ShadowClan. Now that was a name. For about three seasons now, Cloud had called the marsh-lands his home. While not dissimilar to the muskeg he had been born into, he had always found it difficult to parse that what he now presided in as a marsh when the marshes he knew were.... well, not this. He did not have the vocabulary in the common tongue to fully express his thoughts and feelings on the land the shadow-cats called home, but he did know that calling themselves cats of shadows made more sense to him than cats of the marsh.
He liked it.
Three seasons he had given to this group. Three seasons of him continually saying 'ah, well, this isn't permanent. When I get bored, I'll move along.' It was his way to do so, of course. And yet.... when the opportunity presented itself, he had stayed with the marsh cats. Stayed with ShadowClan. In one fell swoop, he went from a casual hanger-on of a colony to a soldier, a warrior, of a whole clan. Somehow, the word clan felt more involved than colony ever did.
Three-legged and callous-pawed, Cloud had a way of seeming more serious than he really was. However, today he bore a serene but open smile around his most impressive catch of the day. A large black serpent was clenched tightly between his teeth, its rough scales rubbing uncomfortably against his tongue as he carried it back to camp. For his colony. For his clan. Though mean-eyed and jet-black as devil horns, Cloud was fairly certain that the thing was not venomous and therefore safe to eat (living so long in places abundant in the scaly beasts had left him with a decent knowledge of which snakes leave bite-scars and which snakes end in immediate death.) This racer was the former, and though it had landed a pretty hefty bite on Cloud's bad leg, the wound would only fester like any other cat-scratch or thorn-tear.
Now to find somebody to share it with.
//injury log: bleeding profusely from left front leg, snake bite, non-venomous.
Tantomile's hunting was beginning to improve- but it was certainly not this good!
Deep blue eyes befell the bark-hued tom as he walked, nonchalant as if the gaping punctures on his foreleg were merely a flea tangled in his fur. Wrinkling her nose, the bright tabby closed in- though, she was wary not to get too close. The mephitic stench of it was off-putting, and a frown stayed firmly furrowed upon her youthful features as she looked between the wound, its sufferer and the viper that hung listless- no, dead- from his jaws.
"Are you alright?" she asked, tone level despite her mild distress. If anything, she was brave in the face often that which worried her- and this wound indeed worried her. If it was from the snake, there could be some... adverse effects, to say the very least.
Hunting here was dizzy business. Shrieking swarms, a noisy snap or rustle lurking under every mud-sunk step, and the prey. At least, they had toads and lizards and rodents—though too often they slipped to the shadows, slash after slash at her night-stalker's pride—and no hawk nor fox nor scorch snatched the life of the hunt. But he knew not their burrows, their trails, nor the freakish sleek-toads and the strange-colored serpents.
The worst part of sighting snakes in particular—as she did now, rearing her nap-tousled head to the stench of blood—was the infuriating parade of kit's rhymes that trampled her thoughts. Bug-eyed, worth a try. Mean brow, get out now. Triangle head, end up dead. Stripes down the body, better safe than sorry, but stripes along probably can't go wrong.
He stomps down the singsong and squints at the unfamiliar hunter, a half-nod of almost-respect manifesting against his will. Three-legged, but managed to snatch a swift striker—not without a wound, but still... that had to take some stealth or hard-earned speed. And he'll be fine, she silently mused on the littler stranger's worry, since he's not dropped foaming dead by now.
"Get yer bite cleaned," she half-grumbles instead of any of her thoughts. Whatever. She could do better. Even if he had to keep an ear out for the name of the dead-dark mystery snake (no way in hell he'd ask).
Despite the sacrifice he had made, Cloud had brought back a good catch that would fill a few bellies today. Briarstar was grateful that her members were bringing back prey every day even if it wasn't as much as they'd had a year ago before the pine group - SkyClan - moved into the forest. She longed for those days, but this is what they had now, and she was learning to delight in the little things like a good catch to distract from the heartache she felt deep down. "Good catch," she commented, her eyes trailing down to the tom's injured leg. A frown tugged on her lips.
Briarstar knew now that her sister, Bone - no, Bonejaw - was ShadowClan's "medicine cat," whatever that meant. She was supposed to heal wounds and commune with their newly-formed ancestors in StarClan. Bonejaw, however, knew how to do none of that. This would be one of the first injuries she would have to treat. "I can get Bonejaw if you'd like," she offered, ears flicking. "But I'm not sure how much she knows about dealing with that."Nor am I sure she wants to, she thought. She knew her sister had a sort of bitterness towards the position she had been given.
Her sister is correct in her thinking about her bitterness towards the position she has been given. It's a mockery she thinks that she has to stay her claws and again because dead cats, no, Hare Whiskers tells her so. It's only because he told her so that she even listens at all. She is tired though and she just wants to sleep. Buy hearing her name she pushes herself up onto her white limbs and makes her way towards the grouping of felines. Her eyes are cutting as she smells blood and her maw parts on exasperation. Yet she moves forward all the same because this is her new given life. Treating the clumsy. Treating the hurt, and what else there might be. Her eyes narrow as she sees the snake with the other and she looks to the bite on his leg. He is bleeding that much she can see.
"Well, it doesn't seem to be poisonous since you aren't wailing about pain and walking on your own." The only knowledge she knows is that of stopping the bleeding and cleaning the wound and she hasn't prepared for such a thing at the current moment. It bothers her slightly as she glances to her sister before then looking to the injured. "I can stop the bleeding. I'm good for at least thar much." Her bitterness leaks through a bit before she turns to leave out of camp, finding a spot nearby with cobwebs before she comes back with then to try and apply them onto his leg.
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.
