[Fawn]

One for the money two for the freakshow

"Foxdung Foxdung FOXDUNG!"

Needle-sharp claws ripped and scoured, spongy bits of decayed wood and dried moss husks flung in all directions. Nettleheart's paws were already starting to ache, but she kept going. Where ARE you, you stupid old foxheart? Though fury was in her eyes, there was anguish in the young calico's heart; anguish and a profound disappointment.

In herself, for not finding him. In him, for leaving her behind.

Briarthroat was gone, and already everyone on the patrol was whispering about a 'replacement' or a 'vigil'. Nettleheart wanted to shred every single one of those disloyal cowards, just like she was shredding this rotten stump.

A chunk of worm-eaten wood fell away with another savage rip of her claws, leaving Nettleheart to pant heavily, tail a furious lashing snake - ready to bite anything that came near. "Foxdung." She huffed, throat dry more from the effort to hold back tears than from her furious outburst.

Everything had been so normal this morning. Briarthroat had said goodbye, wearing that smile on his face that made Nettleheart feel like she was home, and taken a routine patrol out into NightClan's forests.

And then he hadn't come back. "I hate you," whispered Nettleheart, clenching her teeth to fight back a dry sob. "Why did you make me trust you if you were just going to disappear?"

She had to keep looking. Nettleheart paced, unable to sit still long enough to fully catch her breath. She'd get a bite to eat, catch something for herself - hah, Briarthroat wouldn't like that one bit - and then she'd go look for him. That it was dangerous meant nothing. If she met that lynx by herself, even better.

She'd rip every single mangy hair off his pelt, make him swallow his own rotten fangs and claws until he gave Briarthroat back. Nettleheart's front paws flexed, and though the pain made her wince, she took satisfaction in the sensation. It made it easier to stay alert. To stay prepared. Every other useless bag of fur had given up, gone home - even Thornscar, whom she'd always thought of positively - but not Nettleheart.

Briarthroat wouldn't give up on her. So how could she give up on him?

Wild child got the fever tonight

24 Moons | Warrior | NightClan

Nettleheart

Ghost the Undead Goddess 367 Words

Note: set the morning after Briarthroat's disappearance. Thornstrike's search party hasn't found him, Nettle didn't go back to camp.

[Ghost the Undead Goddess]

Buckfur

28 Moons || Nightclan Warrior

---

The last day had been pure chaos with the sudden news about their deputy. His disapearance and the fact that Demon, the monsterous cat from the moutians, had been involved. The lynx that crept along the mountains, waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting warrior, made even a massive tomcat like himself look tiny. He was merciless and practically impossible to beat him with several seasoned warriors, let alone one on one.

The chances of Briarthroat's survival was very slim.

It was a terrible thing to think, and the young warrior almost regretted it the second it fluttered across his mind. But, Thornscar's patrol had returned empty pawed and they were already speaking in low whispers about a vigil for the absent tom. Though, by the rise of the second morning, the massive tabby was more worried about something else. Or rather, someone else.

Nettleheart hadn't returned to camp.

The young warrioress was only a moon younger than Buckfur. Both she and her alabaster brother, Snakestep, were loner born though went through the apprentice training and earned their names and ranks among Nightclan. Briarthroat had been the cat who had taken them under his watchful eye. He had looked after them, cared for them, gave them a father figure when they had nothing else within the world. Buckfur couldn't honestly imagine the pain the pretty calico feline must be feeling. He never knew his mother as she had died during his and his brother's birth, he didn't know the pain of losing someone with such an importance to his life.

Though she had yet to stroll back into camp, he knew that she wasn't so foolish enough to scour the mountains on her own. It was just far too dangerous. With a flicker of his bushy tail, the massive fluffy tom lifted himself to his paws and trotted towards the entrance of the under-grown cavern that made their camp. He ignored the curious grumbly from his black coated brother as Blackstag lifted his head from the possion upon his massive paws, while slipping away and towards the forest outside.

Tuffed ears flickered as Buckfur rotated his head, green pools scanning the surroundings as the bright sun streaked across the pale, morning sky. Luckily the thick pine trees aided in blocking some of the sun so he didn't have to squint to avoid the blaring light. Like all Nightclanners, he happened to be normally nocturnal, yet with Nettleheart to have yet to return, he felt the strong urge to make sure she was okay.

He had found that he enjoyed the prickly she-cat's company over the last few moons. Though she could be bossy and a bit fierce, her sharp comments and sarcastic quips merely bounced off his thick coat. He was sure they made quite an amusing pair, this tiny calico she-cat bossing around a massive, fairly intimidating tomcat. Which, honestly was quite a normal sight within Nightclan, as they were heavy upon the strong and vivacious warrioress'.

While padding through the pines, a familar scent wafted among through the trees.

Nettleheart!

Dropping his jaw, Buckfur let the scent run over his scent pallet but then a second scent brushed the she-cat's aside.

Squirrel!

Quickly stooping down into a crouch, the massive tom slunk to the shadows of the trees around him as they were the only thing large enough to hide his massive stature. It was much easier for him to hunt at night, though honestly the large tom had never been good at hunting small and quick prey. He wasn't the fastest, though it hardly helped that his heavy and long tabby striped coat weighed him down. After a moment, those green pools spotted the bushy red tail of the rodent among the roots of a tree, sorting through pines and nuts it seemed.

Edging closer, Buckfur had to silently remind himself to watch the weight upon his massive paws, as well as keeping his bushy tail steady with his body. Eyes narrowing and body stilling, the tabby warrior waited but a moment as he heart his heart thump within his chest before he shot forwards with enough of a comotion that he caught the squirrel off guard long enough for him to practically flatten it under a well aimed leap. With a quick snap of his jaws to the red creature's neck, Buckfur lifted his catch with a small gleam of triumph within those green pools and he quickly made his way towards where Nettleheart's scent lead the way to her position withing Nightclan.

The closer he grew, the more he heard and soon saw as the young calico tore her claws into a poor, mauled log. The success of his hunt sank within his chest along with his heart as he saw both the pain and fury within Nettleheart's amber gaze. He waited a moment, before making his way closer to her. While his original mindset had been to hopefully talk the younger warrior into returning home, they had slipped away once her faint hisses had rested between his ears upon his arrival.

Dropping the freshly killed prey at Nettleheart's paws, Buckfur motioned towards it with his tail. "Eat." He said it in a soft tone, neither demanding nor commanding but merely offering. The young tom didn't know when the last time she had eaten was, and during a time like this the calico warrioress would need to keep her strength up. Especially if Demon decided it wanted to stick around for a couple more days. Flickering his tail, Buckfur's green gaze was gentle and understanding and he gave a soft smile. "You'll need a fully stomach if we are going to go find Briarthroat."

Despite his thoughts and horrible suspicions, he would aid Nettleheart in her search for the tom that helped raise her. The tom that had trained her in the ways of Nightclan and the life of a warrior. He knew that if he didn't, she would still do it without help as she was that stubborn, so... He might as well tag along and make sure she made it out of this adventure alive. And, he would be there to comfort her should they return empty pawed and broken hearted.

---

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

1057 Words || Fawn || Notes

[Fawn]

One for the money two for the freakshow

Black, white and ginger hairs reached for the sun, spiked angrily along her whole body as Nettleheart spun around. Teeth bared, she'd prepared to bite the head off the first cat who tried to convince her to come back home - to camp, it wasn't home without Briarthroat - but the soft thud of a squirrel's body hitting the ground cut off Nettleheart's furious rebuke.

"Eat." Said Buckfur, his enormous form standing like a barrier between her and the forests she had yet to search.

Nettleheart spoke through clenched teeth. "Who the foxdung do you think y--"

"--You'll need a fully stomach if we are going to go find Briarthroat."

The calico she-cat's tongue locked, and her fur began to lose some of it's furious volume, jaw still partly open. "What?" She'd heard him, but she didn't believe those words, not instantly. "You're going to help me look for him?" Nettleheart waited, tail an uncertain mess of sweeping, lashing movements as she waited for him to rescind his offer.

The night's searching was starting to catch up with her, to gnaw away at her belly almost as worse as the dread gnawed at her heart. Briarthroat wouldn't want me to eat before the queens and elders were fed, said a small voice, soft and rueful, in the back of Nettleheart's mind. He can scold me himself after we find him, she argued back, beginning to feel some of that anger channel itself into something productive.

.... and Buckfur was just standing there, wearing a smile as soft as the ridiculous amounts of fur the tom had. Nettleheart's ears flattened, her tongue as thick and unwieldy as swamp mud. She knew the words. It was what everyone said when someone offered to help them - of no benefit to themselves - but Nettleheart couldn't get them to form.

Instead, her skin burned beneath her pelt, claws stinging wickedly from her mutliation of the stump. When she finally collapsed into her nest, the she-cat knew, it would be with outrageously sore pads. Nettleheart mumbled something that could have been 'fine, you can come with me' but was quickly lost in the squirrel fluff as her teeth bit through the prey animal's outermost layer.

Eat. Find Briarthroat. That was all she needed to focus on. She had to stay sharp, stay focused, not think about why Buckfur was helping her and not Snakestep, and how much his kindness in this moment reminded her of the cat she was so desperately trying to find.

After several hasty bites, Nettleheart swiped a paw over her mouth and walked around the half-eaten squirrel, a militant look in her eyes. "I want to find him by nightfall," Nettleheart announced, looking north to the steep-sided mountains at the very edge of NightClan's territory. Dread settled into her stomach like bad prey. "Let's go."

Wild child got the fever tonight

24 Moons | Warrior | NightClan

Nettleheart

Ghost the Undead Goddess 469 Words

[Ghost the Undead Goddess]

Buckfur
28 Moons || Nightclan Warrior

---

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the massive tabby couldn't help but wriggle his long whiskers in amusement as Nettleheart's faltering response. It was like she wasn't use to such niceties or gentle acts. Though to be honest, it was a rarity within the chilly hearted and fierce tempered cats of Nightclan. They didn't often show pity or mercy, there were some but they were definitely a rare breed among others.

Even though he was of a huge stature or held a menacing look, the stripped warrior was quite tame and gentle. He had always loved kits, finding them amusing to be around and fun to play with once they were older and more lively. He had been told throughout his life, growing up within Nightclan, that he had the same gentle soul as his deceased mother had wore upon her shoulder. Despite having never me the tiny black she-cat, the fluffy warrior took such a thing as a complement and made sure he lived up to her gift.

And so, with the calico's sharp reply, all Buckfur could do was dip his head and purr, "As you wish." Before turning to let her lead the way up and into the mountains, leaving Nightclan's forests behind for new terrain. He sent a quick prayer to Starclan, hoping for both their safety within the mountains and for the calico near him to find closure.

~~~

Hours had past by as the sun was starting to sink out of sight behind the mountain side of the valley. There had neither been sight nor scent of the tom the two warriors had been searching for. It seemed that Briarthroat was truly gone and the weight of realization hung heavy within the air. The massive tabby was growing worried for the prickly she-cat he was accompanying him, if it were up to her she would search all night and into the next morning. She'd work herself into the rocks trying to find the tom, the former deputy that had taken her in, raised her, loved her.

, She'd look forever for her father.

"Nettleheart..." Buckfur finally padded forwards to catch up to the smaller she-cat's side, pressing his fluffy flank against hers in an attempt to both grab her attention and slow her intense walking. His deep voice was soft and gentle, not wanting to upset her any more than she already was. "It's not safe wandering the mountain at night, not with Demon around." For a second there was a sharp pain within the tabby's chest at the thought of Nettleheart never coming back to camp.

"We should find a cave to sleep in for the night, then continue in the morning..." He left that open to interpretation, should they continue the search or continue on home to accept the inevitable. Green pools watched the she-cat at his side with a soft but unreadable light, Buckfur was trying to be a source of comfort for her. A steady rock within her unstable emotions and crashing world in an attempt to keep her head above water.

---

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

525 Words || Fawn  

[Fawn]

One for the money two for the freakshow

Ragged were the paws that carried her, swollen and red from the alien terrain of the mountainside. Furious and desperate was the heart that urged her onward, even as her body swayed from fatigue, stamina having long ago run out, leaving only the combustive fumes of Nettleheart's willpower. Turn back, the mountains laughed at her, each snow-capped peak like a tiger's fang, each ravine and cliffside they passed a throat with which to swallow them - just as Briarthroat had been swallowed.

That single tuft of fur she'd found yesterday felt so far ago, Nettleheart thought she might've imagined it. Briarthroat was gone, just gone, and as this endless embankment of scree and jagged edges stretched on as far as the she-cat could see. Her soul threw itself against the rocks, teeth bared and refusing to believe what all signs were pointing to.

Inside of Nettleheart, a kitten whimpered. A tiny scrap of fur that had not asked to be abandoned like this; all she had ever asked for was family. First Snake, then Scratch, then Briarthroat. Why was everyone so hellbent on leaving her alone? Was she cursed? Was she toxic? Was she--

Nettleheart stumbled, flinching as she expected the pointed edges of rock to cut across her cheek and muzzle - but instead, the petite calico found only soft fur to cushion her fall. It was Buckfur. Her small body shuddered with pain and relief both, dull yellow eyes feverish with unshed tears. "I-I'm fine," she tried to hiss and push herself back to a standing position, but her paws screamed, and Nettleheart nearly buckled again. "I'm fine," she insisted, softer this time, her voice hoarse from so many foxlengths without water.

Then, in the smallest voice of all, black spots dancing across her eyes, Nettleheart whispered into the brown tom's fur.
_{"I can't find him."}

Wild child got the fever tonight

24 Moons | Warrior | NightClan

Nettleheart

Ghost the Undead Goddess 305 Words

[Ghost the Undead Goddess]

Buckfur

28 Moons || Nightclan Warrior

---

His heart ached.

It ached for the the she-cat broken and lost, pushed to pure exhaustion in an attempt to find her missing father figure. It ached for the way her strength had been ripped away from her small form, her voice tiny and defeated as she buried her face into the warmth of his lengthy coat. It ached for the fact that despite how much he helped her, he could not fix the inevitable nor the past.

Briarthroat was gone.

The massive tabby stood there for a moment, letting Nettleheart press against him as her paws threatened to give way. His paws were torn and tender due to the unaccustomed terrain, he could only imagine how much her's hurt, the two of them had been searching all over the mountains the entire day. There had been no scent, no hint, no sign of life among the rivets and cliffs. There was no where left to look and with nightfall the dangers among the mountains were much more than two Nightclanners could handle on their own.

After the pause, Buckfur dipped his head to give a soft lick to the calico she-cat's ear. He wasn't sure how she would receive the kind gesture but he also wanted her to know that she wasn't alone. He probably could fix the situation, but he could be by her side and help her recover from the hollowness of such a loss. She wasn't alone, she still had Snakestep and if she would let him, the large tabby would also be there.

While his feelings for the fierce warrioress were unsure, he knew he cared enough to want her to be happy and healthy. A broken heart could make or break a cat, Buckfur had heard the way his father's broken heart had changed his temperament after the death of his mate. Nettleheart couldn't give up.

"Come on..." Buckfur's deep tone was quiet and gentle as he nudged the tired she-cat forwards, the slight light of the moon giving way to a cavern not too far ahead of them. "Only a few more steps and you can rest your paws." And your eyes. Though he kept that thought to himself, she wouldn't want to sleep but once she was curled up and resting she was bound to pass out for a good while. The massive tom himself wanted to sleep for at least a moon.

Aiding the multicolored feline towards the cave, a feeling of relief rushed through the brown and black tom at as shelter wrapped them within it's shadows. There was a familiar sense of home, though it lacked the underground feeling and the warming scents that awaited them back in Nightclan's well worn cavern. Green pools, illuminating silvery within the moonlight watched the entrance for a moment, making sure nothing had been following them before he turned his attention back to his companion.

Only to find her curled up with her nose underneath her tail, a sigh escaped Buckfur's muzzle, pleased that she was already sleeping. He wondered when the last time she had done so, he hadn't seen her much if at all since the announcement of their missing deputy. Taking one last look over his broad shoulder, the fluffy feline made his way over to where Nettleheart was curled up to get comfortable near her near still form. The feathers of his coat brushed her ever so slightly as his tail flickered and curled against his flank and laying his large head upon his equally as massive forepaws.

The last image to cross his drooping green gaze was the sleeping Nettleheart before sleep finally drifted the last bit of his consciousness away.

---

Had to have high, high hopes for a living

629 Words || Fawn  || Let me know if I need to change it, I wasn't sure about how to end my post 

[Fawn]

One for the money two for the freakshow

Sleep struck her like a blow from a lynx's paw. Short of collapsing, Nettleheart had barely registered where they were, only that her body no longer felt the soft rushing of mountain wind through her fur, and the world surrounding them suddenly seemed so much quieter. Dense fur briefly pressed against hers, and Nettleheart half-sighed, half-whimpered as every part of the tiny calico admitted defeat.

Bloody paws were tucked against her belly, and her limbs shivered from exhaustion. But she could not fight sleep - nor did she want to. Briarthroa... The name morphed as tabby fur swirled behind her eyelids, changing from dusty gray to deep, deep brown. Buckfur...

Nettleheart slept as though she were dead, her body locked in stillness as it worked to recuperate from yesterday's ragged, desperation-fueled search over every rocky hill and jagged cliff on the mountainside. Despite last night's meal, Nettleheart awoke with hunger clawing at her insides. The familiar dark walls and press of fur kept her from immediately launching into a hyper-alert state - but it was only a brief lull. Memories of the day before flashed like lightning in her eyes, and Nettleheart jerked into a sit, nearly biting into her tongue as her paw pads screamed in protest. Foxdung! Foxdung, that hurt.

The light of day felt harsh to Nettleheart's dull-yellow gaze, and her face was scrunched as she leaned around the mouth of the little cave to get a peek at their surroundings. It was too much to deal with. Ugh, how far had they walked? How long had they been gone? Nettleheart hadn't focused much on the way back - all that had been running through her mind was finding Briarthroat.

Nettleheart growled in the back of her throat, which felt raw and ragged from so long without a single measly drop of water. A calico tail curled tightly against Nettleheart's diminutive body, and she curled up against Buckfur, denying the lump in her throat at the unexpected surge of gratitude. She didn't need him, plain and simple. She could take care of herself.

Yet... He had walked at her side for an untold number of foxlengths, and that meant something. She didn't know what, just that it did.

"Wake up," croaked the she-cat softly, nudging him with the back of her paw. "Wake up. We need to get water." And figure out what to do next. Nettleheart shut out the cacophony of thoughts ringing between her ears with an irritable lash of her tail. She just needed some water. Then she could think more clearly. Then she could look for clues.

Then she could decide if the next pawstep she made led back towards NightClan - or somewhere else completely.

Wild child got the fever tonight

24 Moons | Warrior | NightClan

Nettleheart

Ghost the Undead Goddess 449 Words

[Ghost the Undead Goddess]

Rewrite your history

Dreams were elusive despite the deep sleep the massive tomcat managed to slip into. Even though he had acted tough and unfazed, exhaustion dragged at his paws, which were just as sore and torn as his companion's. He had to be strong, for her, while her world crashed around her. 

The darkness of his subconscious receded from his mind as a dry voice broke through the last bit of snoozing. His whole body ached and he felt stiff as green pools slowly blinked open, adjusting to the light that filtered in through the entrance of the cave the two Nightclanners had taken shelter in for the night.

It wasn't often any cats from the Pine Forests were awake during the day, as they were mostly nocturnal, but when it came to searching among the mountains it was best to use the light of the sun. The reverse schedule was not an easy thing to alter, and it left Buckfur feeling rather groggy.

Turning his head, those warm green pools landed on Nettleheart's smaller form curled up against him. Whether she had mean't to do it or not, he couldn't help the small warmth within his chest bloom at the comforting sight of it.

Was it odd, despite the circumstances, that the large tabby didn't want to move from this moment?

Giving a small yawn that parted his large maw, Buckfur could feel the dryness within his throat and even the smallest of grumbles within his stomach to remind him that the last time he ate was yesterday before he and Nettleheart went searching for Briarthroat.

"As you wish." The words rumbled softly within the deep tone of the massive Nightclanner. Dipping his head, Buckfur ran a prickly tongue over his sore, cracked paw pads for a moment, cleaning them of any pebbles or debris that could cause any sharp pains.

Glancing over at Nettleheart, Buckfur shifted to his haunches before sniffing at her own paws. "Do they hurt?" He asked in a gentle tone, though he could probably guess the answer. He didn't know any forms of healing or what kind of herbs could possibly be used to ease such discomfort, but he wouldn't mind helping her limp around until she gave the signal to return home.

Light up your wildest dreams

BuCKfUr

28 Moons Warrior NightClan

Fawn || 390 words || Sweet Buckfur <3

[Fawn]

One for the money two for the freakshow

Buckfur sniffed at her paws, and Nettleheart immediately drew them under herself, curling them beneath her body with a flush of defensiveness - and a touch of panic. She didn't like how easy it was to suddenly let her guard down around him; one small favor and suddenly they were the best of friends? Life doesn't work like that.

Nettleheart refused to let him see her so vulnerable. Images of last night were already pricking her every time she remembered how she'd stumbled or whimpered or practically landed on Buckfur as her body completely gave out. Pathetic.

She was pathetic.

Out here looking for someone who had abandoned her. Everyone else had given up, because they all knew what she was refusing to accept; that cats disappeared or died all the time. There was no point in getting attached. There was no point to any of this.

"Of course they hurt," she snapped, wrapping her tail around herself. The calico's posture shifted, half-turning away from him as if to better shield herself from Buckfur's unending kindness. She knew Buckfur's littermate was a piece of work; temperamental and violent, exactly the sort of traits that went just so well together, and somehow Buckfur had the patience to deal with him.

To deal with her.

Blackstag was family. Nettleheart knew more than most what kind of leniency came from a sibling bond.

But why was Buckfur helping her? Did he want something? Was this some sort of sick game to him, watching her run around like a headless chicken? Dull yellow eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized him, a flash of guilt prickling her skin when she saw how cracked his own pads were. He was doing this just to be... kind.

"C'mon," grumbled the she-cat, half awkward and half irritation, her heart fluctuating between so many raw, confusing emotions Nettleheart had no clue how to deal with. Relief and suspicion, grief and hope. Once outside their little cavern, Nettleheart's watering eyes nearly shut completely against the daylight - but that was fine, the sense she needed to rely on right now was her nose. They had to find fresh water.

Nettleheart took a tentative step forward - and startled a flock of birds in a nearby tree from the explosion of curses streaming from her maw. Foxdung, that HURT!

Wild child got the fever tonight

24 Moons | Warrior | NightClan

Nettleheart

Ghost the Undead Goddess 383 Words

[Ghost the Undead Goddess]

Rewrite your history

The massive tom couldn't help but wriggle his whiskers in amusement at his companion's prickly nature. Despite the honest and genuine nature of the tomcat, he was well aware that it was probably a hard thing for her to wrap her head around. 

There wasn't much of an age difference between the two of them, and he remembered the day that both Nettleheart and her alabaster brother had found their way in the heart of Nightclan's territory. They were then known as Scrap and Snake, born loners and abandoned by their mother. 

The only kindness she had ever known was the love of her brother and the care of the tom who had helped raised them. And now even Briarthroat was gone. And to be honest, it wasn't like Nightclan was the nicest or most welcoming of the five valley clans. 

Buckfur had grown up in such a different setting. Born and raised within the shadows of the Pine Forests, he had always fit in with those around them. Though his mother had died at birth, Flowernose had taken care of he and his brother as if they were her own. Even Lionfang, despite his ability to father, still loved both of them. The brown and black tom had a wonderful mentor, he made friends within Frostjaw and Spiderbite.

And despite the demented personality of Blackstag, they were still brothers. Still littermates. Where the massive black tom had any emotional connections to Buckfur or not, at least he acted like family bonds were something when he was around others. 

The point being, Buckfur had never been alone, and he couldn't imagine the loneliness that built it's self within the calico she-cat's heart. And she had obviously put up a wall of prickly thorns to keep herself safe from any further harm or damage. 

It made his own heart squeeze in empathy, but he kept that thought to himself. She probably wouldn't take kindly to him feeling sorry for her. Nettleheart was a strong, independent feline who had made it this far in life. And she was far to stubborn to give up.

Flickering his plume tail, the long coated tom finally shifted to his paws. Though he had cleaned them, they still screamed in protest as his whole weight bared down upon the pain. There was only the slightest flicker of his ear that showed Buckfur's discomfort. But, he would push it aside. 

His priority at the moment was to stay by Nettleheart's side, whether she continued to search for their missing deputy or if she finally decided to go back to camp. He wasn't going to leave her all by herself up within the mountains. They were clanmates, and Buckfur would like to think that they were friends, or at least somewhat.

At her command, the massive tom merely dipped his head respectfully towards her and purred his response once more. "As you wish."

Stifling the pain and pushing past the small need to limp to decrease the uncomfortable feeling within his feet, Buckfur made his way to the entrance of the cavern with Nettleheart. Green pools narrowed as the sun splashed the mountainside, reminding him that he was not normally awake during the brightness of daytime. 

He was pleased that Nightclan tended to be nocturnal. 

Faint amusement and worry passed through those gentle pools of Buckfur as he turned his attention back towards Nettleheart, who seemed to be having trouble with the pain in her paws. Tentatively making his way over the rocky terrain to her side, Buckfur dipped his head once more to sniff her paws. 

They weren't bleeding. Yet. But Buckfur worried that if she continued to push through and search that they would have nothing but nubs at the end of their legs by nightfall. Re-lifting his head, the massive tabby fixed Nettleheart with those warm emerald orbs of his. 

"When we find some water we should soak our paws for a moment, it might help ease some discomfort." He didn't say pain for a reason, figuring she wouldn't take kindly to him thinking she was hurting. "If you want, you can lean on me. I wont tell anyone." His deep, rumbling tone was light as a small smile reached his maw.

Light up your wildest dreams

BuCKfUr

28 Moons Warrior NightClan

Fawn || 720 words || notes

[Fawn]

One for the money two for the freakshow

The rumble of Buckfur's voice traveled through her like a static shock, Nettleheart's ears flattening at the foreign sensation of gratitude as he offered a shoulder to lean on. Nettleheart clenched her teeth, dull-yellow eyes scanning the nearby scree for potential witnesses - before the calico limped over to Buckfur. Despite the hard stone in her belly that seared with dislike over this dependency, Nettleheart almost groaned with gratitude as the big tom helped her to the nearest stream.

Nettleheart crouched by the water's edge, wincing and then laying down completely, so that she could dangle her front paws into the water without any weight on them. The mountain stream smelled fresh and cool, the blood and stone washing away as though by the great tongue of a queen looking after her kit. A ginger and black patched face stared back at her when she let her gaze grow unfocused, reflection blurred into shapeless splotches of color.

"Now what," she muttered, exhaustion clawing its way up every bone, collecting like a tick right between her eyes, fat as it feasted on what was left of her strength. Do I go back? Ugh, without Briarthroat, was the point of NightClan?

Snakestep would be safe there, he'd always been more personable, he had friends and a sense of kinship with their so-called Clanmates. But her? She was the outcast. Apart from Graywolf, no one else tolerated her company the same way Briarthroat had. She didn't fit.

She was better off a loner, like Scratch.

Or Tadpole.

Nettleheart's jaw clenched, her eyes squeezing shut as she wrestled with these painful truths. "What am I supposed to do now? Briarthroat's g--" she swallowed the word like a sharp piece of bone, choking on it. "He's not coming back. He was my mentor." Nettleheart's skin flushed with grief and shame. She didn't mean the word mentor. Briarthroat had been her father - and now, even when he was dead, she was too foxhearted to even say those words.

"He deserved better than me," she whispered, looking small and defeated as she withdrew her paws from the stream, tucking them under herself.

Wild child got the fever tonight

24 Moons | Warrior | NightClan

Nettleheart

Ghost the Undead Goddess 353 Words

[Ghost the Undead Goddess]

Rewrite your history

Gentle green pools watched the calico next to him talk, ears turned towards her to listen as she spoke. The pain was evident within her voice, not only due to physical aches but because of the gut wrenching heartbreak at the loss of Briarthroat. It wasn't a surprise that she felt so loss or out of place.

He had been her anchor, he had brought her into Nightclan, gave her a home and a family and now he was gone. Granted, the massive tabby was well aware that most of the clan welcomed Nettleheart home with open hearts every time she walked into their cavernous home. 

She had Snakestep, her brother and Applewhisker, the Permaqueen that had raised them until they were six moons of age. As far as he knew, Applewhisker still kept an eye on them as if they were her own kits. And Buckfur was well aware that Graywolf rather enjoyed Nettleheart's company, they gray she-cat quick to find her often.

And to be honest, Buckfur didn't want her to leave either. 

"Don't say that, you are an amazing cat and a great warrior." Buckfur rumbled in that deep tone of his, shifting his body but keeping his front paws in the cool, delightful water. Flickering his feathered tail, he brushed it against her flank in a gentle gesture of affection. 

"Nettleheart, you may think you are alone, but you really aren't." Those green pools of his brightened as he found her own gaze, a small smile on his muzzle as he continued to speak to her. "Nightclan is  your home, we are your family. You will always have us." And it was true. 

It didn't matter if she had come to them as Scrap, the loner kit with her albino brother. She had lived most of her life within the pine forest with the shadowy clan. She had gone through training as a warrior and had earned her name to stand along side her fellow clanmates. Clanborn or not, Nettleheart was Nightclan. 

"And if you don't believe that, then know that I'll always be here for you. I don't plan on leaving anytime soon either." His smile widened as he finished, a purr rumbling within his chest as he attempted to soothe her worries and reassure her. "We better make it back home soon, before they start sending search parties out." His tone was laced with amusement before the large tom shifted once more to pull himself onto those massive paws of his. 

Light up your wildest dreams

BuCKfUr

31 Moons Warrior NightClan

Fawn - 430 words - Ready to wrap it up?