wc rebels RED RICH BLOOD ✞ hiding during battle

[LILYPAW ✞]

✞ A battle rages outside, one that the kit hides away from between stacks of poky straw and the warm bodies of its new clanmates. Outside of the shelter, rebels and loyalists alike spill blood across pristine snow—former clanmates locked in a fight that seems as though it could never end. It began with shouting, and then they were told to stay put and to hide. They are not meant to fight, not in this. Not when they are so small, with an ache in their limbs that does not seem to subside.

They have finally been given a name—one that they do not understand in its entirety. The kit has been dubbed Blizzardkit, after the wintry storm they had been rescued from. Whether or not it got lucky in being brought to such a place is still to be determined, but for now the kit is content. The cats that come and go are kind enough, friendly enough for the kit to enjoy their presence. But now, with a fight happening outside, the kit cannot help but to worry. Will its new friends be alright? From what it has heard, the enemies are frightening—they are not even cats, but monsters.

To the cat who lies beside her, Blizzardkit asks, "Will they die?" Her voice does not tremble as she speaks, though the question is asked with a touch of childlike curiosity. It is followed up almost seamlessly with, "What happens if they die?" Would the monsters take them away?

// takes place at the same time as this battle thread!​

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[cygnetstare]

The world is gold-drenched. Cascades of straw dig grassy fingers into Cygnetstare's plump stomach, and polished wood floors glow amber under dingy barn lights. Quite a deparature from the world outside, shell-shocked grey and lacquered silver shot through, no doubt, with crimson. There are scarce few of them nestled here in the safe of the back of the barn—Cygnetstare themself, firmly barred from battle (to their personal dismay), anyone else too injured or young to fight, perhaps a guard or two. It's slightly boring, especially knowing how close copper-sweet blood is.

She entertains herself with strange dalliances; will anyone heave their last out there in the snow? Will they have to dig makeshift graves without a stone in sight and hope the dead can find their way to StarClan without them? Cygnetstare frowns. The prospect of WindClan's burial traditions being broken draws their ire with unusual speed—a side effect of the pregnancy, no doubt, but still. Oh, the graveyard; stones no doubt slick with frost, flowers and gifts mouldering and crumbling without any of the truly faithful to pay homage.

How sad.

"Hm?" A kit is asking her a question. The tunneler regards them with blank pinkish eyes. The kit looks strangely akin to herself, though their pelt is entirely dipped in pure, empty white; its eyes are that opalescent milkweed tone Cygnetstare sees only in painfully bright puddles; at least the barn is a respite from that. She supposes she ought to speak to it, become acquainted with the idea of little white-furred scraps asking her strange questions.

"Ayuh, some of them might," she concedes with a tilt of the head, paws kneading gently at the straw carpet below. Cygnetstare must reserve a certain respect for their lack of irritating mewling and whining and whatnot that some children seem to be prone to. The kit's age doesn't soften her rasping drawl. "If they do, well, I guess we'd bury 'em, though regrettably without a stone."

"speech"

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[slateheart]

-ˋˏ ༻☽༺ ˎˊ- Another battle raged outside the barn that the sick and injured resided in. Cottonfang had asked for a couple volunteers to stay inside the barn when Sootstar arrived, in case the loyalists went for the vulnerable. Among those who volunteered, Slatetooth was one of them. He was still shaken up from the last battle, from the blood on his paws - plus, there was a new addition to the Clan that he wanted to help keep an eye on.

The black-furred tom rested near Blizzardkit, the orphan he had brought home after a harsh winter storm. With his paws tucked underneath him to keep them warm, his ears swiveled left and right as he listened to the noise beyond the barn's walls - growls, hisses, exchanges of words of fury. When Blizzardkit spoke, Slatetooth spared him a glance - as much sympathy as he could muster. Cygnetstare's responses were quite similar to what his own would be, if only he didn't feel partially responsible for her well-being after finding her alone in that log.

With a heavy sigh, he nodded solemnly at Cygnetstare's words. "We can only hope they survive," he mumbled in reply, adding on: "If they die, well.. they go to StarClan." Now, he trained his green gaze fully on Blizzardkit, gauging a reaction. Did her mother teach her about StarClan before her passing?

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── WHEN YOU'RE YOUNG ⋅❁⋅ YOU'RE A LOADED GUN ──┐‎

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  SLATETOOTH ✩ he/him, moor-runner of windclan, 17 moons.
  ⭃ a reclusive short-haired black tom with low white and green eyes.
  ⭃ mate to no one. son of lynxtooth x adelaide. brother to gravelsnap and ashpaw.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by ixora ↛ @.ixora on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[Periwinklebreeze.]

TASTED LIGHT BUT FED THE DARK
WAITING FOR THEM ALL TO SEE​

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periwinklebreeze ❀ 18 moons ❀ demi-boy ❀ he/they ❀ windclan moor runner​

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" If the st-stars have abandoned s-sootstar, th-they'll welcome us, " Voice is quiet, the boys posture taught and tense., claws digging into the straw beneath his feet The scenario playing out before him is familiar in a way it shouldn't be - in a way he wishes it wasn't. Clanmates turned against each other, kin fighting kin - it's all too much. Their bloody queen has spread her madness and dragged windclan down with her.

Unlike cygnetstare and blizzardkit, there is no calmness left in his frame - coiled and ready to strike, he stands as a barrier of flesh and blood between the battle that rages on and those who huddle behind him, the ones who cannot fight. He's protected kits and queens before, and even in the unfamiliarity of the barn he knows what to do. Even one look in their direction from those not welcome and he'll- he'll- well, he's not sure what he'll do, but it certainly won't be good. Just a few moons ago, perhaps he would've just thrown himself in harms way, a sacrifice for the greater good. But that was before. Now, he thinks, he might just kill anyone who tries to get in his way,

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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T O ━ L O V E ━ M Y S E L F ━ I S ━ W A Y ━ T O ━ H A R D

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[LILYPAW ✞]

✞ The kit’s question is answered quickly by the round cat with eyes the same color as Blizzardkit’s soft pawpads, and it regards the older feline with pale eyes bright with concern. They say that some of the cats outside could die, but would be buried without a stone. "A stone? Why do they need a stone… if they are dead?" Does their mama need a stone? Where will they bury any cats who die? The kit is not well versed in the intricacies of death—but it piques their interest all the same.

Beside them, Slatetooth speaks. His voice is soft, like his fur. His presence is comforting, even as he explains that the other cats will go to StarClan when they die. It is the same explanation that he gave when the kit asked where its mother was. Its vision blurs suddenly, and the kit has to squeeze its eyes shut to block out the sudden strain. The straw seems to become one singular entity, a pile of objects without solid lines to separate them. Blizzardkit reaches up to rub at their eyes, pressing in until color bursts into the darkness behind their eyelids. When it lowers its paws again, its vision has not cleared. But it takes a startled, rattling breath, and looks up to Slatetooth with eyes forcefully held wide open. "What is StarClan?" It rubs a soft pink paw over its face, rubbing at its eyes once again.

The snow-hued kit is silent for a few long heartbeats, blinking slowly. Their vision still does not clear, but they try to shrug it off. "It sounds scary," they murmur at last. Periwinklebreeze’s comment is meant to comfort them, they think, but if StarClan is where cats go when they die… Blizzardkit does not think they want the stars to welcome them. Or anyone at all.​

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[rivewhisper]

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Rivepaw had not been allowed to join the fray. After her first, and as of most recent, her last battle, Rivepaw was unfortunately still bound with cobwebs and ordered to stay inside. The other warriors about, Cygnetstare now a queen- Blizzardkit settled in with them asking questions... they were driving Rivepaw nuts. Her ice blues rested on the way out, ears flattened against her skull. It was a small miracle her teeth were not drawn back to reveal her fangs.

She wanted to drive revenge into the bellies of the loyalists. She wanted to tear them limb, from limb, to see their blood soak the haven that true Windclan had been forced to retreat to. She picked her head up from where she was tucked nearest to them, head shaking- a similar motion to Blizzardkit, but with a different purpose. One's vision physically would not clear, Rivepaw's vision was tunneling with desperate want to be out there.

"Starclan are.. cats that have passed away. They go to the Stars." Rivepaw states in response to the kit. She should know best- her father the deputy, her ðir the medicine cat. Both were closer to the stars then Rivepaw could hope she'd ever be. Her ears flattened against her skull, vision finally shifting back towards Blizzardkit. "They're all... cats that will help you, though. They're something we look up to with hope, y'know?" Rivepaw wasn't the best with kits, she reflected- perhaps that was her ex-mentor's fault.

"text"
thoughts​

 

[FOGBOUND]

your entire existence gives me a headache, go stand over there .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Considerably, Fogbound found himself on guard duty, smokey frame remaining perfectly still against the billowing darkness splashing against the dirtied white of his fur. A sole reminder he direly needed a well-earned groom once this thing was over with, preferably after Sootstar had her hissy fit which, peering a lonely hue out of the barn didn’t seem promising.

Still freshly healed, Fogbound had gotten used to standing in static, staring at nothing in particular as his wound healed. He’d taken it upon himself to guard their weakest, not before searching for a familiar wiggle worm that had become his shadow … however, moons that is. Dreadful, it was. Regrettably, Fogbound didn’t mind the mini-moor runner, often calling the molly a wiggle worm while debating her nickname, much like Rabbitclaw and Mothmoon, nicknames he dared not say out loud. Only for his ears, mhm? Certainly in for a surprise if he let them slip like fading smoke.

“Scary, mhm?” He chuckled softly, helm pivoting, single hue trained outside, muscles curling in anticipation, just wishing for someone to come into his web and die at the paws of a predator. Was karma finally happening? He rumbled in half-hearted amusement, teeth grinding in muffled annoyance, easily masking the trembling fear that had gradually made its way up his throat. A shame, really. Unable to monitor his family. The very ones he swore to protect, to keep tucked within his guarded heart, of friends and kin, but for now, this will have to do, but he will do so with the uttermost honor.

“My darling, there is nothing terrifying—surely, transparent felines that sparkle like fresh snow have their appeal, no?” He mused. “Now, the stones, my little worm, are an old tradition, taken from moonstone—” He paused, glancing at the other. “Ah, before I get ahead of myself, you are not aware of things outside of this dreary barn.” He tutted. “Far beyond this territory, my little worm, where leaders and medicine cats, a very rare chance, my darling, speaking with StarClan, lies the moonstone, far away within highstone, but enough of that—” He grinned, tone curling like sweet honey, no longer smelling fragmented, but the sweetest nectar. “A stone taken from moonstone, you see, my darling, is laid to rest beside the dead, showing one’s love for the one making the journey to the stars.” He finished. “Fascinating, isn’t it? A wonder, mhm?” ​

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thought speech​