private something had to give [rattleheart]

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ The tunnel exit closest to the gorge is hardly a comfortable distance away; it lies near enough to see the space where she assumes ThunderClan’s warriors will lead the pack of wolves over the edge. She and her bicolored sibling have a decent vantage point from here, and they can duck back into the tunnel if necessary, but still Scorchstreak is on edge. Her dappled tail lashes behind her and her claws extend and retract over and over as she watches the forest’s edge. Any moment now, a group of cats will appear, followed by a group of even larger, more dangerous beasts.

Though she is expecting them, her breath still catches when they come into sight. Leading the charge is a group of ThunderClan’s warriors, with the wolves baying not far behind them. "Rattleheart," she says, her voice nearly too low to hear. The wolves’ paws pound across flowers and grass as they chase after the cats—if she focuses it feels as though the earth itself trembles beneath their weight. Her mind flashes back to the dogs that they had encountered on their way back from the mountains. Had Milkthorn not urged her to run, she would have attempted to fight back against them to defend the others. Against mere street dogs, she would have perished. Against these monsters, she would never have stood a chance. For once, the calico is glad that the forest clan’s self-righteousness has worked out in WindClan’s favor.

But it is not over, even as the other clan’s patrol approaches the gorge. Something happens just before the wolves plunge into it—someone doesn’t keep running. The other ThunderClanners all dart off to the side, deftly ducking out of the way of the snapping jaws and heavy paws. But one form, too far to make out clearly, drops over the edge of the gorge. On instinct, her shoulder shifts to bump against Rattleheart’s, seeking comfort in the brush of their fur against hers. "One of them jumped." Her eyes narrow, and she casts a glance to the sky. Tonight, another star will alight up there. Perhaps even more. She can only hope that the losses are not too steep, and that it is truly over.


// @RATTLEHEART​

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[RATTLEHEART]

AS HE RAISED HIS FIST BEFORE HE SPOKE — Normally, the tunnels were a place of sanctuary for Rattleheart. Somewhere where he could feel wholly in his element, with the darkness surrounding him and the faint rub of dirt against his shoulders. His anxiety was hardly able to reach him down in the tunnels, unruly tendrils of doubt and worry thwarted by the mastery he had earned over moons of being down in the labyrinth. Today, though, none of that was true. Today he sat settled alongside Scorchstreak, his entire form tensed and troubled as the both of them stared out over the horizon. Towards the steep plummet of the gorge.

The same plummet that Thunderclan would be racing towards. The same plummet that they would be leading monstrosities towards. The certainty of their death if they went over successfully did nothing to quiet his nerves.

For a while he says nothing, enjoying at least the comfortable silence that was commonplace between the two of them, even if the air around them crackled with anticipation. Unfortunately, no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for the horrid noises that erupted into the air as the Thunderclan warriors came charging forward, the wolves hot on their heels and screeching so loud he was certain even Starclan could hear them. "There... there they are. Are you ready to run?" It was a silly question. Of course she was, he and Scorchstreak had been sitting here this whole time precisely because they were ready to run. Ready to bolt at the first sign of things going horribly, horribly wrong. Yet still he felt the need to ask, back legs perched in such a way that he was ready to twist around and plunge into the darkness the moment one of the warriors before them was crunched into gnashing jaws.

Yet, that didn't end up happening.

Instead, he felt the bump of his sister's shoulder against his own, pale green gaze staring out in horror as a body went flying out over the edge. One distinctly not large enough to be one of the wolves that had been in hot pursuit. It was an intense relief to see all of the rest of them go tumbling over the edge right after, yet his mind couldn't stop repeating just a few moments earlier. The blurry shape of undefined fur, the swift movement of a cat throwing themselves down to their sure death to ensure things went to plan. Suddenly, his legs felt weak. "They... Starclan. That was..." Rattleheart couldn't find the words, pressing back against his littermate's side as he sank slowly down, closer to the dirt beneath them. "They did it. It was probably because of whoever went over the edge." He couldn't conjure up a name for the fallen warrior, even if he had known every face in Thunderclan intimately. They had been too far away, blinded by both distance and the chaos of what had taken place.

THE RIGHTEOUS HAND OF GOD 𓆩♡𓆪 THE DEVIL THAT YOU FORGOT

• 

• 
  ❥ longhaired black and white tom with pale green eyes
  ❥ 49 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ❥ afab; uses he/she/they pronouns
  ❥ homosexual homoromantic; mated to venomstrike
  ❥ sibling to scorchstreak, lizardbounce, and rabbitclaw
  ❥ currently mentoring downypaw
  ❥ somewhat difficult to befriend; wary but kind
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ❥ peaceful powerplay allowed
  ❥ all opinions are ic

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[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ In response to her brother’s question, she nods once, stiffly. She is prepared to run—to sprint as though her life and all her clanmates’ depend on it. And in truth, they do. If she and Rattleheart are killed, or are too slow, then wolves will bear down upon an unsuspecting camp full of WindClan’s most vulnerable. The warriors would attempt to fight back, she knows. Her mate would fight to her dying breath to save anyone she could, but even if the wolves were held off by the stripes back at camp, would it be enough to save anyone? The moorland is open and unguarded, with no trees to climb and no shelter to take cover in. There are only the tunnels, and most of the moor runners have no hope of squeezing into one of them. Truly, their ability to run and warn the clan of incoming danger could be the difference between WindClan’s survival and its destruction. There is no question to her response; even if she is not ready, she does not have a choice. She will have to be.

Her body tenses, limbs coiled and ready to spring, even after the last of the wolves disappears over the gorge’s sudden drop-off. Rattleheart comments that it is likely due to the fallen cat’s actions that the plan worked, and the calico murmurs her agreement. "It was a risky plan; there was no guarantee that it would work unless someone went over the edge with them." She sees it for what it is, now—a death mission. Just as the trek into the mountains could have been. One sacrifice, for the good of an entire clan. Until she knows which cat threw themself into the gorge, she will not grieve them, but she will respect them without hesitation.

Her fiery gaze shifts to the treeline, where many of the cats who had led the wolves to their deaths are now heading. Regrouping and informing the others of their loss, she assumes. No more wolves burst from the trees to snap up the remaining warriors, and so the tunneler is satisfied. "It seems that was all of them. It’s over. Should we go back to camp, or wait a bit longer?" She looks to her sibling, who seems to have sank partially to the ground in relief. She feels the same, her body drained of its adrenaline, but still she manages to stand strong against the quake of her limbs. She will not rest until she returns to camp, all too eager to see her mate once again after the tension of the day.​

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[RATTLEHEART]

AS HE RAISED HIS FIST BEFORE HE SPOKE — He was surprised by how much effort it takes to push himself up once Scorchstreak's words reached him, her voice seeming far away and echoing faintly before he shook his head from side to side. "You're right, still..." Rattleheart stared down at his own dirtied paws, the brief flash of the warrior that had been lost replaying in his mind before he sighed heavily. "I hope he didn't leave too many poor souls behind." The tunneler couldn't help but imagine himself in the same situation. Would he have been able to do it? Toss himself to what was a certain death for the sake of Windclan? He liked to think that he would - was fairly certain that he would - but it wouldn't be an action he could take without pain. Without the briefest moment of agony before the actual swift embrace of the stars came.

There were so many faces he'd be leaving behind. Not just a whole clan of friends that he cared for, but his kin as well. Scorchstreak herself, along with their other siblings. Blizzardkit. Redheart. Venomstrike. Would he really be able to leave his mate behind, if the worst came to pass one day down the line? Would Scorchstreak be able to leave Bluepool behind, if the same opportunity presented itself to her? Deep down inside, he knew it was a question he shouldn't have been pondering in the first place. There was no way for him to truly know, not until things truly came down to the wire. Still, anxiety was a fickle beast, and he knew it would be some time before visions of the Thunderclan warrior's sacrifice stopped haunting him.

Though there was still an uneasy weight on his back, Rattleheart knew he could stick around no longer. The rest of Thunderclan's warriors had begun to disappear into the tree line, and he found his own thoughts to be an echo of his sister's beside him. He wanted to return home, so that he could bury himself in Venomstrike's fur and relish the safety that they were allowed within the comfort of camp. Safety that had been hard fought for, not only by them but surprisingly, by Thunderclan as well. "Let's... let's return to camp. I don't smell any more of them on the air, and I doubt any of the Thunderclanners would've started heading home if there were any leftovers. We should let the others know that we're safe, at least for now." His voice was startlingly steady, at least to his own ears - save for the usual rough rasp that accompanied each word. He had expected his tone to be quivering, yet instead it was full of determination as he twisted around. An unfaltering need to get the both of them home, to where they belonged.

THE RIGHTEOUS HAND OF GOD 𓆩♡𓆪 THE DEVIL THAT YOU FORGOT

• 

• 
  ❥ longhaired black and white tom with pale green eyes
  ❥ 49 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ❥ afab; uses he/she/they pronouns
  ❥ homosexual homoromantic; mated to venomstrike
  ❥ sibling to scorchstreak, lizardbounce, and rabbitclaw
  ❥ currently mentoring downypaw
  ❥ somewhat difficult to befriend; wary but kind
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ❥ peaceful powerplay allowed
  ❥ all opinions are ic

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