[BlooRey DVD]

[smear:e61932]Sunpulse[/smear:f7ff2e]

Sunpulse felt relief wash over him as his patrol descended into what has known as NightClan's camp. His pawsteps were steady, but it was apparent just how much thought he had to put into every single one. He was ready to sleep for moons now, especially after carrying another cat, despite how small she might be. Sunpulse glanced appreciatively to his left, where Hazeheart was doing all he could to help the ginger tom. Without his friend's shoulder, Sunpulse figured he might not have made it all the way back. He had had sense enough to send Echobreeze on ahead; Smokefur might appreciate the heads up.

...Even if that heads up came in the form of a stammering tortoiseshell she-cat. He had nearly sent Hollypaw forth, but he was reluctant in sending an apprentice alone, even if it was just along the path home. You just never knew when danger might rear its ugly head; the attack today proved his point. He noticed the senior warrior was pacing restlessly just outside of Smokefur's den, the gray medicine cat barely visible inside her den. Sunpulse guessed that Smokefur was busily preparing whatever herbs she might need to treat the injured TreeClanner.

The ginger tom moved rather wordlessly toward his destination, noticing a strange lightness to his limbs. It was almost as though they weren't there, and was a clear indication that it was just about time he put down this other cat. Not being overly large himself, he could feel his body's quitting point right around the corner. Slipping into Smokefur's den, the tom hid his collapse with an awkward kneeling sit. He nearly just toppled over, instead waiting for Hazeheart, or anyone really, to help the she-cat off his back. He only hoped she hadn't lost too much blood; he could feel some of it clinging to his skin after seeping through his fur.

Crawling away from Littlestep, the ginger tom sat silently for a moment near the wall of Smokefur's den. He couldn't quite find the words to speak in that moment. To his surprise, it was Echobreeze who spoke up again. "C-Can you h-help her, Smokef-fur? W-What can w-we d-do?" What a simple thing to ask. And yet... Really it made the most sense in this situation. Skirting along the edges on shaky paws, Sunpulse did his best to stay out of the medicine cat's way. Unless, of course, she asked for assistance. The gray medicine cat was a capable she-cat, however, and had likely seen injuries like this, and potentially worse.

For the time being he took another seat, this time beside Hollypaw. With a slight clearing of his throat, he turned to her. "Starlingcry has taught you well, your nose is quick to catch a smell. I'll be sure to notify her of just how much help you were."



Fawn Phoenix @poptart

[Deleted]

    Smokefur had received a warning order that there had been cats injured in a fox attack. The medicine cat skillyfully picked through her pitiful supply to try and gather enough cobwebs and herbs to treat a fox attack. She hoped the injured cat was savable, however given the optimism and good nature of the rescue party it was quite possible the cat was already dead. Smokefur hoped they wouldn't bring a half eaten cat back to her den. Soon Sunpulse entered her domain with an injured cat on his back, just as was explained. Her eyes widened in surprise as she caught the scent of Treeclan mixed in with the stench of fox, a fact that she hadn't been informed of before the patrols' arrival. This made Smokefur curious as to how the injured cat ended up in Nightclan territory, but it didn't put her off in the slightest. She thanked Sunpulse quickly before she crouched down beside the Treeclaner and began to poke and inspect her wounds, she wreaked of fox and Smokefur noted the damage on her flank as the worst she had recieved. "What's your name?" Smokefur asked before starting to gently lick the cats flank, she needed to clean the wound before she could treat it.

[Phoenix]

THERE’LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE

It struck her, as she rode along atop the ginger tabby’s back, that she they were almost certainly headed toward NightClan’s camp. She had never seen the inner reaches of their neighbor’s territory before, and an undeniable curiosity had her raising her head slightly from its slumped position as the stench of NightClan and the noise of a camp grew louder. Had any TreeClan warrior seen NightClan’s camp? Distracted by the growing pain in her hindquarters, she was having a hard time remembering even as she found herself growing a little more alert as an interest in her surroundings kept a little of heavy exhaustion at bay.

As a result, enough awareness had returned by the time they reached the entrance to the camp for Littlestep to feel some trepidation as they disappeared underground. She would never have guessed that a clan would willingly choose to burrow like rabbits, and the low hanging ceiling and overwhelming scent of earth and NightClan had her feeling more than a little claustrophobic. A sense of non-belonging filled her, and just like that, her desire to go home returned. She did not feel right among the roots of trees, deep in the ground like a rodent; the warm, familiar scent of home called to her, and she belonged in the sheltered openness of TreeClan’s camp, protected as it was by overhanging boughs whose leaves danced shadows across the forest floor during greener times. Silently, the warrior wished that she could see the comfortingly familiar faces of Lionstar and Littletimber, perhaps come to return her to their own camp, among the NightClan felines that peered out at their party, and she could not help but feel ever so slightly – irrationally – disappointed when instead her wandering gaze was met only with strangers.

The strong scent of herbs told her when they entered the medicine cat’s den, and she did her best to not be a deadweight as the two warriors moved her from their backs to the ground. The movement jostled her, and the pain that had been quietly smoldering toward the back of her mind flared up again as she landed strangely and off balance. Breathing deeply, she gritted her teeth and righted herself to watch the approaching medicine cat. Unable to remember the other she-cat’s name, Littlestep found herself wishing that she had paid a little more attention at Gatherings, but almost as if sensing the TreeClanner’s dilemma, the NightClan she-cat from the patrol spoke up from the side, stuttering voice breaking the relative silence in the den. Smokefur. She would remember that. Idly, she noted that Smokefur did not answer the question, but she hoped that was more because the obviously distracted she-cat had started to work and not because her prognosis seemed so grim. Heh. How ironic would it be for a TreeClan cat to die in NightClan’s medicine cat den? The huff of breath that constituted a chuckle rattled her frame, and she hoped that StarClan didn’t have a sense of humor.

Hers didn’t stay for much longer. Hissing in pain, Littlestep turned around as a rough tongue scraped over her raw wounds in a mockery of tenderness; the medicine cat did not intend to cause her anymore harm, she knew logically, but instinct had her nearly flinching away from the otherwise gentle swipes. “Littlestep,” She answered the healer’s question in an attempt to distract herself from the bite of sandpaper over exposed muscle. “Ah – did I thank you for helping me?” A pause, and then she shifted her gaze and glanced around at all of the assembled cats, including each in every one of them in her gratitude. The words came out rough, and her throat was tired. “Well, thank you. Ah – all of you. This leaf-bare doesn’t leave much for – ah – the kind of generosity you showed me, and I appreciate it a lot.” If prey was as scarce in NightClan as it was in TreeClan, then she figured that Ravenstar would have all able-bodied warriors and apprentices out hunting; instead, these cats had used their valuable energy to save her, and now Smokefur would have to take from her stores of herbs to treat the open wounds along her flank.

Another hiss slid through clenched jaws, and she swung her head around to the younger tom who had dragged her away from the fox. Seeing the blood on his face, she suddenly remembered with startling clarity the way her claw had raked across his nose. “Uh, should you – ah – maybe get that looked at…?”

Littlestep | TreeClan | Warrior | Carry on my Wayward Son - Kansas

LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REST

Fawn BlooRey DVD @poptart

[Fawn]

[smear:663399]Hollypaw[/smear:e61985]
9 Moons. She-Cat. NightClan.

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After Sunpulse set the TreeClan she-cat down (more like the others helped her off his shoulders, he looked almost ready to collapse), Hollypaw got a better look at the blood staining the warrior tom's fur. She didn't like the way it marred the bright ginger stripes, darkening them closer to a reddish brown. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, but his rhymed speech broke her displeased bubble.
He was going to tell Starlingcry about this? It didn't make much to stroke the apprentice's ego, but hearing positive remarks from a capable warrior of NightClan (albeit a little odd with the rhyming, but that was easy to overlook) who also planned to report to Starlingcry about her progress—it was enough to make her pride inflate.
"Thanks." She won't be impressed, though. Hollypaw kept these cynical thoughts to herself. No one had died (so far) and she hadn't frozen up like she'd half-expected herself to, in the event of a real dangerous scenario. Feeling good about herself, one black ear twitched in the injured cat's direction, catching her words.

She's a warrior? Could have fooled me! From what she knew of TreeClan cats (which, admittedly wasn't flattering), they were not small of stature. Hollypaw was the same size as Littlestep! Maybe she was a new apprentice? Hollypaw did not care enough to ask, but she took that into consideration, fully coming into the realization that this she-cat would have been fox-meat if they hadn't saved her.

That wasn't an exaggeration at all.

Rather than stick around and watch Smokefur work on fixing Littlestep, Hollypaw stretched, purring low in her throat as she turned to walk away from the group. She felt good about herself, good enough that she spoke to her brother's mentor with a certain friendliness. "I'm checking the freshkill pile. Do you want to share some prey with me? You look like you need it." The black she-cat's bright green eyes glinted, warm but mischievous. Imagine how jealous the other apprentices would be that she got to hang around an older warrior? And fought off a fox without getting even a single scratch? Yes, her role was minimal—but Hollypaw would leave the details up to the imaginations of her peers.

~*~

[smear:fa401c]HAZEHEART[/smear:000000]

21 Moons || NightClan || Tom || Narcoleptic

The cut across his nose stung like a thorn in the eye, making his sight watery no matter how much he rubbed his paws against his eyes to clear away the moisture. Hazeheart harbored not even a sliver of ill-will towards the she-cat—accidents were accidents, and by StarClan, who could blame her for almost scratching his face off? He hadn't done a very good job of announcing himself. A hiss slipped through the she-cat's teeth, and he winced with great empathy as Smokefur applied a herbal poultice to Littlestep's flank. Littlestep. That was a nice name. Not nearly as leafy as he'd been expecting (it was TreeClan, after all. There were certain naming patterns to be found in every Clan, he noticed).

The blood dribbled into his nose, and he sniffed and huffed, trying to clear his nasal passages well enough that he could speak without sounding like he had his head stuck in a rabbit den, but to no avail. His response was hasty, not wanting anyone to worry about him—especially not a cat who was far, far more wounded than he was. "I can wait! You need treatment first." He mewed, sounding a little stuffy, his whiskers twitching. He would get it looked at, but only after Littlestep had been seen too first. Hazeheart's injuries were scarcely worth a she-cat losing her life over.

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Word Count: 605 Words
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