-ˋˏ ༻☽༺ ˎˊ- CW: mentions of death, blood The blizzard had kept the moorland cats huddled inside the barn. To some, it was warm and welcoming inside, and the bad weather gave way to moments of bonding and storytelling. To Slatetooth, his paws itched for movement, and he frequently found himself pacing the secluded corners of the structure. Stagnancy was not an ideal option for him, and this desire was only heightened in recent times.
Cottonfang had returned recently, speaking of her escape - and the possibility, no, the assurance that Sootstar and her dogs would be soon after. With that knowledge, Slatetooth wouldn't stray too far from the barn.. but he needed fresh air. Soft pink paw pads pressed into the layers of freshly fallen snow, green eyes traveling across dune-like shapes blown about by the harsh winds of the previous night. The sun danced along the blanket of snow, sparkling and untouched. He wondered how soon this serene landscape would be corrupted with blood. Pushing the thought away to all but a reminder to keep low, the tom-cat began his walk. His black pelt stood out sorely against the snow, but similarly for any WindClanners - he'd see them coming, hear the crunch of snow, and would be the first to sound alarm. That was his plan, should things go awry - he hoped to StarClan it wouldn't. Pity I can't enjoy a simple walk anymore.
There are paw prints in the snow from rabbits, and prints he doesn't recognize from other creatures, but there is no prey in sight as his trek continues. The sun had shifted overhead, signifying the length of his walk, but his search for food had been thus far, fruitless. Slatetooth clicks his tongue, swipes it over his maw, and considers returning home to make it in time for patrols, when his ears catch a faint sound carried through the still air. It rings out once, shrill and desperate albeit muffled - growing weaker with each call. Slatetooth's ears swivel, and his eyes dart across the landscape until they slow upon a buried log. Hesitantly, he begins his way over.
The closer he gets, the more apparent the noises become, and the quicker his pace becomes. Without a second thought, the black-furred tom locates the ends of the log and begins to dig - he feels like vomiting as the desperate cries underneath become shrill and frantic at the sound of his digging. Through his disbelief, he had recognized the pleas from several tail-lengths away, sending his heart to his throat. Somehow, there was a live kitten trapped in this log, stranded by the blizzard - perhaps kept warm by the layers of snow that shielded them from the wind.
After what feels like several minutes, with his heart pounding in his ears and his quickened breath sending puffs of fog into the air, he finally feels his paw abruptly push into the log - with that, he pulls out a larger clump of snow, and the entrance is revealed, streaming blinding rays of light into the once-dim shelter. The scent of death hits his nose immediately, causing a brief recoil. At first, he wonders if he's too late, but after a moment of deafening silence, the cries begin again. He dips his head into the log, large enough for a cat to squeeze into, and holds his breath as he scans the scene. His heart catches at what lays before him - a mother, still and lifeless, accompanied by three kits, only one of which that breathes life into the world.
Mindlessly, he reaches in and grabs the crying kit by the scruff. Forgive me. You will be cold,, and with that, he abandons the log and leaps into the footprints he had made in the snow. Burials for the child's family will have to wait - this kit will freeze if he isn't swift enough in his return. Despite his heart pleading with him to call for help, he bares in mind the warning that Cottonfang passed. He would not risk bringing attention to himself, not this close to WindClan's border, not when there may be countless search parties out for the traitors. Quietly, all except the ragged breathing and the crunch underneath as he begins to jog, his mind swarms with memories long buried, of moons past - he remembers his own mother, lifeless and coated in her own blood, remembers the swing of his younger self and his brother Gravelsnap in his father's jaws as they were brought to WindClan, two child soldiers. If WindClan would not allow this kitten to freeze alone, he hoped that the rebels would provide a better life than Sootstar's dogs provided for him.
It is all he can do to hope, Please, StarClan, let this child live.
