private the enemy // rumblerain

[cottonsprig]

She sits in the fields. The grass that has grown is a vibrant green but that that has not is still burnt umber or hay yellow - yet all the same the wind blows through and demands it to bend. Cottonsprig does not yield to the wind, but instead enjoys the cool breeze on the too-warm day, eyes closed as she simply… listens.

And listens well, she does. For the soft footfalls of someone too used to this land summon her attention, blue eyes focusing on the distant visage of a seal point cat. They grow closer and closer, and yet she remains too-still, simply trying to recall how she managed to get out so far. Had she really left WindClan lands that long ago? She glances to the sky to see if the sun has shifted, but looks back towards Rumblerain, fearful for how close they've approached.

“Hi,” Cottonsprig says with a clipped tone, pressing her lips together and digging her claws into the dirt. She could mar them if she needed to. They weren't eating well out here (she has not smelled hide nor hair of any prey piece in the last several minutes,) so maybe they would fatigue easily in a chase. Her chest hurts, knowing that Scorchstreak would kill to be here instead of her…

“I've gone too far out, haven't I?” she asks before the other can say so - as if spouting the obvious first would lend her the edge in the conversation.

@RUMBLERAIN ​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

A blissfully cool cross-breeze brings with it the tantalising scent of rabbit, reminding Rumblerain of the hare they'd caught with Thriftfeather. It's an old memory which stirs against better judgement: of better days when Sunstar's loyalists had been ousted from camp and in the moon before DuskClan was new. It gives them hope, all but lost otherwise against the sweltering heat of the gorse fields beyond WindClan's borders. The sun is too high to be caught behind the claws of Highstones.

Prey-blood coats their muzzle within heartbeats, several bounds closer to the watching she-cat and unaware of her presence for the moment. They almost cry as the weight of their empty prey-pile slips from burdened shoulders. StarClan, thank you ... It's the first thing they've caught in days. Gravelpaw would be able to eat, so would Privetpaw ... maybe the rest of them could too, especially if Ghostmask had also been successful in her own venture ...

Any relief they've tried to lean into dissipates as a familiar scent hits their tongue. Rumblerain whirls, crouches between the blue smoke and their kill. They're tense all over, ready for the healer to try and take it. They won't let her. She's ventured out too far, she muses, and Rumblerain can't help but agree.

"Too far." They echo as the WindClanner addresses them, trying to hide the tremble in their paws. She looks well. Too well. It's not fair, how she abandoned her mother's closest paws and then got to be sleek-furred fed more than they as if it was a reward. Rumblerain bristles, short fur on end as if that would make their skinny form any more intimidating. "Go home before someone else finds you, Cottonfang. Touch this prey and I'll kill you."

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, leader of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #858AC0
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[cottonsprig]

While usually unobservant, Cottonsprig watches them with keen eyes. Somehow they hold the air of bewildered, nervous - all while being narrowed. She knows she does not appear imposing. She is well fed (as best as they can be in this meager food shortage,) but she is still a WindClanner, naturally lithe and small from her heritage. A born-to-be tunneler, if StarClan hadn't diverted her path. They were battle hardened. Thin, skin-taut and stretched over their bones, but capable. Their simple efforts to ward her away from their catch worked wonders. Even if she does rebuff their threat.

"I've no use for your prey, Rumblerain," her voice is soft, but the edge is sharpened if only in hopes it'll hold the distance between them. She opens her maw, but her mouth goes dry as she simply looks at them, unmoving. Cottonfang, they called her. "... It's Cottonsprig, actually," the sharpness of her tone fades, and though joy doesn't readily replace it, she cannot help the slight upturn of the corner of her mouth. It flattens moments after. "Respect me as such, please. StarClan has welcomed me as a well trained medicine cat, now -" a pause, an ear twisting back to listen to the wind. "And despite our differences, I deserve that respect."​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

The tittered dismissal makes them want to hiss. Treating them as inferior is not something Rumblerain had expected from the smoke-furred she-cat, but it irritates them all the same. Torn ear twitches back - ouch - and their muzzle wrinkles with disdain.

Cottonsprig, she corrects. It brings with it the image of a delicate branch; too delicate, they think, for the blood on her claws and the weight of her lineage. Bitter amusement twists in the DuskClanner. They remember once more, the fleeting thought of renaming themself upon ascension. They had decided against it, carrying DuskClan with them in their heart rather than the moniker they answered to.

As she speaks, Rumblerain carefully picks their way across the grass, drawing a circle around the medicine cat until they sit between her and the WindClan border. The threat goes unspoken, Granitepelt's voice ringing in night-stained ears. It would be so easy to subdue her. A medicine cat is not trained to fight.

They don't think Cottonsprig stupid, Rumblerain thinks as they unsheathe their claws. She could likely see how the situation was about to unfold. She could stay there, trapped in an open set of claws, or she could try to run and Rumblerain would pursue her. To drag her to DuskClan, to treat their warriors' scratches with more than cobwebs.

Perhaps, then, the next words from Rumblerain's maw are not the ones she would expect:

"How long does it take for a queen to carry their kits?"

The leader's mind is turned away from their Clan for a heartbeat, spurred to turn towards the far side of the forest in a moment of resolution swept aside. It's been some time now. StarClan willing, their kits would be born before Rumblerain returned. Would Edenberry come with them? They hope so, silent, narrow eyes focusing once more on the medicine cat before them.

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, leader of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #858AC0
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[cottonsprig]

Quiet. No, not quiet. Silent. Rumblerain had been trained beneath WindClanners - perhaps brutish ones with awful mindsets, but WindClanners nonetheless. Their steps are soundless as they circle her. Grass crushes beneath taloned paws with no wheeze of effort. Cottonsprig watches, twisting her posture to follow them before realizing, with a cold shred of ice trickling down her spine, that they positioned themself right by WindClan's border.

To escape, she'd have to cross them, or run deeper into their land. She grits her teeth.

She tries to evaluate her opportunities and possibilities when their one sole inquiry does, indeed, catch her off guard. She laughs a singular huff, followed by a, "What?" Who in DuskClan is pregnant? Great StarClan, if they have bad bedside manners when queens find themself kit-bearing during the cold moons, then DuskClan should be downright murderous when one of their own finds out they're with kittens. Rumblerain themself is no more than skin and bones - she glances towards their prey and vaguely wonders if they hunt primarily for those they care for, and not for themself.

"... Two moons," she says after too long. Her expression remains stone-like, but even she cannot hide the twinge of curiosity. "Queens often learn of their pregnancy... a few weeks in. Some find out sooner, others only learn when they can no longer hold down their meals. Who's pregnant, Rumblerain?" Are they truly in the position to trade information for information? She stares at them before offering a quieter, "... are they safe?" She'd be damned to learn that a queen died in the wilds, even if it wasn't to her fault.​

 

[RUMBLERAIN]

Two moons. Rumblerain thinks back, eyes lifting above their adversary's head. It had been the end of newleaf, they think, when they'd left Twolegplace. A night prior, when Edenberry had told them of their expectancy. Greenleaf simmers above them now, marking the passage of an adequate amount of time. Their heart aches, ears twitching backwards. Had they missed it already?

"They're safe." Rumblerain confirms without hesitation, though the medicine cat's plaintive questions irk them to a minimal degree. They want to believe that Edenberry is safe, anyway. Twolegplace must be safer than DuskClan lands, guarded by the oversized creatures and their shiny monsters, furless paws and horrible flat faces providing some uncanny comfort for the cats who stay close. It makes them shiver, revolted at the thought. "It's none of your business who they are."

Too quiet to be anything but the movement of their maw, Rumblerain muses to themself, You're older than me. The medicine cat would remember Badgermoon better, surely. Remember a time before the deputy's exile, before Weaselclaw's death. Before WindClan spiralled, before Sunstride was named their father's replacement, before the rogues attacked WindClan and forced them into the rot of ShadowClan's bog.

"Answer one more question, and you can leave."

It's a selfish question they want the answer to, but what about this encounter isn't? Rumblerain holds the advantage here. Who would Cottonsprig tell? Who would believe her? Who would believe Rumblerain, should they share this encounter with their own Clan? They set their chin.

"How do I be a better parent to these kits than my own were to me?"

ooc ✧ 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦

•  
• 
  
  [ art by antiigone ]
• RUMBLERAIN ✧ they/them, leader of duskclan
  
  
  — "a lanky, scruffy seal and white point with blue eyes."
  — single ; mentoring privetpaw
  — speech is in #858AC0
  — tags | penned by mercibun, contact on discord for plots.
  
  
  
  

​

 

[cottonsprig]

While she softens the seal point doesn't budge. Spitting image of their mother, she thinks, if Scorchstreak were any less red and any more white. Emotions rarely hold to either of the two, it seems. Pity and hope are just words that mean nothing in the face of claws and consequences. She tries to withhold her deepening frown, but cannot help still to flinch when they say, "They're safe." They follow that she does not need to know who they speak of, and she doesn't fight. She's not in the position to.

Cottonsprig sighs something of a laugh when they press one last condition onto her, but the subtly of the action is lost when her breath is then taken in, sharply. How do they... "They're yours?" Scorchstreak... would she be thrilled? Would Scorchstorm? The two seem so distraught whenever DuskClan 'visits' but Rumblerain never stays. She shakes her head, a quick - "Sorry," - leaving her lips before they have a chance to snip at her again. She thinks on their question, dwells for too long even.

"You learn from what they taught you," Cottonsprig says. She imagines her own parents, how their cruelty borne a soft care in their youngest child - yet how their greed gifted her the same. "If you saw them as cold, you give your own warmth. If you've learned that claws speak louder than words, then teach your kittens that knowledge knows no bounds. Stay available -" the medicine cat says, pressing her lips as she stutters. Badgermoon had left them, and Scorchstreak... maybe she is a present parent, but the blue smoke has always perceived her as distant. She tenses her frame, almost fearful that they will take her interpretation of their parents as insulting. "Stay available. Kittens... all they have are those who brought them into this world. They should be able to find you if they need to."​