[Fawn]

→ROOKFROST←

_{Medicine Cat of LightningClan}

---

Dangerous hours call for dangerous men, or so the saying went. On the eve of battle, here the monsters assembled, a ghastly platoon of war, death, famine and pestilence wearing cloaks of fur – he himself the bringer of death and deliverer of life both. The macabre orange and red sunset streaked with violet was like a forewarning of what was to come tomorrow, of the blood that would be spilled and of those who would not be coming home with them. Though the possibility of losing should have been on the forefront of the healer's mind, being a Medicine Cat and likely to witness more carnage than most cats in his lifetime ever had the misfortune to see, it wasn't.

This was not the first time Rookfrost had been conscious of the idea of so many cats being in pain stirring nothing within him; was it wrong to feel so empty at the concept of Clan cats going for each other's throats, orphaning, widowmaking and some even outright prone to murder? If it was, there was nothing he intended to do about it. This was his nature, and whether his nature was in direct, unforgiving contrast with the nature of every soft-hearted StarClan loving cat in this forest, then so be it.

If the price he paid for being different was emptiness, then let him be a void. He had ways of satisfying the burning curiosity and that ever-present thirst for knowledge, and it was that cold, scientific lack of remorse that allowed him to act in his best interests and his alone.

Something shifted out of the corners of his eyes, and Rookfrost flicked an ear to the left, picking up the light treading sound of a LightningClan cat – Cherrypool, by the stark flash of white painted orange by the sunset – approaching, the slight turning of his head in so fluid a movement almost owl-like, with a little more of a disturbing air to it. Their eyes meeting, the albino with the red oculars and pale skin that burned oh so easily in the sun made a faint dip of the head, that brief but profitable alliance they had made a few moons ago still hanging over the she-cat like a Damocles Sword, ready to pierce her straight through should he ever act upon the debt in need of paying.

Something like a clearing of the throat was made by Cherrypool, but he ignored this, holding no such curiosity over her purpose for being here – so long as she didn't start rambling or suddenly decide to have a pre-battle breakdown, she could stay here. Shifting his gaze back to the sunlight, the fiery orange and red hues danced in icy eyes like hellfire, a precursor to what they would both be seeing tomorrow.

The approach of other cats – some RainClan and a few other Clanmates of theirs – did not break the revere of the black-cloaked Medicine Cat, though the alabaster warrior with the short coat but the long history of mistrust seemed to be eying them wearily. Rookfrost had no need for social graces or polite conversations with cats who did not even share the same Clan as he – not that that was the standard by which he measured who was worthy of conversing with or not – there was much to think about.

So many things tomorrow would bring – victory, in the sense of battle, and satisfaction for the cat whose curiosity killed whatever he saw fit.

OOC: I will add a more in-depth Cherrypool part in next post! But Whiteshade, Razorfang, Nightpaw and anyone else for StormClan can feel free to jump in!

[Insidious]

R A Z O R F A N G

Razorfang was deputy of RainClan, therefore, he couldn't claim himself as being delighted to be taking shelter in the camp of LightningClan. He wore his independence as if it were a bright red flag: bright, vivid and for all eyes to see. Therefore, it could easily be assumed that he wasn't entirely fond to be relying on a separate clan for shelter. Still, he vowed to remain collected – for he wanted to present himself as a proper deputy to better RainClan's reputation. Not that he suspected any LightningClan cat to be curious of the position's holder. Besides, anyone that dare doubt his capabilities would easily be introduced to his not-so-friendly shark teeth. Since becoming deputy, he had found himself more capable of controlling the anger that was once so easy to set off. Although, he knew exactly where to channel it from; need be it ever be brought to the surface for another round.

The hazelnut masked warrior had been nearest LightningClan's outskirts, the constant lashing of his thinly furred tail exhibiting his lack of interest in conversing with any LightningClan inhabitant. However, there was seemingly no use in lounging about; portraying himself as an angry, lost kit amongst the happy-go-lucky types of the litter. A sideway glance indicated a pair of LightningClan cats nearby: one jet black with hollow, gray eyes. The other his polar-opposite, being white-as-snow with an ominous, crimson-red stare that intrigued his inner curiousity for the briefest of moments. A silent snort indicated the tom-cat was fully aware of what he was doing. Rising from his seat, the muscled form of RainClan's deputy approached with stretched, fluent strides.

Reaching the pair, Razorfang accustomed himself to a seated stance once again, dipping his head in the politest greeting he could muster. Gray-green eyes flickered from Rookfrost to Cherrypool, jaws parting just wide enough to reveal the unusual sharpness each tooth possessed. “Rookfrost,” Razorfang knew the tom-cat's name; he wouldn't be quick to forget the face that brought the news of Blazestar's death to the ears of Roselight upon the duo's outing. Momentarily, a shiver of annoyance rippled down his spine - the image of Roselight being attracted to this Blazestar bringing a sour tinge to his taste buds.The she-cat, however, was a different story. Perhaps, he'd seen her in the territory before. Regardless, he refrained from being able to put a name to those velvet-red eyes. “I don't believe we've met; name's Razorfang.” A half-grin pulled at the corner of his hazelnut jaw, gaze lingering upon her with the same icy intensity in which he addressed all of his clan.

Momentarily, a search of his surroundings was spared in hopes of finding Roselight. He didn't require the presence of a familiar RainClan face. Although, it'd surely ease the awkward air that emitted from such a conversation between those of LightningClan, and one of RainClan.

[Phoenix]

WHITESHADE LightningClan || Senior Warrior

With the impending assault that would begin the next day, it was no surprise that the battle was on the forefront of everyone’s mind. Some dreaded its approach, while others, himself included, willed the setting sun to rise once more, to finally shed its light on the new day which would bring so much destruction. And then, of course, there were the boring ones who walked along what others might call the healthy medium, ready to fight but unwilling to shed more blood than necessary. He despised those cats almost as much as he did the ones who would have to be dragged, yowling and flailing, into the fray. They were all so boring and held no appreciation whatsoever for the beauty of the battlefield, which was impossible to duplicate elsewhere. Battle itself was, perhaps, the one force that could completely unify a clan, for it gave them a common enemy. The result of a fight between two clans was impressive and memorable, and the joining of a couple of clans against a single one held a very high potential for great beauty. He could hardly imagine the elegance, both of the subtle and forthright type, which would emerge from the chaos of flashing claws and snapping jaws. It was an intricate dance acknowledged seemingly by no other than himself, and while it did spawn some form of disappointment from within him, he knew that had every cat appreciated it as much as himself, he would be very bored indeed. For it was this distinction that set him apart from the rest. On the battlefield, where they became little more than the instinctive animals that they hunted daily, he retained his refined consciousness and could rise above the subconscious fight for life that seemed to grip the rest of them. They feared death. They did not want to die, and they did not want to take the life of their opponents. He did not. He had no qualms about taking the life of a weaker creature, for he enjoyed doing so very much. Dying was simply not an option for him. While his opponents became prey in the midst of a fight, he remained the predator. Prey did not kill the predator; it was unthinkable. Therefore, the idea of him dying was equally unthinkable, and he had no reason to be bothered by such thoughts. But the others… The ground would be dyed red, literally, for days, and if he was lucky and the winds were still, the memorable scent of the liquid crimson would permeate the air for the next few days. Yes, he was looking forward to the event very much. Cherrypool’s scent, however, distracted him from his trance-like walk as he glided along the familiar territory. Though the occurrence itself was not particularly notable and he did not make a habit of actively searching out his sister, it was fairly recent, and exceptions existed to every rule. Since it had been roused with his thoughts on the upcoming battle, his monster lurked dangerously near the surface. What better way was there to relieve himself of the desire to prematurely end a feline’s life than to torment the red-eyed she-cat whom he called sister? With a deft shift in stride, he redirected his path along the other feline’s, following her scent with ease. His intended target, however, was not alone when he caught up with her. Alabaster limbs carried him smoothly over the terrain toward the group of three, who stood around in near silence. Approaching them, he composed himself, meticulously picking up the shards of normalcy that had fallen by the wayside and piecing them back together until he was little more than the quietly confident, senior warrior of LightningClan that they all expected him to be. All except Cherrypool, but she was as likely to spill his secret as she was her own. Inclining his head toward the felines as he named them, the tom greeted them evenly, ”Hello Cherrypool, Rookfrost, Razorfang.” He had, of course, recognized and identified them, as they were all very distinctive cats for reasons of their own. With Cherrypool as his sister and Rookfrost as his medicine cat, it was only fitting that he know them; Razorfang was the deputy of RainClan, and as such, it was equally prudent for him to know the tom, by name if nothing else. ”How are all of you on this enjoyable evening?” He wasn’t normally one for trivial pleasantries, but it was only courteous. It was a day full of exceptions, it seemed.

[Fawn]

→ROOKFROST←

_{Medicine Cat of LightningClan}

---

Accompanied by Roselight of RainClan & Cherrypool of LightningClan

The slight fluffing of her tail-tip conveyed the astonishment she felt a bit better than her eyes did, Cherrypool studying the half-smirk formed upon the light-jawed, dark-faced deputy of RainClan, feeling her stomach jolt. It was difficult to vulture-pick that expression apart, but Cherrypool attempted to anyway, momentarily hung up from a tree by the words and actions of Razorfang, the albino senior warrior struggling to climb back down to familiar ground.
Does he smirk at everyone like that or does he know something I don't?

Eyes narrowing, it took a few hesitant heartbeats to pass between them before she responded with a cautious short of civility; "Cherrypool." Well that was...new. Why in the name of StarClan would a high ranking feline outside of her own Clan ever have the desire to strike up a conversation with company so frightening as she? Ah but perhaps she was overthinking things; he had only introduced himself, there had been nothing in that smirk of his to indicate he had any intention of evolving their greeting into anything more than what it already was. Before she could analyze and process further behaviors of this 'Razorfang' - she had most certainly heard of him and his fearsome teeth - the perhaps untimely arrival clouded before her eyes like a white mist, obscuring everything around him so that he captured the majority of her attentions.

Whiteshade had always carried that sort of charm about him; even sitting at the edge of one's peripherals, if he wanted to be noticed, then sheer force of aura would pull the others to him like flies to crowfood. He even stirred the shadowy Medicine Cat out of his thoughts, though Cherrypool was the first to respond;
"Impatient." She replied. "Restless." Perhaps because she could not look upon the mirror-like surface of the water each day, perhaps it was an opinion formed out of what she knew of the monster hidden in plain sight, but Whiteshade's eyes always looked all the redder before a battle. As if his bloodlust were swelling and crashing against him like a tide, the water levels rising as each hour burned away into the evening.

~*~

With the arrival of the white devil, the black reaper turned his head to meet his gaze, his thoughts evolving from the carnage of battle to include a more specific inflicter, Rookfrost wholly certain he was looking upon a cat with a body-count that would be most welcome. Jet black ear tips swiveled forward, icy gaze snatched from Whiteshade's distinctive face to Cherrypool's, and then to Razorfang's, as if in a split second he had taken them apart and reconfigured them, estimating their survivability and the rate at which they would kill based upon strength and what little of their personalities he was actually aware of.
Rookfrost's gaze lingered upon the tom with the unnatural teeth.

Chin lifting, the black healer studied him.

Who are you then, with teeth I have not seen on any animal that claims to be a cat? It was as if Razorfang had taken another advancing step towards the betterment of their species without anyone's knowledge, as if he were the next level, with teeth like those. All the better to rip and to tear. All the better to kill and maim.

All the better.

Noting the state of the RainClan deputy's teeth, he could imagine the ease with which the tom tore into the soft, malleable flesh of a fish, Razorfang likely finding it no more difficult than tearing through leaves. If he could pluck a few from the mouth of the hazel-jawed high ranking cat nearby, then his dissections would be all the smoother. They would offer the precision he had been sorely, frustratingly lacking since he had begun to focus more of his attention on the process rather than the subject these days, due to...slow or uninteresting clientele.
May I outlive you, Razorfang of RainClan. So that I may stand over your grave and pluck those teeth from your skull without fear of calling any attention to my true colors.

Rookfrost entertained the notion that he might be able to steal the gleaming enamel points from Razorfang that much sooner should he perish in the battle tomorrow. This subtly changed his demeanor from indifferent to slightly more engaged in his surroundings and the cats whose actions stayed at the edge of his subconscious.
"With so many things on my mind. Tomorrow promises a great deal."
A great deal of what, Rookfrost left out of his cold response, icy oculars shifting as a creamy-furred she-cat and a lighter, fluffier ginger she-cat appeared from the direction of RainClan.

The smaller one let out a gasp, as though she had stumbled upon a ring of outlaws and murderers plotting the downfall of the Clans - but he could tell by the direction of the ginger she-cat's gaze that it was two-cats in particular who had provoked so bodily a reaction.

"My apologies - " said the pink-furred she-cat hastily, an ear flattened in friend's direction as though to show her annoyance. "Henfeather is not used to large groups of unfamiliar cats." He watched then as the pink-furred feline introduced herself, sharing a look next with the deputy of RainClan.
"My name is Roselight, it's nice to meet all of you." Her gaze lingered on Rookfrost's for only a split second, as if unnerved by the emptiness she saw there, Roselight taking her place beside her deputy.

Cherrypool let out a rattling hiss.
"Well Henfeather can leave then, if our appearances bother her. I will not stand here and be stared at!"

Henfeather cringed and huddled close to Roselight, who responded with the narrowing of her eyes and bristling of her shoulders; her voice was pointed but polite, words clipped as she regarded Cherrypool with sharp cerulean pools. "She isn't staring, so get off your high rock and allow us to sit here in peace."

[Insidious]

R A Z O R F A N G

It was the arrival of a second white-as-snow, red-as-blood eyed feline that captured the RainClan deputy's attention next, gray-green pools of dull pigmentation fixating the tom with a quiet, analytical gaze. Razorfang could not successfully claim that the duo's appearances weren't somewhat... unsettling. However, he never considered himself the type to judge the uniqueness of another. Besides, he had gotten enough stares – both out of polite curiousity and horrified terror – directed to the source of the pointed fangs in his jaw. And so, to Whiteshade, Razorfang inclined his head in greeting, black ears twitching subtly to detect Cherrypool's returned comment for Whiteshade's inquiry of their 'enjoyable evening'.

Razorfang had been about to offer his own piece to Whiteshade's question, his momentary trail of thought disturbed by the voice of the feline reaper seated nearby he had so mindlessly forgotten of. “With so many things on my mind. Tomorrow promises a great deal.” He knew not what to take from Rookfrost's statement; as unclear as vision in a blanket of fog. What things could possibly be on the mind of LightningClan's ominous, yet intriguing medicine cat? With the way his pale gray eyes had been so keen to examine the source of Razorfang's namesake, perhaps, a slight idea could have been made. But, hadn't he just moments earlier decided he was not one to judge nor make assumptions? Despite Rookfrost's mind being a realm none knew how to interpret, Razorfang wasn't about to dwindle away his thoughts by organizing various analogies as to just what Rookfrost meant by the 'things on his mind' that 'promised a great deal'.

The presence of Roselight at his flank was one of reassurance; able to snag the deputy's thoughts from what surely would begin to snowball had she not decided to make use of the unusual group mingling in the heart of camp. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his hazelnut lip, his tail curling around the she-cat's body before the pierce of Cherrypool's biting words could be detected as singling out the shrinking form of Henfeather – Roselight's friend clearly intimidated by the appearance of both Cherrypool and Whiteshade, though the male in the pair seemed far less disoriented by annoyance.

A glance was spared over Roselight's shoulder toward Henfeather, the narrowed slits of his gray-green eyes portraying precisely what words he dare not voice aloud: let us not make enemies out of our alliances today. Perhaps, had Razorfang not had his share of experience under the shocked examination of another, he would be on a level similar to Henfeather's own. He, however, had an understanding that bordered empathy for the LightningClan pair. If Razorfang was constantly being poked at with fearful words, horrific glances and shrinking forms... he would easily be just as provocative as it seemed Cherrypool was. Ah, to be different; individualistic – a subject of utmost delicacy. “No offense was meant to be implied, I'm sure,” Razorfang mewed, sharp gaze lingering upon Cherrypool, a tiny grin cracking his hazelnut jaw. “Right, Henfeather?” His gaze was next to travel to Henfeather, head gesturing for her to agree with him and save herself from making an enemy out of a cat it seemed she feared enough as it was.