WARNING LIGHTS ARE BURNING AGLOW — return

[PITCHSTAR]

the sun is beginning to crest over the horizon by the time the carrionplace patrol returns, bleeding crimson into the early morning sky. it reflects the trail of shame left in their wake, blood pooling from the marks of the rodents' retaliation they bore. the deep bite mark in pitchstar's neck is a wildfire, burning through his veins. it does not show signs of clotting anytime soon, the leader's throat slick with his own ichor and the wound is steadily pumping out more.

if he hadn't had the support of his warriors, he does not think he would've been able to make it back to camp. the patrol practically drags him through the thorny entrance, where he collapses onto his heaving sides. defeated by fucking rodents. if pitchstar had not been hyper-focused on clinging to his faltering consciousness, begging his eyes to stay open, he would've been humiliated at the state the rats had left him in. "star-ling," the bloodied tom chokes out, one clammy paw reaching towards empty air. as if his baby sister would materialize at his will. she would save him. she has to save him. he couldn't die, not at the jaws of a stupid rat.

exhaustion tugs at his eyelids, willing him to succumb to the temptation of darkness. he's so tired... but he couldn't fall asleep, not until starlingpaw- heart?- fixes him. she would fix him. he just has to hold on a little longer... "...where?" it's getting harder to speak around his rapid breaths, lungs begging for more and more air. his clouded eyes dart from side to side. where is she?

[ @Halfshade @RIBBITLEAP @GRANITEPAW @STARLINGHEART . ; no need to wait for those tagged! ]​

 

[LlLACPAW]

Lilacpaw didn't necessarily think the patrol to carrionplace was going to go well, but if you had asked her, she would've never thought it would've ended like this.

"Pitch?!" She drops the branches she was holding, reinforcements for the nursery walls, near stumbling over to the collapsed form of her brother. His neck is bleeding, deepening the color of his fur even darker than the tar color of his stripes. How could rats have- No, there was nothing prey could not do if they were determined. Their survival was her brother's defeat, but she cannot begin to imagine the way the clan would further sour the shame of it. Her eyes take in the rest of the patrol, bloodied all the same but none as bad, but rats and their flith ridden teeth. Who knows what would happen. Her mind is scattered, they needed Starlingheart. 'But can she even help? Bonejaw didn't even know much, what could she have been taught?' A cruel voice whispers, and she turns, chasing it off as she runs towards her sister's den.

"Starling! Little bird please, its the patrol we need help-" Its toad words that spill from her mouth like tadpoles, pleading even when she doesn't have to, and perhaps they both know that Lilac is not begging her sister, but rather fate itself to have mercy.

'I don't...I can't remember how many he has left. What if its like mom?'​

 

[Halfshade]

Prim and proper poise was tossed aside, she was not delicate when she finally stepped away and let the rosette tabby crumple to the ground like he was one of the many rat bodies they had left behind in that garbage wastes of carrionplace; they didn't even have anything to show for their struggle and efforts because it had been a fight to simply leave alive let alone grab any of the killed vermin on their way out. By now the swarm of rodents had probably devoured the corpses themselves, left not a sign behind they had been present to scurry off and lie in wait for the next fool who happened into the area. Imagine if an apprentice had gone there to hunt alone; they'd be dead. No questions asked.
Halfshade is only partially stumbling, her head remians up despite the blood spilling over her muzzle and she is acutely aware of the fact that the injury that hurts the worst is the one the bastard leader did himself in his panic. She was going to bite him when he was done dying.
The torbie sits, painstakingly raising a paw to try and clean the bite on her left foreleg that was stringing something fierce the entire walk and noted how matted her fur was; it was disgusting, she should probably roll in the snow instead to help ease it but she was too tired for the activity.
Lilacpaw arrived and then promptly began to shout for their medicine cat and she wondered vaguely if Starlingheart knew anything about rat bites at all. Well, either way, its not like the rest of them had much in the way of wounds and if Pitchstar died he'd revive so she could care less.
He'd come back once, had eight more to spare whereas the rest of the patrol didn't. Far as she was concerned they deserved attention first.
Mismatched eyes slowly wandered over to find Granitepaw whereever he stood and she smiled suddenly, coyly, remembering his faltering steps and uncertainty in the moment. Her lips were sealed, but that was a nice little prize to tuck aside for later.
"...so the rats are now out of the question." The queen said haughtily, tone unimpressed and jarring against the contrast of bloodied cats and rat stench clinging to the air.



​

 

[smogstar]

Seldom does a day pass where Starlingheart isn't called upon for emergency aid. It's maddening to see, fools who are already starved to the brink of death trying to find the dumbest, most brainless schemes to hurt themselves further. ShadowClan's medicine cat certainly has her work cut out for her. Unfortunately for the girl, there's no herbal remedy for her peers' stupidity.

To hear the panicked voice of an apprentice howl out for the child medicine cat, it wraps a rotten scowl around his mug. Smogmaw needn't rack his brains to guess what has happened this time. Betonyfrost, in her frostbite-induced hysteria, took a swipe at Chilledgaze. Forestpaw unknowingly waddled into a fox's den. Flickerfire, after mistaking it for a snake, had tried to swallow her own tail. Nothing would surprise him at this rate.

He doesn't even want to investigate what has happened, but a gut feeling compels him to act.

Light hits his eyes as he leaves the warrior's den, causing them to scrunch up in a wince. Through his grimace can he see a cluster of silhouettes shambling into camp. The moment he makes out the faces of those in the group, the tinny scent of blood hits his nose. At once, his puckered brows would become slack.

This is the patrol. The one Pitchstar'd mentioned during the meeting. The lone iota of hope in his brain depended on their success, and it would seem that the worst possible outcome has manifested instead.

Blood spurts out of Dear Leader's neck, caking the tom's upper body and running down his chest. Pitchstar is in the jaws of death, and the metaphorical stick prying them open is about to snap. Did... did rats do this? Surely they're eating better than his clan is, if this is the aftermath of it all. His surprised gaze trickles off towards the bi-coloured molly.

"Halfshade!" voices Smogmaw, scampering quickly across the snowy camp. He sizes her up after coming to a skidding halt. "Your nose... are you okay?" he asks, noticing the wounds on her physique. They weren't grave nor ghastly like the leaders', but still just as demanding of attention. "What the hell went wrong out there? How big were those rats?"​

 

[Frostbite]

He was just minding his own business, starving in peace after an unsuccessful hunt. It was unbearable. He was familiar with this feeling, starving in the winter on the mountain and going near insane. Eating things he normally wouldn't to get by. Bark. Dirt. Moss. Anything he could ignore the taste of.

When the patrol came back, his look of hope turned to shock at the state of them. He rose to his feet and made his way over.

"......So the rats fought back?" He asked.

He had never heard of such a thing.

Starlingheart was already being retrieved, so he wouldn't panic too much, but seeing Pitchstar bleeding out was very concerning.

He noted how quickly Smogmaw was to rush to Halfshade. He would store this information for later.

He looked back to Pitchstar, and moved to support him if he needed it. "I think maybe you should sit down." He said.
​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

[ cw mentions of blood/injuries ]

Having heard the commotion surrounding the Carrionplace patrol's return to camp, the warrior promptly made his way over to check things out. Roosterstrut freezes upon arrival, vivid memories spilling into and drowning his brain as if a dam had just broken open. The young warrior's heart rate quickened, the blood running through his veins grew ice cold, and the pumping in his ears got louder and louder. This situation is all-too-familiar; the metallic stench, the frantic meows, the blur of cats rushing forward toward the wounded.

Except, this time, no one was dead upon arrival. Not yet, at least.

Move, do something! The voice inside commands. Pitchstar looks as if he is barely clinging to life, which heightens Roosterstrut's anxiety severely at the moment. "Holy sh— Pitchstar!" Roosterstrut exclaims, careful not to crowd the older tom but still stepping forward as he notices the weakening, straining energy of the leader. His jaws draw agape in horror, watching as crimson trickles from the leader's neck. There must be something he could do to help, but then again, he was no healer. Peeling his widened eyes away from the gory scene, he twists his neck to look over his shoulder for Starlingheart.​

— * ✰. ooc information recent events * ✰. —

• 
  
• 
  ✰ ROOSTERSTRUT
  —— amab, uses he/him pronouns. sixteen moons old. warrior of shadowclan.
  —— laid-back young adult who utilizes humor and fun in order to distract from serious matters. he is a decent warrior, though he hesitates to take risks.
  —— link to tags. @ on discord for plots.
  
  roosterstrut is a vibrant orange tabby tom with pale green eyes. he stands at a height ever so slightly above the average. his fur is long and whispy and his tail is especially reminiscent of a rooster's. he sports a signature, goofy smirk and a mischievous glint in his eye.
• 
  

​

 

[Starlingheart]

Starlingheart had tried to curl up in her nest and sleep, to try and pass the time while the patrol braves the carrionplace. Her brother, her friend, was on that patrol. She finds herself worrying for both toms in equal measure, her mind isn't able to let the thought go. Visions of her brother slipping from this world and being gone forever dance in her mind. Sure she had seen him die and come back to life before but she cannot help but remember how she had thought her own mother was invincible, unkillable until the 9th time but still she had been ripped away from them. She didn't want to lose Pitch too.

Instead of sleeping, she takes herbs down from their little shelves. She reorganizes them a dozen different times, a dozen different way, anything to take her mind off of that awful day or the nightmares that play out whenever she closes her eyes.

Lilacpaw's voice nearly startles her. She turns and listens, her green eyes wide with terror. Her worst fears were coming true, she knows it before she even grabs a small bundle of herbs and cobwebs and runs out to the clearing. She inhales sharply as her brother's blood spills out onto the ground. Does no one here know even the basics of stopping blood from pouring out of a wound? Or did they simply not care? She wants to scream or to cry but knows she cannot do either, instead, she rushes forward and places her paws firmly on his neck wound, ignoring everyone else. They were not important, and their wounds not as bad. "I-I'm I'm he-heeere I'm heeeere P-pi-piii Pitch" she half whispers, her voice hoarse from barely held back tears. Blood stains her white-tipped paws and she chokes back a sob. She had to help, she had to save him.

"H-hooold hold the w-wound d-d-d-down" she instructs her nearest clan mate and when they do she steps back, chews some marigold into a pulp then presses it into the wound, covering with some cobwebs. Later, she would clean his wounds with wet moss but for now, she just wanted this awful bleeding to stop.
​

 

[RIBBITLEAP]

Ribbitleap limps in at Pitchstar's side - the leader, practically unable to walk, having to be supported by him and Halfshade. Their mission is nothing but a failure, nothing achieved but the inevitable dwindling of Starlingheart's stores as she's brought her own mission - to heal the rat-gifted wounds that litter the skin of the patrol.

And though Ribbitleap is in pain, though Halfshade carries a wound on her face given to her by the tom pressed between them, it is Pitchstar that is of most concern. It is Pitchstar who has suffered the most.

Halfshade moves away from Pitchstar's other side, leaving the leader to crumble to the ground and for Ribbitleap to stumble at the sudden absence of weight against him. He grunts as he shifts his weight, stands up straight to look at the crowd surrounding them. Expectant, hungry. Waiting for meals that depended on this failed mission.

"How big were those rats?" He hears Smogmaw ask. The brown tom flicks his tail in the blue warrior's direction.

"Big enough," he mutters, frustration heavy in his words. "Big enough to have fed us all for moons, if they weren't capable of fighting back." ShadowClan was starving. His mother was starving. Ribbitleap failed to bring anything back, failed to do his job as a warrior.

Starlingheart appears, rushing towards the leader. Sobbing, scared. Hold the wound down, she begs, and, it's the least Ribbitleap can do, in failing to even keep the medicine cat's brother safe. He sets a brown paw against the wound, and lets her do her job, silently hoping that - if anyone can find success in their mission today, it will be her, for the sake of them all.
​

 

[Tornadopaw]

If you don't like me, that's your problem

Tornadopaw is passing the time by gnawing on the bones of a rodent. There was not meat on the skeletal remains but having her mouth busy took the edge of hunger off just a little. There is a sudden commotion occurring near the entrance and the girl stops her chewing to glance up and analyze the situation. The metallic twang of blood eventually hits her nose as she stands to her paws, femur bone forgotten as it tumbles from formally crossed paws. Pitchstar's squad ended up like this because of the very rats they were meant to hunt? No. no there was no way. Quietly the brutish femme trots her way over, catching up on the news she'd missed. With brows pinching together she shakes her head, utterly flabbergasted. "I didn't think rats were capable of such a thing..." She'd never seen prey fight back before. Her lips pull into a small frown as she watches Starlingheart tend to her brother. Pitchstar certainly looked worse for wear. ​

When I let it bother me, that's my problem​

​

​

​

​

 

[Swiftclaws]

Rats were lousy prey not just because they didn't taste the best but because they fought back; they weren't to be scoffed at and Swiftclaw's avoided them if he could all it took was for those gnarly teeth to get just a little bit into your skin for you to be left with a hole in side and no prey to show for all that effort. Shadowclan had no choice though they needed prey and rats were their best best. He wish he could've gone, he'd moped upon hearing the patrol left in the first place and a few moons ago he would've ignored orders and ran after them but he knew better now. Well slightly better, and seeing Pitchstar being supported into camp only to crash on the ground makes him regret behaving himself. The rest of the patrol look worse for wear but he worries for their leader most of all it's difficult to hold himself back from rushing over to him to help without any orders of what to do, Starlingheart was already there to help him though and while many weren't so confident in her abilities compared to the likes of Bonejaw but he believes in her. She just needs time and practice and well no better practice then working. Finally his paws come bringing him over to her side. Ribbitleap already had his paws on the wound keeping pressure on it just like she ordered so he still stands ready to burst into a run instead of crouching besides them ❝Deep breaths Starlingheart you got this kiddo❞ he soothes close to her ear, she's all frayed nerves and he can't help but feel bad for her as well. She'd gone through enough and she's sure her hearts pounding a million fox-lengths a second seeing her brother mauled and bleeding out into the snow. It's not a pretty sight, starclan it was the exact opposite. ❝Tell me if you need me to grab anything from the medicine den, just describe it to me and i'll figure it out from there! I'll be back before you can say "rat-bite" I promise!❞ he offers, he'd always been speedy faster then most in Shadowclan and right now it could really come in helpful!

He can hear Tornadopaw's voice near and would meow in quick succession ❝Yeah bud, rats are no joke they get massive too don't mess with them unless you have to❞ he tells her over his shoulder, it's a attempt really to dissuade her from seeking them out to see on her own. Something he no doubt would've done himself - starclan part of him wants to now just to give the foul little critters what for!
​

( TAKE MY LEAD ; ILL SET YOU FREE )

 

[irispool]

It was their last bastion, the rats. Winter had been terribly hard on Shadowclan and even with Iris' exceptional ability in hunting (or at least thats what her father had told her) she could barely find anything more than a scrawny mouse. Her eyes widened upon the patrols return, the blood and oh, Stars, the blood. The ivory-splashed she-cat wants to cry at the sight of it but she has to keep herself composed, offer support. "O-Oh, are you guys... fine? Stupid- Stupid question, sorry." face flushes and shes biting her lip, ears flattening as a huge wave of embarrassment rolls over her.

Attention is on Starlingheart, Pitchstar and Halfshade, leaving Granitepaw and Ribbitleap in silence. She swallows her anxiety down, she has to, and nearly stumbles towards Ribbitleap. "Do you need anything?" spoken out loud to both the tom and the tiny she-cat working on Pitchstar. In a far away land she can hear Swiftclaws speak and her shoulders sag in relief. He is more composed than her, really, and hes speaking with compassion towards Starling. Tornado pipes up about the rats, Swift responds and she finds herself nodding alongside him.​

"speech"​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† Only tragedy after tragedy seems to strike in leaf-bare. Her first– and one she already dreaded. Near-constant was the gnaw in her stomach, or neurotic flickering of her gaze, watching and waiting to see what would be next to befall them. And today– a returning patrol. It was like any other, wasn't it? The endless search for food. The only variable being– would their jaws be empty, or clamped full of rat? She didn't know, hadn't known–

Sharppaw's eyes blow wide, and the gnawing only grows worse. Hunting could be life or death in the eyes of another– In the eyes of the one tasked to watch over you. So that when you messed up, you felt it. It gnaws at your bones and sends your ears flattening against your skull; holding your breath for the scolding that was to come.

Never before had the life or death been so literal. Not in terms of starving; a slow, horrid ache that settled in your gut in never quite left. The danger here was instant, visible, not an invisble ache. And it covered them from head to toe. Maybe the scariest thing was the concern in Smogmaw's voice.

He casts a sidelong glance to Irispool. Her question is stupid, but she seems to realize. It was the same mistake Sharppaw had made when she was a new apprentice. He learned quicker than her, it seems. –But that wasn't fair to say, to think. How couldn't you make mistakes, when everyone was under pressure like this? How couldn't you, she tells yourself. Though, Frostbite remains perfectly calm.

The rats are out of the question, Halfshade says, and Sharppaw flattens beneath those words. It was the only chance they had of surviving leaf-bare. It was the only way they'd ever survived leaf-bare. "W-what are we gonna eat?"​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

Granitepaw stumbles into camp behind Ribbitleap and Halfshade, who aid their stumbling, bleeding leader into camp. What's left of him, anyway -- he looks almost as bad as Briarstar had after the monster had finished with her. Well, maybe not that bad, but Granitepaw can't afford to be charitable. His faces is bleeding, his hind leg stings, his shoulder is sore, and he's hungry. There hadn't been time for any of them to grab any of the dead rats -- not if they'd wanted to keep their lives.

The gray tom does not miss the smirk Halfshade sends his way. His blood simmers, and the glare he gives her could turn a weaker cat to stone. She has officially made his shit list, and he hopes she can see it in the set of his jaw.

Starlingheart emerges from her den, and cats swarm their leader to help him survive. Granitepaw stares at him, his mentor, expression stony. Sharppaw asks, "W-what are we gonna eat?"

"Not rats. They'll eat us first," he says, voice full of grit. "We can be mauled to death, or we can starve. Pick your poison."​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[Halfshade]

Are you guys fine? Good on Irispool to catch herself and call the question what it was. Stupid. She didn't even need to lift her head and glare to silence the other she-cat and continued to focus on her task of cleaning her fur around the now throbbing bites lacing her leg. How irritating.
Halfshade lowers her leg from her attempts to soothe the bite on it, tongue still sticking out curiously as she hears her name blurted out and her expression twists from its grimace to a more accomodating smile to see that at least one of these degenerates cared about the cats without the lives to spare. Pitchstar could die and get right back up, she and Ribbitleap were not so lucky but Granitepaw sure was. Her mismatched gaze had lingered on him long enough to catch his glower and the look of disdain was reward on its own. Try me, little kitty.
"I can promise you there is nothing left for us in that place. They were already eating whatever we killed by the time we go away..." Vermin that they were, but she agreed with the apprentices reasoning: them or the prey and any cat would choose self-preservation. Some more than others~

The bicolor molly's ears twitch at Smogmaw's question of her nose, fall flat and then flick upward with a snort of what might have been amusement, "Oh, this~! Pitchstar mistook me for a rat, he's quite lucky I did not take a nibble of him myself for it but at least this wound should be cleaner than the others." Hopefully, she wouldn't hold her breath given of messy and unkempt that tom kept himself. Maybe she SHOULD be worried really, maybe she needed to have Starlingheart look at it as soon as they finished letting the leader die-she didn't know why they were fussing over him like this he had many more lives and it'd be a waste of herbs and their time. Honestly, she found the entire affair silly but she held her tongue because someone might call her callous for it, after all their medicine cat was a sweet girl who had delicate feelings; obviously she didn't want to see her brother die even if she knew he'd come back. Halfshade was tactful, at least.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do...and that's not go back there again, thank you."



​

 

[PITCHSTAR]

the camp erupts into voices all around him, but they're nothing but background noise to him now. vaguely, he is aware of paws pressing into the side of his throat where crimson seeps. if pitchstar had the energy, he would've hissed and recoiled from the sudden pressure. but what little vitality he had left, in this emaciated vessel, has drained from him quicker than his blood.

all that he could do, is lay there as the breath is stolen from his lungs and his eyes roll back into his skull.

the starry forest he opens his eyes to, feels like a prison. caught, waiting for his body to regenerate, and unable to do anything other than pace and hiss to himself. pitchstar could've believed it was an eternity before he draws breath again, shooting up with a gasp in a pool of his own blood. a paw instinctively raises to the gash upon his neck, checking that it has been healed, afraid that starclan had failed to fix him like they had his mother... but his paw brushes against fresh scar tissue.

he's still alive.

pitchstar tries to push himself onto his paws, only to stumble and collapse back down. the bite marks on his legs, shoulder, and face still sting, and he curses the stars for not healing those, too... or restoring his strength, which had been sapped from him in the fight that he'd lost. (what stings more, his wounds or his ego? who's ever heard of a cat being killed by prey?) "bastards," the leader growls, uncertain to even him if he's referencing starclan or the rats.

he takes note of the crowd he's garnered, his claws sinking into the stained snow with frustration at knowing they all watched him writhe and die. pitiful. with a grunt, pitchstar forces himself to sit up, reeling at the spinning of the world but holding his position. "bastards," the rosette tabby snarls, again, this time his eyes trained on the blood splattered across the pristine white. "we can't go back there. we won't." so what will we eat? unknowingly, his mind echoes the concerns of his clan. the carrionplace had been their last resort. where do they go from here?​