|
Post by Deleted on Jan 26, 2019 13:31:48 GMT -5
Stormfeather 43 Moons RainClan Warrior Hunting was never a bother for Stormfeather (none of her duties were), but it was always more fun with another cat, and better still if it was one of her siblings. Today, she and Brookfall had decided to pair up and go on a hunting trip for RainClan. Much to her shagrin, the first spot they'd come upon seemed to be void of prey, so they had moved to the Willow Stream to see if they'd have better luck.
"I just don't understand how that part of the stream could be so empty," Stormfeather was saying to Brookfall as they walked. "It's like something scared away all the fish." The she-cat lashed her tail once in momentary frustration, then settled again, shaking her head. "Maybe we'll have better luck here."
Stormfeather was so focused on finding prey that her senses were tuned out to anything else around them, and she headed straight for the water, looking back a few times to make sure her brother was following. Waitin' on that mornin' sun, soldier keep on marchin' on. 187 Words | Made by Fawn | Fawn
|
|
|
Post by Fawn on Jan 26, 2019 13:46:34 GMT -5
Brookfall 43 Moons Tom RainClan Warrior "I'm not surprised," spoke the large silver-and-black-flecked warrior. "That part of the stream is closer to camp. I imagine the apprentices and their mentors are overfishing it. Shorter trip back to their warm nests." Brookfall shared an amused smile with his sister. Not every cat in RainClan had been fortunate enough to sport the kind of thick, luxuriously well-insulted pelts like they had. Some were quite sparse of fur, so much so that Brookfall wondered how they had survived this many leafbares thus far.
Heronsplash and his equally slender, equally sleek-furred sibling, Storkleg, came to mind.
While Stormfeather made a beeline for the water's edge, Brookfall took his time. He flicked an ear to let his littermate know he wouldn't be far behind; rather, sharp yellow eyes scanned the treeline, searching for a foolhardy mouse or bird that was still out in this weather. The sudden icy gust against silver fur made that seem even more unlikely. Brookfall gave his fur a good shake, fluffing up to protect his warm body from any more penetrating winds.
The scent that rode in on the wind made him freeze. "Stormfeather," Brookfall spoke low and quickly, his normally smooth, charismatic voice traded for something much more serious. "I smell blood. And Salmonclaw." It was a name no one had spoken in moons. In fact, Brookfall had long suspected the son of Leopardyowl and Petalfall to have died, either from his stunted family tree, or from the foxes that had invaded the valley in Greenleaf.
Cautiously, Brookfall unsheathed his claws. "It's coming from over here, by that tree."
What was Salmonclaw doing here, in RainClan territory? The tom was exiled, his crimes too unforgivable to allow him to stay with his birth Clan. The weather could have drawn him in, yet Brookfall was suspicious of Salmonclaw's motives.
"He can't be far." Said Brookfall. They had an obligation to find him, as loyal RainClan cats who had left those divisive times in the past where they belonged.
We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry. 332 Words || @airabelle || Notes
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jan 26, 2019 16:48:19 GMT -5
Stormfeather 43 Moons RainClan Warrior Stormfeather purred in agreement at Brookfall's statement, her whiskers twitching in amusement. She thought about her own nest back at Camp, and for a moment, the urge to curl up in the soft moss and feathers yanked at her tail. But she just as quickly pushed away the urge. Leaf-bare was upon them, that meant less food, which in turn meant more hunting. And she, with her long pelt and stamina that would match a fox's, was the obvious choice for the job. Her paired with Brookfall would mean plenty of prey in the coming hours. Or so she hoped.
When Brookfall uttered her name in a tone that was unnatural for the white and black-spotted tom, Stormfeather stopped dead in her tracks and turned around slowly, taking care where to place each paw step in case he had seen something that was watching them. But then, she smelled it too, before he could say anything. "Salmonclaw," she said in unison with her brother, lips curling up in a snarl.
"He can't be far," her brother's voice echoed in her mind, but the blood was pumping through her ears too loudly for her to really register it. Would there be a fight today? She flicked her tail once, a sharp motion, to get her brother to follow, and crept forward towards the tree that Brookfall had pointed out.
Rounding the trunk, the scent of blood became more overwhelming, and Stormfeather prepared herself to see one of her Clanmates dead on the ground. What she saw instead was relieving, but yet.. sad. Salmonclaw was lying motionless among the grass, sprawled out as if he had been crawling away from something. Blood smears marked the path he had appeared to have taken.
Stormfeather looked back at Brookfall, a strange lump in her throat. It couldn't be grief. Relief? Worry? Fear? "Brookfall. He's dead." Waitin' on that mornin' sun, soldier keep on marchin' on. 330 Words | Made by Fawn | Fawn
|
|
|
Post by Fawn on Feb 7, 2019 8:46:10 GMT -5
Brookfall 43 Moons Tom RainClan Warrior The soft touch of wind over fur triggered a memory in Brookfall. It was of Darkrose, of finding her limp, battered body in the den she'd made for herself just beyond RainClan's territory. Feelings of hollowness and residual pain returned, reminding him of how much he despised seeing dead bodies. The stillness unsettled him. It was a robbery of life, regardless of whether or not it was deserved.
Brookfall thought of Pipitpaw next, and his posture stiffened, rigid with an unusual discomfort. The moment seemed to pass quickly, as Brookfall regained control of himself. Those emotions were packed tight like snow, left to cool in the back of his mind where he did not have to focus on them.
"I smell fox, as well." He spoke as he moved, slowly lowering his muzzle near the corpse of their ex-Clanmate. Yes, it was the stench of fox, pungent and musky. The scent seemed to come from Salmonclaw only, but Brookfall was disinclined to make assumptions. What they needed now was the truth, or as near to the truth as they could find without having witnessed Salmonclaw's last moments.
"Chased over the border?" Brookfall conferred with his littermate, meeting Stormfeather's gaze with his own. "What say we explore the border, and then report to Silverstar and Lilygleam?" An alternative would be to split up - one would go back to camp to report their findings, and the other would continue on ahead in search of possible fox tracks.
But putting himself or his sister in danger wasn't worth it, not for the sake of efficiency.
We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry. 261 Words || @airabelle || Notes: they can track down Cygnetwing next!
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Mar 4, 2019 19:02:26 GMT -5
Stormfeather 43 Moons RainClan Warrior "I think that's the only thing we can do," Stormfeather mewed, her tail lashing from side to side in a frenzy as she tried to think of a more logical way to do it. They could split up, but that would put them both at risk if there was a predator about, and she wasn't about to risk her brother's life, or her own. The she-cat sat back on her haunches for a moment, deep in thought. Had a fox chased Salmonclaw over the border, or had Salmonclaw dragged himself from far off, trying to get back to the place he once called home so he could die there? She shifted her paws uncomfortably. Had he made it back to Camp, there would have been a lot of upset. Perhaps it was for the best he died here; at least he was in his birthplace's territory.
"What do we do with... with him?" she asked, her mouth dry. "We can't just bring the body back to Camp." The logical thing to do would be to wait on orders from Silverstar, but what if the fox came back in that time, hungry for a meal?
Waitin' on that mornin' sun, soldier keep on marchin' on. 213 Words | Made by Fawn | Fawn
|
|
|
Post by Fawn on Mar 14, 2019 9:34:10 GMT -5
Brookfall 43 Moons Tom RainClan Warrior "We can deal with Salmonclaw's body second. Let's focus on making sure the territory is safe, first." Brookfall's tail flicked, his broad silver-furred face looking grim. Tufted ears swiveled, keenly searching for any sounds that did not belong in their neck of the valley. What happened to Salmonclaw's remains was... up to Silverstar. The exiled tom was no longer a part of RainClan; RainClan owed him no formal burial, no kind words for a cat that had attacked his former Clanmates. Yet he knew well enough that Silverstar tended to walk a line of neutrality, and may decide that honoring the dead meant more than who the dead had been in life.
This was a dilemma for their brother to comprehend. For now, their task was clear.
Stormfeather seemed to be in agreement, and with a soft nod, Brookfall made a cautious path towards the edge of RainClan's territory. Everything on the NightClan border seemed quiet; there would have been a fuss if any ex-RainClan cats had been caught in their neighbor's black pine forest. Not that way, then. Brookfall turned away from the wooded marsh and towards StarClan's Claws. He sincerely doubted Salmonclaw had been able to cross the river; the dead tom's pelt had been wet from blood, not the icy cold of a leafbare river.
"He must have come from StarClan's Claws," reasoned Brookfall. The blood in the snow supported his theory. "Wait," a densely furred tail was raised, yellow eyes narrowed to see through the snow-laden landscape. "I think something moved."
It couldn't have been a fox; it looked white, and small. A rabbit? Or what he presumed a mountain rabbit to look like.
"If someone's there, show yourself. If you're injured, we have healers back at our camp." Brookfall spoke calmly but loudly, direct with what he hoped contained no intimidation or malice. Something moved in the foreground, and Brookfall stared, suspicion and surprise growing as a half-frozen she-cat with pure white fur stumbled out from a naked berry bush.
"W-Where is Salmonclaw?" her teeth chattered, frame quaking from the unbearable cold. "Whe-Where is he?"
Brookfall didn't answer immediately. This she-cat was familiar. It took a heartbeat for the name to come back to him. "Cygnetwing." Storkleg and Heronsplash's mother, if he recalled correctly. And a known supporter of the Purists.
Cygnetwing gazed at him, desperate and defensive. "You. You're Darkrose's apprentice."
"I was," interjected Brookfall, tone losing some of that neutral professionalism. "That was over 20 moons ago. What are you doing here? You are not welcome."
"I-I told you!" She hissed. "I'm looking for Sa-Salmonclaw! Where is he? What have you done to him?"
Brookfall let out a slow exhale. "A fox got him. You're not safe here. I suggest you go back to your den." Perhaps there was an icy edge to Brookfall's voice that had not been there before, but he did not try to mask it this time. He did not want this she-cat brought back to camp; he did not want her bringing up his association with Darkrose, or stirring up feelings of divisiveness.
And yet a walk back to wherever she had come from looked like it might kill her. Truly, an exiled RainClan cat was not RainClan's problem. Brookfall privately wished for their mother, Lilygleam to arrive, so that she might take the burden of cruelty or compassion from him. We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry. 563 Words || @airabelle Justice (Silverstar/Lilygleam mention) || Notes
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jun 13, 2019 11:00:49 GMT -5
Stormfeather 43 Moons RainClan Warrior Stormfeather followed her brother, head low to the ground as she stalked through the sparse undergrowth. Her plume of a tail raised, she kept her nose to the tip of her brother's tail-tip, careful to put her paws down on barren patches. The slightest snap of a twig could alert some unwanted company straight to them. "I don't like this, Brookfall," she hissed, just loud enough for him to hear. While she wasn't scared of any fox, this much was true, she didn't like her Clan being in danger. Even worse, she didn't like that it was resting on two cats' shoulders to find this fox. If they did find it, two cats in the middle of leaf-bare would be an even match for a fox, at most.
When something in the bushes rustled, just after Brookfall had given his theory on where Salmonclaw had come from and Stormfeather was about to respond, she snapped her jaws shut and growled. She was silent as Brookfall called out, though her fur was puffed up to nearly twice her normal size, an intimidation method used by her often. Cygnetwing. The sight of the she-cat surprised her deeply, and she forced her fur to lie flat. Still, she was quiet. She let her brother do the talking. She was never one for conversations, she was more of a "claw first, ask questions later" kind of cat. But something about this smelled fishy, and not the good kind.
"Why are you looking for Salmonclaw?" she challenged after the she-cat's exchange with her brother about his mentor.
Waitin' on that mornin' sun, soldier keep on marchin' on. 281 Words | Made by Fawn | Fawn
|
|
|
Post by Fawn on Jun 20, 2019 21:14:54 GMT -5
Brookfall 49 Moons Tom RainClan Warrior The half-frozen she-cat still had enough vain pride to snort derisively at Stormfeather. "Why do you care?" Brookfall took a single step forward, the act of putting one large silvery white paw down into the snow in front of her a threat all by itself. Cygnetwing was visibly cowed, and he read the signs of a facade in the nervous twitch of her whiskers and the slight quiver at her tailbone - as if she were trying to keep her posture from buckling.
"You are on RainClan soil." said Brookfall softly. "You are still on RainClan soil because we are allowing you a chance to explain yourself."
Cygnetwing's pelt fluffed further, and though the next words out of her mouth looked as though they'd be coated in venom, they were instead a sudden bout of honesty. "Salmonclaw has a family to take care of. He led a fox away from us and hadn't returned."
Brookfall's ears stiffened. "You're not alone."
Cygnetwing hesitated. Brookfall's yellow eyes narrowed, but he stayed where he was. This isn't an attack. She looks barely able to keep herself upright. An apprentice could kill her without difficulty. He believed her when she said she was looking for Salmonclaw. It wasn't a stretch to think that the exiled cats from the civil war had stuck together - and multiplied.
"Where are your kits?" asked Brookfall slowly, realizing his hand was being forced towards compassion; he resigned himself to this, though it would be easier to simply chase her off their lands and be done with it. He did not have the ice in his blood for that kind of coldness.
Cygnetwing paced away from him, skittish now. "Why should I tell you?"
Brookfall shared a look with his littermate. "The Warrior Code doesn't allow us to turn away kits in need." Neither does Lilygleam. Their mother would flay them if they turned their backs on a starving mother and her offspring - even if there was bad history there. We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry. 338 Words || @airabelle || Notes
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2019 12:06:44 GMT -5
Stormfeather 43 Moons RainClan Warrior Stormfeather couldn't help it; her mouth dropped open and her fur lied flat all at once, defensiveness reducing drastically and replacing itself with compassion. She couldn't turn away a nursing mother, or kits, that much was certain. Even if this she-cat was a part of one of, if not the worst, wars in the history of the Clans.
"Brookfall," she hissed, out of range of Cygnetwing's hearing. "We have to help her." She knew her brother shared her beliefs, at least, she hoped he did in this situation. But... were the kits... kits? Or were they full grown adults, able to care for themselves?
"Where are they, Cygnetwing?" she echoed Brookfall's words, her tail lashing worriedly. The sooner they knew, the better, and they could either help Cygnetwing and her kits... or chase them out. Waitin' on that mornin' sun, soldier keep on marchin' on. 153 | Made by Fawn | Fawn
|
|