- Sep 11, 2022
- 52
- 28
- 18
//ayo cw for canon-typical injuries and fear of death
➵ He's not assigned to a patrol this evening. But fucking stars, he needed something to do.
His day had been lovely, but still anxiety thrummed in his chest, urging him to do—something. Get up, move, stay alert.
Clayfur had fallen asleep beside him earlier, drifting off while they shared tongues in the afternoon sun, brown tabby fur resting soft against blue. When restlessness started to prick at Clearsight's paws, he'd slipped away, nudging Clay into a more comfortable position as he did. He was seized by the urge to wake him, just for a moment, a quick goodbye—a kiss and murmured affection.
Clearsight brushed it aside, not wanting to disturb his love's rest.
That had been... an hour ago, at least. He's been prowling the territory alone, half-heartedly hunting, but mostly just walking; hoping to clear his head.
If they'd been upwind, he'd have caught their scent soon enough to run. Or maybe if he'd been less distracted, more himself, he'd have noticed anyway—he'd have heard them sooner, or caught sight of their movements and bright colors from afar.
Instead he hears and smells too late—the stench of twoleg and something less familiar—the sound of something massive crashing through the underbrush, two sets of yowls ringing in his ears. Clearsight whirls around, ears twitching, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound—fuck, which way does he run—but he hardly has half a second before a beast is bounding out of the reeds, wide maw showing off gleaming teeth, a dog.
The twoleg kit's dog.
Shit. Shit. Clearsight tries to turn, to scramble away, claws digging into the dirt for traction. But the dog is fast—faster than its master, and faster than Clear.
A heavy weight crashes against his back, and a sharp cry of pain is ripped from his throat as he's slammed into the ground. He barely feels the sting of the hound's claws against his skin, so rattled by the impact.
And then that second yowl comes closer—his heart nearly stops—if this is one of the grown twolegs, he's dead.
He's going to die.
He struggles in the hound's grip, but it growls (a playful growl, not that he'll recognize it) and digs in harder, wet nose snuffling at his neck. Clearsight grunts in pain, eyes shut tightly, and thinks of of little Gillpaw, brave and eager. He thinks of kind Willowroot, gruff Smokethroat, playful Coast.
And Clayfur. Stars above, Clayfur. Tears prick sunlight eyes and he prays that if there's a body left to find, it won't be Clay who finds it.
Heavy footsteps shake the ground and the yowling comes closer—
And then the pressure is gone.
Clearsight gasps for air, staggering to his feet and taking off in the closest thing to a sprint he's capable of. He makes it a few fox-lengths, taking cover in a patch of reeds closer to the river, sinks to his stomach—risks a glance back and finds that the hound's been recalled to its master. The twoleg kit.
Clearsight shuts his eyes and sags with relief.
He stays hidden in the reeds until the twoleg and its dog leave, shuddering with relief when they turn away from the direction of camp. He has no idea what they'd have done otherwise. He mutters a quick prayer of thanks to the stars and turns his attention back to himself.
The sun's last rays catch on red liquid that seeps from his shoulder, puddling on the ground at his paws. Clearsight blinks blurry eyes, his vision fuzzy with shock. Blood. He's bleeding.
It doesn't look like... much blood, does it? Not a dangerous amount. (Not a body's worth that leaves icecap eyes empty.) Still... some though. Definitely some. Yeah.
Stars. That was—that was awful. He should... he should go back to camp now.
But maybe he'll just take a second first.
He's already lying low to the ground, half-hidden by the reeds. He slumps, lying his head on his paws, blood trickling down his side and adding to the red stain on the ground. He'll be alright, he'll be fine, he just needs—just a second.
Fuck.
& we've all got battle scars ✗
// tl;dr the dog nabbed him and he got an owie and now he's just kinda lying there bleeding (in his defense, shock is a hell of a drug)
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