sensitive topics THIS GODLESS HOUR \ burned prey

[FEATHERSPINE]

\ tw for prey-animal injury

Featherpaw would be a warrior soon, no matter what the fire had to say about it. No matter the smog-drenched fear that was beginning to swirl around them all- no matter the uncertainty that anything would even be there the next day. He would hunt, still- he would provide, he would protect, because what else was there to do? Training was what she knew, what she defaulted to... with stinging yellow eyes braving the rolling smoke, she would hunt. It was her duty.

Tracking was a near-effortless thing, now- Featherpaw had learned her talent for it early, and honed it into complete perfection. Thus, she noticed when a rabbit-scent began to turn into the abnormal- began to decay and sharpen, began to stink. Even an untalented hunter would notice it, she would wager- but curiosity tugger the chocolate tabby forward, especially as the stink began to weave with screaming. It was a childish little sound, and for a moment- darkly- Featherpaw wondered whether it was not a rabbit, but a kitten.

Discovery soon corrected her, set her back on the right path. It was a rabbit- but a scorched rabbit, squealing like a baby. she'd never heard them keening like that, wailing for the death it knew was coming, by flame or by Featherpaw's teeth. And it was screaming, screaming- rheumy desperation in its eyes, blinded by the pain, fur blackened along its back. Featherpaw knew that stinging-nettle burn- knew that sound. She saw herself, moons younger, pinned beneath a fiery claw, yelling and yelling, unable to defend herself...

And it was dragging itself away, pathetically, to an aid that would never come. Featherpaw wrinkled his nose up; he didn't even have to run to catch up. The kind thing to do would be to put it out of its misery- they needed its flesh to feed on more than the rabbit needed its life, now so injured by the fire that it could not move properly. So why did she feel the beat of nausea through her bones, through her teeth? Why did its scream tie itself to his blood, to his will, and freeze him- even if just for a moment?

"It'll b-b-be over, soon." He did not know who he spoke to.

Featherpaw brought his head down in a blood-rush of sound and killed it. The screaming died- Featherpaw felt the final, choking vibration against his gums. Something like pity, concocted with anger, flared in her eyes. What was the warrior code they themselves had made? Sootstar, before the madness... prey is killed only to be eaten.

But Featherpaw had wanted it to shut up, too. ​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[BLUEFROST]

She emerges from the mouth of the tunnel into a smoke-choked hell. It sits on her tongue like ash, bitter grit—it dusts their pelts, it clogs their sinuses, it coils in their lungs and sinks its claws into their flesh. The squealing had brought her to the surface despite the heat the outside world presents to her. She can see a shape through the haze, auburn-pelted and thick-furred, staring at some slumped-over shape with a blackened spine. Bluefrost pushes her way forward, dust sifting from her fur.

It's a rabbit. Or—it’s what remains of one. She has never seen what fire can do to a creature, but the result is unsightly. She does not grimace or shy away from the sight, but stares openly, blankly, at the unlucky animal. It’s flesh is raw and vibrant under stripped-away fur, wet in some places and impossibly cracked in others. The fur that remains is scorched, dark as the ash under its heaving, screaming weight.

Featherpaw does not hesitate to put it out of its misery. Bluefrost stares at what remains of the creature after the she-cat’s jaws unclench. “It’ll be over soon,” he stutters, though to whom, Bluefrost does not know. She bows her head, thoughts whirling. “Can we even eat such a thing, or will it taste like the fire?” A blunt and strange question, but it’s all she can think about at a moment like this.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 14 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue and white she-cat with emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Firefang]

Their bounty had been spoiled, she'd been delighting in the surplus of prey in the feeling of a constantly full belly. Windclan had suffered so much, she can count the peaceful moons she's lived on a single paw; from greencough, to the other clans and their wars, leafbare the rebellion and now fire. Their hardships made them tougher then the rest of the clans she wants to declare but for Starclan's sake they needed a damned break to catch their breath. No where on the moors was unaffected by the flames regardless if smoke billowed in the air or the flames themselves were lengths and lengths away, prey became scarce and what they found was meager if not already dead - burnt and likely already half eaten. The case of what Featherpaw finds is new but not unsurprising - she hears the yelping cry out into the air and excitement had made her heart skip a beat. She knows she needs to take it easy, that if she doesn't she'll wind up in the medicines den but she doesn't and she hasn't - Firefang is extremely stubborn. She bounds over but she is not the first hunter to it, and the prey isn't it good shape. It'd be the first time she's smelled burnt flesh but it wouldn't be the last, her nose crinkles in disdain as she comes closer to where Featherpaw and Bluefrost stand staring down at it.

It's already dead. It'd just been put out of it's misery, it's a somber sight she didn't think she could feel pity for prey but it suffered a fate she wouldn't wish on any creature cat or not. Fire ate away at flesh as easily as it did the grasses it was currently consuming, she'd expected as much but it's sobering to see it this close - it feels more real. She swallows hard, trying to bury the tingling fear that settles into her core.

Bluefrost wonders if it's edible and the way it's phrased serves as a good distraction. "You tryna' say I don't taste good" her joke is spoken dryly but it is just that even if it serves more as a distraction from her emotions - she doesn't joke much anymore it'd been a rarity before the rebellion but close to nonexistent in the moons that followed. She huffs "We need every morsel we can get, I doubt this'll be the first toasty rabbit we'll fill the pile with" they couldn't be picky.

---

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── ooc ⋆⋅☾⋅⋆ info ──┐‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

• 
  
  text
  

• "speech"

• 

  Firefang ✩ She/Her, Warrior of Windclan, 22 moons
  ⭃ Black tabby she-cat with amber eyes. former-loyalist of Sootstar, Moorunner.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Kedamono ↛ @legmeatt on discord, feel free to dm for plots. ​

​