".. No, but I don't think they would've gone past the camp. If twolegs captured them..." She nodded her head towards a twoleg carrying a brown... vessel, shiny and long shaped.

She shifted- ears perked, trying to use her other senses. Nighttime vision was scarred by that of their lights, of the fire they commanded, and her scent was overwhelmed by smoke and metal and the reek of their bodies. That tinny, whining noise from what Claythorn didn't know was a radio, and the... She took a step forward, head slightly lifting as she listened closer. "Cats. I hear cats." She breathed out. "Can't tell who, but I hear one." She murmured back to Ospreypaw.

Picking her head up was the wrong thing to do- or maybe they had just been happened upon. Claythorn felt everything go hot, then freezing cold as the very thing she didn't want to come face to face with came close enough to scent even over the smell of smoke. Mismatched golden eyes slid in partial horror towards the dog that was pushing through the reeds, lips pulled back and warning snarl already ringing in their ears. Claythorn did what she could- fur stood on end to make her already large body seem larger, returning the snarl.

She snapped to Ospreypaw- the apprentice would have to forgive her for the tone later- "Go! Find a tree! They can't climb!" She ordered. The dog leapt forward, Claythorn's claws arcing over it's muzzle as she scrambled to the side. Stay away from her. Stay away from her! Claythorn silently begged, turning on her paw and heading towards the deeper parts of Riverclan's 'forest'. The dog, as long as Ospreypaw listened to her, would follow Claythorn.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK ⋅❁⋅ GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? ──┐‎

• "speech"

• 

• CLAYTHORN she/her, warrior of riverclan, eleven moons.
  ⭃ LH chocolate torbie with mismatched golden eyes, scars across her right cheek and over her left ear. cold exterior and threatening glares, built for stamina/battle and not swimming (tall/muscled)
  ⭃ mentored by darkbranch (npc) / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ no current love interest / / only child
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[Ospreypaw]

TAGS — Claythorn can't pick up the trail past here, either. Ospreypaw's shoulders tense in her crouch. She peers through the reeds at the twoleg she points out, lemon-wedge eyes flicking briefly over the strange object it holds. It is an awfully strange looking thing; maybe a rock? A trap? She would hate to have it thrown at her. But investigating whatever strange things the twolegs enjoyed isn't her mission — finding their missing clanmates is.

Claythorn's ears prick suddenly, and Ospreypaw's do too as she seeks out whatever the red-blazed molly has picked up. She hears it — she hears cats, hears them even before the older warrior breathes it. The apprentice offers a fervent nod, confirming that neither of them were imagining it. "I hear them," she rumbles, but the voices are so distant beneath the pulsing sounds of twoleg activity. High, tinny screeches of their speaker boxes; the bassy bellow of twoleg voices; growling dogs and, over top of it all, the rushing roar of the river. It's impossible to pick out the voice of Troutsnout, or Moonbeam, or anyone above that din. But she hears the distinct meow of cats, and StarClan, wouldn't it be wonderful if they could just charge in and get them back?

She'd ignored the growls at first. Dogs were not uncommon at RiverClan's borders anymore — but she didn't know they'd be this close. Claythorn snarls at the beast that has strayed too close, and Ospreypaw's nicked ears flatten to her skull, short-cropped fur standing on end as much as it could.

It would later be mortifying to admit that she froze in that moment. Huge pearl-white teeth flash right in front of the apprentice's eyes; the snarl is deafening, drowning even the twoleg cacophony that has taken root in their territory. Ospreypaw's body does not obey her mind. RUN, it screams; Go! Find a tree! Claythorn shouts; and yet the blue-ribbed girl stays stock-still for one more harrowing breath. The dog's muzzle barrels at her in slow motion. It's only when Claythorn rakes her claws against the beast that the younger girl snaps back to her senses, instantly bolting away and towards the nearest tree she could see, its base sparkling silver.

Thin claws hook into the bark and she scrambles up it, lacking any grace or dignity in her escape. At one point she misses a pawhold and slides backwards, losing a tail-length of progress, but despite the way it scratches her pads Ospreypaw scrambles up even further. Blood dusts the bark she touches. Her skull feels electric. Still, she looks down to where Claythorn had been, and — O River, she laments, mortified by the sight of the dog still harassing her clanmate into the woods, let me help her.

"Claythorn!" Her perch is not far from the other molly. "At the base of the tree! Look!" There's a snare there — one that Claythorn could coax the dog through, Ospreypaw hopes. Then she could climb the tree, too, and they could wait for it to struggle until it couldn't anymore. She'd seen the traps popping up more and more now, but didn't think much of the one at the base of her own safe haven until she'd managed to secure her spot atop it. "Run the dog through the snare!"

Her heart beats hard in her chest. Let Claythorn succeed, please.​

 

[claythorn]

Blood coated her paws, driven from the dog's muzzle at her attack. They pressed into soil as she turned and scampered away. Her ears were ringing, golden eyes snapping towards huge, slobbering jaws the turned to leap after her, snapping and baying. Loud. Loud! Her vision skipped further, barely able to sight Ospreypaw clambering up a tree. That's when Claythorn turned forward in earnest, paws drumming against soil with the huge slams of dog paws behind her, slight relief coating her at the knowledge at least the apprentice would live. At least, at least.

Claythorn! Ospreypaw's words snapped her out of any martyrdom-type ideas, and vision shifted as hers did. Teeth grit as she ran, wide eyes narrowing to sight the glint on the ground. One of those awful traps, meant to catch them- or something larger. She didn't know. She didn't care. Verbal response wasn't given to the apprentice clinging to a tree like a fledgling bird- her path did change, dirt flying as her pelt stood on end. Teeth snapped next to her tail, and she inwardly screamed in response.

This was not the first time she had been chased. This was not the first time. Pawpad and claw dug into dirt as she raced forward, back to the snare. Please be stupid. Please, please, please, be stupid, was the chanted thought. Moments later did she spring past the snare, and the ever-constant barking and snarling turned into that of sharp shrieking as the SLAP! of the snare sounded. Claythorn didn't stop running- she found another tree, scrambling up it before daring to turn and place her eyes upon the beast of a dog.

Her breathing was hard, heavy, as she stared at the beast who writhed. Maybe it was the ink of night, the strange casting of flame upon the pelts of them and the short brush of Riverclan, but the dog's pelt was dark, the only light spots upon it the flashing of panicked white eyes and bared yellowed fangs. Slowly did Claythorn lower back down from the tree, mismatched golden eyes wide and pinpointed. She hissed at the dog as she passed. "Ospreypaw." She called, vision snapping up towards where she last saw the apprentice. "We need to go."

Claythorn would thank her later- but for now, they needed to get out of here before more dogs showed up. Somewhere safer.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ┌── WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK ⋅❁⋅ GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? ──┐‎

• "speech"

• 

• CLAYTHORN she/her, warrior of riverclan, eleven moons.
  ⭃ LH chocolate torbie with mismatched golden eyes, scars across her right cheek and over her left ear. cold exterior and threatening glares, built for stamina/battle and not swimming (tall/muscled)
  ⭃ mentored by darkbranch (npc) / / mentoring no one
  ⭃ no current love interest / / only child
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[Ospreypaw]

TAGS — Ospreypaw can only watch with bated breath as Claythorn darts across the earth below her perch, bobbing and weaving mere breaths ahead of the dog's slobbering maw. She can't tell if the red-mottled molly hears her instruction; can only trace her path with citrine eyes blown wide by fear. Her paws ache as she clings to the tree. Blood trickles in thin, neat rivulets down the bark below her paws. Her heart beats in her flattened ears. Claythorn runs, runs for her life, and then the dog is through the trap and Claythorn is safe and Ospreypaw watches the beast struggle, struggle, struggle until it stops. Whatever hellish power had animated it before leaves it now, moonlit eyes glazing over in real time.

Ospreypaw stares from above, an unwilling audience to the dog's final performance. She doesn't think about coming down; she has almost forgotten their mission entirely, mind wiped by fear. But then Claythorn beckons her again, and the silver-knit molly comes slowly down the tree, trying her best not to aggravate her sensitive pawpads more than they already had been.

Her fur bristles as she passes the dog, but the rest of their journey is spent in quiet, tense silence. They needed to get out of here indeed — and there were a good number of things that Ospreypaw ought to think about on her own, too.​