run, and never look back【 injured windclanners 】

[BUCKGAIT.]

MY NAME IS BRUTUS AND MY NAME MEANS HEAVY ✧​

there is a breath of relief as cicada gives his final verdict; they will not receive sanctuary here. the fate of the damned are left open-ended, and while cicada calls away beesong, buck remains. her eyes bore into the smaller molly, watching as she moves away from the two toms, only removing her harsh attention from hyacinth when the other dips her head. avoiding eye contact with the beast. a smart decision.

her eyes turn back to the windclanners. she'd tear them apart, rip them limb from limb for daring to place themselves on sacred ground. the river cares not for moor cats. it repeats in her head, a mantra spoken through bloodlines. this hatred was unfounded and nonsensical before the founding of the clans, but she thinks she understands it now. it was built upon centuries in preparation for this. for some crazed molly to take over the rolling hills. for those foolish enough to believe her.

"i give you to the count of three heartbeats." she warns, with cicada gone, she is the highest authority. eyes glance to smokethroat, warning him that if he is going to escort them, he best do it now. she will not show mercy, no matter how good they are. no windclanner is good to her, they're all something akin to rats. best when they aren't moving. "if i catch a whiff of your stench, i will rip you two to shreds. i suggest you stay far away from the river." her drawl is spoken in less of a threat, it is a promise on their lives.

let their blood soak into the ground, but they won't remain at the border. her head tilts to the lead warrior once more, she will stay here. watching. waiting. lead them is her silent communication. she is firm in her stance, and this is their last chance to see another day. smokethroat is their last chance at seeing a savior.
​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

Cicadastar speaks, dismisses them and leaves with his healer in tow so that no ounce of aid can be delivered. Leaves it to their paws to decide these twos fate. He considers bloodshed. It is brief, fleeting, but it does cross his mind despite it all. He is not a cat given into the whims of others, but there is no denying that he would be sinking his teeth into the flesh of these dying exiles if it were not for Hyacinthbreath's presence and pleading. It is a mercy he does not often consider: letting a cat live. But in this case it is almost fitting even if it weren't for their once clanmate asking they be spared. Sootstar would not mourn the death of these cats cast from her moorlands, she would celebrate their lives ended so they could plague her no more and a part of him thinks not giving her the satisfaction is worth cooling his urge to finish the job. There must be so many cats who left WindClan by now they could form a clan of their own at this rate, that they might rise against the rabbit chasers on their own to solve the problem was almost comical to imagine.
Smokethroat gives a sigh so heavy he feels almost lighter for it, between the lynx points pleading stare and Buckgait's challenging one he realizes he has no other option than to act. Killing was so much easier, strange how living wasn't.
The dark tom moves forward, pauses as he stands before the one crumpled on the floor, more tangled mass of scars and blood than cat at this point.
"On your feet." Get up. Get UP, this was the only thing he could offer that did not risk his clan, that did not put a RiverClanner closer to death to spare a WindClanner who didn't know their place. While he knows he can handle escorting two dying cats on his own without fear, he does consider the possibility they might not make it and he could use the extra set of paws.
"Redpath, with me. We're getting them off our territory." Two-leg place. It is either their saving grace or a death sentence, he does not know which but it is the only fate for them. What happens next is none of his concern nor care...that he even had to care now was almost irritating. Gone were the days he was alone and could choose to feel nothing for the world. Empathy had grown and he hated it sometimes.


​

 

[Redpath]

So cold her clanmates were, but she understood them. These were windclanners. They would have fought against them if the chance had arisen.... Willingly or not. Which is the part that stuck with her, really.

Windclan really was a vile place if you weren't kissing the tail of it's leader, wasn't it?

She looked down at the two cats bleeding out before her. She tried to see enemies, rancid Windclan rats that she should hate.... And yet.....

She couldn't find it in her to scorn them.

She went over to Coalfoot. "Hey." She said. "I can carry you on my back. We're taking you to the twolegplace, okay?"

She studied the toms face, trying to see if he was all there or not. The blood that he's lost...... She prayed to Starclan that these two would make it.

Sootstar didn't deserve the pleasure of their demise. To rip apart your own clanmates like this, shameful.
​

 

[BEESONG]

too many voices. they're all talking, and beesong cannot focus on one. his ear strains, his eye narrows, but he can't. they fall away into a loud hum; windclanners begging for mercy, hyacinthbreath and boneripple pleading with cicadastar, riverclanners worrying over limited supplies. beesong himself is hesitant to spare herbs on these cats. the cold of leaf-bare is merciless, diminishing the resources at his disposal. if he is to pick between saving his herbs for his clan and wasting them on a clan that's done nothing but hurt them... the decision is an obvious one, isn't it?

still, they glance at cicadastar for an answer. an order. if he tells beesong to help, they would have no choice but to obey. cicadastar is no supporter of windclan, however. the medicine cat wonders if they should even have to ask with the look they give to the towering tom. but he took hyacinthbreath in, they remind themselves. cicadastar is nearly impossible to predict sometimes.

cicadastar delivers his verdict after seemingly an eternity that beesong spent waiting. riverclan could not spare the resources, and the windclanners would be sent away. there is little sympathy that beesong gives them in his impassive expression; what minuscule pity he may feel for the wounded exiles fleeing from sootstar's wrath is buried beneath his logic. riverclan comes first, no matter what. it is his star-sworn duty, the pledge he gave to rain in that starry pine forest.

beesong plans to leave without a word, as silent as they'd arrived with the thorns still wrapped tight around their throat, even before cicadastar turns to them. take a walk with me, the river's ruler says, commands in beesong's mind. and the healer startles, their eye widening for a split second. there's no disregarding the order they're convinced cicadastar has just given. but why would cicadastar want them to walk with him? they would expect him to choose someone else—someone he is closer with, someone like smokethroat.

the only reason they can think of spells trouble for them. have i done something to upset him? beesong wracks their brain for an answer as they reluctantly turn on their heels and hurry after cicadastar, worrying with the inside of their cheek. head ducked and heart pounding, they expect the worst to come, but they'd grit their teeth and bear it.​