[Daragca]

Owlthroat
he/him | Shadowclan Warrior | 40 moons
Killer Aptitude T3 - Just A Scratch - Silver Tongue T2
The Dancing Bird

TW: descriptions of blood & flesh

It was a strange thing to see the creature of creation, Newtbelly was the fighter he was today thanks to Owlthroat. Now he staggered with a bitten shoulder and curled underneath the formidable beast. Had Owlthroat really meant for him to become hurt? Probably not, it was just a lack of poignant care and understanding for his friend.

He couldn’t leave him to die, the blame would reside entirely on his shoulders. That certainly would look bad, there also was a certain amount of loyalty. One of the few cats in the clan he could actually stand, tolerate less painfully. The tom found himself amping up for his next assault, he could feel the adrenaline masked tingling in his legs and in his bones. It would require surprising grace to take a monolith down, that’s what he had to deliver.

A flash of black and white shot at the beast. That’s all it was now, simple colours. Black, white, red, yellow. Nothing more, nothing less. Owlthroat catapulted himself in a raging ball of fury landing squarely on the fox’s back, immediately throwing off its balance. It swayed and heaved directly underneath him, giving Newtbelly the chance to roll himself out from underneath its hit zone. Thick jagged claws pierced into the creature’s muscles, tearing, shredding and desperately destroying the beast as it wildly lashed out.

One buck threw him from its back, to his side, the sly creature quickly following up. A gash opening down his side as its teeth raked along his ribs, Owlthroat let out a howl as blood gushed forth. Soaking his pretty ivory fur deep shades. But strength willed him onwards, moments and memories shooting through his convoluted vision. Being taken down by a fox, how embarrassing.

Moments like this were beautiful. His heart pounded in his ears as he sprang forth once more, unable to be knocked down forever. Crooked yellow teeth slipping barbarically into the throat of the red devil. Then ripping back.

It gurgled, clawed at what was left of its vocal chords. Then began to rock, crumbling muscles giving way, its life fading as quickly as it came into the world. Before finally dropping to the floor twitching. No more.

Owlthroat was drenched, head to toe in thick sticky fox blood. Hubris glinting in his eyes, his energy was excessive. Taking pregnant pauses heaving lost breath back into his system. Maniacal grin ever present, though red fur and flesh hung in clumps from his maw. Unsteady on his feet he glanced towards Newtbelly, ”Bigger they come. Harder they fall.” It was a breathy rasp. Not quite knowing really whether he was referring to himself or the corpse that now lay in front of them.

[​​ @sleepyyjax ]