no angst wish i could control the magnitude [mud pit]

[CLAYFUR]

RiverClan has suffered in the past few months, but at the very least, their river has finally receded enough to begin preparations for moving back to their island camp. The downside to the changing of seasons, however, is the pre-summer warmth that has descended upon the river territory. It’s almost unbearable, the sun beating down on his back in stark difference to the thunderstorms that had passed through the night before. And worse than the hot sun is the humidity, making it feel even warmer as Clayfur travels along his usual hunting path.

He’s distracted by the heat, by the nearly sticky press of the very air around him. He’s so distracted, in fact, that he doesn’t notice the small pit that’s formed across the path before him until both pale forepaws are ankle-deep in slippery mud.

When his paws slide down the side of the mud pit, so does the rest of his body. In a panic he attempts to right himself, but only manages to trip himself up, losing his balance in the process. "AHHH!" His shoulder hits the ground hard, mud splashing and splattering across more of the white patches of his pelt. It feels nice and cool in contrast to the hot, muggy weather—but, like, it’s still mud. Getting it off is going to take forever.

After a few humiliating moments of slipping and sliding around in the small pit of mud that he’s accidentally discovered, the tom finally manages to get his paws underneath him. He tries to scramble back up the side of the mud pit, but only ends up sliding back down, mud streaking across brown and white fur. Ugh. There’s definitely no way he’s getting back out of here, is there? And he’s a warrior, he can stand a tumble into a hole—he has no idea how he’s going to get out, but it would be worse if someone else fell in, and no one else was around.

He takes a deep breath, then lifts his head to call out, "HEY! Is anybody there?" He really, really hopes someone is around to help him get out… somehow.
​

[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[murkblossom]

The first shout is what draws Murkblossom away from finding flowers for his mother, his ears pricked with alarm. He sets off for the direction it came from, the increasing silence doing little to assure him it was merely an innocent accident, or warriors driven to playing with each other by the bright, lively weather. Has a predator moved into the area and found its first meal in a RiverClanner? Chasing possibilities does little good and great harm, but he cannot steer them away while his heart is a fish flopping on shore, gills constricting frenetically.

And then he hears Clayfur's voice calling, and the relief is so dizzying Murkblossom nearly walks into a tree. It's easier now to find him, and even kinder on Murkblossom's chest that the issue is simply a rather muddy pit, a foe with far fewer teeth.

He crouches at the edge, careful not to slide in himself, and stares down at Clayfur with a small, reassuring smile. It will be a chore to free himself of the thick coating later, and Murkblossom does not envy him for it— but the day is still young and a rescue will not be clean.

"Will fint stick," he tells him, attempting to raise his voice to be heard but not quite managing. "Big stick." Stepping away, he begins to hunt for something sturdy while hoping another clanmate will soon arrive.

〘 INFORMATION 〙​

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[FERNGILL]

He, too, heard Clayfur's voice- but in his typical manner, Fernpaw could not find the actual sight of his uncle no matter what he tried. It sounded- not far-away, but almost as if it was under him; and on the relatively flat river-land, the ginger tom could not fathom where he might be. It was only when he spotted Murkblossom, and thus wandered closer, that he finally saw where Clayfur had landed. So transfixed by the sight was he that Fernpaw felt his own foot slip; but in a quick bristle, a frantic scrabble, he managed to stop himself from tumbling into the pit to join his kin.

He fixed Murkblossom with wide, worried eyes- a stick, a stick. A big stick. Nodding, he let his eyes flicker back to Clayfur for a moment before scampering off in an attempt to aid. He'd always been alright at finding stuff. If there was anything he could be useful for...

There; out of muck and reeds poked a long, sprawling branch. A big stick if he'd ever seen one. "Here!" he called before scampering forward, clamping his jaws around one end and attempting to drag it out of the foliage. He would not ask for help, but it was clear for even the tiniest kit that Fernpaw needed it, his lacking strength glaringly obvious.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[BEESONG]

the yowl sets off alarm bells in beesong's mind; too much tragedy in the past couple of moons has left him on edge, worrying over what's beyond the horizon every sunrise. at any possibility of misfortune, his damn brain begins to conjure every worst-case scenario it could. and again, it happens; another cat caught in a twoleg's trap? another body discovered, mauled beyond recognition?

beesong lurches forward, after murkblossom who'd been gathering flowers near the patch of marigolds they'd been inspecting, and who now leads them in the direction of the scream that they couldn't make out on their own. their heart thrums in tandem with their hurried steps. but what they find isn't what they expect— there is no blood, no viscera, no corpse. there is only clayfur, scrabbling at the bottom of a mud pit helplessly. his white fur has been stained to match the rest of him, and the sight is so jarring, so relieving, that beesong lets out a laugh. no one is dying. "trying to cool off?" the cinnamon tabby quips.

fernpaw nearly joins his uncle in the pit, one paw slipping in the mud, and only a frantic scrabbling backward saves him from clayfur's fate. beesong snorts. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, right? "careful," the healer advises with another laugh, shaking out the tension in his limbs.

murkblossom suggests a stick. beesong hums approvingly; a stick would be their best bet at getting clayfur out without getting stuck themselves. fernpaw scampers off, and before the healer has a chance to follow suit in the search, the ginger tabby is hauling a branch from the nearby foliage—or, rather, attempting to haul it out. it's clear as day that he's struggling to do so. while fernpaw has certainly grown out of his ugly duckling phase, he still lacks the thick muscle of his father. beesong watches for a moment, brow quirked and head tilted, before he decides to have mercy on the tom. he comes to fernpaw's side, closing his teeth around the branch to help the apprentice haul it over to the pit.​

 

[CLAYFUR]

The first cat to find him is Murkblossom, and the mud-coated warrior smiles gratefully up at him. He won’t die here alone, that’s a huge relief! The older tom says something that he doesn’t quite catch, and then repeats himself—a big stick. Oh,, thank the stars. "I’d take a small stick if it got me out of here," he says, his gaze only just shy of pleading.

He doesn’t see Fernpaw approaching, but he hears a second set of pawsteps, and his hope grows even more. He’s definitely going to get out, isn’t he? But then a pair of orange and white paws appear—and for a long, terrifying couple of heartbeats, it seems that his nephew is about to join him in his muddy fate. Fernpaw manages to keep his footing, though, and rushes off. Ghe thought crosses his mind of Fern just abandoning his uncle in his time of need. That would be, like, shitty. But Fern’s a good kid, and he would never do such a thing, Clay knows it.

When Bee’s face peers over the side of the pit that he’s stuck in, the tom attempts to look somewhat natural, as though he’s just relaxing. It’s clearly faux, and he only manages to slip more, fur standing up at odd angles from where it slides against the mud. He’s already covered in mud; what’s some more, just for the bit? "Yeah, yeah, I’m just… hanging out, cooling down. Totally wanted to be down here, y’know?" He laughs, panic subsiding as he spots the form of his nephew returning with a stick of some sort—hopefully to help him climb his way out of this pit. "Thank you guys," he says, reaching for the stick that’s offered down to him. Once his teeth are locked firmly around it, he gives the stick a tug, signaling that he’s ready.
​

[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[BEESONG]

beesong snorts at clayfur's quip, feigning exasperation with a shake of his head and roll of his eyes. "i see. well, good thing i don't share a den with you, seeing as how you'll be cleaning mud from your fur for the next moon." his sarcastic words are punctuated by a wry smile, making a point to rake his gaze across the mess of clayfur's soiled pelt. beesong would truly hate to be in the other's position; just the thought of mud caking him from head to toe is enough to have him privately grimacing at the phantom sensation.

it's always funnier when it happens to someone else, as they say.

once clayfur's got a hold of the stick, giving a tug to signal he's ready, beesong would glance towards the other two present. silently beckoning murkblossom and fernpaw to help them; the stars above know that the small healer alone wouldn't be enough to drag the hefty clayfur out from the pit. beesong begins to try and haul clayfur from the mud, claws unsheathing to give them leverage as their paws scrabble against the ground.​