sensitive topics we may be the first to fall || twoleg encounter; injury

[Harry Styles]

// ashpaw has been lured by spiderfall into a twoleg trap via a private thread, but you don't need to read that one to understand this one. this thread is open for any character to find the aftermath!

trigger warnings for canon-typical violence, done by a twoleg against a kitten-aged apprentice

A S H P A W.

Spiderfall is gone.

She's alone. Trapped in the tiny twoleg den made of strange silver stone. Helpless. Ashpaw's chest heaves, panic freezing her in place. When the door first slammed shut, she scrabbled and scratched at it until her paws bled, but it didn't budge—didn't even scuff. Spiderfall turned tail, calling words over his shoulder that she couldn't make out through the haze of terror—but he must've gone for help. He must have.

She wants to scream, wants to cry out, wants to beg for Willowroot or Pumpkinpaw or Cicadastar to save her, someone, someone please, but—but she knows who set this trap. Spiderfall's already gone for help and if—if she makes noise, she could draw attention. Twolegs' attention. The twolegs with their thunder-sticks that send birds falling dead from the sky, that leave black holes burned right through unfortunate animals.

Ashpaw whimpers with terror—imagines a hole burned through her, her clanmates finding her dead—she doesn't want to die, please, please.

She imagines what will happen if a twoleg finds her before her clanmates do. What it'll do to her.

She imagines, shaking and shuddering with fear, until heavy pawsteps shake the ground and she doesn't have to imagine anymore.

Giant twoleg paws wrap around the bars, jolting the silver den into the air, and Ash is thrown against the back wall. She cries out in shock and pain—tries to scramble back and can't. She's trapped. The yowling starts then, vicious and furious and loud and Ashpaw doesn't understand it but she can tell that it's angry. The twoleg shakes the trap as it yowls, jerking it back and forth, slamming her little body brutally from one wall to the other.

By the time the shaking stops and a twoleg paw is reaching in to grab her, Ashpaw is too dazed to move—blinking blurry vision away and wailing pitifully at the pain. One hand wraps tight around her middle, pinning her forelegs to her side, and rips her out of the cage.

"Fucking worthless cats, getting in the way of every goddamn thing, I've had enough of this shit. Mangy little beast, I'll fucking skin you."

Something else flashes silver in his other hand; something Ashpaw doesn't have a name for. A short, jagged blade; a hunting knife.

The kitten—no, apprentice—oh, let's be fucking honest, she's a kitten. She mewls and sobs, caught in his grip, bruising, almost breaking. She wriggles weakly and it tightens, and she can't scream anymore because she doesn't have the breath. But—

But she might've managed to wriggle just enough. With one last desperate jerk, Ashpaw lunges, and the angle's just right—her teeth sink into the twoleg's paw, and he yowls spitting-angry as his grip slackens—she twists away and dives for the ground, adrenaline racing hot through her little body.

In the frenzy, her panic and his fury—while she falls, contorting, instincts fighting to land her upright; while his paws flail after her, enraged—

Her body catches on the knife blade.

Not stabbed, but grazed, her flank dragging across it as she falls, tearing open skin. Orange paws hit the ground, and sharp agony lances up her forelegs. She doesn't quite stick the landing—her chin hits next, and she skids, then scrambles. Run. Run. Blood splatters beside her, drips down her fur, paints the ground.

She has never known this much pain before.

Run. She tears across the ground, choking out sobs of pain and terror, please let someone hear her, please or she's going to die—

And then before her, the river.

She's so small and the current is so fierce and in any other situation this would be so stupid. But she has no choice. Ashpaw half-dives, half-tumbles into the water, and she's swallowed by the current in seconds, leaving blood and orange fur strewn across the shore behind her, hardly more than a fox-length from the trap that caught her.

She's ripped away faster than she could hope to swim, fighting tooth and nail to get her nose above the surface, gasping for air. Shots of thunder ring out, and those deadly pellets hit the water beside her, one after another—some terrifyingly close. But soon the sound fades, and she's out of range, swept down the river.

Claimed by the rapids, her tired little body at their mercy.

---

The twoleg leaves. Resets the trap and stalks away. In a matter of two minutes, maybe less, it's over—but for anyone come running at the sound of her cries, stumbling onto the scene, it's not hard to tell what happened here. Ashpaw's fear-scent lingers, mixed with twoleg stench.

The sand is painted red and orange, blood and tufts of fur, a telltale trail that ends at the water.



​

—— " i found gold in the wreckage "

✦ ooc ✦ character information ✦ recent events

• rest in pieces i guess
  
  ashpaw will not be found/rescued in this thread, as she's going to wash up on the other side of the river in thunderclan!
• - 4 month old orange tabby with green eyes
  - apprenticed to lead warrior willowroot
  - happy-go-lucky, mischievous, hardworking
  - very friendly, but defensive of riverclan!
  - "speech"
• - made friends with an ant. named it Rock
  - started her apprentice training
  - nearly lost her close friend pumpkinpaw to a dog attack

​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) over the past week, willowroot has settled into the role of a mentor. it's not easy wrangling two bright eyed, bushy tailed apprentices around the territory, but stars be damned, they're doing their best. today is a rest day, something they've implemented so the kids don't burn themselves out in the first moon. as the smoke traverses the territory on a patrol of their own, she thinks of her charges, hopefully still asleep in their dens, or otherwise hunting with friends. she hopes at least that they're not stressing over training. today will be a calm, relaxed day.

slender paws slide into the tracks of the trails she has known most of her life, leading the small border patrol out towards the river. tail flicked high above her, willowroot sighs with an air of contentedness, offering her companions a small grin. the sky is crystal clear, not a cloud floating in the great expanse. there should be no thunder today, no rain or lightning, and yet- the growling rings out. the sound that has haunted the forest for days now, like great claps of thunder, rolling over the water towards them. tufted ears swivel backwards, pinned to the lanky femme's head as she freezes. as the shots echo away, a scream splits the air, one that is practically engrained within willow. ashpaw.

fear gripping her chest, the feline tears off, not waiting to see if the rest of her patrol will follow. scenting the air desperately, she catches the acrid smell of smoke and, beneath it, the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. heart hammering in her throat, she bursts through the reeds, skids to a stop and practically breaks down right there. the once white sand is painted crimson, still glistening in the sun high overhead. tufts of ginger fur float past on the breeze, and in the water, a dark stain spreads. "no..." they whisper, and then - "no!" the cry echos as the gunshots had, tearing out of her like it carries her last breath. the stench of twolegs is all she can smell, and it mixes with the blood-scent, choking her, sending her coughing and retching. paw pads cut on the sharp rocks she's run over, she adds to the trail of crimson as she leaps towards the water, letting it engulf her.

she's here somewhere- she's gotta be here. mind racing, the sea dweller dives, eyes squinting tightly against the current of debris that washes against them. panic forces their breath out, and they kick up from the bottom, reappearing feet away from where they entered. "where is she? ashpaw!" her voice bellows over the sound of the river, but there is no return cry, only a sad echo. forcing her paws to carry her ashore, willowroot stands, dripping, desolate. ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[SMOKESTAR]

The other leader warrior reacted before he did, ears still ringing and eyes wide as he paused mid step to look around with a sharp expression of reproach, it was the sudden mewling…the broken wailing, that snapped him from his brief stupor of thoughtlessness.
Willowroot’s speed was beyond him, he could just barely keep up with her racing through the wood but inevitably he did manage to keep stride without struggle though it was less his own speed and more the surge of adrenaline that sent him into overdrive.
His poker face comes in handy here, he manages to look composed despite the panic thundering war drums inside him that has his head pounding; blood racing.

He was no stranger to the smell of blood, the scent of fear, most of his youth had him shrouded in it like a dull haze that gradually conditioned him to become so used to it that he hardly batted an eye nowadays. So he claimed, at least, because when the realization of what was lingering in the air around them had struck him he was quick to move with a surge of panic.
Maybe it was because before he didn’t care about the nameless cats dying on the streets, the fools who wandered lost and left his life as fleeting and swift as they had entered it.
Gruff and dismissive as he was, he was fond of RiverClan. You would be hard pressed to find Smokethroat admitting care or interest out loud but he had proven otherwise with his actions and paltry attempts to integrate with his clanmates.

The dark tom liked Ashpaw. For all her nonsensical behavior and general troublemaking she was a young cat with energy and enthusiasm and while he rarely showed it he found the little apprentice charming in her own way. To be young and optimistic again, he sometimes longed for the days of kithood he held before his mother died because it was the only time in his life he could ever claim to be content; cats thrust into the real world too young could hardly enjoy life as much as Ashpaw did and it was envious but to be admired as well.
The very idea that such a bright little light could be snuffed out in an instant, that they would not have her antics continuing to plague the camp and its inhabitants. That he would never get to thank her for her silly little compliment of his spotted pelt that made the tom just a touch less self-conscious about the strange white spotting that continued to dot his dark form.
His fur bristled as they arrived onto the scene, orange gaze darting across the scattered area and its disarray that told a story they had not witnessed yet the ending was there before them.
No, no. There’s no body.
“Willowroot….Willowroot!” The smoke she-cat is lost in her despair, spilling over with horror and desperately floundering in the water for any sign of the lost orange child, when she finally calms down it is even more upsetting than when she was frantic; she looks defeated. But Smokethroat was a cat who struggled to accept losing a fight.
He was not accustomed to comforting others, he did not know exactly what was expected or how best to go about it so he moved across the sharp pebbled shore with long strides to push his head down to neatly bump the other on the forehead. It is a gesture he believes is one of support; having seen it often given in the clan by cats like Clearsight, Cicadastar and even Clayfur.
“Inhale. Exhale. Focus. A search party, we send a search party…there’s a scent trail. Faintly. We send cats out to look in groups. Not alone.” That he was so calm was illusionary. He wanted to kill every two-leg who crossed his path. He wanted to sink his teeth in deep until arteries were shredded and muscle torn, take a chunk of flesh with each bite.
"...she might not be..." He trails off, he doesn't want to say it.






​

 

[Foxpaw—]

Foxpaw's throat tightens at the scent of blood, the way the sand at the shore is painted with dark droplets and bits of orange fluff. Ashpaw's scent. The stink of the Twoleg who must have harmed her. The evidence is chilling, and both Willowroot and Smokethroat must feel the same way.

The calico watches Willowroot spring into the river, the way they had when she'd saved Boar from drowning, but when she emerges she has nothing. No Ashpaw.

Foxpaw watches Smokethroat bump his head against the other's in a silent show of comfort. He talks about a search patrol. "I'd like to go," she offers weakly. The thought that Ashpaw might have been killed by the Twoleg has her throat closing. The little ginger she-kit had pressed against her in solidarity during their apprentice ceremony. She'd been so excited, so full of life, and for her to be reduced to bloodied sand and remnants of a cat - it's enough for tears to spring unbidden to Foxpaw's eyes.
​

PENNED BY MARQUETTE​

 

[COAST]

Willows scream jostled her out of her thoughts. They hadn't smelled the blood, had heard thunder, a distant struggle but had blended in to background noise. She rises to her paws faster than ever, an unreadable emotion upon her face as she runs, runs and Willowroot is surrounded by Smokethroat (she had learned his name in the river) and an apprentice she had no idea whom. She called for her apprentice, Ashpaw, once more. Where is she? Desperation, bargaining, fear.

Coast almost loses it.

"I'm coming." it leaves no room for objection as they regain their control over their emotions. "Willow, dearest, breathe." she brushes against their side, tone soft despite the choking sensation in her throat. "Breathe, star, breathe." she repeats in a murmur. "Tiny Ash will return soon. We will make sure of it." she promises to no one in particular. Little ginger kit, poor soul, tiny being- they'd do anything to get the kit back.
​

"speech"​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) she leans in to his touch, shoulders hunched and eyes screwed tight. his low voice rings in her ears, telling her to breathe, focus, and she tries - stars she tries - but panic still rolls inside of her like a dark cloud on the horizon. she has never been more thankful for her fellow lead warrior, never appreciated him as much as she now does. clinging to this gruff, unreadable man, willow knows deep down that riverclan is in good paws. foxpaw bounds up next, horrorstruck, and willowroot gulps a sob back. the mottled molly had watched her save a kit before, plunging into icy depths and returning with life. how must she now feel, watching her emerge from the waters empty-pawed. coast arrives next, her familiar scent like balm for wil's bleeding heart. pressed between her sister and her clanmates, the smoke takes stuttering breaths, throat aching, tail twisting around to encircle coast. "i'm going to find her. she's just a kid- stars she's only a kid-" their voice breaks, ears flat.

"we need to go now, we need to get her home. she's not dead. she's not she wouldn't do that she's strong..." they ramble on, gaze fixed on their claws as they tear up the blood soaked sand. ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[GILLSIGHT]

They'd only just been apprenticed. And now?

Now, Ashpaw is gone.

The black-and-white tom stands frozen at the sight before him - blood and orange fur standing out against the sand. Even if it weren't for the fact that he'd been unable to find Ashpaw all morning, for her scent heavy in the air, for the fact that Willowroot was screaming out for their apprentice, Gillpaw immediately recognized the scraps of fur before him.

Obsidian ears flatten against his head at the sight, as search parties for his friend are called. He looks around at those around him - those who are sure Ashpaw's still alive out there, even though Gillpaw isn't sure, because Ashpaw is smaller than him, and there is so much blood. Could that much blood come out of a kit without it dying? He doesn't know, but the thought of Ashpaw being hurt - being dead, being alone - scares him.

"I-I... I w-want to come t-too," he says, eyes wide as he looks around for Clearsight. He isn't sure if this is something his mentor would allow him to join in on, but Gillpaw will defy his orders if he needs too. Because, Ashpaw is his friend, and he needs to make sure she's okay.
​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

"No." His voice is firm, but without its usual edge and he couldn't have been more serious in this moment if he tried, "No, you're not going. You're going back to camp for a moment, the rest of the clan needs to know what happened regardless." Willowroot would argue, but he would fight her on it, "...you're panicking. You'll hurt yourself running around in a frenzy." His orange stare lacked its normal hardened look as he turned from his fellow lead warrior to Coast with an expression bordering on pleading, "Can you make sure she gets back to camp? Then lead another patrol out on the other side of the river?" If anyone would be on his side it would be the frantic smoke's sibling who assuredly understood the concerns and also didn't want her running hectic in her worry.
The two apprentices there, clearly shooken up but holding it together, offered (or rather insisted) on coming with to find their wayward child and he would not begrudge them that; unlike Willowroot who was besides herself with worry theres was one more contained and he could manage if it got out of paw.
"Foxpaw, Gillpaw, you're with me-we're going to move along the river first."
If the two-leg killed her why would they toss her in the river? No, she surely gave them the slip somehow given the complete mess of the scene and a cat who could fight their way from one of those creatures clutches would not die so easily to the river she was born alongside. Ashpaw was out there, they just needed to find her.
Until he saw a body...Smokethroat would think no other way. Without waiting a second longer he gestured to the two apprentices to keep pace with a sharp tail flick. The sooner they moved the better.


​