run, and never look back【 injured windclanners 】

[coalfoot]

———————————————【 coalfoot | windclan | male 】——————————————

【◈】On and on they had run, breathless and in pain but unyielding if not for the adrenaline coursing through the both of them. Not a word was spoken, both their blood and their past trailing behind them. To the RiverClan border, they seemed to agree. Hyacinthbreath would help them.

Coldsnap had seemed confused, or concerned, when he got there, briefly searching, but Coalfoot didn't ask why. He couldn't seem to find his breath, head low and darkness clawing at the edge of his vision. Hyacinthbreath would help them. It was the only thought he could muster.

Mangled, plodding paws carried him forward, straining to smell the border's edge but certain they had reached it all the same. The marbled warrior sank onto his haunches, only to promptly collapse on his side, eye half-lidded as he stared into RiverClan territory. After all that, was he going to die here? He didn't want to die. Maybe another RiverClanner would find them instead, finish them off there and then. Maybe a WindClanner would track them off the territory.

With his fluttering heart carrying dread and fear, he slipped into blissful black.

// @Coldsnap is with him, but no need to wait!!
they fled from windclan and are both in awful shape, coalfoot especially so - he's unconscious for now

[penned by its_oliverr].

​

 

[CLEARSIGHT]

---

➵ He does not think they might be refugees, fleeing for their lives, though perhaps he should — that's so common these days, terrible queen of the moors driving out all who oppose her — in fact he hardly thinks at all; the fresh WindClan scent and sound of pawsteps fast approaching leaves his mind blank with fear and fury.

Breaking away from his solo hunt to pelt toward the border himself, Clearsight meets Coalfoot and Coldsnap with hackles raised and face twisted into a snarl. "Get back — " he shouts, raising claws, but falters when they — stop. Right on the border.

It had sounded like an attack — like this would be Weaselclaw throwing himself over the bridge all over again, to take another clanmate's eye — or a life. These two cats are not an attack. These two cats seem in no shape to take any lives, Clearsight thinks, though his hackles don't drop, remembering Sootstar's intellect, the use she might find for a warrior on death's doorstep as a diversion. He wonders, briefly, with a cold shock of fear, if there's a stealth patrol making its way toward their camp.

One of the cats just — passes out, then, or possibly drops dead; no way to really tell. Clearsight blinks in surprise. Alright then. He turns toward the conscious one and speaks with a stiff voice, barely cordial.

"What business do you have here?"

He's praying to StarClan that a patrol will stumble across them; this clearly calls for Cicadastar's presence, but Clearsight isn't about to leave WindClanners unattended on the border.

He remains ready to defend, not softened at all by their meek appearances.
​

---

& we've all got battle scars ✗ ​

 

[CLAYFUR]

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

He’s out searching for berries, unsuccessful for the most part, when he hears the call of Clearsight’s voice to get back. Like most things, he doesn’t think about it, just lets his paws carry him in the direction the shout had come from until—there. He spots Clearsight, facing off against a couple cats who are clearly WindClan, and clearly injured. More runaways, refugees, he assumes. It makes him feel horribly guilty, slimy with the feeling that he’s not as good, as nice as he pretends to be. But he hopes Cicadastar won’t let them into the river territory. They don’t need any more mouths to feed, broken bodies to heal.

The chocolate tom comes to a stop beside his beloved, tamping down his worry to replace it with annoyance. The whirlpool-pelted warrior has already asked what they want; Clay glances around, searching for any other clanmates. Cicadastar, Buck, Beesong, Willowroot, Smokethroat, anyone with the authority to settle the situation.

He’s distracted, though, by just how ragged the two warriors look. One of them isn’t even conscious, he doesn’t think—but that doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat, some kind of distraction sent by WindClan to draw RiverClan’s warriors to the border. His tail flicks back and forth, showcasing his irritation. Unlike Clearsight, he doesn’t stand prepared to defend but prepared to lunge forward at the first sign of danger, of deception.
​

[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

the chimera is not in a good mood. a stormcloud hovers low over him, shrouds his too slim figure in palpable shadow. he is still too sore to do much beyond traverse the borders, keeping the scent lines strong to make up for the places he could not. whatever the man had been doing, however, is forgotten the moment he catches it — windclan scent, strong and laden with blood scent. his heart skips, adrenaline pumping through rabbit - thin veins and he wills the remnants of stiffness from his legs, lowers his head to skulk towards the reeking smell. he hears clearsight before he sees him, voice loud and halting. pallid eyes slip through swaying reed and he sees them — blue hackles raised and bristling, clayfur approaching quickly to his mates side. windclanners, ones he did not recognize. they’re injured, seeping blood and cicadastar feels the curls along his spine lift, jutting to increase his size. what kind of trickery was this? what had they done to receive such punishment? should they have come weeping to him, they’d not the herbs to spare.

“ what in starclan’s name is this? “ his voice, first ; through the thick river fog he creeps forward, voice layering over the falls, stormcloud erupting. he still towers with a head tucked low, tucked aggressively, suspicion taunting the clear blue of his eyes. madman once, madman still ; he stops just ahead of clearsight and clayfur, his great tail curling to a defensive ring out behind him as he stares down a long nose at coldsnap. incidents past flit through his minds eye — the hollowness behind blazestar’s gaze, emberstar’s solemn oath, voicing her loyalty law into existence. the season had been cruel to them all, “ speak quickly, while you still can. you should know moorland rats are not welcome here. “ claws unsheathe, muscles locked ; unbeknownst to them, his brittle recovery would render him unable to do anything more than look intimidating — but it had certainly worked before. his mind flees to hyacinthbreath, and the kindling of suspicion in his chest roars to life, ignites the blue flame in his piercing gaze. did she have something to do with this? once again his generosity comes into question — once again he feels the burn of regret flicker into a simmering, slowburning rage.

− ♱ 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.

​

​

 

[BEESONG]

the smell of blood and windclan are interwoven; they coexist as one entity, unable to exist without the other. smokethroat, the raid on skyclan, sootstar's own council... windclan have stained their paws to the point that beesong doesn't think they could ever free themselves from the crimson.

while gathering herbs, it washes over him, cold creeping under his skin, the rage and dread rushing through his veins like poison. windclan. windclan and blood. the mental image of smokethroat, his eye ripped from his skull and his throat sliced like a ribbon. he thinks of the skyclan apprentice who'd fled from his own home to seek help against the tyrannical army that invaded. bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. beesong's paws are stained too, trying to fix the things windclan breaks over and over again.

instead of a clanmate bleeding out onto the ground, they discover two ensanguined windclan cats. one has crumpled, a bloodied ragdoll and beesong would presume he is dead if it weren't for the slightest rise and fall of his flanks. their paws move almost instinctively when they see the injured. they move as if they're preparing to help, but they freeze in their tracks next to cicadastar. no. this is windclan.

they cast a cold glare down at the unresponsive tom before raising it to the one who is still standing. silent, statuesque. a stark contrast to their usual self, they are inhospitable and indifferent to those who have hurt their clan and their home among the pines. they could not speak, even if they wanted to; their throat compressed as if a constrictor has wrapped itself around them, their jaw clenched so tight that it ached.

there is a silent question resting upon his furrowed brow. why have you come here?

beesong's stomach flutters with unease, thoughts bordering on dangerous paranoia. has sootstar injured her own warriors as a diversion? is there a battalion encroaching on riverclan's makeshift camp? is this the start of a war, payback for riverclan aiding skyclan? had hyacinthbreath been a windclan spy all along?

the healer does not unsheathe his claws often, but today, they emerge from cinnamon paws in preparation for the worst.
​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

"Then why is Hyacinthbreath here?" She whispers gently against Cicadastar's ear as she finally shows herself in what feels like a long time. Time has been passing, moving without her. From the apprentice den collapsing and then the river flooding and being forced to find a new camp everything has felt like a dream. Her only concern being her kits and her mate. Willowroot always dependeable. But this scene. This here is different. She has never witnessed at cat just simply collapsing like this. Her muzzle scrunching up as she views the injuries laid out before the cat's body. There is evidence of a fight but all she can smell is Windclanner. All she can understand is that something happened. And it doesn't seem to be of an outside force. But she isn't sure. Blood marrs a lot and so she keeps her stands near Cicadastar.

Yes, it can be a trick but she has seen more cats harmed by the own paws of Windclan than anything else. Then her mind drifts and worry pricks at her skull. Has something truly bad happened? Is Dandelionwish okay? Her brow furrows for a second before her eyes grow cold and frosty. The woman stands straighter and she recalls her life. She is a Riverclanner now and she too expects an explanation, one that will not jeopardize her home. ​

 

[Cindershade]

Trailing behind Cicadastar, she had been out and about with the River King, refreshing the markers along the borders when a stagnant smell of iron violated her nostrils. Her obsidian nose crinkled at the smell of it, mingled with the pungent aroma of moorland grass of WindClan. The tingling sensation that dabbed at her paws causes curved ivory claws to slip from their sheaths as she prowles behind the chimera through the thick mist and fog from the river. Her hackles raise at the sight of two WindClan warrior heavily beaten and battered, one collapsed beside the other. Clearsight and Clayfur remain steady, asking them their business. Cicadastar also intersects now, his tone clearly unfriendly as suspicious.

What had the 'Queen of Gutless Rats' done now? Was this some cruel ploy to draw out the leader himself? She shared Clearsight's suspicion, her glowering glaze flitting across the Half-Bridge to detect any sign of movement. She half-expected a hardy battle yowl to erupt any moment, to see streaming bodies push through the thickly woven stone and ambush them, but nothing came of it—yet. Cindershade draws herself up higher, thick shoulder muscle coiled under her sleek rosetted pelt as she eyed the two. Sympathy doesn't wash over her, only a cold and distrustful stare.

Boneripple whispers within the River King's ears, something about Hyacinthbreath being here. The molly ushers a warning growl to the other dark molly. "Watch your tongue, Boneripple. Don't forget where you also hail from." Her voice is quiet, but still threatening nonetheless. Cindershade couldn't help but still wonder if Hyacinthbreath had created a metaphorical pathway as well, thinking that WindClan refugees could just run to RiverClan and expected to be welcomed with open arms. She says nothing else now, allowing Cicadastar to make his decision.



//IC OPINIONS I LOVE YALL <3

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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]

 

[Redpath]

Redpath approached the bridge like a homing missile when she caught the scent of Windclan. They want to fight? She was ready. Heavy steps carried her with murderous intent as she bore her teeth and joined her already gathered clanmates.

She was so ready. She was going to RIP AND SHRED-

The sight before her shocked her murderous intentions out of the water, replacing them with horror as she looked down at the two cats on the bridge. There was only one time she had seen a cat so bloody and mangled.

"What in the world..... Happened?" She asked.

This isn't how she expected this encounter to go.
​

 

[Coldsnap]

IM SCARED TO GET CLOSE AND I HATE BEING ALONE
I LONG FOR THE FEELING TO NOT FEEL AT ALL
THE HIGHER I GET, THE LOWER I SINK
I CAN'T DROWN MY DEMONS, THEY KNOW HOW TO SWIM

---

Coldsnap was no stranger to pain, to enduring. He'd never been trained with sheathed claws and he'd been run through more 'what ifs' than a cat probably thought was possible, but he was glad in that moment for how thorough his mentor had been with him.

He might not be alive right now, otherwise.

He isn't sure what it is that's keeping him going, if its the addreniline, the sheer determination, or the fact that Coalfoot is still beside him and in need of help, but he forces his sluggish paws to keep going, to move despite the tunneling of his vision and the heaviness he feels in his legs. He's tired, he's hurt, but he doesn't stop.

The tom is far from ok, barely any better off than Coalfoot. His neck is missing two chunks of flesh that are heavily bleeding, and down his left cheek are two terrible gashes that hook their way under his jaw from Sootstar herself. Deep scratches run the length of his back and side, shoulders and haunches littered with puncture marks from claws that hud dug in and tried to hold him there. And then, atop all of that, were the countless jagged scratches and gashes carved along his frame from tearing his way through the wall surrounding camp. His forearms were soaked in blood from catching thorns and brambles and ripping them aside, and his pelt was missing more than one chunk of fur, thorns still imbeded in him.

Every step is agony that worsens with the wear of his addreniline, but he's made too many promises to stop now. Dandelion.. Coalfoot.. Hyacinth... He hasn't made good on any of it yet, wouldn't until he reached the Riverclan border and knew that his friend was somewhere safe. Dandelion had gotten out with Daisy- that much he was certain of given the lack of a corpse when they'd escaped- but Coalfoot...

Yellow eyes shifted to linger on the other, willing them to hang on just alittle bit longer.

The second they reached the border, Coalfoot collapsed. Coldsnap was on the verge of following suite, the bloodloss almost more than he could take, but he had to stay awake. Had to find Hyacinth..

His hazy thoughts were snapped back to reality by the sound of a voice shouting 'get back!', and instinctively the massive tomcat stepped protectively over his fallen friend, fur bristling in alarm and warning- he would still fight to defend them, even now, when he knew it was useless.

But it wasn't an attack, wasn't even a Windclan patrol catching up to them.

It was Riverclan.

He knew it wasn't safety gaurenteed, that Cicada could leave them there to die and rot as a warning to any other Windclanners looking to get out, but Coldsnap had no choice. Faith and hope weren't things he invested too much in, but he had to have hope that Cicada would do something, had to find some kind of faith that not every leader was like fucking Sootstar and her foxhearts.

Someone out there there still had to know the meaning of mercy.

"Please." The word escaped him before he could stop it, and Coldsnap didn't beg for anything, but he'd beg here and now- for Coalfoot. "Please save him."

He could feel his legs tremble beneath his own weight, exhaustion tightening its grip on him as more and more cats -including Cicadastar himself- appeared along the border to confront them. He tried to blink the black spots out of his vision from where he stood, swaying above his friend in an attempt to still keep him shielded from any potential claws that came their way.

" speak quickly, while you still can. you should know moorland rats are not welcome here.

He sunk his claws into the earth to ground himself, to will himself not to pass out as well and to say the words that needed to be said. They had to know the truth, had to know how bad it was and that Coalfoot didn't deserve this. They had to to tell Hyacinth.

His heart twisted in his chest as yellow eyes looked for the familiar pelt of the shecat. He'd failed her on so many levels. Would she look at him and see nothing but a disapointment?

He'd never craved the comfort of her presence so much in his life.

"It was.. it was Dandelion." he grunted through the pain of his injuries, trying to find the right words as quickly as he could. "He spoke out on the raid against Skyclan, and she imprisoned him for it, told the clan Starclan sent her a vision of him destroying the clan. Fucking lies." he growled from between grit teeth.

He was no healer, couldn't pretend to know what sort of dreams and connections they had witht he stars, but he knew that Dandelion was a good cat. Starclan would have never ordered him to be treated like that.

"She was going to kill him after he finished training Vulturemask, so today he.. he ran, tried to escape. She sent the whole fucking clan after him, told them to rip him to pieces right there in camp in front of everyone." he shook his broad skull at the too-fresh memory. The apprentice, the kits, the queens, poor Mallowlark- all of them had been right there watching their 'leader' call for the slaughter of someone they all saw as a friend.

"We fought to help him escape, but.." but he and Coalfoot had barely made it out with their lives.

His gaze flicked down to the bleeding tom as his feet, panic and desperation rising in his chest before flicking back to Cicada. "I don't deserve it, so I won't ask for it. But Coalfoot? He's a good cat. Please don't let him die like this. All he wanted to do was stop the fighting and protect his friend, he doesn't deserve-!"

His words are cut off by a sharp, pained inhale, the world momentarily spinning for him as he staggers to the side and his hindquarters collapse beneath him. "I need Hyacinth." the words are little more than a slurred mumble at this point, but she's all he can think of. If he can just set his eyes on her before they go dark, he'll know Coalfoot will be okay.

---

windclan warrior - male - 14 months - a large, dark grey tabby with yellow eyes​

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[hyacinthbreath]

// mobile posting!! ugh

Hyacinthbreath hears the waves in her ears as water laps at her paws, tiny and freezing- yet grounding in a way. She finds beauty in the world like this, grateful for the moments of peaceful silence after disaster breaks. Her shoulders slouch, exhaustion evident in her gait. She hadn't heard a word from anyone in WindClan, sure that they had all moved on from her. She was part of a past that wasn't welcome in such a monarchy, the Queen of the Moors haunting her dreams every night to remind her of that.


The smell of blood hits her nose before Coldsnap and Coalfoot's scents do, and though the panic in her eyes is evident, she refused to give in to the need to rush over until she could see the damage done. Had they come to raid RiverClan, to have their loyalty tested by Sootstar? She sure hoped Coldsnap had the gall to deny that woman of that request- how awful, betrayal felt. She almost felt a little bad about breaking Sootstar's heart all those moons ago.

Hyacinthbreath doesn't hear the whispers of suspicion in her name, no- but she knows it's there. Cindershade reminds Bonejaw that she wasnt't RiverClan-born either, and Hyacinthbreath straightens up in response. "Mein Konïg?" She calls out to their bespeckled King of the River, who looks exhausted and irritated to say the least. Clearsight and Clayfur, as always, are protective of each other and the border- tries to force the intruders to stop and well, it seemed they did.

I need Hyacinth,

A familiar voice, one that brings back a little light in her dull, violet-hued eyes. She presses to Cindershade's side for comfort, paws kneading the muddy ground and then she sees them both. Coalfoot, bloodied and beaten down until he's passed out. Coldsnap, gouged and gorey to the point of looking like the walking dead. No amount of kneading can comfort the tears that dare to fall from her eyes. "My boy.." It's barely a whisper on her lips, but she takes a step forward nonetheless. He wobbles, and Hyacinthbreath moves in to let him tumble against her form for support. Her eyes look desperate, teeth clenched. She missed the start of this confrontation- did Sootstar do this to them? "Please don't die, my loves- it's okay. I'mh here. Everything will be okay. She wont hurt you anymore." She can't guarantee that, but Hyacinthbreath licks over a tender spot on Coldsnap and Coalfoot's ears like a mother would her child. Tempted, tempted. Temptation was a dangerous move.

She's taking out those you love, The voices remind her, tail lashing in bubbling fury behind her. "My poor boys.." Hyacinthbreath soothes the young toms, standing protectively against their side. Then, lowering her head to Beesong and Cicadastar in reverence, Hyacinth bows in their place. "Please help them. Please. I-I'll do more patrols, I'll even tell you everything you need to know that I haven't already told you about WindClan, but please. Please help them. They're good kids." Periwinklepaw and Aspenpaw are still stuck in WindClan, aren't they? The thought makes her jaw tremble, the intense need to protect her family making her quake in her fur. "I-I'm RiverClan; My heart belongs to the waves. Please don't take this as loyalty to the Queen of the Moors, mein Konïg."

Was she shaking? Possibly. Her tongue rasps over the two boys' heads, trying to make sure Coalfoot stays alive. "Wake up, Coalfoot. Come on, keep those eyes open, ja? See, I'm here. I'm here.."

 

[HOUNDSTRIDE.]

He cannot stop the flames that begin their burning now. He is tired, and suffering, and weakness clings to his bones. Leafbare had not been kind to any of them, but to him and Cicada– death's far more familiar than it'd be to anyone else. Far more recent. He shoves up from the back of the patrol, shouldering through clanmates and giving both outsiders a wide berth. It'd been a soft heart that let Hyacinthbreath and Boneripple into RiverClan. But these wounded two would infect the rest of them if they were allowed to. Their open cuts were not cauterized, and so they wept, and wept some more. WindClan and ShadowClan blood poured down into RiverClan roots, and he would not have them poisoned for it.

"And the ones we have here aren't?" he snaps. "We'll risk taking care of them for someone else's mistakes?" His heart wants to ache for the wounds that he sees, for the story he hears, but Houndsnarl forces it in one ear and out the other. No. They're not his problem. They're not Cicada's problem. "Every scratch we tend to is one'f our own left bloody." The words had started with Hyacinthbreath, but his eyes turn to Cicadastar as he speaks. Defiant, angry, pleading perhaps. "Loving this place ain't the same as loving every cat here. And if she's askin' us to prioritize someone else over any of them–" He hates the anger that's crawling up his spine. In better months, maybe Hound would preach care. Perhaps then they could spare herbs. But for now...stars above, they could do nothing at all. His jaw tenses, and he looks away from them all.

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: —
• ──── houndsnarl. trans male, he/him pronouns.
  ──── approximately 30 moons old, or 2.5 years.
  ──── bisexual with firm male preference; single.
  
  ──── a chocolate tabby with ( stylized ) low white and intense lime eyes. lean and lanky,  with whiplike musculature and a long, quick stride. hound's notable features include his impressive height, the long scar across the left side of his face from nose to jaw, his very deep, dense fur, and the confident manner with which he conducts himself.
• "speech"

​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

The phantom's shadow emerges quietly, single eye burning like the blazing sun above as it focuses in on the source of the moorland scent that has his hackles raised and teeth flashing white, devilish and gnashing. Every hair on his body raises as he stares at the mangled cats, shredded by their own kin and cast aside like so many WindClanners before them. His impulse is to tell them to leave immediately less they drag the wrath of the ashen and cruel queen onto their borders while his clanmates still recovered from the flood.

Hyacinthbreath goes to them without pause, cooes and coddles them like they were her own kits who were still in WindClan if he was not mistaken; he finds himself grimacing as he realizes she will never be a RiverClanner so long as any cat she's ever known is across the gorge and waiting; whether she realized it herself or not there was a place her heart had settled and it was not here as much as she claimed otherwise. They could not take these cats in. Cindershade's snapping at Boneripple earns a growl of approval from him, glancing to the side to the bicolor she-cat once again neglecting her duties in the nursery to come crawling on border patrols and the like; she and Willowroot were aggravating in that regard and she herself was especially bold to make claims when Hyacinthbreath had at least not lied her way into the clan. He was not entirely convinced her story was true as opposed to Pitchstar's own given the uprising of noise it had caused among every ShadowClanner there.

He finds himself staring hard at the pleading molly, mouth open to speak before Houndsnarl talks in turn and it redirects his focus, helps him formulate his own words more appropriately. They were on a timelimit to make a decision here and if Hyacinthbreath's loyalty wavered because of it then it proved him right. "Leave them." The dark tom says, spoken with finality and a cold stare; he feels like the broken ice of the river then, chilled to the bone and hollow. They had their chances to leave as the silver lynx had, there was no reason for them to stay if the place was as wretched as they had been so told. Under cover of night would have been better than throwing themselves into the chaos of whatever that medicine cat had caused. "We've enough mouths to feed as it is with an extra litter dropped on our paws." He makes no attempt to hide his contempt for Boneripple, "They will take time to heal. Herbs, food, resources we can not spare with our camp as it is." RiverClan was struggling, what happened if they wasted their efforts to save these two and a proper, loyal cat fell injured and needed herbs they no longer had? "We can take them to two-leg place." Wash the moorland stench from their border.
​

 

[BONERIPPLE]

The woman feels her ear twitch and she feels the anger pull through her gut. Her eyes narrowing slightly before her heated gaze finds Cindershade. "Don't try to vilify me when my former clan has done nothing to yours." At least they have not done anything yet. But that vile mistake that her sister's child has made in allying with Windclan will come to bite them in the ass sooner or later. She hopes it is later though. Shadowclan has suffered enough and none of the clans seem keen on even seeing if they need a paw in help. Even given the fact that their territory is the smallest, the less prey filled. It brings that bitterness back into her but she is quick to supress it. Instead she turns back to listen to the tale, and one that is woven with nothing but malice. Sootstar was going to kill Dandelionwish and he ran for it. He ran and others chose to help him. With that moorland witch she is sure that they paid the ultimate price for what is seen as betrayal and disloyalty. A rough sigh leaves her and she is antsy. Antsy because she wants to know where Dandelion is. Is he okay? But right now doesn't seem to be the time to ask.

When Hyacinth makes her entrance she frowns once more and even more so when she hears houndsnarl. "Someone else's mistake...." Dandelion risked everything to get out of there alive or he would have died. She hopes that is not the mistake he means or those helping to keep their friend alive. Still she wishes things were simpler and she glances then to Beesong, his silence makes her wonder. Wonder what he is thinking about this situation. This isn't her call and yet she wants to be vocal about it. Help them and then send them on their way. Help them and maybe they will help them back in the future. ​

 

[Redpath]

Redpath listened to the tale and curled a lip in disgust.

"That moorland bitch will get what's coming to her some day." She hissed.

She ignored Boneripple. Cindershade had that handled, and she was right. Besides, shouldn't she be in the nursery?

She wished she could help the cats in front of her. Even moreso when Hyacinthbreath arrived. Her heart broke for her. She knew what it was like to see your loved ones mauled and bloody. Her expression softened as she frowned.

The venom her clanmates spat with was justified. They couldn't help these cats.... As much as she wanted to, her clan came first, not the leftovers of Sootstars tantrums.

"I can help get them to the Twolegplace. I don't want Windclan to have the satisfaction of finding their corpses." She offered. But with the shape they're in.... They may well bleed out before they get there.
​

 

[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧
buck does not arrive with an ounce of tenderness toward the windclanners, claws unsheathed and eyes glinting. she's furious. this is not some sanctuary for rats, nor has the river ever welcomed moor cats into her lands. she knows cicada is so foolish to accept these cats as some type of show. telling an entire gathering who he's harboring and trying to paint himself as some saint. she growls at boneripple, who seems to have forgotten that she was never one of them. coming in to the river territory during the dead of bare leaf...expecting them to harbor and shelter her family and growing belly.

it is the final snap in seeing hyacinthbreath run to them, and buck distinctly remembers the words she had said to the she-cat. that the windclanner would always be that, a windclanner. "some loyalty! look at how she ran to them!" the deputy spits, feeling as if she is now complaining to ghosts. cicada had never valued her opinion, but now he can see it for himself. she's not one of them. and thus, the cinnamon-marked molly turns on the silver-lined tabby. the nerve of this animal. to request something of them, when she had been a part of the clan to try and tear smokethroat apart. "your heart belongs to those moors. why should riverclan suffer for windclan? why should we continually give up our food and herbs? what about our own cats?" she can't stop, her hackles are raised and fangs bared. she's tired of taking in these cats. tired of treating them as if they belong. and now they are expected to nurse traitors back to health.

everyone else has found sootstar unfit for leadership, far too heaven-blinded and egotistical. all but the moor cats. and now they are expected sympathy for their own blindness. her eyes turn to the heavily maimed cats before her. they barely have enough herbs as it is, these two would simply deplete everything. riverclan would suffer with these two, that she is sure of. "we can't support them cicada. not unless you're willing to sacrifice your own cats' needs for them." her attention finally falls on the self-proclaimed 'river king', an incredibly annoying title, and urges him to listen to her for once. they simply can't. there are hungry kits and queens, with warriors trying their hardest to still hunt and wait for the steadily approaching new leaf. but they do not have the luxuries of playing some savior.
​

 

[CLAYFUR]

The conscious WindClanner pleads, begs them to save his companion, and Clay’s trepidation crumbles like loose dirt. Maybe these two are like him and Clearsight; if he were in the dark-striped tom’s position, he’d certainly beg for his mate’s life over his own. For a moment he’s sympathetic—and then everyone gathers around, voices carrying over and past one another. Good points are made, and while he still feels horrible for them, Clayfur knows which side of the quickly-heating argument he’s on.

He hates to say it, hates that things have gotten so bad that he hopes these two won’t be given shelter here. But they can’t stay here, right? Like, Cicadastar broke his own rules and allowed Hyacinth to join because she has information and is a capable warrior, allowed Boneripple and her family in because the clan could use more numbers, allowed Wasprattle in because there’s a blood connection there. But it has to end at some point, right? They can’t just keep taking in WindClan’s castoffs, not at a time like this. And especially not these two. Clearly both critically wounded, they’re a drain on resources more than anything. Especially now.

And when Smokethroat, Buck, Houndsnarl all stand so clearly against the idea of accepting these two into their ranks—when the only one pushing for their inclusion is Hyacinth—then the path that he expects Cicada to take is clear as day. The leader has to turn them away, he thinks. Surely there’s no way the icy-eyed tom will go against the wishes of the majority, not with so many RiverClanners around to witness it.

But, all in all, Clay trusts Cicadastar. He wouldn’t have stayed for so long if he didn’t. He just hopes that the leader will make a decision unburdened by whatever feelings he holds toward Sootstar, whatever revenge he may seek, and will make a decision that doesn’t put the clan in a tough spot.
​

[ WHAT'S MY AGE AGAIN? ]​

​

 

[CLEARSIGHT]

---

➵ Clearsight thinks of Beesong's herb supply, dwindling by the day through this wretched season. He thinks of the fresh-kill stolen from them by the flood — the hungry bellies of kits and little apprentices, their wounded desperate for medicine.

Every scratch we tend to is one'f our own left bloody. Houndsnarl is right. In another season ... Clearsight might urge his clan to welcome another hunter, another battler. He might be swayed to sympathy. He wants to be. It's hard, crushingly hard, to look at their love and their desperation, to face their begging and turn away.

But he has his own love.

And the blue tabby warrior looks out for his own. Above all else, he will protect his clan.

He presses into Clayfur, offering a brush of comfort and solidarity. He always feels — stronger, next to Clayfur. Readier, too, to stand his ground and fight.

The discussion stays heated, all present strung tight with defensive anger. Clearsight doesn't speak loudly, knowing the decision won't be his to make. Instead he murmurs to Hyacinthbreath, "And if we cannot spare the resources? You chose this clan, did you not? You chose to protect our children, our wounded. They would suffer for this kindness — they could die. Can any RiverClanner justify that?"

He emphasizes "RiverClanner" — imploring, offering her the chance to claim her loyalty in front of those questioning, his own flaxen eyes narrow, distrustful. He does not envy her position. But a clanmate who won't put RiverClan first is a danger, always a danger. Clearsight is fairly certain the fates of these two unfortunate rats are sealed — on which side of their borders will Hyacinthbreath fall?

He falls quiet as his clanmates discuss the newcomers' fate, watching Cicadastar, waiting for his word.
​

---

& we've all got battle scars ✗ ​

 

[coalfoot]

———————————————【 coalfoot | windclan | male 】——————————————

【◈】A tongue rasps between his ears gently, if not near frantically, and heated voices begin to reach his ears. Coalfoot is stirred from the depths of the murky dark, shifting, if only slightly.

A green eye flutters open, the other already swelling and held shut by drying blood. A multitude of paws stand before them, and it opens a little wider at the glint of bared claws. Nearby, a soft voice murmurs, whispering desperation and reassurance. A scent, now undoubtedly RiverClan, but familiar all the same. His head shifts on the earth to catch a glimpse, to confirm it for himself. Hyacinthbreath.

Among the gathered RiverClanners is Cicadastar himself, and he belatedly realizes the source of their argument - whether to help or turn them away. They all seem to be in agreement, and for a moment, his eye closes again.

Coalfoot's expression crinkles into a grimace as he braced himself, shifting onto his belly and raising his head. He could just barely see Coldsnap to his left, see his bloodstained paws beyond the molly between them. He swallowed hard, willing himself to speak, to get himself together.

Cicadastar is less than amused, he can see that much, although his vision still blurs, struggling to clear amidst the wooziness following even that small movement. The bicolor tom's ears tilt back, chin lowering to his chest and head lowering to the point that his nose touches to frostbitten earth, an attempt at offering his utmost respect to the imposing tom before them.

"I'm sorry," he managed at last, voice little more than a rasp from a sore throat. He remained silent for several heartbeats. His mind was a mess, then, and he strained to collect it, to determine what to say.

He lifted his head again, so that he could look Cicadastar in the eyes. "Please forgiv- please forgive us. I know we have... no right to be here. To... to ask for help of all things. When WindClan has done..." he trailed off again, momentarily leaning against Hyacinthbreath's leg. He straightened again. "When WindClan has done nothing but hurt the other Clans."

He swallowed hard, but it did little to ease him. "But... please. If you can find it in you to look past any of it, just..." his stare slid over to Coldsnap, who looked moments from collapsing himself. "Help him. If not me, if only one, please help him." His throat was tight, voice straining to crack, and his head lowered to the ground again.

"Coldsnap is- he's a good warrior. The... the best cat I have ever known. The hardest working cat I have ever known. Any Clan would be lucky to have someone like him in their ranks." His eye closed again, flanks rising with a deep breath. "At least him. Please. You owe us nothing, but... please."

[penned by its_oliverr].

​

 

[CICADASTAR]

they are all talking. all at once, riverclanners spill from all sides, muttering their opinions in his ear. the windclanners, bloodied and injured as they are, plead desperately at his paws and he feels little more than an unpleasant buzz, a violent roar of blood in towering ears, veins pulsing amidst paperthin membrane. he does not care. words flow in and out of his skull, hardly processing amidst the chaos that has broken out around him. clearsight and clayfur both speak, the formers placating, soft despite the situation and it’s almost out of place here, amidst the hissing and frothing. buckgait barks in his ear and he shoots her a look from the corner of his eye as she refers to him so casually — she’d no idea the weight settled upon that name. the death of him, the resting place of who he’d been before the great battle. the scars that rip her face glare at him and he glares back just as hard, until boneripple speaks in his ear. it earns her a harsh snarl but little else, as cindershade steps in to chew at her for it, chorus of growls erupting around him.

his claws unsheathe, grip deep into the ground underpaw, digging dirt and rocks beneath hooked claws.

“ hyacinthbreath, get away from them. “ is how he begins, slow and grating to his own ears — it would not be to anyone listening. low and smooth yet rigid in its volatility. he feels tight, drawn thin, like a string ready to snap. he is hungry, cold, in pain ; windclan stench burns his nostrils and he’s half a mind for his warriors to finish them off, if only not to suffer the same dirt scent that clings to their wiry pelts, “ do not coddle them. they are no children, they knew where their loyalties stood. “ beyond the moors, rallying behind their rat leader until they could not any longer, “ they stood with sootstar until she turned her claws upon them. stood with sootstar as she waged war on skyclan — “ his jaw clenches, teeth gritting. blue eyes snap towards the injured two.

“ how would it benefit me, sparing my little resources on either of you narren? “ it is not a question. rhetoric drops from his tone and he lips his lip, raw and frostbitten and singing with pain at every word. his eyes water at the stretch of rotting skin, but he blinks it away, only manages to slit dark pupils — menacing, “ what would blazestar do, knowing i harbored two more of you moorland rats? you ask me to lose my alliance, my freshkill, my herbs, to nurse cats of an enemy clan back to health? “ he barks a laugh, frustration breaking it at the edges. coalfoot is rambling aloud, voice rattling with pain and desperation and he wants to claw his own ears off, wants to feel blood spill from his eardrums if only to not listen any longer. his chest aches, sympathy pulsing at his heart despite himself, but he does not waver. if not me, help him, “ leafbare has taken everything from us. we have nothing to spare for you, however good a windclanner you say you may be. “ he would not explain. it was the closest he’d come to admitting the flood that he’d taken their home and his head snaps up, chin lifting, “ we have litters to feed. our own injuries to tend, most at the claws of your former clanmates.. “

coalfoot lifts his head, locks eyes with him — and cicadastar holds it, for only a moment. icicle eyes, crueler no more than the river itself, “ loyalty must remain with your clan, little hares. your fate was sealed the moment you fled the moors. “ with that, he begins to turn, ears pinning flat to his head as he does. his injured eye twitched minutely, features drawn up where the cold eats at him. smokethroat mentions twolegplace and a low growl of thought hums from his throat, deep and creaking. the silver molly is his friend — stars, cicada would nearly consider her a friend himself. it’s hard to listen to, rips his bleeding heart open, feels it meld into anger in his stomach. was he the monster for refusing to endanger the lives of his young ones? for leaving these cats to paint the frost with their blood, run their waves red? the only decent windclanner was a dead one, an opinion held strong despite the way his lungs threaten to crumble, eyes straining in sympathy perhaps misplaced. two more brainwashed beneath sootstar — he could not expend the effort to undo what had already been done. perhaps in a different season, a chance well missed.

he moves, graceful as ever back towards the tall grass, “ do away with them. “ it’s an opening, though not much of one — raging riverclanners surround them, watchful eyes brimming with hatred, rightfully. the riverclan leader knows his majority, knows the bitterness they feel, knows they would see through a redemption fit for them ; if they were to escort them to twolegplace, so be it. should they decide to leave them at the border to rot, so be it. the lanky chimera takes a few steps, tail nearly dragging the ground, before pausing. long, coiling whiskers twitch before he speaks again, not sparing another glance over his jutting, bony shoulder, “ and beesong.. take a walk with me, freund. “ medic gone, they had better move fast if they wanted to make it away from his borders before bleeding out. his teeth rake against one another, his throat clicks. wetness touches the length of his dark, sunken eyes, never falling.

should the cinnamon tabby join him, he would sweep his tail along their side, not quite touching — leading them well into the dark reed.

− ♱ 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​
  
  
• IC OPINIONS AAAAA I LOVE YALL
• 
• none.

​

​

 

[hyacinthbreath]

It's suffocating, she realises.

The very weight of two cat's lives were heavy on her shoulders as she listened to her clanmates bicker over what should be done. Buckgait snarls her disagreement, speaks of her loyalty- Hyacinth looks pained the moment those words leave Buckgait's mouth. "You're wrong," She whispers, eyes drawing downwards to the ground. There isn't much time.

Leave them, Her friend orders, and Hyacinthbreath instinctively pulls away from Coalfoot for a moment to nuzzle her face against his own. A last parting gift, it seemed. If they were to die because of her, she'd be with them. But no later than that, Cicadastar speaks- and his order is followed immediately. Hyacinthbreath takes a step away from the two toms, pain in her eyes. Her bottom lip wobbles, emotions welling up until the kettle squeals. You're abandoning them when they need you most. Just like you did back then. Her eyes shut. Shut up. She hisses at herself, turning back to the patrol as Cicadastar makes his point known. A good one, nonetheless. Why waste their herbs on cats from a Clan like WindClan? Because they're innocent.

Hyacinthbreath moves over to stand beside Smokethroat, lowering her head to Buckgait in respect despite the bubbling need to cry again. Not in front of them, no. They're going to be safe. Do away with them, Cicadastar orders in finality, soon leaving the patrol behind in favor of taking Beesong away from the situation to walk. Her breath leaves her chest instantly, her gaze turning to Clearsight just in time to hear him murmur.

And if we cannot spare the resources? You chose this clan, did you not? You chose to protect our children, our wounded. They would suffer for this kindness — they could die. Can any RiverClanner justify that? "Of course not. Our cats come first, always, I- I'm sorry." He expects her to plead her case, but she couldn't. Not right now. They don't kill her friends, no- they banish them to twolegplace, where at least they'll see Yewberry and Galeforce and Emberfang. She turns to her boys. "They will get you to the twolegplace, escort you so you don't wander- be careful. Yewberry and Galeforce will be waiting for you there. Coalfoot- I know it's hard. I know. But I need you to do your best to stand. Coldsnap needs you. If you go with them, they can take you to a place that'll heal you." Her breaths become shaky, but she steps away.

Her eyes meet Smokethroat's single one. "Thank you," It's evident the relief in her eyes, though she quickly turns to stand beside Cinder once more; safety in numbers. She'd have to visit the twolegplace soon, make sure they were safe. She wants to press into Coldsnap's face, but instead she levels her gaze with his own fading one, a simple whisper. I love you, son.​

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