sensitive topics PURGED | graypaw, mouseflight

[GHOSTWAIL]

CW: WAR IMAGERY, GORE, SEVERE INJURY/TRAUMA TO EYE, EXPLICIT HARM DONE TO A MINOR. Dead dove, do not eat.

Blood splattered against dingy white; the front of Ghostwail's chest, at first clumped together by grime and snow, now matted by way of viscera and slobber. It was freeing to know that her supposed clanmates had indeed been turn-cloaks and cowards. It was cathartic to be able to finally say that she was right and it was even more satisfying to be able to unleash seasons of pent-up hunger out on the traitors now.

She drooled over each cat she threw down. Fur that was not her own speckled her pelt, souvenirs of each cat that was able to skitter away. Sunstride called for a retreat and they followed with Ghostwail hot on their heels, Sootstar's hound hunting her betrayers for what they were: prey.

Two escaped. She could not recall their names, as insignificant as they were, but she hissed and spat in their wake before turning to - ah.... what was this?

A child had been left behind, wide-eyed towards the throes of battle. A perfect snack to quell her hunger... Ghostwail leapt for her then, front paws flung out, overgrown claws outstretched as if to catch a rabbit between them. Spittle hung from her parted jaws as she lunged forward, snapping at the child's face and paws, all done with the precision and cruelty of a mutt deranged. speech is in #730000​

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[Graypaw.]

Fright had kept the apprentice hidden within the confines of the war zone. The echoing howls of desperate felines, the cackling of those finding enjoyment in the streaked, gaping wounds that lined her Clanmates. Shivers of terror ran up her spine and her head was ducked down. Her tail curled beneath her, she moved. Slow, steady, desperate for freedom. The call for retreat came as a golden arrow, shot through the horror she felt. It was then that the she-cat moved free from her hiding spot and it was then that she felt the larger body of Ghostwail collided with hers.

Blurred was the world as her own blood smeared into her eyes. The penetration of teeth and claws searing wounds into her body. Young, hopeless; a coward. The battles, the screaming, the blood pools; fleeing felines, pursuing fighters. It all swirled around as the body of Ghostwail caused her to collapse to the ground.

"No!" wailed Graypaw, feeling nothing but the explosion of pain. "Please!" she howled in pure terror. She squirmed her way free from the grasp of the older cat. She turned her wild eyes to stare at the white furred feline. A stranger who stunk of spilled blood, their pelt decorated with the wounds of war and the torn fur of their enemies. Graypaw was silent as she stood staring, claws scraping against the hard, solid ground. Her tail no longer tucked, now swaying behind her, as her back arched and her fur spiked. "What do you want from me? I'm not fighting!"

 

[GHOSTWAIL]

The beast does not respond to reason. It snarls again, lunging forward once more to trap its prey between its jaws. A horrible twisting, stalking thing it is, far from the placid-faced warrior that attended so many meetings with nary more than a sniffle or a sigh. It is a monster, a wolf finally discarded its sheepskin to reveal its teeth before the lamb.

The child hisses and caterwhauls but the beast does not heed the warning, instead moving - quick as a snake - for the belly. If it can reach the soft downy fur, then it will be able to feast, and perhaps still return a pittance to its master and be praised for their loyalty, like a dog retrieving some troublesome bird for its hunter.

It lunges and in its arrogance, it lunges face-first towards thorn-sharp claws, unsheathed in terror. In its arrogance, it forgets to protect as it seeks to kill ....

/open for powerplay >;3 speech is in #730000​

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[Graypaw.]

IShe saw the creature lunge, the aim so obvious. Her belly; soft, sensitive; risky. As Ghostwail lunged, the she-cat lunged in turn. For a moment there was nothing but the flight of the two, their claws extended. Graypaw felt the screaming fear within her, but there was no escape. Should she choose to flee, she knew this horrid warrior would chase her down. Blood would spill. Despite this, blood would spurt from the wounds soon to be inflicted.

There were no words for the apprentice to use as she felt her claws pierce the wild eyes of her enemy. A sort of soft squishy feeling, the sensation causing a rapid rolling nausea to churn her stomach. The flying blood that smeared across both the face of Ghostwail and Graypaw herself. Violence, senseless, cruel. Graypaw felt her claws tear down as she fell to the ground, her eyes wide with shock and fright.

"There's so much blood," she gurgled, taking steps backward. "What have I done?"