TEACH ME WRONG FROM RIGHT [ fox attack cont.]

[batwing]

.i'll be your calm, —————————

————————— before the storm!.

▵ ———————— ◮ ———————— ▵

@bobbie @SHARPPAW. @dovethroat. @orangeblossom

Batwing's heart was still pounding in his chest. He could hear it, the thundering noise in his ears. Of course, he didn't know where the fox went- but seeing cats scamper into the brush. Cats he knew weren't ones that could easily navigate the shredding briars or thick gorse of this kind of forest. Well, at least, one's he thought he knew didn't anyways. Paws were fast on ground that smelled of fear-scent and unfamiliar clan-scent. His ears twitched and looked around, lifting up and looking around.

They couldn't have gotten that far, right? "Hello?! Is anyone out here? It's Batwing!" He shouted. Sure, this was a risk, calling out like this. Who knows if rogues or loners found themselves in this forest, or if the fox came back around. But he'd be a mouse-brain to just turn around and leave cats out here, lost and afraid.

// continuation of the fox thread!! he'll be finding them/leading them back in this thread

"speech"​

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[SHARPSHADOW]

Do what you're good at. Lie low. Nevermind that the fox had come with dawn; that the sun blared annoyingly overhead, not even to warm his bones, but seemingly just to be a nuisance. Sharppaw searches for pockets of shadow, for leaning darkness that shrunk the further the sun climbed into the sky. He does not know how long it's been, but— it's at least been long enough for his heart to stop pounding in its chest, and for his eyes to rest, no longer blown wide in terror. And now, another issue came...

Sharppaw knew forests, but not forests like this. Impossibly thick and dense, scents not nearly as innocuous as that of bubbling bog water or damp reeds. Sharppaw presses herself to a thick tree trunk, and it has siblings not a tail length away, trunks just as wide and leaves burnt just the same. Panic threatens to settle in— pinpricks of claws dragged along her back. Nevermind the nothings and nobodies, she wanted that lungwort, and her name that would come with it. Uneven mats of fur fluffed to spines upon her back, she stalks aimlessly. And who knew for how long...

Then, a voice. Sharppaw is pitching herself around a truck, eyes narrowed, as if the threat of rogues still lingered in these outskirts—

Batwing. Nearly worse. Annoying, but... where she needed to be. He reveals himself with slow steps, eyes squinted to sate the urge to glare at this ThunderClanner. " ...Is the fox gone? " he asks, eyes never in one place for too long.

ooc ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ look, see, isn't it interesting? no, you're not even listening...

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• 

• ( IS THAT NOT BRAVE ENOUGH FOR YOU? ) SHARPPAW: Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 15 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  a dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between her chimera fur. Burdened with a broken tail. Recently, she has realized it can still function, though she has wholly believed in its utter uselessness for so long that it cannot without great effort. Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others.
  — Obsessed with the perceived 'game' within ShadowClan, the rules of which she is unaware of. Striving to be someone more likeable due to this.
  heavy ic opinions! he sucks.

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[Orangestar]

𝐵𝑈𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐴 𝑊𝑂𝑀𝐴𝑁, 𝐵𝑌 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐸𝑁𝐷 ✧ 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀

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  — orangeblossom | tags
  — she/her ; deputy of skyclan, mentoring eveningpaw.
  — scarred white-and-ginger she-cat with brown eyes.
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by waluigipinball
  — penned by mercibun. @ me in any official tabbytales discord for plots.
  
  

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It's been a little while since Orangeblossom scaled the tree. The forest around her has fallen quiet, at least in the way that a forest can, despite the careful attention of her swivelling ears. Now that she knows she's safe and the battle-breath of escaping a fox has left her system, Orangeblossom's leg aches. Her head aches too, but there's little she can do for either up here. Maybe it's best to wait a little longer. Maybe she should rest while she can ...

A voice calls out, jerking her upright once more, and Orangeblossom cranes her neck to catch sight of the once-again-familiar pelt of smoke and scars. She knows Batwing's voice well now, knows to look at tree-level just as much as she would search the ground, but she can't quite ... Ah. There you are ...? She thinks she can see him through the ferns, but on second thought, those movements are too ... slinky. Only ShadowClanners slink around like that, she's come to realise. Is that Sharppaw?

"Batwing!" She calls back, waiting to see whether or not the owner of that dark pelt turns around at her call. Either way, she'd continue: "It's Orangeblossom. Is it safe to come down?"​

 

[DOEBLAZE]

perched in the tree, bobbie swears she can feel every hair along her back spiked upwards. heartbeats pulse rhythmically in her ears, blood electric in her veins and half-tail bushed out like a fox's. the fox's. the bark beneath her calloused paws is smooth and unfamiliar, though the branch seems stout. the first curls of green wood peek out where her frantic claws have raked into the tree, and the unfamiliar greenery around her is unrecognizable. it all oozes flame and emerald, but nothing is recognizable, and the closest thing around to a cat is the smell of fear-scent.

a voice rings out, shouting and familiar. batwing—one of the thunderclanners—thank starclan. orangeblossom's follows, around the same height but a ways away, giving her a start. were she not trembling with dregs of fear, she might laugh at how quickly they'd both made for a tree.

"i'm up here too!" she calls, adding belatedly, "it's bobbie. where are we?"

only the sun has come this close ✿ ( only the sun )

• 

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  bobbie ; warrior of skyclan
  x. she/her ; 42 moons ; tags
  x. small, scarred lilac tabby and white she-cat with green eyes
  x. played by dejavu
  bobbie is a kittypet-born skyclan warrior who would die for her clan regardless of whose blood runs through her veins. perpetually self-assessing, she often finds herself short of who she wants to be. skyclan gossip, if it's to be believed, hints at something more than friendship between her and blazestar.

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[batwing]

.i'll be your calm, —————————

————————— before the storm!.

▵ ———————— ◮ ———————— ▵

The sight of another cat pelt made him blow out a sigh of relief. Even if it was Sharppaw, of all cats, who he had a.. vehement dislike for ever since that conversation. They'd be better off it those who were.. still alive.. all made it home. His ears twitched gently as he responded, keeping an ear out for other cats. "For now, but not for long." He responded. His voice wasn't angry towards Sharppaw- just a simple warning.

Shouting from two other cats caused his head to lift. One of which was incredibly familiar to him from kithood, but the other not so much. "Yeah, it's Batwing!" He responded, because, obviously. "It's safe! If we don't move now, it won't be." Batwing lifted his head, turning around to peer through tree branches to see if he could see them. "We're far from the group, but I know the way back to where they were."

A thought struck him that made his chest squeeze with anxiety. But he spoke it aloud anyways, because they had to know. "If the group kept moving without us, we'll be able to track their scent from where it happened, yeah?" He called to those around him.

"speech"​

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[dovethroat.]

Dovethroat is, as he was before, stuck. The fact that he had gone from a scrawny teenager to an altogether quite burly young adult seems to have never properly registered in his brain, and this was not the first (though it was probably the most disastrous) time that he had wound up with his shoulders or his behind not being able to fit into where he had stuck his head.

Is that not what you have whiskers for? One might ask, but perhaps Dovethroat was not quite as smart as he wished he could project himself as. Or perhaps he was, but just in different ways.

Ways that, for instance, did not protect against getting stuck under an unusually large and gnarled root.

"Hello?" He called, half-hoarse in the voice and having his words tremble with worry.

[⋆]​

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