sensitive topics Pushed To the Point of Breaking | Return

[Cindershade]

[cw;; Speaking about murder, violence, insults, dead body]

She had snapped like a taut string pulled past it's tension limit.

Everything had been so tranquil beforehand. Lightningstone and Cindershade had went out with Hyacinthbreath just for some hunting, it was played out to be a regular day. She had been positioned along the blanks of the rushing river, eyes trained on the crystalline surface to await for a shimmer of movement that danced in the depths of the water. All was quiet, tranquil even—

Until she heard the screams and bloodthirsty caterwhauls.

She had shifted for the stone-colored tom to follow her while she sprinted up the banks to the source, the worst scenario playing in her mind. There was obviously a skirmish, claws and teeth gnashing with the sickly scent of crimson permeating the air. What she had stumbled upon was a bit more morbid than some spurt of a fight over territory or exchanged words. Hyacinthbreath had a hold of a tom, banging his weighted cranium against the wall of rock repeatedly whilst shouting and smiling. Cindershade had never seen something so horrific, it was something from a nightmare. A string pulled so hard till something finally snaps within the silver molly's mind. She had managed to pry her away from the mangled remnants of blue-gray fur, dark scarlet blotting out his features. She was able to bring her back as WindClan gathered the body, a sun-filtered tom with a singular eye of cerulean filled with absolute rage as he stared at them before leaving the Two-Leg bridge.

The shaded warrior accompanied by Lightningstone escorted Hyacinthbreath back to camp, concern and worry palpable within her strides. The way back was filled with a heavy silence, occasionally her vibrant gaze flitted towards the other woman with a bit of sympathy softening her expression. What could she say in this situation? Good job? Cindershade feels her jaw tighten and clench, teeth grinding together as she mulls over the situation. He was on their side of their territory, on RiverClan territory. Was he so bold as to think he could do such a thing? Was he sent by Sootstar herself to rid of the refugees? It seemed after Hyacinthbreath's exile, more had followed suit. Was Sootstar planning on taking them out to avoid her secrets being shared? The woman narrows her gaze as white hot rage bubbles in her chest, threatening to spew over.
With the bridge and gorge now behind them, she emerges from the bramble into camp with her head aloft. Hyacinthbreath handled herself the best she could, fighting a larger ex-clanmate and beating him down where he had stood. It was clear where her loyalties had lie, she had seen it first and foremost. Hyacinthbreath needed to be treated, and Cicadastar needed to hear this. The dark woman turns to Hyacinthbreath, aiming to rest her tail along her spine. "Sit down and rest." She murmurs, but it felt more of an order than an invitation. "Cicadastar!" Her voice cracks the silence with a hefty shout, ignoring the obvious murmurs and gasps as clan mates appear. "WindClan has disturbed our borders—crossed over the bridge." She announces for all to hear. "One attacked has Hyacinthbreath. She needs immediate attention." Her voice quaked as she spoke, unable to hide the rage in her tone. In the crowd she searches for the golden pelt of Beesong. How far was this witch of the Moorland willing to go?

@hyacinthbreath @LIGHTNINGSTONE @CICADASTAR @BEESONG @BUCKGAIT.

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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[DARTERWING]

(=^･ｪ･^=))ﾉ彡♡ —Amongst the shocked clan-mates was Darterwing, her long fur carried in a passing breeze. The former moor-cats fur was caked in blood, the warrior can’t help but wonder how much of it was actually hers. Her pelt twitches with anxiety and disscontempt, this was not the first time blood was spilled on the border with WindClan- she knows better than to pray for it to be the last.

It was clear the last thing needed in this situation was a crowd, swarming the patrol would do no good and would keep Beesong from properly treating wounds. She moves and brushes along side the closest clan-mate and shakes her head, ”More blood spilled at the border… what a waste.” To blame was WindClan, it was always them, and while many would likely cry war Darterwing struggles to believe violence would solve the issue at hand. At the end of the day she was a warrior to Cicadastar, given the order she’d lay her opinions down and get the job done.

Green eyes watch her high rankings through black bangs, what would they do? What was next? — tags​

 

[CICADASTAR]

it’s the scent of blood that draws him. heavy, thick and bitter — the smell coagulates on his tongue until he feels as though he could retch and spit it out. long limbs bring him forward despite how he wishes to return to the comfort of his resting place, limbs aching from the stressors of the day. but seconds later, cindershade is calling for him and he is here, he is already staring, pallid eyes unreadable against the dying sun. the stench of windclan is strong just beneath it, but the two often worked paw in paw. the moorlands were of biting iron and open fields, always tinged in blood — thankfully, often their own. he stands, rigid and blank, lets his maw fall open just a fraction to take in the underlying scent. windclan. cindershade speaks their name aloud and his ears finally snap back, thin and sharp against the wedged slope of his skull.

why? had they come after hyacinthbreath? had they come looking for the two pleading at his borders? or had they simply darted over the bridge yet again, aiming to steal from beneath their paws? whatever the reason, the leader finally manages to snap out of his reverie, lips ripping back into a snarl.

“ BEESONG! ” it’s immediate, a sharp, sloping yowl, head snapping back towards where the cinnamon tabby had been set up. it’s then that he steps closer, takes a better look at hyacinthbreath’s injuries and while they wait for the medicine cat to appear, aims to set up upon the small molly’s other side, hopefully easing her to relax injures muscles, “ those dogs — vermin! “ it’s snapped, mad and furious despite the easy weight he tries to lay upon hyacinth’s side. were the moorlands not enough? so - called queen of the moors could not seem to stick to them, could not constrain her mutts to the borders she’d lain. what to do? his teeth grit, jaw clenching hard enough he feels as though his fangs may shatter in his mouth, “ what were they doing? why? “ stealing, hunting their refugee, did they even know? had they simply crossed to get to her? his eyes flit from the silver molly and towards cindershade, towards lightningstone. he wanted to know why — he wanted to know the reason he would throw in the blue leader’s face when she fails to announce her clan’s bitter failures once again.

he takes a deep breath, mulls over in his mind what to do. what was there to do? slowly, he tips his head down, speaking close to hyacinth’s ear, “ freund, do you know who attacked you? “ he would have their head on a stick by the end of it — he would demand sootstar their pelt to line his nest, just as he should have weaselclaw. the mere thought of the brown tabby sends him bristling, the fur along his spine rocketing upwards and thick, curled tail fluffing. it only serves to anger him more, violent and biting. claws unsheathe, dig into pebbled dirt underfoot to keep him grounded as more clanmates draw near, murmuring amidst themself. darterwing speaks and he is inclined to agree. more riverclan blood spilled, regardless of her proclivities before. he would even out their score.

− ♱ information out of character ⟐ visual reference translated ♱ −

• ˖ ⁺ ｡ ˚ ⠀ CICADASTAR⠀⠀−−−c−−−⠀⠀king of the rivers.
  m. he / him. black smoke & tortoiseshell chimera with intense salt - blue eyes. a handsome, looming tom bearing patchwork black - silver curls that fall over his slim figure in loose, shining rivulets, broken with white and glossy from his fish diet. descending from a heritage of overtyped oriental shorthairs, cicadastar stands unusually tall amongst his peers, and holds himself with a tragic grace, poised and prim and ever - aware of how he is being perceived.
  
  ᨒ gay, courting smokethroat. smells like wet stone & moss.
  ᨒ speaks with a german accent. 40 moons, ages on the eighth.
  
  penned by antlers​
  
  
• 
• none.

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[BEESONG]

another fight. another windclan cat attacking a riverclanner within their own border. if beesong had been younger, more naive, he might've asked himself, when will it end? but now, he doesn't see an end to it as long as sootstar controls the moors. the meaningless bloodshed will continue until her reign comes to an end. and even when sootstar is long since cold underground, would it even stop there? would her successor follow in her crimson pawprints?

only time will tell, and beesong hates the uncertainty. the only thing he could do is prepare for the worst outcome; stock up on marigold, dock, and comfrey root while the moons were warm. ensure that he always has enough mint for the bodies. do everything he can to keep himself steady because he is one of riverclan's pillars and if he crumbles, the clan follows. there's no other choice but to grit his teeth against the weight on his shoulders and push forward.

cicadastar yowls at them, all teeth and ruined lips curled back into a snarl as the tortie's head swings toward the healer who's already scurrying to their makeshift den for supplies. their ear flattens, their heart threatening to burst right from the confines of their tight chest. beesong would try to move even faster, scattering their typically neat herb stock as they rummage for what they need; caution abandoned in the wake of the fear that's settled within. beesong could deal with the aftermath of painstakingly reorganizing their stock later if it means they do not face cicadastar's wrath for taking too long.

with damp moss, marigold, and cobwebs in his possession, beesong is at hyacinthbreath's side as quickly as possible. cindershade's explaining what happened, saying that windclan crossed the twoleg bridge, again, to attack hyacinthbreath. it's eerily familiar, and beesong swallows around the fury building in his throat. why couldn't windclan leave them alone? beesong doesn't even like hyacinthbreath, he doesn't trust her as far as he could throw her. but the blood and windclan stench coating her fur give him more reason to nurture the hatred that grows inside of him.

cicadastar's enraged vocals are enough to keep the healer silent as they work on cleaning the blood off of hyacinthbreath with the moss—how much of this is hers? how much of it was windclan's? they don't have precious time to waste on asking, so instead, they clench their jaw and hum to themselves in an attempt to calm their racing pulse. claw marks are gouged into her shoulders, and there are lacerations along her muzzle, they note to themselves. nothing looks life-threatening, at least.

an eye cuts to cicadastar while beesong works on chewing the marigold into a poultice, another question left unasked on their caged tongue. what will you do? how much more of this could cicadastar take before he snaps? how close is riverclan to the precipice of war?

beesong is swift in applying the poultice and pressing cobwebs into the wounds hard enough to hopefully stanch the bleeding. ​

 

[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

her attention is heavy upon the figure of hyacinth, crazed and bloodied. cindershade speaks of an attack, but does not mention any casualty to it. only of hyacinth's injuries, and well, it was plain to see. but what grabs her attention is the breach, the clear disrespect of marked borders. and thus, there is nothing to say to the warrior. if she were to be defending the borders she had promised to...then she had done good. the deputy gives little attention to darterwing or cicada, her worries laying with her lead warrior and cherished man. checking in with them briefly, making sure that windclan did not grab ahold of their figures.

her mind is rapid in its workings, how to piece together every second she was not present. if it had happened due to taunts and a hare, as it did with smoke and weasel. was it out of passion, bitter loyalty to some crazed leader? to see the refugee of windclan tucked away in riverclan, was it simply maddening to see? impossible to move on with? the deputy gives a sidelong view to the two warriors who had accompanied her, a clear look of her desperation for understanding. she'll speak with them later, order them to tell them every detail they can account for. the woman closes in on the subject of interest, giving plenty of space for beesong to work. their herbs fill the air, battling with the metallic stench of blood. eyes roving over the warrior, assessing the damage she could. no, no she was nothing gifted in healing. she knows little of the severity of wounds. but she is born of wicked claws, and knows that this was nothing on the scale of a simple fight. it looked to be fatal.

mainly, buckgait is silent. waiting for hyacinth to speak and to quell the overactive thoughts. to give a simple story. her eyes remain critical, but she is nothing short of impressed with the other. the wounds speak their story to the deputy, but these wounds were sure to anger windclan as a whole. a brewing war on the birth of newleaf...a crucial time for the lands to heal from the harsh colds. but it would be better than if they were still stuck in leafbare. how much will riverclan tolerate? the sheer disrespect they've taken already is humiliating, to say the least.
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[hyacinthbreath]

The overwhelming anger still bubbles beneath silvery fur, breathing ragged as bloody spittle spills from the gap in her cheek. It's gorey, and definitely not a neat wound- her face disfigured from Juniperfrost's claws. "I'm okay," She wheezes out to her friend, but Cinder was already yelling for Cicadastar. Had she any semblance of self control, she would have just walked away- but who knew if Juniperfrost would leap across the border still, tearing into her from behind? Sootstar didn't train her Warrior's to fight fair, after all. "Konig," Hyacinthbreath calls out to the black and white mottled tom, fully expecting an ear-full of scolding but instead.. He calls her friend, asks her what happened.

Hyacinthbreath breathes out a sigh, not realizing her eyes had shut tight in preparation.

Buckgait arrives, along with Beesong who immediately gets to work. Marigold is smothered over her wound, cobwebs lacing over it and the familiar stinging begins. It almost makes her miss Dandy's sweet face. "Juniperfrost," She announces to the growing crowd of cats. "Juniperfrost of WindClan is dead. I killed him. I-" She wheezes in a breath, steadying herself despite the dizziness. Her jaw hurt like hell. "He crossed the border and I killed him for it. He was.. He was talking about killing my son who still resides in WindClan. I couldn't just.. Let him go after that, mein Konig." She meows, head twisting to prevent the herbs from falling off of her shredded jaw. She looked a mess, with mostly Juniperfrost's blood all over her paws. It caked, coagulated on her fur- sticking so uncomfortably she'd have to bathe in the river to wash it all off.

He deserves it. It's your fault.

She's not proud of it, not one bit- the look of satisfaction in Buck's eyes don't miss her own, and yet Hyacinthbreath can only feel that it was deserved that he'd end up this way. Juniperfrost.. Was her enemy. A name on her ledger, one that she had tainted red. Next, was Sootstar herself; one day she might get the chance to end the suffering the woman caused. One day. Until then, she hoped that Sootstar continued to suffer blows to her ranks until she was alone. Just as Hyacinthbreath was when she came to RiverClan. Now, there was a spark of recognition in the Deputy's eyes. It's barely there, but ever so present. Hyacinthbreath nods her head to the taller molly in respect, before she settles her gaze back on her King.

"WindClan won't let his death be in vain, even if it was his own actions that got him killed. I can guess that Sootstar will send a patrol over to confront me, or come to the borders herself if she's still as bold as she used to be. Or stupid. I don't remember which." She speaks calmly despite the agonizing stab of pain in her face. Holy shit, remind her never to expose her face to an enemy again. "I take full responsibility for what happened at the border, Cicadastar. But I do not regret killing Juniperfrost. He crossed our borders and he died for it."​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞

 

[SMOKESTAR]

His form pulses like a heartbeat, the flick of a dying fire roaring back to life at the slightest fuel dropped upon it and the word 'WindClan' is a curse that draws him onto the scene with expedience and purpose. The sharp tang of copper-tinged air fills his lungs, he hones in on the bloodied silver she-cat huddled on the ground with her face horrifically mauled. He is no medicine cat but he can tell when a wound will scar and these will carry with her forever as his had also.
"Hya!" He is not oft a cat for nicknames and the like, prefering the refer to cats as the clan given name out of respect, but on occasion he slips when his nerves are rattled and panic swells to burst in his ribcage; he remembers screaming 'Cada' rather than a full title when the man dipped into frozen waters with a splintering crack-here he feels himself too sink with a sudden rush of cold though it only flows inside his veins. The black tom pushes through the throng of cats with little concern for politeness, shoving past Buckgait and Darterwing to move to the striped molly's otherside where he is not in Beesong's way but can raise a paw to her shoulder in a careful gesture; he arrives in time for quite the tale. Juniperfrost, the blue tabby he had seen on a few passing patrols, according to Hyacinthbreath he'd been a cruel cat in WindClan and to hear he apparently lost his mind and tried to kill her at the border checked out.
"WindClan continues to show they have no respect for borders and will just cross them as they please." In his mind he recalls Weaselclaw sprinting across the bridge to attack him on their side, disregarding the sanctity of markers laid to indicate territory to please his own ego. Smokethroat stands back up, lone orange eye wild with fire and outrage-he would be glaring with two if not for a similar incident. "Those moorland rats think they can go wherever they please and do what they like and I am tired of sitting idly by, we MUST do something..." Attack before they could perhaps? Cut them off before any retaliation for what was clearly just self-defense was done.
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[DARTERWING]

(=^･ｪ･^=))ﾉ彡♡ — Darterwing struggles to hear much of what Cindershade reports to Cicadastar, but by watching the reaction of those listening she can only guess. It was bad, and once again WindClan had turned more RiverClan cats victim to their wicked games. Suddenly she receives a push to the shoulder, the black-furred lead warrior was coming through and no one was stopping him. Darterwing forgives the bump the moment it was done, he did cause a tuft of fur to lay wrongly though and she swiftly cranes her head to fix it.

Ears perk when Smokethroat begins to speak, calling for action. Darterwing knows this most likely means battle, something she wishes to avoid but she nods anyways. Something had to be done, he was right, they could not allow this bullying and maiming of their cats to continue. ”Whatever we do, just give me an order and I’ll be wherever I’m needed.” That was a promise. — tags​

 

[Cindershade]

His form waltz over from her call, fierce eyes set in a eerie blaze as he howls for Beesong and comes to the those who stand before him. Her own rage bubbles deep within her chest, thick tail lashing to and for as Cicadastar asks for answers. Her call draws in a crowd, but they dare not get in close besides the deputy and Smokethroat. Beesong gets to work on Hyacinthbreath, aiming to stop the bleeding she assumes and place poultices to help as well. Her eyes watch them, listening as Hyacinthbreath explains the situation. Cindershade nods every so often, the words echoing in her ears. He was talking about killing my son who still resides in WindClan.
Oh, the lava that scorched through her veins then, decimating any ounce of emotion that had remained. Pupils constrict to pinpoint slits, curved claws digging into the soft ground as her paws flexed. Her marks scored the earth beneath her, leaving divets in their wake. If only Cindershade had been there, had been close enough in ear shot to help Hycainth kill that bastard for such vile things he spewed from his tongue. Her teeth clenched together hard as she continued to listen, to listen to the voices of outrage afterwards. Smokethroat declared they go after WindClan before they had the chance to do so onto them. She was likely to agree, to tear the rats down where they stood. She'd make them pay. It was time something was done about them and her so called "Queen of the Moorland."
She's pulled back to reality when Darterwing speaks, offering her aid in whatever needed to be done and the shaded molly nodded to her. Good. RiverClan needed to stick to each other and protect everyone that settled in their camp. Hyacinthbreath was of RiverClan now, and she had paid her due in blood. Cindershade would back the molly time and time again, she'd clearly shown no mercy. If only they could've seen what she did—albeit they'd be as concerned for her as the rosetted warrior was. The maniacal laughter and loss of control had been spine-chilling to say the least. "She made sure he'd not ever lay a claw on her child—or for anyone to hardly recognize him, even in death." The lead warrior added, her tone chilled as her eyes narrowed. "A fitting end for a moorland rat, if I do say so myself." Her cruelty would not go unnoticed, but the molly didn't necessarily care. "WindClan needs to be leveled out. Too much has happened. They need to learn that we are not to be trifled with."
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[iciclefang]

Iciclepaw joins the warriors, Cicadastar and his council, as they confront a blood-splashed and torn Hyacinthbreath. The tortoiseshell's eyes narrow perceptibly at the silver and white tabby as she explains the WindClan warrior she'd murdered had cross their borders. Her jaw tightens, remembering the taste of rabbit lying thick on her tongue, the smell of blood in the air as her mentor writhed beneath wretched WindClan dogs.

"We aren't going to let them get away with this again, are we?" She's only an apprentice, but Iciclepaw's voice does not waver as she looks expectantly at her superiors. "They'll never stop. They won't stop until they're all dead." She grits her teeth, fighting the surge of hatred that batters her body like a strong current.

She looks at Darterwing and dips her head to indicate solidarity. She is an apprentice still, and it is her duty to follow any orders she is given, but she wants it known she is ready to rip WindClan's fur from their flesh at any moment.​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

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