[Fawn]

Russethawk
18 Moons || Warrior || Tom || RainClan

There had been nothing RainClan had gained that was truly worth the price StoneClan had paid in agony and bloodshed; there was no silver lining to this particular black, malevolent storm cloud. Russethawk had not been sleeping very well, his dreams cursed to be filled with his Clanmates prowling through awful, red-tinged dreamscapes, with kits crying for their mothers and the scent of fear so heavy in the air it was as thick as fog, blinding his senses all at once. Settling down to bite into a trout without really tasting it, the ruddy tom had taken a spot for himself by the edge of RainClan's camp, the earth damp beneath his paws from last night's downpour, his expression hard, his movements sharp if not mechanical, lacking the feeling and the fluidity he usually possessed. By happenstance, Russethawk's emerald green gaze – the spark gone – fell upon the nursery, taking in the sights of kits playing with their mothers, unaware that they had been born into a Clan who had done something unspeakable. Before he could tune out and return to eating, a familiar fluffy grayish shape could be seen just past the tangle of queens' legs as they lounged in the entrance way, the mothers enjoying the sunlight filtering in through the brambles. That kit. Russethawk frowned, finding himself back up on his paws; sometimes, he dreamt of stumbling out of StoneClan's bloodied territory with a mewling kitten clutched in his jaws, carrying the tiny, petrified thing over bodies of it's fallen Clanmates. That hadn't been a dream, had it? Having trouble differentiating between dream and reality when it came to that battle, Russethawk's expression changed into one of curiosity and bemusement, the truth all seeming to flood back into his brain like a wave returning to the shore. He'd saved a kitten what felt like fifty moons ago, and apart from a few visits in the beginning that he couldn't remember, Russethawk could never recall having set paw inside the nursery since. Whoops. Intending to amend this error, the tom picked up the trout he had only scratched at, and in a few long strides had reached his destination, presenting the food to the grateful queens before approaching the gray kitten. It wasn't until he poked his head into the nursery and fixed an emerald gaze upon the she-kit that it occurred to him – he didn't even know her name. If she had one. The queens would've likely given her one, because only StarClan knew what her real one was, or who her real parents were, or if she had any siblings he had somehow missed when carrying her to safety. With nothing else to really say, Russethawk's jaws parted in what he hoped wasn't too much of a forced ”Hello”, a little out of practice being social after having grown distant and haggard over this past moon. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

OOC: @poptart

[Deleted]

The confused kit never seemed to wander far from Hazlecloud, she seemed to be the only constant in a turn of events that Featherkit was having a hard time remembering. Most of what she remembered was from the nightmares and it was making it hard for her to remember what was real anymore. She had already forgotten so much, what had happened? Why was she part of it? The kit could give you no answer to the questions, all she knew was warmth and Hazlecloud’s side which she spent her time glued to. Was the she-cat her mother? Featherkit wasn’t sure but each day she wanted it to be true more and more and deep down she believed that she was, and that was all that mattered. She needed that something to hold onto when her dark dreams descended upon her, and when a face that she saw in every dream dropped food for the kits and queens and approached her with a hello she froze. “H-hello…” She squeaked out in a soft voice not sure why he was in her dreams, was he evil? Was he the reason she couldn’t remember? “Who are you?” She asked cautiously her need for answers outweighing the fear of the tom.