STARS AND YOU & EVIL BIRD

[sparkspirit]

He has good distance between himself and his prey. In a moment's respite from the wind, his scent lies still on empty air. Each step is careful, slow. The faintest of rustling, not out of place within the moors, from the way that the fur of his belly brushes the earth. By all accounts, the blackbird should have no idea that he's nearby. It should be an easy catch. Though his stomach rumbles from the sight of it, Sparkpaw has learned to be a cautious hunter. Not the best by any means, but thoughtful. Sometimes it may even border on being too much so.

Looking back on this moment, he'll realize that's exactly where all of this went wrong. With his gaze so securely focused upon his prey, Sparkpaw missed all of the obvious signs. The moor around him goes deadly quiet. One step closer, then another. Almost within pouncing distance. But so is something else. From the grey skies comes a noise he has yet to hear so closely. Akin to a rustling of feathers, or the way fur whips about in storms such as these. It whistles by his ear, louder and louder but never loud. Right up until talons flash and wings flap, and the blackbird before him is pinned beneath a hawk's talons.

To say the apprentice jumps is an understatement. He nearly leaps out of his fur, spine arched and ears pinned as he scrambles several tail-lengths away from the predator. Sharp yellow eyes catch on to him as the blackbird, still alive, fights to escape. It screeches loud enough to chase away the thudthudthud of Sparkpaw's heartbeat. There is malice in those eyes. Cunning and knowing, seeing through him and sizing him up. But even as the apprentice readies himself for some kind of fight, the hawk seems to think better of that. Either that, or it decides that Sparkpaw is beneath him. The screeching blackbird still held in its talons, it beats its wings and takes off.

"Oh stars," he breathes out. The rush of adrenaline and tension leaving him makes him feel like he'll turn to putty where he's left standing.

˗ˏˋ〘  OOC ･ ｡ﾟ🗲 REFERENCE 06.13.2023 〙´ˎ˗

• ooc: —

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• sparkpaw, sparky. dmab male, he - him - his.
  ──── apprentice of windclan. loyal to windclan and weaselclaw.
  ──── 06 moons old. born on 12.15.22, and ages 85% real time.
  ──── echolight x elmbreeze, adopted by yewberry. brightfam.
  
  a long-limbed, trim sterile tortoiseshell tom with mostly black fur splashed with the occasional orange. he has a singular white mark on the back of his neck, as if he had been bitten there. has a fresh scar across the bridge of his nose.

• "speech"

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[Badgermoon]

The joy of living on the moor, while powerful in Badgermoon's heart, was still shot through with downsides. Their vulnerability to the weather, for one; the predators of the sky and of the land, for another. He knew that he himself was too large to make an appealing target for any bird of prey, but many of his Clanmates were not, and his dislike of the winged beasts - which had begun to develop with particular intensity once Cottonpaw had been attacked - had evolved into a full-on loathing now that he had kits of his own. Occasionally he would wake from a disturbing dream in which one of his children were snatched up and carried someplace beyond his ability to rescue them, his heart hammering against his chest, his fur spiking along his spine.

Today, a nightmare almost made reality: he crested a small hill in time to see a hawk dive, in what he presumed was an attempt to snag Sparkpaw straight off his paws. Badgermoon had time only to release a strangled cry of alarm before a burst of glossy black feathers and a squawk of fear revealed that it was not Weaselclaw's apprentice who was in danger, but his prey. The hawk thundered back into the sky with its catch as Badgermoon bounded down towards the startled apprentice, his own coat slightly fluffed out in alarm. "Sparkpaw, are you alright?" he puffed, coming to a stop beside the blue-eyed son of Echolight. "That was a close one."​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

There had been certain advantages to growing up largely away from the clans. The badger den that they had once seen as their entire world had thankfully been secure from things like hawks sitting in wait, eager to dig their claws into anything small enough for them to lift into the air. The Twolegplace had been similar, with most large birds of prey not choosing to use the clumped together buildings as their hunting grounds. Too much noise and chaos, not to mention the Twolegs themselves representing a threat for any opportunistic predator that thought Kittypet kits would make for an easy snack.

Naturally, it had taken the tom some time to adjust to just how open everything in Windclan was by comparison. They always felt vaguely exposed whenever they weren't down in the tunnels, with the recent harsh winds reminding them of just how easy they would be for something overhead to snatch up. Even as a fully grown warrior, Rattleheart wasn't built to be hard to grab. Their lithe form made navigating the tunnels mostly a breeze, but meant that things like hawks - and warriors larger than them - could snatch the upper hand easily. Their anxieties, much like Badgermoon, didn't extend just to themself either. Their sister's kits were far more vulnerable than they were, without any real method of fighting back or wrenching themselves away.

This meant that when the harsh screech of a panicked blackbird reached them, they were reluctant to emerge from the nearby tunnel they had been stashed away in. Their intention had been to lie in wait for any prey that passed by, but they couldn't deny that they were now using it as a hiding place, heart thundering until they heard the firm sound of Badgermoon's voice. The deputy's presence was finally enough to draw them up and out onto the moors, following the other's scent until they reached where Badgermoon and Sparkpaw stood. The latter of the two looked about ready to collapse on the spot, not that Rattleheart could really blame him. They even found themself glancing worriedly up at the trees, as if the hawk would abandon its squirming prey and come back to try and grab one of them.

They looked Sparkpaw over slowly, looking for any signs of injury on the apprentice, or anything out of place aside from the obvious fear. "It didn't get you anywhere, did it? I'm sure we could help you back to Vulturemask if need be..." Though they doubted the medicine cat would be glad to see someone else injured so soon. Not that injuries were ever a good thing, but between the spats with Shadowclan and Riverclan, Rattleheart had to imagine that supplies were becoming scarce.
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[ PENNED BY EO ]​

 

[LAMBCURL.]

Lambcurl's position is naught by coincidental. Nearly never would you find him outside of camp when the sun was still high– not above ground, anyways. And today was no exception. His eyes could be as wide as he wanted them to be, tucked underground. Even if he loves the sun, he may stay safe from it. He does not weep, for he loves the stars more.

Easy presence in the sky draws him closer, though. Such detours have never been punished. So long as the scent of hare never retreats too, too far, there is never a moment that he could not spare for his clan. A pale head makes its way to the surface. From his spot in the ground, squinted eyes make out the hunt, and the quick interruption of such.

If only for a second, his eyes would blow wide with wonder. Bird at bird's throat; it's something he's never seen before. Cycle of life has so suddenly expanded, in his eyes. He finds such valuable, even if tears suddenly threatened those eyes, so. Lambcurl watches after it in wonder. Meanwhile, the hunter is assessed by doting faces. Lambcurl wonders how small a cat would have to be, before they began eating each other. Perhaps small size was not enough to make you a morsel, as their kits grow into warriors. Would he be one himself, in such a world? The thought does not particularly bother him.

" Feathers over fur... " the tom remarks lowly. It's be easy to think he said nothing at all. So was his way. " Do you think they crave differently on different days...? "

〖 OOC 𓆩ꕥ𓆪 NOTES 〗

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  LAMBCURL: HE / HIM , CISGENDER MALE ; GAY & SINGLE, IN LOVE WITH EVERYBODY TBH ; TUNNELER OF WINDCLAN ; 42 MOONS
  
  tiny, curly - furred albino tom with teary pink eyes. ; dreamy – eyed and dreamy – minded, Lambcurl drags himself across the land with an ever-present smile and glassy bug eyes. Deeply honored to hold his position as a tunneler and whisperingly reverent with everything he does. Somewhat unnerving in ideals and the way he speaks, but he means well.
  — tentative voice claim: fox mulder
  

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[Bluepool]

She had seen cats get carried away by hawks before. It was a very real possibility, a very real danger, when it came to living on the moors. Especially if the cat was on the smaller side. This made cats like Sparkpaw prime targets, or cats like her sisters brood. She remembers back to a time one of them had almost gotten carried away, remembers her heart hammering in her throat and her paws pounding the earth underneath her. Not fast enough... She wouldn't have gotten there in time. She is too far away from Sparkpaw now too, though thankfully this hawk is not after cat today. Instead she watches in pure relief as the creature grips the blackbird in its impressive talons and flies off.

Like the others, she immediately comes to the young cats side. this whole family was a bit of crazy but that didn't mean they deserved to be carried away to become a hawks dinner. She only wished that fate on the fish-breaths in RiverClans lands. Cats like Smokethroat and Cicadastar could get carried away in front of her and she wouldn't even lift a claw to help.

Badgermoon and Rattleheart worry over the tom, so Bluepool feels fine to hang back with Lambcurl, snorting at his question. "I know we do, and if we do then who's to say they are not the same?" if given options when she could afford to be picky- to chose whether she fancied fur or feathers she would go with whatever she desired at the time, but if the pickings were slim then whatever she could get was fine. Perhaps given the choice today - the hawk had chosen the bird. For that, she thanks the stars. The cats above seemed to know that they had lost too much lately and silently she sends them a 'thank you'.

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