SORRY TO ME TOO // private

[RAINWHISKER]

Alone she walks, straying to the border as blue fur dances in the wind. She lets her mind float and wander, it was her way of meditating. Relaxation and time away from cats is just what she needed after a stressful day, she participated in two hunting patrols and had failed to come back with a single thing. It was difficult not to berate herself for missing catches, especially when there was a gnawing in your own stomach.

There is suddenly a thorn embedded into her solitude, someone was intruding it.
Stormpaw? Lightningstone? No, this cat was unfamiliar and so was the sound of their paws. Sometimes she knew who was approaching her before they even opened their maw, all cats had different volumes and patterns to their step. This cat‘s was different to all her clan-mates, and it was aggressive as if they were barreling right towards her. This is going to be a fight! Her mouth opens to allow a hiss to depart, “Stand back!” she warns, silver claws digging into the terrain.

 

[kuiper]

Infection, that must be it.

The pain initially began around a half-moon after the whelp left a tooth behind in his leg, give or take a couple of days. It has progressively gotten worse ever since then, having amplified from a dull ache to this constant acute sting. Nigh on every pawstep results in a sharp gasp from the tom, as he is unable to stifle the discomfort no matter how much he tries. In consequence of this accursed soreness, a momentary halt has been put on his vigilante endeavours. The so-called "apprentices" of these so-called "clans" were able to rest easy for the time being.

Or, rather, they were able to rest easy, as Kuiper has since come to the conclusion that this pain will not falter. It's terminal, it must be. So many nights have passed since the particular night in WindClan, and yet, the pain persists; unequipped with herbal knowledge as he is, to remedy this ailment lies beyond the realm of possibility.

And so, his pursuit of justice continues, and it shall continue until the day of his expiration. What began as a noble pastime became his life goal. These lands will be returned to the sanctity of nature from these colonists' foul paws.

Kuiper's icy gaze stands amongst the reeds and river rocks. He is somewhat familiar with the landscape by now. He knows which indentations in the plains provide the best cover, which spots of the river harbour the nastiest of currents. Scouring for signs of movement from a distance, the alabaster tom waits patiently, resigned in his mien.

An outlying streak of gray marks the start of his game.

Furtive footfalls carry him out of his hidey-hole, which quickly turn into rangy leaps. The rogue forsakes all subtlety then. His victim-to-be catches a glimpse of him in his chase. She stands her ground and warns him off, though this is in vain—the RiverClan cat is already a martyr, she just doesn't know it yet. A penultimate stride brings him ever-closer to the she-cat. Tufted ears flattened back, teeth exposed in a snarl, Kuiper at last moves in for the kill, seeking to snap his jaws shut around her vulnerable neck. ​

 

[RAINWHISKER]

Just like that thorns wrap around her neck, they dig into her flesh with a viciousness she’s never encountered before. The pressure blocks her airflow and she can feel hot blood seep down her neck from the wounds caused by the bite. “GLCHH… uck…“ She squirms, her whole entire body thrashing in an effort to move the monster off of her, even in her panic she knew this was life or death. This Tom aimed to kill her, whether it was by suffocation or snapping her neck.

She thinks of Stormpaw, she thinks of Lightningstone. A flame of rage she’s never felt before erupts inside of her, there was nothing that Rainwhisker loved more than her brothers. To leave them in this world alone, to not be able to protect them… and what about mother? That vile excuse for a she-cat? What about all the future children she’ll bring into this world to trade away, who will be there to save them if not her?! Never did she desire to go back to that horrid place, but if duty called she would.

Rainwhisker knows she cannot die. She mustn’t.

With her hind legs she aims to kick out against any part of her attacker’s body she could hit. If she was lucky, claws would maybe rip through skin. If not, maybe the blunt force of the kick alone would be enough for his grip on her to lessen and allow her to breathe again.

 

[kuiper]

[cw// violence, blood]

Fangs tear through tissue, plunging into susceptible regions of the smaller feline's throat and collar. Warm fluid oozes from the puncture wounds soon afterwards, which coagulates in the fur along her neck and, to his revulsion, seeps into his mouth as well. His maw clamps down tighter in defiance of the tinny taste within them. When a helpless sputter follows suit, the fate of the so-called warrior is sealed. Be it by bleeding out or gagging on her own liquids, the she-cat shall draw her last breath in a matter of moments. Once caught in the clasp of death's jaws, there is no escaping them.

Kuiper does not make the same mistake as last time. With his victim imprisoned by his grip, he keeps his eyes fixed forwards, combing through the reeds and vegetation for traces of activity. Being pursued isn't an option in this current state, not with his afflicted limb.

The clan cat panics. She twists and turns in a convulsive way, threshing against his larger form in a vain effort to free herself. In response to her strife, a gravelly hum rumbles from his throat. A rogue claw to his abdomen brings the tom's amusement to a premature end, and the wretched she-cat is freed from his clutches.

He recoils, stumbling a fox-leap away from her. Crimson trickles off the tips of his stomach fur and onto the ground below. "Colonist vermin!" spits the heaving tom. "I'll be the last thing you ever see!"

The woman's blood dribbles from his gums when the rogue gnashes his teeth at her. Undeterred by the pain, he once again takes off at a running pace. Kuiper seeks to cut through her neck with an unsheathed claw as he verges on her wounded form; regardless of the success of his initial attack, the tom - driven by momentum - strives to bite down on her unshielded neck a second time.​

 

[RAINWHISKER]

Fangs release from her throat and allow for instant relief, but Rainwhisker is weak from a lack of oxygen. She pants and heaves even heavier than her opponent does, no matter how many deep breaths she can’t seem to get her lungs full. This causes her to grow nauseous, dizzy even, there was a tickling feeling in her head. The blue she-cat knew she could not give up, she could not give into death.

Colonist vermin! The rogue hisses, a peculiar insult, Rainwhisker has never been met with prejudice for being apart of one of the five clans before. He vows to make himself the last thing Rainwhisker ever sees, the threat was near meaningless to her- if anything it satisfies her. She fought with such accuracy and strength she had been perceived as a seeing feline.

Paws thud against the earth, an attack is coming but from where and what will it be? Rainwhisker tries to dodge but she fails to break away from the incoming slice through her neck. She feels her flesh part, warm blood gurgles before pouring down her throat. It was enough, but as if to secure the kill the rogue bites down once more on her neck like a piece of prey.

Rainwhisker is slain, a look of fury burns in her unblinking eyes, even in death.