[Fawn]

Russethawk
Tom || 33 Moons || RainClan || Warrior
Don't let the world get you down

A cold wind whipped through RainClan's territory. The camp stream was still frozen, and much of the river was stuck at a sluggish crawl or a stalmate against the ice coating it. A cold wind was chilling the hearts of their Clanmates, it seemed, in these depressing, tragic times.

Russethawk's deep red pelt was ruffled by the strong gusts, framing his ruddy face in a thick mane that had grown out over the course of Leaf-bare. Ashclaw, an ordinary tom who did not seem quite so caught up in the raging civil war back at camp, kept pace behind him as Russethawk led the patrol to the edge of NightClan's territory. The scent markings were to be renewed, but it was with confidence that Russethawk could say there was no mistaking their claim to the wooded marsh. The wind, even now, was carrying the RainClan odor over NightClan's borders, reminding their shadowy neighbors of their territory rights.

Letting Ashclaw take the lead with a flick of his tail on the tom's shoulder, he slowed his pace so that he fell in step with Pikepaw, the opinionated, and at times anguished son of their deceased leader. Russethawk smiled at him, in spite of all that was wrong with their world lately. He knew the young tom must have had a lot on his mind, and Russethawk had made it clear on many occasions that he could come to him with any problems. He could lend an ear or even help work through the problem, if Pikepaw was willing to put that kind of trust in him.

Razorfa—Razorstar had been hard to win over too. Russethawk anticipated no less from his son. Seeing much of his old mentor in Pikepaw's bearing, Russethawk at once felt poorly equipped to be anyone's mentor—and somehow, he felt like the right cat for the job.

If he failed in his mentoring duties, it wouldn't be for lack of trying.

"Have your cuts healed?" Russethawk asked, aware of the fight that had taken place between Pikepaw and Coldpaw. Apparently Glowpaw had also been injured in the fighting, which was sad, but these things happened sometimes. Especially in times as tense as these. It was a wonder a fight hadn't broken out between the warriors also.

Ashclaw jumped over a fallen log, but his landing was awkward. Painful, even. Enough that the grey, brown and white tom hissed sharply, one front paw held up in an obvious sign of injury.

Russethawk went around the log.
"Are you alright?"

Ashclaw gingerly tested his paw, trying to put weight on it. He succeeded, but after a few winces, to walk a couple mouselengths forward.

"You should have Swanfeather or Ottersplash take a look at it." Mewed Russethawk. Probably Ottersplash. As of right now, he didn't trust Swanfeather not to make Ashclaw swear allegiance to either her and the other purists, or Timberwing and the 'traitors'. The very idea that their medicine cat may refuse to help someone was enough to rub his fur all the wrong way. Russethawk's whiskers twitched, but the build up to an agitated look was disrupted by Ashclaw's response.

"Yeah," he mewed, glowering at his paw as if it were the one at fault. "Guess I'd better. You two gonna finish up here?"

Russethawk nodded. They would handle the border patrol just fine.

---
Word Count: 558 Words
Tags: Insidious
Notes: Border Patrol Thread Requirement. =)

[Insidious]

His cuts had healed for the most part, and that was good enough for him. When he had taken Glowpaw to see the medicine cat, his own injuries hadn't evaded the she-cat's eye, but he had stubbornly insisted that he was fine and didn't need to be treated. He had been in too foul a mood to deal with herbs and cobweb; he was still in too foul a mood, not even wanting to see Swanfeather's face after the announcement she had made prior to the Gathering.

"It's nothing." The salmon-and-black tom grumbled, brushing off the fact that it still stung where one of Coldpaw's claws had hooked under his skin. If he went to get his wounds checked, he was admitting that the white tom had actually hurt him enough to make it an issue, and he was not about to do that. Pikepaw was a lot of things, and stubborn was most certainly one of them.

"He was hogging a meal all too himself, y'know? Who does that in leafbare?" Pikepaw shook his head, still riled up, apparently. He didn't even notice that Ashclaw had hurt himself until Russethawk said something about Swanfeather. The young tom's ears pricked, distaste clear in his eyes at mention of the medicine cat's name. He saw the tom off with the weight of his stare, unable to suppress the nagging voice in the back of his head that said Ashclaw was weak for not sucking it up. He wouldn't go and see Swanfeather even if his life depended on it. Ottersplash was something different entirely, because Pikepaw couldn't even be sure that the timid cat was reliable enough to handle the sick or the injured. He had never thought so bitterly of the tom before now. He couldn't help but question every decision Swanfeather made when she did the same with his father.

Pikepaw wandered closer to the border, sniffing the markers. "I bet NightClan's holding up better than we are. I doubt they would let a medicine cat commit this kind of treason without feeding them to the foxes." His musings were a manifestation of his current resentment towards his clan. Glancing over his shoulders, he met his mentor's gaze evenly. He had been so close to Razorstar... it was harder than he cared to admit to keep all traces of melancholy out of his cold, dead eyes. "Everything sucks right now, doesn't it?"

Fawn

[Fawn]

Russethawk
Tom || 33 Moons || RainClan || Warrior
Don't let the world get you down

"He was hogging a meal all too himself, y'know? Who does that in leafbare?"

Russethawk's face twinged in a look of ruefulness, remembering the small but significant details about Coldpaw's life. "A cat who saw his sister starve to death," he mewed thoughtfully, looking at Pikepaw. His tone wasn't one that indicated a lecture (Russethawk wasn't really the kind of cat for that), but wondered if his apprentice would see things differently if he learned a little empathy. "It was selfish of Coldpaw, but this leafbare has spooked a lot of cats." It had been a tough, almost impossible season.

Letting Pikepaw mull over those words (or disregard them, which was a possibility), he bobbed his head once for agreement. "Everything does suck mud right now, but it'll get better. RainClan won't just roll over and die because we've hit some troubled waters." But that doesn't mean it's going to be easy. Thinking to their medicine cat who had so recently gone rogue, stirring up antagonistic views and dividing the Clan, Russethawk's shoulder fur almost bristled with dislike.

He paused to renew the scent markings, brushing his deep ruddy pelt along a few large river rocks that distinguished RainClan's border from StoneClan's. Letting curiosity distract him from the Clan's issues, Russethawk's emerald-green eyes narrowed, observing the quietness in the opposing territory.

It was a relief that StoneClan was not being particularly hostile towards them. Russethawk didn't know if the Clan could handle enemies from without while they were trying to cope with enemies from within.
"No matter what happens," Russethawk spoke, remembering the cold, dark shadow of StormClan "We can't raise our claws to our own Clanmates. Even if we think they're wrong. We have to be better than that."

There wasn't going to be innocent blood spilled in RainClan. Not if he had anything to say about it.
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Word Count: 312 Words
Tags: Insidious
Notes: ---

[Insidious]

Russethawk’s kindness and patience unnerved the black-and-salmon tom. Where he responded to difficulties with a sharp, callous tongue, Russethawk responded with fairness and reason. It was commendable, but Pikepaw, in his current state, wanted nothing to do with anything that was commendable. All he wanted was to hear that Russethawk agreed with him. He wanted further proof that Coldpaw had done something unthinkable. Unsurprisingly, that wasn’t what he received from his mentor, and he turned his head to the side to veil his disappointment. He couldn’t expect Russethawk to say anything bad about his clanmates, especially the one who didn’t stand on Swanfeather’s side of the divide, but that wasn’t going to stop Pikepaw.

When Russethawk said they couldn’t resort to violence against their own clanmates, he nearly rolled his eyes. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t hurt any of them, but what Swanfeather was doing… it was violence of an entirely different kind. When she spoke up against Timberwing becoming RainClan’s leader, and implied that Razorstar had left them with an unfit replacement, she had violently ripped his heart in two.

His mentor didn’t seem to understand how pained he was by everything that transpired. He hid it beneath his anger, and apparently, he did that well. His claws unsheathed involuntarily, digging into the dirt to find some kind of hold. “Those aren’t my clanmates anymore.” He kept his voice low, speaking the words to himself more than anything, but he wouldn’t complain if Russethawk happened to hear him. There was no telling when he had become such a dramatic cat, but Swanfeather and her followers had brought out the worst in him. If for whatever reason they apologized for everything they had done, the lines they had drew between clanmates, he would be the last to welcome them back. The thought of sinking his claws into one of them, all of them, was satisfying, but he knew it wouldn’t fix anything that he was feeling.

“I’m going back to camp.” Pikepaw announced through gritted teeth. Their lesson wasn’t over – he wasn’t sure what they were even supposed to be doing – but he didn’t want to be around his mentor, or anyone for that matter. Russethawk was trying to make him think more positively, but it was doing the opposite, and he couldn’t handle it for another second. His father was dead, the deputy wasn’t able to get her nine lives, and he almost caught himself wishing that one of their neighbouring clans would issue an attack and end their suffering altogether. He had already become something of a loner, anyway.

Fawn