sensitive topics WHERE ARE YOU [ o, post-battle ; intro ]




**WORD OF WARNING; this takes place after the battle where a young kid is looking for her deceased father, you do not have to interact or reply if this is triggering content for you. I want you safe and that is all that matters.**

A kitten of shadow and light was scampering towards the entrance with pure, energizing excitement. They were coming and she could scent their battle worn scents. Soon enough, the river of returning warriors burst through the branch-woven levee. Faces with new wounds upon their features that she could still recount the names of; Soot with her facade of grays, Briar's melancholic black, Rust with the white facial features, Crow and his amber glow, and the many others that paraded through. There hadn't been a flash of white fur? Had she missed it? Surely not.
Time passed slower than a lazy frog in the bog. Crawling like ugly beetles!
Gloomy thoughts began howling through barren landscapes inside that small skull, where's pops, as the flowing crowd ebbed to a slow trickling stream. There still wasn't a specific color to any of the flashing pelts. The stream would soon slow to a halt and the sun would trade with the moon. Still there had been nothing. Not a sight or faint trace of scent. A queen's voice, Partridge [NPC], would call from the shaded den where they'd slept. Was there a sniffle in her voice? No, the tiny kitten convinced herself that she hadn't heard correctly.

It had been days since then, yet the half-mooned face continued to watch the rustling walls of the camp's entrance from afar. The she-kit was watching for that flash of white, for Elk, to emerge from the marshes. It was an unstopped hope that continued to trill inside like a bird caught in a metal trap. Was he lost? Dawn became sun high, yet nothing emerged from the barrier. Hunger rumbled her belly and even still she hadn't touched the prey that had been dropped beside her. Sighing, the black and white she-cat rolled that squishing frog between her small forepaws. It wasn't appetizing with its bloated belly. Its green flesh made a weak stomach twist at the thought of eating anything, yet the heartsick inside made her feel worse. With a familiar outburst of frustrated rage, "Yuck!" Warbler flung the limp away with an angry stomp upon the springy earth. It wasn't fair.


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    ── Drained and disoriented, Roseal isn't fully aware of himself or his surroundings. At some point he thinks he must have bathed himself: his fur is damp and simply...pale as ever, save for where the wound on his throat still bleeds sluggishly. He might have injuries elsewhere, but if he does, he can hardly recognize any points of pain in his body. He's merely a mass of deadened nerves and exhaustion, the sort that even an undisturbed sleep cannot soothe.

    The events of the battle are still a blur to him. He has yet to make sense of them when there is so much he's– he–

    "Yuck!" He flinches. He hadn't noticed the kitten earlier, but now that he has, he tries to claw back some semblance of composure. Roseal might be an outsider, but he helped Rubble. Didn't he?

    Sucking in a deep breath, he ignores how his body shudders. "Mud probably tastes better, huh?" He swallows and blinks. "You...waiting for somebody?"

  • n/a​
  • ──── surr'oseal'isme (roseal). he/him pronouns. roamer; goes where he pleases.
    ──── approximately thirty-eight months old; not entirely certain of his own age.
    ──── single & uninterested in any romantic attachments; possibly open for flings.
    ──── very tall, scarred albino with sharply-peaked ears and a bobbed, scruffy tail.​

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Sandra ✧ She/Her ✧ Marsh Group. ░░░░░░░░░░░░░

It had been a long and hard walk back to camp. Sandra had been trailing behind the group of warriors that had slipped through camp, taking just a moment to herself to look at the forest. At the tall pine trees, the marshy ground underpaw and the overwhelming sense of dread that hung on every pelt. The visits from the dead sure had shaken many cats, and there was defintitely more to be done than what they had been given. What did the riddle mean? Would this be the end of the groups? Or the beginning of something new?

Sandra gave a sigh, shoulders sagging a bit from the tension she didn't know she had been holding. There had to be more to this than just- dead cats talking to them. Right? She hoped so. Sandra finally pushed herself to walk through the camp entrance and looked around the camp for a moment as cats started to tend to their wounds. Though one cat in particular had caught her eye; Warbler.

Sorrow tugged at her chest at the sight of the black and white kitten. Glancing behind her shoulder, she hadn't seen Elk come back either. She hadn't seen him in battle though as well, but she knew the worst of it as she recalled his whtie pelt amongst that of the starry cats. Oh no she thought to herself and felt sick to her stomach, like she was to throw up but she had nothing in her stomach to throw up.​
( ) Children were meant to be protected. Dusk knew that more than most, and yet he was still so hesitant to even take care of other children outside of his own siblings. They were old enough to understand the world a little bit, but most adult concepts were so foreign to him. As he followed close behind Roseal, the more familiar cat to him, he peeked around the taller tom's legs to get a good look at the kitten.
"Is that a kid?" He asked incredulously, shaking his head quickly. "Isn't that Elk's kid?" He asked again quietly, tail swishing behind him in a sense of saddened understanding. Elk hasn't returned from the battle yet. He worried his lip between his teeth, glancing back at Sandra as if asking what they should do.

Tears were beginning to flood over those cheeks in overwhelming increments. There was a sniffle here and there, but a majority of the child's snot would drip from an unwiped muzzle. Crystalline claws had gripped into the earth while tiny teeth grit together. What were the odds that he would return? It had been days since the battling patrol had returned baring the marks of a vicious battle and a dazed look upon their faces. There was talk of cats with stars in their pelts, in their eyes, and left behind as they walked.

A figure in white had graced the edges of the feline's watery vision. With a flare of kindled excitement, "Poppa!" Yet at the sight of shortened hair and an unscarred face, mixed-matched paws slipped from underneath her as a heart of fluttering wings came crashing to the ground. This was a cat she knew though not the cat she'd wanted. Roseal.
"Mud probably tastes better, huh?"
Anything was better than the bile-like taste bubbling from inside her throat. With a solemn nod, "I was waiting for Elk to come home-" because he hasn't yet, swallowing hard.
"Isn't that Elk's kid?"
Balls of ice would flit over to the other cat. A kid, an older kid, with a big mouth and a temper. Wasn't he in the battle? Dawn? Or was it Dusk? It wouldn't matter, for she saw that this cat knew something by the sound of the question and the chewing of his lip. Warbler's crying gaze hardened as she watched the tomcat look at Sandra. Just tell me, she wanted to scream out, to cry and beat the earth with small paws, to rip away the muddy ground until she had cracked and bleeding claws, but not today. Strength would have to be found. Clearing her throat of dripping mucous, "You were all in the battle, weren't you? Did you see him?" Those eyes would gaze at each cat. Sandra. Roseal. Dusk? Dawn? Whoever.


Sandra ✧ She/Her ✧ Marsh Group. ░░░░░░░░░░░░░

With the arrival of Roseal and Dusk, Sandra felt her chest start to tighten. It became increasingly hard to swallow and he looked to the kit before the two older cats for a moment. Suppose she should be the one to say something right? It was only right Warbler knew of Elks demise, and Sandra was probably the kindest cat out of the three of them do lay it down gently. She shifted a bit and looked to the kitten of black and white before lowering her ears a bit, "Warbler- Warb, I am so sorry, honey," She started for a moment before pausing to swallow what felt like a rock in her throat, "Elk didn't make it- he- he passed in the battel. But he fought bravely! I have never seen a cat so determined,"

Sandra was trying to make the situation lighter, even though it was the worst possible outcome. She hated that Elk had passed and left behind such a young kitten in his place, she couldn't imagine the feelings Warbler would have.​

Losing ones parents was excruciating to deal with, especially when one was attached to them. Looked up to them. His eyes shut as he heard the shuddering breaths as the kit tried to keep herself calm; he knows that face better than most. Trying to keep it together, hold yourself together just long enough to get the truth. To force yourself to accept it. Dusk glanced away from the kit, inhaling a sharp breath as Sandra stepped forward to announce the heart-wrenching news.

"I wasn't there for the battle, but my brother was. He came back.. Really injured, Warbler. Most of them did. But I know your dad fought like a lion. He's Elk, after all." It wasn't much from him, he didn't know how to deal with kids, but he could try and reassure her. That was all he could do, honestly. "Shit.." He cursed under his breath, barely audible, before glancing back up at Sandra.