Posts by satin .

Whitekestrel murmured something irritably and growled, "I'll take her in. And Finch," he added, turning to the tom, "I was a bit harsh on you earlier. I apologize." He paused a moment. "Oh, and your paw needs redressing." He whipped around and bounded back into camp. "Come along, newcomer."

"So," said the pale medicine cat once the kittypet noisily entered the camp, "what might your name be? Our leader will want to know." His head swung toward her, but he was clearly several mouse-lengths from completely facing her. "She'll also ask your age, though by your scent you're probably as old as an apprentice, correct?" He realized she probably didn't know what an apprentice was. "Or, a cat training to become a warrior," he added curtly.

yeah, i believe so

Whitekestrel twitched his whiskers in amusement. "Why don't you come to my den while I patch up Finch? I'll tell you about it." He lifted his head, the rain dripping from his long whiskers, and he headed for the medicine den beneath the roots of the Great Cottontree. Inside, it was surprisingly comfy in spite of the rain, and Whitekestrel quickly stopped to lap the water from his pelt.

"Agh, StarClan no," he grumbled, drawing a sopping paw over his head. "I'm a blind old thing: useless at hunting and fighting--that's what the warriors do," he added. "Instead, I heal the sick and injured of the Clan. There's not an herb I don't know." He couldn't help the pride that swelled in his chest. "My mentor taught me well." A look of longing crossed his face as he remembered Heatherwhisker, the cat who'd taught him all he knew in spite of his unability to see. She was also the former medicine cat of PrairieClan.

She was such a gentle soul, patiently waiting for him to identify the different herb-scents as he stumbled across the prairie. Looking back, Whitekestrel had to admit he'd felt something for her, something more than just friendship.

Shaking out his fur as if clearing the past wreathing around him, the white tom faced Chloe once more. "But what's passed has passed. Now go get Finch for me; my herbs will wilt before he gets in here."

[align=center][color=black][size=17pt]we are strong.[/size][/color]

"now, there is more for you to learn. if you wish to live with us, you must know what puts us in trouble, what we eat, our ceremonies, etcetera etcetera. you can't join us if you don't know what you're doing!"

Knowing it was Finch squeezing into his den, Whitekestrel began collecting marigold and oak leaves. "You know, Finch," he began, his voice taking its flat, business-like tone, "Viperstar may want to keep you here along with Chloe. You seem promising enough; it wouldn't surprise me." He slowly twisted around to face him, then took the herbs in his jaws and padded over. He began chewing them, turning them into a green, gunky substance, then, rapid as the prairie winds, lifted Finch's paw with his own, ripping off the old dressing with deft claws. He then bent forward and began to lick the poultice into the angry red gash.

"If it stings, it's working," he muttered between licks, guessing that Finch would begin complaining. Most cats did.

Whitekestrel pricked his ears at Chloe's arrival. He answered her question in his currently-monotone voice, sluggishly wrapping Finch's paw in cobwebs.

"Yes, they do. I eat, don't I?" His words seemed cold, but he twitched his whiskers in good spirits. "Sometimes they bring me moss or feathers for my nest, but it's usually apprentices who do that." He finished wrapping the loner's paw unceremoniously. "Now go talk to Viperstar. She'll want to meet you formally," he told Finch.

"Probably," the pale tom grunted, turning to put excess herbs and cobweb back their places. "But don't worry; Viperstar is quite friendly once you get to know her. She was like you once, not one with the Clan. Neither was I." He turned back to the two cats, wrapping his rain-sodden tail around his paws. The water made his pelt feel dirty and heavy, and he wished badly to wash it, but it would be rude to do so while speaking with others. In his mind, at least.

"Probably in her own den," the medicine cat stated, ears flicking away droplets of moisture. "It's a hollow in this very tree." He put a large paw on one of the several gnarled roots that made up his den.

the lack of muse is reallll ><

well, for now much isn't happening :p

most cats are in their dens while brindlelight, chloe, and finch are talking to viperstar about chloe and the latter joining. the rain's getting pretty heavy

aw hell nawwww cx

The lanky tom's tail-tip twitched. He was unnerved by the ferocity of the thunder and the amount of lightning that kept crackling. Hoping to ease his worries, he twisted his head and licked the precipitation from his back. Little did he know, his pelt was about to get yet another soaking in the heart-pounding minutes to come.

like omjay

Whitekestrel was doing whatever blind medicine cats do right before disaster strikes :p

[fancypost bgcolor=#; border: 0px; width: 350px; text-align: justify; font-family: georgia; font-size: 6pt;]the medicine cat was just about to slip into the oblivion of sleep when viperstar's anxious yowls pierced his ear fur and roused him into consciousness, sending an electric jolt of fear through his being. her words registered in his mind right as the acrid stench filled his nose.

it was all too familiar.

when whitekestrel was just a tiny thing, his mother always told him to avoid--at all costs--three things: monsters, twolegs, and most importantly, fire. the others were dangerous up close, yes, but with fire, even if you evade the flames, the smoke could easily take you out. not to mention the agony that came with getting burned.

he had learned this the hard way. though it may seem comical now, when the snowy tom was apprentice age, he had stupidly stepped on something called a cigarette butt by kittypets and old rogues. the pain was unbearable. not only this, but he'd also had to escape real fire with his family in the twolegplace he was raised in--the same one chloe was most likely from. he'd lost his brother, hail, that day.

for the second time that morning, whitekestrel had to shake off distant memories. he could reminice later; for now the camp had to be evacuated!

acutely aware of the pungent fear-scent wafting of his wintry pelt as he dashed toward the elders' den, he fought to remain composed. heat bit into his fur, boiling his flesh, as he shoved his broad head into the den. "weedstep!" he hissed urgently. "we have to get to the stream! quickly!" panic edged his voice. he struggled to hear anything other than his own frenzied heartbeat and the steadily-approaching crackling of the blaze. the only scent that entered his nostrils was the asphyxiating smell of smoke.[/fancypost]

Agonizing seconds transpired, the heat at Whitekestrel's tail becoming unbearable. With an urgent snarl of slight annoyance, the sightless tom shoved himself into the den. He spat out the mangled herbs, their surfaces scarred by his own tightly clenched teeth. Without one moment of hesitation, he clamped his jaws down on a loose bit of Weedstep's fur; he hoped it was his scruff.

Pulling the elderly tom from the den was an easier task than Whitekestrel had imagined, and for that he was thankful for. But another obstacle lay ahead.

How in StarClan's name will I get around this burning debris?

Flicking his sensitive ears, the medicine cat just barely heard the meows of cats not far ahead over the viscious crackling of the flames. Eyes stinging from the smoke, chest heaving in an effort for oxygen, Whitekestrel remembered a vital snippet of his mother's wisdom.

Keep low.

Getting into a sloppy hunter's crouch, the white tom--whose pure fur was gradually beginning to singe and turn black--crept hastily forward, veering away when a more-intense flash of heat whipped his face. At least he was less likely to be overcome by the smoke, as was Weedstep.

Suddenly Whitekestrel felt hot agony at his left flank, and tried not to screech too loud. I'm nearly there! The cats' anxious mews were right there, just a few tail-lengths away...!

With one last mighty heave of his back legs, pain searing through his body, he felt his four irritated paws strike the ashy branch on which the others were making their escape. He tightened his grip on Weedstep.

Suddenly a thought hit him.

Oh, no... Please don't let this cat be dead...

"I heard you crossing it," Whitekestrel wheezed. Normally the pale tom would snap at Nightpaw for thinking he couldn't get Weedstep and his own self out of harm's way, but the smoke he'd inhaled had done a number on his lungs. Not to mention the angry, oozing red burn caused by the blaze, though his adrenaline managed to numb the pain.

He might chastise her later.

For now, Whitekestrel had to focus on getting all three of them out alive. Though Nightpaw was a very capable cat, and much younger and faster than he was, the medicine cat knew she was barely out of kithood, and felt largely responsible for her. Rapidly he twisted about and shoved the front of Weedstep's ash-covered form toward her.

"You get out first. I'll take up this end." He muscled underneath the elder's hind end. With a grunt, he butted Nightpaw forward.

His pads, already inflamed and red from the embers he'd stepped on, were put through even more abuse as he clambered across the molten branch. Whitekestrel gave a quiet hiss; he instantly knew his error.

A coughing fit racked his body, but he refused to halt to catch his breath. Not as if he could; the air was toxic, choked by thick wreaths of smoke.

Eventually his swelled paws touched grass, and he found himself bumping into Nightpaw's flank. Eyes streaming, lungs desperately sucking in oxygen, he struggled to retain his footing. He dug his claws into the dirt as his chest tightened.

He couldn't rest. Not now. We're still too close to the camp.

With a huge effort, the blackened tom spat, "Keep moving!" Another round of hacking seized him.

Whitekestrel felt his bad temper flare up again, and growled rather hoarsely to Chloe, "I'll be fine, kittypet. Just run ahead; go!" He held back his coughs.

Though Weedstep was old and frail, it was obvious the retired warrior had been eating well the last few moons. His weight pressed heavily down on the medicine cat's shoulders; from this Whitekestrel got the idea that he simply needed to exercise more.

However, his chest kept constricting more and more with each paw step. How much smoke did I breathe? He refused to let this be known by the others.

It would turn out to be his undoing.

ugh, sameeee

thank you! i can't wait for the rp c:

A few mere moments passed between King's summoning howl and Jezebel's waking.

Climbing from her nest felt like such an arduous task. But why? She had gotten enough rest the night prior to this radiant morning, and it wasn't as if she had been in a harrowing chase of some kind. But even so, her lengthy limbs ached as she groggily stretched, blunt black claws scraping the earth.

Jez's slender form melted into the shadows of the clearing as she slunk into view for a few fleeting seconds. Then with an uncerimonious yawn, which exposed a pink tongue and rows of pearly whites, she barked to the lead, "Good morning, King. You rose early, as usual." Her voice was rusty from hours of disuse, but it still held her usual style of speaking, the ends "curling" up in a way in which could remind one of a question. There was also a thick layer of respect coating the entirity of it. Indeed, Jezebel did not question the lead's authority.