--- running, running [open]

[duskfur]

FOXNOSE

A stocky but long form raced through the trees, paws stirring up the white snow. He snapped twigs carelessly with his big white paws and caught some of his undercoat on a bush, but he didn’t care in the least. He galloped through the woods for the hell of it, for the feel of being a cat freed from the responsibilities that came with being a warrior, at least for a short time. He ran as if fleeing the threat of starvation, from the dreams of hostile enemies that left paw prints in the winter. He sprinted past a frozen rivulet and launched himself over a fallen log. Leaves and tendrils were tangled above his head like a roof in parts, making him feel sheltered as the only wind he felt was that blowing by his narrow cheeks.

It was growing rarer that Foxnose wasn’t afraid of the consequences of blustering around, instead focused on simply enjoying himself. As much as the approaching deep snows threatened the Clan, it also snared his paws and his freedom to lounge in the yellow sunlight. Now, before the white substance lightly coating the forest floor chased away the last vestiges of prey, he would have fun. Soon there would be no chance to roll around without worrying about an empty stomach when he came home.

These thoughts twisted the smile he wore carelessly on his face into a deep frown. Soon he was worrying about what his comrades were doing, how they were faring, and how much trouble he would get into if he wasn’t more responsible. He slowed to a stop, flanks heaving as he tried to catch his breath. As his ears perked up to catch the sounds of the forest, the leaves rustling and the patter of paws, he heard a distinct flutter of wings and a startled cry from a bird. He dropped into a crouch, claws sinking into the ground, and watched as the sparrow flew over his head, warned ahead of time from his loud thumping.

He sniffed the air and flattened his ears. Also in the air, besides the bird, was the smell of another cat—a cat whose dinner he had probably startled away.

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[Willow]

Russetstripe padded silently through the thick forest that covered ThunderClan's territory. Thick leaves cushioned his pawsteps as he raised his nose to the air, scenting for prey. He was determined to bring something back to the camp today. The aging warrior knew Elkstar was planning his elder ceremony. But he wasn't going to go to the fallen tree without a fight. Most certainly not. If he brought home prey, he would prove he still had a few more years left in him and he wasn't an old, worthless elder yet.New-found strength flooded his veins as he realized the importance of this solo hunting mission. This was either his last mission as a warrior or the mission that proved he had not lost his strength. Either way he had to catch something.

That something appeared in the shape of a sparrow, perched on the low-lying branch of a leafless bush. Russetstripe stopped in his tracks, becoming as still as a statue as he watched the bird. It was foraging for berries and finding none on the bush. It would fly away soon, searching for a new bush. But not before the ginger tabby caught it. He crouched, ready to pounce.

Before he could move something large came crashing through the forest, scaring the sparrow into the air. The senior warrior spat in frustration and raised his nose to the air again, scenting a cat. He growled and stalked toward the ThunderClan cat who had just scared away his one chance at remaining a warrior.

"Foxnose!" he yowled once the young warrior was visible. "I should have known it was you traipsing through the forest like that! What's your plan, scaring away prey in RiverClan too?" The tom's deep green eyes blazed in anger at the reckless young cat. Had this been any old hunting mission, he might not have cared. But this one was important.

[duskfur]

FOXNOSE

The ginger tabby watched the sparrow flutter off into the trees until it was hidden from sight, and with a soft sigh he hesitated, considering whether to apologize to the nearby hunter or sneak off and pretend that nothing had happened.

“Foxnose!”

Well, too late for that.

At the sharp growl of his name, the young warrior flinched and let out an involuntary yelp. His vision was filled with two burning emeralds set in striped orange, and the air was suddenly filled with a scent of frustration and his own weaker reek of fear. He recognized the ThunderClan cat—Russetstripe, a very old and respected warrior—instantly and eased back from his tiptoes where he had been ready to flee a hostile enemy, but his fur did not lay flat just yet. The anger in the older tom’s voice was uncharacteristic for simple startling of prey. He’d done that enough times, had heard the different tones of frustration in older warriors’ voices, to know that this was deeper than finding food. However, that being his only tip-off, he didn’t want to pursue that yet.

“At least those wannabe otters won’t be getting anything to eat either,” he mewed scornfully, attempting to sound cheerful as he shakily set his rump on the snow-clad floor. His tail began to twitch restlessly with unease, spraying flakes everywhere, and his tongue darted pink along his white muzzle as if licking away the taste of guilt from his mouth. He looked over his shoulder where the bird disappeared, attempting to appear casual and probably failing. “I could try to find it for you, and throw in an extra piece of whatever fresh-kill I capture. Would that make it up to you?”

When at last he couldn’t stand the silence and the odd atmosphere coming from the senior warrior, he turned back at him and blinked his muddy-amber eyes somberly. “Russetstripe, what’s up?”

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[Willow]

Green eyes glowered as the young warrior attempted to be cheerful. Russetstripe was not going to go for cheerful right now, not after his chance at retaining the life of a warrior had just been lost. His thick tabbied fur bristled in irritation at the young, reckless warrior. Couldn't the little mouse-brained idiot see this went further than simple prey? No, he just went on about otters. StarClan knows what he was saying. The senior warrior was not listening, he was simply glowering resentfully. His eyes widened in shock as Foxnose had the audacity to offer to catch prey for him.

First the older tom stared, then he blinked slowly, stupefied. "You think... catching the prey that you scared away... for me... would make this better?" his voice was low and deliberate. Even if it were an ordinary hunting mission that would have been offensive. As it was, Russetstripe could hardly believe his ears. "And what point and purpose would that serve? Simply to prove that I'm an old senile elder who can't catch his own prey?"

The ginger tabby spat on the ground in frustration and turned his back to Foxnose. "I catch my own prey. Always have, always will. I don't need you interfering." He knew he was being too harsh. Normally he liked Foxnose alright, but he just simply couldn't come to terms with what had just happened.

“Russetstripe, what’s up?”

The old tom glared at a fallen leaf, displacing his anger on that insignificant, innocent collection of dead cells. Now the mouse-brain asks what's wrong. After all of that, he thought with acute irritation. Russetstripe turned his broad head and stared at Foxnose. "That is no concern of yours."

[duskfur]

FOXNOSE

The flames in the other cat’s eyes did not flicker out when he attempted to joke around and appease the bad mood the old tabby was in. If anything, they grew hotter at the lighthearted jest, and the heat stung at his heart as he wondered what he was being punished for. A light wince came to his features as the slits widened in incredulity at his offer, and his good intentions were cast aside in a single verbal swipe. He cringed at the tone of voice Russetstripe used, slow and full of weight, something that made the young warrior feel like a complete idiot.

“I thought—” Foxnose started, but he was cut off as the old tomcat proceeded to spit at the ground and demand to know what that would prove. His amber eyes widening, the shorter tabby lifted his rear off the ground and took a shaky step backwards as he was berated. “I—I just suggested it as a favor. I’m not trying to say that you can’t catch your prey or anything; it’s my fault you didn’t this time; I wanted to help out, you know?” It barely slipped through his mind that the desperation to prove he wasn’t incapable of catching a meal for the Clan would be the reason behind the male’s angry distress. He was too taken aback at the sudden rage being sent in his direction.

He bowed his head like a scolded kit when Russetstripe assured him bluntly that his problems were of no concern, but at this point he managed to push past his guilt and confusion. “Well,” he meowed tentatively, “is there anything I could do?” He risked a step closer and tipped his narrow head to the side, attempting a smile and again failing. “I mean, if there’s some quota you gotta reach, no one will pay much attention to who killed what I don’t think.” He shrugged innocently and braced himself for more spitting.

[/blockquote]

[Willow]

Russetstripe twitched. He listened with a semblance of calm to the young warrior's desperate attempt to justify himself. Irritation and anger still pulsed through his body but he managed to hold his tongue until the tomcat had finished stuttering out his words. "Oh please. It was exactly what you were thinking, everyone's thinking it! I hear the Clan whispering! I've not gone deaf yet too, you know. You all think it's time I go to the fallen log, that I've worn out my moons as a warrior."

The ginger tom turned away and began clawing at a patch of bracken irritably. Everyone, even Elkstar, seemed to be muttering and gossiping about his age. Being eighty-seven moons did not mean he had to retire to the elder's den if he was still as capable as young warriors like Foxnose.

“I mean, if there’s some quota you gotta reach, no one will pay much attention to who killed what I don’t think.”

Did he really just say that? Did he not absorb anything I just said?" Russetstripe didn't even bother to look at Foxnose, he stared ahead, frustration pulsing once again through his veins. Long claws tore viciously at the innocent bracken before the old time bothered turning around sharply and giving a barbed reply.

"Quota?" he hissed in a deadly undertone. "There is no quota you mouse-brained imbecile. Does your thick skull absorb nothing that it hears? Or does it simply all bounce back?" He was quite for a moment, observing Foxnose with masked frustration. "I do think cats would be able to smell the prey to ascertain the killer of it, do you not? This is not about quotas, this is about something far more important than simply bringing back my share of prey for the day. This is about my future and if you weren't so thick-skulled you might have realized that by now!"

[duskfur]

FOXNOSE

Russetstripe did not interrupt his stammering replies, and by the time his tongue was too tied to offer any more lame excuses, he was finally given another clue to the heavy dark mood that had fallen over the old warrior like the shadow of a storm cloud. His eyes were wide as dusty twin suns as he heard the accusations. Yes, he had heard the other cats talking about him, remarking at how he would lose his edge soon, some even treating him with taunting pity. Personally he had nothing but respect and encouragement for the aging feline, since with a passionate fury like this, he’d be able to defend ThunderClan for another few moons, unless something were to happen.

He averted his eyes and murmured, “Not everyone thinks that.”

The ticked ginger cat jumped when the strips of bracken began shredding, and he watched numbly as the other tabby started to hiss at him again. He bore through it with ears flattened to his nape and fur bristling in a ridge along his red spine. He twisted his head to give the curly hairs a few brisk licks, a distraction from the enraged warrior and a way to hide his distraught face. His intentions had only been good, from trying to run around and enjoy himself to offering to hunt for his comrade. However, they were being turned upside down and he was being yelled at for his actions.

“There’s still a chance for you to hunt,” he said meekly. “And though you’ve seen your share of battles, I think it only means you have more experience and makes you a better warrior, one that the Clan can’t really afford to lose right now. You’re not senile yet, anyway. Maybe if you told Elkstar how you feel…?” He swallowed and closed his eyes for a few moments, wondering if he should keep talking or if whatever words left his mouth would still be warped. He settled on holding his tongue and staring up at the striped tomcat, at a loss for anything that might comfort him.

[/blockquote]

[Willow]

A bitter smirk came to Russetstripe's lips. "I'm so sure Elkstar would listen to the moanings of an old tom. She can't make exceptions just because i tell her how I feel." Some of the anger was gone, melting away into a feeling of hopelessness. Maybe she wouldn't make him an elder right away, but it was only a matter of time until the others' complaints overwhelmed his lone voice of protest.

"Just leave it alone, Foxnose. It's not your problem," the ginger tom muttered and stood slowly, shaking out his pelt. He closed his eyes against the cold north wind. "I am going to try to catch something else," his voice was emotionless now, dead, "Try not to scare it away too."

He didn't wait for a response before bounding away from the ticked tabby. Powerful muscles rippled in his body as he stalked through the now silent forest, scenting and looking for any small living creature. There was nothing stirring for a while, the prey still in their burrows where they had been startled by Foxnose. Then--

A small pink nose appeared in the foliage directly in front of him. Rabbit! They were rare here anymore, mostly dwelling only in WindClan's deserted moor. It was oblivious. Russetstripe began stalking forward, softly and slowly. Still the rabbit noticed nothing. This would be an easy kill.

Just as he got close enough to pounce, the rabbit looked up and upon noticing the cat, bolted. Hissing, Russetstripe took off after the prey. Over the ravine the rabbit when and the tom followed without a thought. He jumped.

Snap.

The ginger tom's back leg gave out under him with a sickening snap and he collapsed to the sandy ground. A loud, ear-shattering yowl escaped his mouth, unbidden and he watched the rabbit race away from him. With a feeling of dread, Russetstripe turned his head to look at the leg that lay bent and useless. There was blood, that was all he could tell.

[duskfur]

FOXNOSE

He realized how stupid his words had been when they were fired back at him in that scathing tone, and his mind was too weary to find any more ways to perhaps comfort the tom. It was concern that made it hard for him to stand back and do nothing, though it would probably have been the best decision. His desire to lend a paw here and there was overwhelming, and his amber eyes saw a great warrior who was losing a battle that no cat could face: time. It pulled the innocent kittens from their nests, hurled them through battles, weakened their bones, and at last closed their eyes in a final sleep. But the younger tom had to respect the courage and determination with which Russetstripe was fighting this unbeatable foe.

And then the fight appeared to have left him. His voice was hollow-sounding as it whispered back to him as if on the wind, from very far away. Foxnose pricked his ears up then lay them flat again, uncomfortably sinking his claws into the forest soil as he watched the orange tabby back turn to him. He dipped his head respectfully, keeping his tongue like he should have in the beginning, and watched the old ThunderClan warrior stalk off in search of some other prey.

Should he be doing this?

He stood, undecided as far as whether or not to follow, as the shape retreated quietly through the forest. At last his own white paws settled on the tracks, softer than before, allowing the snow and dead leaves to coat his footfalls. He kept his distance and finally took a seat, just behind one of the old oak trees, as the muscular shape ahead settled into a definitive crouch. The air smelled of rabbit.

This is what he wants. He had no right to judge Russetstripe; following one’s dreams was important, and without it there seemed little point to life. In this case, the dream was more of a defense against the nightmare of a stuffy log and apprentices offering moss or grooming left and right, reluctant or bitter. And as long as the cat still had some emotional strength left and the ability to walk, he could see no reason why the leader wouldn’t let him at least hunt and patrol.

And then came the bloodcurdling snap, echoing disgustingly off the bark of the trees, the wood altering the howl of agony that soon followed the unmistakable sound of breaking bone.

Stealth abandoned once again, Foxnose scrambled to his paws and leaped to the edge of the ravine where the warrior was crumpled, his leg stained crimson with blood. He panted and stared at the limb before meeting the green eyes with terror. White vapor puffing from his long muzzle, he managed to utter hoarsely, “I’ll g-get Dawnheart. Just stay st-still,” before spinning around and galloping toward the direction of camp, hesitating every few deer-lengths to raise his head, yowling.

“Someone! The medicine cat!”

He paused and gasped for air, turning to glance back over his shoulder. Was it safe to leave the tom alone, or would predators take advantage of a crippled cat? Trembling, he retreated the direction he came after a final last scream.

“Help!”

[/blockquote]

[audio]

Dawnheart

Dawnheart lay outside her den in a little patch of sunlight. The sun did little to warm her pelt, but she was content where she was. The normal bustle of clan life went on around her. Apprentices going groggily into the elder's den, warriors bringing in their catches of the day, and the kits running outside the nursery, hoping for a chance to play in the snow, only to be escorted back inside by their mothers. Life was good here in Thunderclan for Dawnheart. Nothing had happened to cause panic or heartbreak in a while, for which she was grateful.

Dawnheart's paw moved in a circular motion in the snow, tracing the same pattern over and over again until the ground beneath showed. How she longed for new-leaf, where rain would come and the smells of the forest would be stronger. Of course, the she-cat didn't mind leaf-bare, she just hoped that it would be a short one. The snow made the prey harder to find. The little creatures hid in their homes or blended well with the white powder, and this made her clan hungry and more prone to sickness, especially greencough or the more dreaded blackcough. The medicine cat had heard a few coughs going around camp, but nothing serious yet.

And then, interrupting her thoughts about sickness and the weather, a cat came barrelling into camp, out of breath, panting, and heading straight toward the medicine cat den. Dawnheart stood up quickly, her eyes locked onto the younger cats. "Help! Someone has been injured!" Was all the tom said to her before Dawnheart was up, ran into her den and grabbed a leaf full of different herbs. She was racing toward the exit of camp within a few seconds. When it came to hurt cats, you had to be fast. They often did not have long and judging by the way the little cat was panting, whoever it was out there had really been injured. "Which way?" Dawnheart yelled behind her, looking over her shoulder to see the cat stumble her way, yelling out which way he heard the cries from.

Dawnheart stopped, went back to the tom. "Stay here. You have been a big help. Get some rest and something to eat. You did good." She said, then turned around and bolted away, replaying the directions the young cat gave her.

Dawnheart ran through the forest, the bare trees zooming by as she tried not to trip on the debris on the ground. Her ears were alert for the sign of trouble. Just then, around a few clustered trees, Dawnheart saw them. It was Foxnose, but he looked alright. Her eyes looked widely around for the hurt cat. Then, she saw him, on the ground with a leg that looked so very broken. Russetstripe. Oh no, what had he done? Where the two cats trying to show each other up? Where they fighting? Both of these toms should know better, what with Russetstripe getting older and Foxnose barely two years old.

"What happened here?" Demanded Dawnheart, her eyes on Foxnose, waiting for his response, which he better make quick. The tortoiseshell went over to Russetstripe, bending over his leg. Blood was gushing out of his wound and the leg looked like it was definitely broken. "Hi Russetstripe," she purred softly into his ear, "you're going to be okay. Just stay still and I will take care of you." Dawnheart reassured the older warrior. She unwrapped her small bag of herbs she always had ready to go in her den in case of emergencies like this, listening for Foxnose's explanation of what happened.

[duskfur]

FOXNOSE

The ginger warrior trembled as he remained by the older tomcat’s side, but at least one blessing had befallen the unfortunate Russetstripe. Perhaps it was from pain or blood loss, but his consciousness had slipped away, saving him from the waking agony that must have come from his leg. When he looked at it now, it was clearly broken, or at an angle it should not be anyway. He wasn’t a medicine cat, wasn’t the soul that he prayed would be nearing them. Should he have sprinted to the camp to retrieve her himself? Had no one heard his desperate cries? How far did a voice reach when it carried an important message? Only time would tell, time that was steadily running out as more crimson stained the scattered snow and dead leaves of the forest floor.

Finally the aroma of herbs wafted to his nose, and Foxnose jumped to his paws from where he had been crouched beside the old warrior, monitoring the rise and fall of his striped flank with concern. The dark, mottled shape exploded out of the surrounding vegetation, and he let out a breath of relief, realizing that he had held it in to better hear his injured comrade’s shaky breathing. However, the young warrior was taken aback when the green eyes alighted on him, a faint trace of accusation in them. At least, that’s what he assumed when she sharply demanded what had happened, as if it was strictly his fault Russetstripe lay injured.

“Russetstripe—” He began to stammer again, tongue-tied, fearful and angry and wondering if he really was the one to blame for this entire mess. Perhaps so; if he hadn’t frightened off the bird, the initial hunt would have been the only one, not the fatal attention he’d turned toward the rabbit. Eyes wide with fear, he continued on. “He thought he could prove himself if he caught something. I didn’t see what happened; I think he was trying to leap the ravine to get a rabbit he’d spotted.”

Foxnose licked his long muzzle and glanced at the crumpled tabby form. His eyes closed and he continued to slightly tremble with guilt. I guess you won’t remain a warrior after all.

***

ooc; got permission to make russet pass out. xD

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