private SHAKING THROUGH MY SKULL [sedge]

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ Foolish apprentices, thinking themselves above the simple mistakes of arrogance. No warrior could survive on their own out in the blizzard, let alone a group of apprentices without a single warrior amongst them. Her own apprentice had learned, just recently, the consequences of not paying close attention to their mentor—to hear that her kin have set out on their own without warriors to accompany them makes Scorchstar's hackles bristle. Something in her hopes that they will learn their lesson, but she does not want to see them lost in the blizzard, or worse. Her kin are out there; she could lose one of Rattleheart's kits, one of her precious niblings. The calico does not stop to collect any patrolmates as she sweeps her way out of camp. In her mind, there is no consideration for her own safety. All that matters is that her kin may be out there, lost amongst the painted-white moorland, potentially injured or even dying.

The snowscape shrouds the territory, rendering her nearly blinded as she trudges onward. She had left the tunnels behind what feels like ages ago, her paws numbed enough to slow her steps. When she finally admits that she is lost, that she is no more use to her kin than she would have been remaining in camp, Scorchstar is exhausted. Weariness weighs on her, flanks heaving with the effort of taking in every last icy breath. She cannot continue this for long, cannot locate her clan's apprentices in this state. She is meant to look after them, every last one of them. "Splinterpaw, Thistlepaw, Bunnypaw…" her voice is strained by the cold, the ice gripping at her throat. It takes her a moment to realize that she cannot hear her own voice—not because the wind sweeps away the shout, but because she is not shouting at all. She opens her mouth once more to call out for them, but instead of words she only manages to cough. Her head swims and the world tilts on its axis, snowbanks rolling beneath aching paws.

…Why had she come out here in the first place?

When had she left WindClan's camp? Was it days ago? Hours? Moments? Has the storm swallowed her whole, digging its claws in and refusing to give her up? When her limbs give out below her, the calico cannot help but think how miserable a death this is. How much it will hurt WindClan. Her clanmates will discover her only when the storm lets up, a blood-red smear against pristine white snow. They will struggle to tow her frozen, stiff form back to camp, then they will struggle to dig a hole deep enough in the solid earth to bury her in. This will be her end.

Tireless energy, the words echo in her ears, somehow audible over the roaring winds. A touch of warm silvered fur, sunrise-gold eyes filled with love—she cannot give up. Her paws tremble as she drags herself up once again, half-melted snow plastering fiery fur against her thin frame. She can hardly take another step, but she has to keep moving. She has to keep searching.

YOU KNOW I DESERVE IT ☽♰☾ WELL, TAKE IT OUT ON ME

• ooc: @SEDGEPOUNCE
• 
• SCORCHSTAR ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ she/they, leader of windclan, tunneler
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. cold and closed-off, ferociously protective of her clanmates.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to bilberrypaw & brackenpaw ; previously mentored pinkshine
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted, but may react aggressively
  ༄ penned by foxlore

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[SEDGEPOUNCE]

"Bunnypaw!" He doesn't know who realized it first, only that it's been a blur since Rowanpaw's stern face cascaded into focus and confirmed the worst. Apprentices—self-sacrificial, stupid, gone. The words had barely left Rowanpaw's teeth before Scorchstar flew out of camp. Sedgepounce followed, half as quick, haloed by a small patrol. He hasn't seen much of them or anyone else for the better part of ten minutes.

"Bunnypaw!" he yells, voice wind-whipped. The blood-flecked caterwaul barely pierces the heavy wall of howling, tearing wind. It rattles him, pushes him this way and that with sheer, abominable, indifferent force. He can't break through the storm barrier any easier than he could claw through a concrete wall. It's enough to kill.

What was she thinking? He can't fathom an answer. Bunnypaw spooks at her own shadow—he can't imagine a world where she looks out at a blizzard and thinks: Surely I'll be fine! Maybe Thistlepaw convinced her that the only way to defeat RiverClan once and for all is to go die in a storm! Maybe—maybe—he doesn't know!

"BUNNYPAW!" The storm-howl bats away his agonized scream like a speck of lint, but the curtains of ice flurries give way to a distant, dark form slumped in the snowbanks. Some weird mix of hope and fear strangles his heart, ignites a fire under his feet. He runs, trips, trudges through the snow, carving jagged lines through the pristine blankets of it. The horizon closes in; the figure grows closer. "Buh—Scorchstar!"

Sedgepounce collides with Scorchstar's frozen, snow-clumped body, and at once their shoulders are rooted together. She's standing—barely—held up by ice-pick legs that are too stiff to crumple.

"Sc—Scorchstar," he tries. Wildfire yellow eyes slide across his face, unseeing. "Scorchstar. C'mon, we—" Sedgepounce sucks in a breath. It's cold and snow-sick and burns at his torn-up throat. The world feels like it's caving in. "We...we gotta go back!"
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