camp Turning back to shore | Retreat & return

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

Snakeblink doesn’t actually run the whole way to camp, though he gives it a very earnest try. He swam across the river in a haze of adrenalin, but it started leaving him along with his blood as soon as he stepped on Riverclan shore once again ; the pain caught up to him then, and he’s not sure he could have started running again if his life depended on it. He started limping home instead, actually took the direction of their old camp before remembering to head for the beech copse, glancing back every few steps to check that his clanmates were heeding the call for retreat. Most don’t follow eagerly, but they do, eventually, follow.

He doesn’t so much lead the retreat as go with enough of a headstart to take the lead of their sad procession and keeps on going with enough enthusiasm for his survival that he stays at the front all the way to camp, despite his wounded paw barely holding his weight by the end of the journey. Heart-beating panic left behind by receding adrenalin carries him all the way to their torn walls and no further.

All the tension leeches out of him at once. He stumbles on his numb paw, doesn’t catch himself in time, and collapses to the ground in a heap. He can still feel Flycatcher’s teeth digging into him; he’ll see the warrior’s bloodied face in his dream for some time.

He should do a headcount — he tries to heave himself to his paws again, feels his left one give under his weight and wisely lowers himself back down. In a minute. He’ll do it in a minute, once his strength comes back to him. ”Did everyone make it back?” He wheezes at the nearest warrior trailing in his wake. ​

——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• ooc: set directly after the sunningrock battle!
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 37 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[CRAPPIEPATCH]

They are so tired. And so, so sore. The ThunderClanner who they had scuffled with did not seem eager to injure them—told them specifically not to die, actually—but they can still feel the beginnings of bruises littering their shoulders, their chest. They cannot believe that ThunderClan would do such a thing, taking their territory while they are already weakened from WindClan’s raid. They only trust that someday, when RiverClan has recovered, they will take the rocks right back from the forest maggot-eaters. They will not get away with their treachery.

Crappiepaw does not sit when they reach the temporary camp, choosing to stay on their paws and turning to face the direction they had come from. Have any ThunderClan rats followed their retreat? He would not put it past the ThunderClan mongrels; they have already proven themselves reprehensible, willing to break their own code. And he is not an intimidating cat, but he may well be the last line of defense for his battered, bloodied clanmates.
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[ dancing in the panic room ]​

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[Mosspool]

Every second passed achingly slow.

Since the call had rung out that Thunderclan was at Sunningrocks, all Mosspaw could do was wait. Sitting in the near empty camp, wondering how the battle was going, if her friends and family were safe; it was fraying at her nerves. Part of her wished she had run out of camp with her clanmates, even if she couldn't fight. Then at least she could know what was happening. As it was, nothing could stop her mind from running her through every possibility, however farfetched or terrible.

The moment she heard the thud of paws outside the camps walls, Mosspaw was moving toward the camp entrance. She wanted to be the first to hear the news.

Instead, she was the first to see the trail of bloodied cats returning to camp.

Mosspaw froze, her gaze wandering the long line of injured, fleeing Riverclanners. There was no need to even ask how the battle had gone. Which was fortunate, as she was having trouble finding her voice. The loss was written across the faces and bodies of every one of her clanmates. Her fear was immediate as she searched the crowd with wide eyes.

"Where's my mother? My sister?" Mosspaw choked out fearfully, stumbling forward.​

 

[QUIETSTREAM.]

CO-COMPARSION IS SLOWLY KILLING ME, I THINK I THINK TOO MUCH​

---

just... a little... bit... further...

slowly but surely quietstream followed the group of cats who all beelined for the temporary camp that they held up at. they were stumbling, their only saving grace an npc who helped them keep balance, because blood had begun to cloud their gaze from the fresh wound upon their face. t...tired... their paws still don't stop, they have to keep going. they can't be left behind– they just can't.

they push their way inside, and only briefly hear snakeblink. even that's fuzzy, as they squinted, nose twitching at the scent of crappiepaw... and their blood. pushing their ears back, they made their way over to the apprentice, nudging him, sniffing as they prodded his fur, checking for his injuries. her own became less of a worry, just for the moment, as crappiepaw's became top priority.

"are... are... you... o-okay...?"

of course he wasn't. she wasn't. but she... she needed to ask. they needed them to be okay. they needed their friend to be okay, even if it was only slightly.

//rushed fjsjs sorry
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[hyacinthbreath]

Her breaths run ragged as Hyacinthbreath moves to stand beside Snakeblink, momentarily glancing towards him every once in a while when she hears him talk. He checks to make sure everyone is there; her eyes move to the crowd of cats that evacuated from Sunningrocks, searching for any missing. She hopes nobody was left behind in the rush...​

❝ there are wounds inside me, gaping holes of disconnect.
can you drown inside your own body? can you suffocate within this mind? ❞

 

[Cindershade]

Sitting still as stone, limbs and tail rigid while her shoulders slumped and seething rage evident upon her dark features—she had waited. When Snakeblink had first broke through their camp walls, calling for reinforcements she had been nearly forced to stay here. She was still recovering, still injured. It was best she didn't go, less she'd lose her life but partially the rosetted molly didn't quite give a damn. Their clan was in trouble, their home invaded once again. These other clans held not an ounce of cooth, not a bit of respect. Just out for themselves, trying to gain whatever they could get their verminous claws into. No better than the worms beneath her paws, wriggling and burrowing themselves into the dirt. ThunderClan claims to be so high and mighty, but they were no better than WindClan in her perspective. We helped them–we offered them a place to stay while their pitiful oak forest burned. What a shame it didn't all burn to the ground. Her thoughts are venomous and full of malice, a growl rumbling steadily against her vocal chords. In this moment, she feels nothing but burning hatred for them all—all except SkyClan.
Eyes locked upon the entrance of what was left of their ransacked temporary home, the stench of blood perfumes the air—mettalic and sickly sweet, before she hears the tumbling of paw steps and heaving chests that struggle to pull oxygen into their lungs. Mosspaw steps up, searching frantically for her mother and sister. Cindershade's blazing hues trace over the wounded that had made their way home before lingering on Snakeblink. His lean frame was sodden and muddied from blood, keeping his weight off one paw before collapsing onto the loose soil before him. Her jaw is set, features stoning as she rushes over to help her fellow lead warrior. "Snakeblink. What happened? Did they flee?" Her words came out rushed as she bends down, ignoring the soreness in her own neck and shoulder as she aims to haul him back up onto his paws, letting his longer body lean heavily onto hers for support. Her gaze sweeps around for more, patterned tail swaying idly as she surveyed them. Everyone seemed okay—for now. She could only hope that they still claimed their land, but given the extent of some injuries—a sense of dread begins to pull at her stomach. If only me and Smokethroat had been out there too...
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[ SILENCE IS DEAFENING ]​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

Single eye blazing like a fire honed in on the returned patrol, he had been coiled tense to spring with nerves the entire ordeal; the morifying experience of being unable to do anything versus wanting to so badly it caused him physical pain to restrain himself from acting on impulse alone. Smokethroat was not a warm greeting to the cats returning bloodied to camp, he was a statue-obsidian molded and forged in fire, tarnished and broken and face a perpetual scowl, a forever furrowed brow; no words were needed to explain, no cats need question as Cindershade did. He just knew, deep down, these were not the faces of victory but failure, another scar upon RiverClan; a new wound to mend. Would they ever stop bleeding, would they be given a moment to heal, or would they be battered down again and again until nothing remained but pulp and grit. The dark tom stared unblinking, tail lashing behind him in quick whips, the breath he exhaled was a cloud of contempt, a signal fire warning ThunderClan of what would soon rage across their forest if left unsnuffed. This was a hate brewing that could upend him but he offered it no attention. Let it fest. If he ever saw Howlingstar's tabby maw resting on those stones he couldn't promise he'd let her leave with all nine lives intact.

Mosspaw's plaintive cry rises up and he glances to the apprentice who had been left in camp, gaze turning back in the direction of the river and the Sunningrocks for any sign of Willowroot, Cicadastar...anyone else. He had seen Lilybloom brought in earlier by Lakemoon, wretched to see such wounds on such a young able bodied cat, he'd given them space given his inability to heal nor comfort; Smokethroat was essentially useless if not war born and racing to cut down a foe, his claws itched and he wished he'd been there. Not that he was so arrogant as to think his presence would shift the tides, but that he wanted his cut of flesh before it ended.
"...injured cats to Beesong, I don't want to hear a single complaint that it's 'not that bad'. You WILL go to the medicine cat den now." He breathed, he wished injuries did not take so long to heal, his was getting there thankfully, he could make himself useful around the camp at least.
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[CLAYFUR]

Clay pads along near the back of the defeated procession, head hung low and shoulders slumped. He doesn’t say anything—can’t say anything. What is there to be said? It hadn’t yet settled fully in his mind, with how quickly it all happened, until the group reached the beech copse and everyone seemed to take a sigh of—relief, at having made it back? Defeat?

Just like that, it’s all over, it’s all gone. Sunningrocks isn’t there anymore, doesn’t belong to RiverClan. The happiest memory of his life, the one place he’d been able to find comfort after his mate’s death—it now lies in Howlingstar’s paws, in ThunderClan’s territory.

At least he’d killed the cat who took them. If nothing else, that is a comfort to him as he stumbles into their temporary camp. At least he’s still standing, despite the gaping, bloody mess that’s become of his chest. How much of his pain is physical, he wonders? How much damage was wrought by the claws of the ThunderClanners he’d fought, and how much was done by the simple knowledge that his memories of that day, radiant despite the thunderstorm, are overwritten—muddied by the paws of those damn wolves.

ThunderClan hadn’t driven off the dogs from sunningrocks. They’d only replaced them.

Smokethroat is quick to demand that injured cats go straight to Bee, and Clay casts a glance around him. He doesn’t have it in him to argue. Without a word, he wanders off to the medic’s den. Hopefully he’ll see Lilybloom in there, still alive. He hadn’t seen the extent of her injuries, had only heard she and her mate’s voices over the din of battle around him.
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[Thrushpaw]

How foolish she had been, truthfully. The thought was wistful, followed by many other what ifs. If only she'd stayed in camp. She sniffles, limping along, legs sore from the weight of a ThunderClanner's attack. The wound on her muzzle bleeds no longer but she feels dizzy and sick, the reek of blood still torments her senses. She'd never expected a real battle to be so awful. That would be a foolish thought for a warrior, but not a four moon old apprentice who'd snuck into the battle against her mentor's wishes. All for nothing, she'd accomplished nothing and become a burden on Beesong in the process.

She stumbles along behind Clayfur valuing his amicable silence. She was sure that her punishment would be harsh and she now understood just why that was. White kitten fluff still showed through her fluffy brown pelt even on her muzzle where blood had scabbed across her face. The battlefield was no place for young ones.

Thrushpaw sniffles again, the wound across her face causing her expression to remain contorted in pain. Wordlessly, she passed through the tunnel into camp and was greeted with a warrior she didn't quite recognize ordering them to the medicine den. Too scared to even speak, she followed behind the mournful warrior in front of her; keeping her head down.

In some foolish part of her mind she hoped to not be recognized for who she was, but what she'd done.

 

[GILLSIGHT]

His head also hangs low as he walks beside Clayfur. Pain ebbs at Gillpaw's shoulder, and it feels as though its presence is all for nothing. A mark to break up dark fur, a mark to remind him of the loss of his mentor, and now the loss of part of his home.

And, it still feels like its his fault. All of it. That Clearsight would have still been here if Gillpaw had gotten away from his opponent, if he'd fought along side his mentor, or even hatched today's plan then. If SkyClan would have given them aid then, would they have been stronger now? Would the Sunningrocks still be theirs to call home?

The SkyClanner who joined him, where was he now? He'd lost sight of the warrior, and maybe... maybe Gillpaw feels responsible for that too. As if he should've kept better watch of the warrior who threw his life in the pine forest away to help RiverClan's efforts, as if he should have made sure the warrior returned to RiverClan's camp.

Smokethroat's call to go see Beesong is one Gillpaw hesitates at. Perhaps he should wait, let others make sure they get ample treatment first. Shreds of cobweb still sit on his wounds - a giveaway he'd gone elsewhere during the battle. The apprentice has already gotten more treatment than those who'd fought for longer, fought harder, in the battle. Should he really get more before them, too?
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[ashpaw!]

The ginger girl returns with them, though she struggles along at the back, leaning on Iciclepaw or one clanmate or another or whoever's available, whoever's steady enough on their own feet to manage her, too. She's almost too dizzy to walk, awoken from her head-bonked state with water in her lungs and pain all over her head, Iciclepaw above her. Iciclepaw, who dragged her free of the current, who rescued her from drowning. Iciclepaw. Perfect and strong and — just — beautiful. Iciclepaw, one of her best friends — maybe her best best friend — how did that happen, she thinks, someone so amazing taking a liking to, well, her? Someone so beautifully brutal revealing softness just for her?

Oh, she's getting all turned around now. This isn't Iciclepaw-admiration-time. This is get-back-to-camp time.

She hears Mosspaw crying out for them — where's her mother, where's her sister — me, Ashpaw thinks, one of those things is me. When she finally spots the little girl she'll come up close, leaning down with aim to nuzzle at her little sister's head. "I'm here, I'm okay — " can she force her voice steady for a second? She thinks she can, she thinks she's doing it — "Mo- um- Willowroot's okay too, I saw her after, she's okay ... she's... she's somewhere here." She'll look around for their lithe smoke form in the ragged return patrol, intending to brush her tail absently over Mosspaw's flank as she searches, green jewel eyes a little glassy but trying their best to focus.

She doesn't argue with Smokethroat's command, doesn't have the means to argue, her head is so topsy-turvy right now and her words keep coming out wrong. Her thoughts are jumbled in her head. "I have to go," she says to Mosspaw, "you find Willowroot, okay?"

She'll find Gillpaw next, leaning to bump up against his side if he'll let her, gentle, she's gentle. "Come on," she says, seeing his hesitation and knowing it because she knows him. Because she's grown up with him, practically all their lives, because she knows that look. Or she thinks she does, anyway. She's a little concussed. Maybe she doesn't know anything. "Come on," she repeats. "You're hurt. And Smokethroat said, and he's, like, scary .... And it's... it's okay, you did good, you know? And we can go together. Come on," one last repeat, last urging, and she'll set off for Beesong's den, hoping he follows.
​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• she is SO concussed
  
  
• - 9 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
  - crushing hard on iciclepaw
  - happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
  - very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
  - got real fucked up as a kid so if she seems like she was fucked up as a kid, that's why
  - "speech"
• - KICKED FOX ASS
  - she is on a JOURNEY
  

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[CRAPPIEPATCH]

Quietstream’s approach is marked with the scent of blood, the worry that radiates off of them. Crappiepaw turns to look at them, sees the bloodied wound across their face—a gasp escapes his mouth, brows creasing with concern. They are injured, and not as lightly as he. But they ask if he is okay, and the calico cannot help but to shake his head, speaking more quickly than he ever has before. The fact that Quietstream actually spoke to him, aloud, is lost amidst the concern for her well-being.

The small claw marks that surely litter their chest do not matter anymore; all that matters is Quietstream and her injuries. They do not recall seeing her in the battle—was she ambushed elsewhere? They suddenly wish that they had been able to injure the ThunderClanner they had battled more, if only to avenge their friend’s wounds. "I am fine. You are hurt." He aims to nudge his friend’s shoulder in the direction of the medic’s den, eyes narrowed. "We should go see Beesong." He does not need immediate medical attention, and he thinks that his friend will be alright for a few moments as well, but he is not keen on finding out what Smokethroat may do if they linger for too long.
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[ dancing in the panic room ]​

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