border TAKE MY HEART [ thunderpath 'accident' ]

[scalejaw]

★ // sensitive topics of some injury relating to getting hit by a monster/car / implied murder attempt!
// continuation of this thread

Her teeth had sank into the scruff of the far smaller, the fawn pelt around a far darker muzzle. Her paws were still stinking of the Thunderpath, stinging with the rough texture, her mind spinning. Two cats. Two cats. Remember them. It's important. She chanted to herself, vision pinned towards Doecry's prone form, where her body was twisted unnaturally in some parts. This cat was a far younger one then her- barely a warrior. Glowing coal eyes searched for signs of life, and with the ragged breathing in her ears, she turned her head to cry out for Thunderclan.

A patrol would be close, right? It was midday, a hunting one, something- "Thunderclan! One of your warriors was struck by a monster! Send help!" She all but roared, quite a fierce image. A feather-furred warrior, one of broad and strong stance. Some of the older cats may recognize her, a familiar face from the days of the colonies, and one that was around at Gatherings, but semi-chilling during all other interactions. A method of protecting herself, her clan.

What the fuck is happening in Thunderclan? There was no lingering rogue scent, there was only Thunderclan where those two cats had stood. Her eyes glimmered, and while she waited for a patrol, she turned back to Doecry. "C'mon, kiddo. Open your eyes. Can you hear me?" She urged aloud.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── MESSES WITH YOUR SANITY ⋅❁⋅ TWISTING ALL YOUR THOUGHTS AROUND ──┐‎

• "speech"
  // no need to wait for @doecry ࿔ !
  

• 

• SCALEJAW 🌧 she/her, warrior of shadowclan, sixty three moons.
  ★ A SH black/LH blue smoke chimera with glowering orange eyes, tufts of fur that make her look dragon-akin, and scars that she wears with pride. motherly and stern attitude, with a warm streak for clanmates and a cruel streak for enemies.
  ★ mentoring no one
  ★ padding after no one / / mother to bonerattle, nightwhisper, and shadefall
  ★ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ★ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.
  

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[braveheart : ̗̀➛]

☀ . ° ✦ ShadowClan had seen of Braveheart plenty in his days as an apprentice, but not in the recent moon of his warriorhood. In truth the tom was worried with each time he left his Clans camp he might return with to the sight of one of his kin made into Skyclaw's new physical lesson learned as he had made Gentlestorm.

Today appeared to have the opposite effect, that delaying his duties and remaining homebound so long had allowed a frame of time where not just one he considered kin had come to harm, but to be murdered.

His patrol fell to down from his tower of worries and quickly replaced with following the hoarse shouting of a ShadowClanner, Scalejaw, who accompanied herself with the scent of his Clanmates blood. Doepath- as he refused to think of her as anything but her righteous star-blessed name- had been struck across between their bordered Clan.

"Is- Is she...?" A stuttered movement from her chest answered him before he could finish such an impossible sentence. Braveheart shoved his nose into her fur and choked back a fearful sob. "We need- we need to get her back... Gentlestorm can't..." Their own medicine cat was healing his own wounds, Doepath would have to make the journey with the delay.

✧　°　.　✶　.　°　✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  BRAVEHEART — HE/HIM ･ 11 MOONS ･ THUNDERCLAN & WARRIOR ･ PENNED BY beatae!

  A Longhaired chocolate tabby with a white locket and deep blue eyes. A large cat who stands tall and proud. His coat is thick with long wispy curls. Severe scars from owl talons stretch across his shoulders and another that starts from his back down his left thigh.

​

 

[Softsight]

There was always the worry that with Vilefury's hotheadedness, she would get herself into trouble with Skyclaw or his underlings - it wasn't a pleasant thought to have or think about, but it was a constant one, that her sister might one day suffer the same wounds, or worse, than Gentlestorm had. These type of thoughts were near-constant with the state ThunderClan was in, and Carrionshriek knew that she wasn't the only one who worried for her kin - at least she had only a few to keep an eye on, whereas others had branches of family to weep and worry over.

Carrionshriek had quietly joined Braveheart's patrol, and everything had been going smoothly enough when her ears pricked at the sound of a voice carrying in the wind, shouting to make itself known. Braveheart heard it too - directed the patrol to the area the voice was coming from, and Carrionshriek let out a soundless gasp when they made it to the scene. Doepath - for Carrionshriek would not call her Doecry, would never honor any of the names that Skyclaw had cursed them all with - looked to be in a state of disrepair.

"Careful with her," Carrionshriek cautioned when Braveheart bolted to Doepath's side, a wave of emotion overtaking the tom. Carrionshriek could feel her own heart beating rapidly, but Doepath was very hurt, and needed to be seen straight away. "Braveheart, help me take her back to camp. We'll..." Carrionshriek hated to say that they would take Doepath to Gentlestorm, with the state he was in himself, but he was all they had. The older tom was stubborn in having not taken an apprentice yet, and here were the complications it left in its wake.

"We'll take her to Gentlestorm." Carrionshriek said firmly, quietly; it was all they could do, in this situation. If Gentlestorm needed help, if he would have her... Carrionshriek would help him in any way she could. Pink eyes moved from Doepath's ragged body to the ShadowClanner that had called their attention to the accident, and she dipped her head in thanks to her for having quite possibly saved the she-cat's life. "Thank you." She could have stopped to question the ShadowClanner, to see if she knew anything about what had happened for Doepath to have come into this situation, but what was more important in the moment was time.

After those final words left Carrionshriek's mouth, she paused, frozen for a moment. When was the last time she had spoken so much? With Gentlestorm? She glanced at Braveheart, who was still pressed into Doepath's fur. No, it didn't matter when she spoke last or why - again, what mattered was getting Doepath back to the medicine cat's den safely and quickly. Ruminating on her lost voice could wait for later.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎OOC ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ .ᐟ.ᐟ INFO ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• !
  

• 

• CARRIONSHRIEK ✩ warrior of thunderclan, eleven moons
  → peaceful and healing powerplay permitted.
  → penned by Archivist → .archivist on discord.
  

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[doepath ࿔]

Peaceful quiet is sharply cut short as the cold, damp press of an unfamiliar nose shocks her nerves into alertness. It is a tender voice, one she doesn't recognize, that murmurs against the thin furs of her ear... it is far too gentle to be her mother's but still a whimpering part of her soul yearns for that reassurance, that petal-touched affection... The thought that her mother can't possibly be here doesn't register, as lips press together into a miserable frown. It smells like petrichor... like moss... like an old home, abandoned a long time ago. "Can you hear me?"

Her brows furrow, wading through the tar-dense fog to try and articulate... to find words. An ear flicks in response, teeth ground together as a shallow breath sends a radiating pain through her chest. "Bad dream..." Thats what this must be.... An image of downy curls smiles sadly in her head... Where are you?

Slowly, the fawn dares to peek at her surroundings, foggy and indistinguishable as ever. It's a fuzz of ruddy, spotted fur that finds it's focus first.. it strikes a chord of relief, of recognition, but the letters of a name elude her in mucky thoughts.... I know you.. but even as he fusses over her, he remains a vague vision of friendship with no identity to match it.

Conversation mills around her head with urgent uncertainty, mentions of a coming storm? Of something gentle? To be careful? What's happening? Pressure pulls at distant tenderness, drawing a gasped groan while her vision swims with firelight and by the time she manages to blink away the disorienting glimmering, the ground has abandoned her. They're cautious, understandably so, in their effort to shuffle back towards camp, to seek out whatever soothing rain they mentioned was but all that she can think about is how awkward it feels. To feel like a ghost in your own body.

"Don't.... let go...." goes quietly begged with a hitched breath, because she's certain that the moment their warmth stops permeating the chill, that she might lose track of herself and float away.​