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Post by Deleted on Jan 20, 2016 23:49:26 GMT -5
Leafbare, Day 20
It had been .. she couldn't remember. It had been entirely too long since she had seen the forests of NightClan. She could still feel the sting of rejection, but she had long since learned to live with it. The tom she loved would never be hers, and her moons alone in the mountains had given her time. Time to think, time to mourn, time to sulk. It had taken a long time before she could actually feel something other than numbness and sorrow. It was only after she had nearly starved herself and actually felt the coldness of death that she realised she didn't want to die. Not like that. Not cold and alone and in a hole of self-pity. So she had pulled herself together, rose above herself, and started to take care of herself.
It was difficult. There were times she felt like giving up again. But she pressed on. She wandered in the mountains aimlessly, not really caring where she went. During her self-imposed exile, she learned a lot about herself. She had already known she was a proud bitch of a cat, but being alone made her question what there was to be proud of. There was no one here to gloat to, to tease, to put down to make herself feel better. She had to learn that inflated pride didn't make her any better than anyone else. Had she learned modesty? Not by a long shot. But she knew that her pride was hollow and hid more insecurities than she knew she had.
So she had learned to better herself. Fending for herself was tough. She had to learn to adapt. She taught herself to hunt in ways she had never needed to before, and learned that just about anything could be a comfortable place to rest if you were tired enough. Still, even with her newfound hunting techniques, being a loner in the mountains was no cakewalk. She was thin and her fur dull, but her claws were sharp and her reflexes sharper. That was another thing she had learned was meaningless. Being alone meant that no one was there to see how pretty your multicolored fur was, or how healthy and well you seemed without your ribcage showing. Her vanity was still there; there was just no one to show off to.
As tough as it had been in the beginning, though, it had never been this rough. The storm that had blown in so suddenly had the she-cat nearly trapped for days. There was no way to go out hunting in the blizzard, and very little shelter she could find. She managed to dig herself into the snow, but it was a cold little hole, no matter how tightly she curled up, and she felt as though she had dug her own grave.
When the wind let up, she would stick her head out of her shelter, and risk moving. She knew she couldn't stay where she was. Without her really noticing, her paws were slowly carrying her down the mountain and toward NightClan territory. It took a few days, digging herself into the snow to rest, coming out when the winds died, but eventually she stood on a rise overlooking the pine forests she used to call home.
The day was surprisingly calm, though the skies were still overcast. It was still early morning, but the sun would never break through the clouds. She hesitated, wondering if she was really ready to give up her pride and come crawling back to NightClan, begging for readmittance. She fought with herself a moment, and her pride almost won out. But then her stomach gurgled. She couldn't make this leaf-bare alone. She heaved a sigh, then took a deep, steadying breath, before slowly cutting a path through the snow toward what used to be home.
P O I S O N L E A F Fawn |
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Post by Fawn on Jan 26, 2016 23:20:56 GMT -5
BLACKWOLF
55 Moons || Senior Warrior || NightClan Everywhere he looked, nothing. Prey was scarcer than spots on a badger, and it had put him in a fouler mood than usual. If his three kits had still been nursery-age, the black-furred warrior would have flung himself into his duties with an infernal fervor, determined to bring back something for his mate and their offspring. But they were slowly becoming self-sufficient, if their mentors were doing their damn jobs correctly; that did not mean he hunted poorly, it meant that he hunted with less pressure on him to return with something.
It was a matter of pride, now.
The beginning phases of thawing had begun, but like a cruel tease, a colder wind still blew across the valley and what had melted had been refrozen, leaving an unpleasantly thick coating of ice over everything. His paw pads broke through the icy crust to the still-deep snow underneath, leaving a hard trail behind him as he searched the forest for prey. The slight crunch when he walked made it impossible to maintain any attempt at stealth, and it wasn't long before the black warrior gave up, now looking above for any birds that were considering landing nearby.
He hated bird-hunting, preferring to run down his prey like a proper predator, not swat it out of the air like a game of mossball between kits. As he took a long step towards a tall naked pine a few rabbit lengths away, the sound of his paw steps seemed to echo back to him faintly. What? This wasn't what you'd call an enclosed space, not even a blind cat would call it that.
He was being followed.
Blackwolf's eyes narrowed, fur ruffling along his neck and broad shoulders, displeased by this turn of events. Fox? Weasel? Badger? The possibility of that last creature drew his thoughts to the long scar running diagonally along his chest, and the hellish fight he had survived that had earned such a scar. Turning slowly, Blackwolf began to scan his surroundings.
He thought he saw the flash of a ginger tail as a creature hunkered low near frost-flecked roots.
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Word Count: 345 Words
Tags: Amber
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Post by Deleted on Feb 11, 2016 13:01:10 GMT -5
As she drew closer to the valley, she could make out the dark spires of the Black Woods, and she couldn't help but think back to the last time she had been there. She had finally decided to confess her feelings to the cat she had loved for so long, and he had rebuked her. He had rejected her, and she couldn't take it, so she had fled. But she had grown since then, and had learned to lock away the feelings she had harboured for the tom. Now that she was returning to where he was, she only hoped it would be easier for her.
Gradually, the snow grew shallower, until she no longer had to plow her way through. She crunched through the snow, paws sinking slightly. Finally, she crossed the treeline and began trekking the familiar path back to NightClan's camp. She scanned the forest around her constantly, keeping her senses alert for anyone, or anything, that might be lurking. She wasn't sure how her appearance would be accepted, but she knew she wouldn't be met with open paws and warm smiles.
Poisonleaf froze as she heard faint crunching noises, and it took a moment before she recognized it as pawsteps through the snow. She turned her head toward the sound, seeing a faint shadow a ways away. Her heart caught in her throat; she'd recognize that black coat, that manner of movement, anywhere. Her resolve began to melt. Could she really face him again? She watched as he stopped and glanced around, wondering what it was that could have grabbed his attention.
A flash of ginger caught her eye, and her decision was made for her as she saw the creature it belonged to. A fox. Any other day, a fox would make a fierce competitor. But she could see the lines of its ribcage, and knew that it was starving just as much as they were. The fox stood between her and Blackwolf, hiding from his line of sight behind a tree. It wasn't even aware of her existence.
She would use that to her advantage. She crouched low, attempting to keep her paws light. Stepping forward carefully, she tried to minimize the crunching of the snow. She was closing the distance between herself and the fox, until she saw the creature's ears flick back. She froze, hardly breathing. Almost in slow motion, the fox turned its head toward her. Every fur on her body stood on end, and it was only then that she realized how heavy her heart was pounding. The fox fixed its eye on her, and she inhaled sharply. Now or never.
She rocked back on her hindlegs before launching forward with a loud cauterwall. "Blackwolf! Fox!" As soon as she cried out, the fox reacted. The ginger beast snarled and leapt forward, cutting a path to plow right over her. At the last moment, Poisonleaf dug her paws into the ground and changed direction, lunging to the left. As the fox's momentum carried it past her, she struck out an unsheathed paw to rake down its side. The fur was thick, though, and her claws just barely reached its skin. Her claws came away covered in ginger fur, and she spun around as fast as she could.
The fox had recovered quicker though, and was already lunging toward her. Her pale green eyes widened in fear as she saw the open jaws bearing down upon her as she scrambled to get out of the way. She managed to slip to the side, but only enough to protect her face and neck. She cried out as teeth tore through her hindquarters. She tried to twist her upper body to strike out at the fox, but to no avail. The fox gripped her tightly, and panic filled her.
She tossed her head around, looking for Blackwolf. When she found him, she fixed her panic-filled eyes onto his dual-colored ones. "Run!" She didn't want him to fight. She wanted him to escape. She was protecting him, the only way she knew how. It was better her in the fox's jaws than him. She loved him too much to watch him die. She loved him too much.
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Post by Fawn on Feb 13, 2016 17:48:35 GMT -5
BLACKWOLF
55 Moons || Senior Warrior || NightClan A mottled ginger and black creature hurtled towards him—but it was not the one he had expected. With a high warning cry, a cat he had not seen in nine moons threw herself upon the fox.
"Blackwolf! Fox!"
The solid black warrior was made observer to a whirlwind of panic and fear and mayhem as fox grappled with cat—both starved and fighting for their right to live—until Blackwolf tipped the scale in the she-cat's favor. Poisonleaf! Said the shocked voice of recognition in his head, and he bristled, turned savage by the sight of an old friend clenched in the jaws of that ragged sack of fox-meat.
"Run!" Poisonleaf screeched at him in a voice drenched in fear, and he could have laughed if another cat's life wasn't on the line. He never ran, not when there was NightClan blood being spilled by a creature that had no right to lay a claw on his Clanmates.
Blackwolf lunged, well-practiced in the art of going for the throat, and he felt Poisonleaf's tortoiseshell coat, slick with blood, brush against his face as he rushed by. They had not parted on good terms. He had been so angry at her for being so angry at him, irritated that she did not see how important a friend she was to him, irritated that she blamed Ghostlight for the reason why he didn't return her feelings.
It was a stupid argument. And it had ended just as foolishly as it had begun. Poisonleaf had disappeared, just as he and his mate were welcoming their kits into the world; if Poisonleaf had stuck around and cast aside her love for him, she could have been mentoring one of his kits. Something he would have trusted her with completely, seconded only to Ravenstar. Dimstar, Sunpulse and Starlingcry were acceptable mentors, but it was not what he had expected.
Obviously the world didn't always go exactly how he wanted it to, and he had adapted like any great warrior to the changes.
Claws like needles sank into the fox's shoulder, digging in as deep as he could, becoming so many thorns in the animal's hide that it would have no choice but to let go, his own teeth clenched at the side of the fox's throat. With such a large animal, it was no small feat to actually tear its throat out—not like a weasel, which was small enough that he could crush its throat between his teeth—so he focused on puncturing it, letting the strength and life drain out of it in a messy spattering of blood all over the broken snow and ice.
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Word Count: 442 Words
Tags: Amber
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Post by Deleted on Mar 9, 2016 11:33:48 GMT -5
She wanted so badly for him to run. Wanted his sense of self-preservation to override anything he might have felt for her. Wanted him to protect himself.
But she knew. She knew, no matter how much she wished for him to flee, that he wouldn't back down. He wouldn't leave her to die, no matter how much she wanted him to.
Damn him.
The scent of fox and blood were strong in her nose, but his scent, once it arrived, was stronger. It surrounded her, filled her, and her eyes fluttered closed briefly. The fox jolted, and her eyes snapped open, her milliseconds of strange peace broken. She twisted her head around and saw Blackwolf attached to the fox. Claws in its shoulder and teeth in its neck, Blackwolf hung on, and Poisonleaf almost shouted at him to let go and run away.
Almost. She didn't get the chance to, though, as the fox let out a cry of pain, her leg slipping from its jaws. She fell to the ground, her hindquarters landing with a wet 'splat' in the puddle of her own blood. Her eyes fell quickly to the gouges in her right hindleg, and she grimaced more out of reaction than actual pain. Adrenaline was working wonders at numbing her pain, and she was unconsciously thankful for it.
Still half on her side in the snow, she looked up. Almost directly above her head, the fox bared its fangs in anger. It was no longer focused on her, though, and her eyes drifted to where Blackwolf held fast. He had claws in its shoulder and teeth in its neck, and she could see blood beginning to drip from the beast’s neck. It wasn’t enough, though, not compared to the way she was bleeding and the dangerous position the two cats were in. Strengthening her willpower, Poisonleaf struggled to find most of her paws. The blood-soaked snow was slippery and made her task difficult, but by some feat of magic she managed to stand on three shaky legs. The fourth was pressed fully to the ground, but she couldn't feel much of it, which left her with an odd sensation.
She watched as the fox shook itself, trying to shake off the claws and teeth digging into its shoulder and neck. Something about the way Blackwolf clung there sparked a rage in Poisonleaf, and with that strange blind strength feeding her, she snarled and lunged forward. Pushing off with her uninjured leg, she lept up and fixed her teeth into the fox’s throat opposite Blackwolf. Her claws followed quickly, digging into the fox’s chest and shoulder. Blood pooled in her mouth and the fox cried out, but she hung on, knowing she was fighting not only for her life, but for Blackwolf’s as well. And she wouldn’t let go until the fox was dead at their paws.
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Post by Fawn on May 1, 2016 14:04:01 GMT -5
BLACKWOLF
55 Moons || Senior Warrior || NightClan It was a wretched death. Both slow and fast at the same time, the fox died in a mess of twitching limbs and pooling blood. Blackwolf spat out the creature's fur with a disgusted cough. His body was still primed for battle, muscles tense, posture that of a crouched panther prepared to lash out at precisely the right moment—but then the blood-lust cleared.
Blackwolf swung his bicolored gaze around to pinpoint Poisonleaf, and he took a cautious step forward, sniffing the leg wound for any trace of foulness (who knew what that fox had). The iron reek brought his thoughts back in order.
"Lean against my shoulder, you're going to bleed out if we don't get you to Smokefur."
Of course, she probably knew that.
When the last time Poisonleaf had eaten a steady meal or slept in a safe place, Blackwolf didn't know. While this didn't stir his sympathies (what did any cat expect, running off and living life as a loner?), he knew it would make her weak even without the leg injury. The sooner they got back to camp, the better.
That she had saved his life didn't go unnoticed. Blackwolf wasn't the most gracious cat; it would take a while to work up the nerve to say 'thank you'. For now, however, he made up for his lack of words with better behavior, helping Poisonleaf get through the snow. He considered going ahead and pushing aside a trail for her to get through, but the time he spent doing that would be too dangerous. Her leg looked nasty, and the deep red on the snow wasn't letting up.
Perhaps the cold would numb the pain.
Unless they ran into a patrol on the way back to the cavern, it was going to be just the two of them.
Determined to pay her back in kind, Blackwolf clenched his jaw, feeling the tortoiseshell she-cat's meager weight resting against him as he started a slow but determined stride for NightClan.
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Word Count: 339 Words
Tags: Amber
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