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Tallstar @
burntToast @
Dolomedes @
ollie_the_skeleton
TW: Blood, gore, bones?? A leg getting broken by a snap trap.
(TLDR: Deadmoon brought everyone out into the territory to go hunting. She was walking in the front and gets caught in a snap trap, which has broken her left front leg and caused a lot of bleeding. Twolegs will be on their way in the next post, and arrive to yoink in the third.)
Stars above, this wasn’t a great idea, was it? Three apprentices and only two warriors, it was bound to turn into a bit of a mess. Vinesmoke was perfectly capable of course, and Deadmoon was certain he would help her keep an eye on the kiddos, even if none of them were his, but it was still a bit of a risk. Though, she supposed, the other option would have been her and two apprentices, so on average the amount of supervision had increased. The warrior was hoping against hope that she could get Jaggedpaw and Frostpaw to focus on something besides each other for the duration of their little hunting patrol, but she also wasn’t entirely confident. It had never worked before, though spinning it as a competition might get them moving.
If not, well, then it would be away with Vinesmoke and Frostpaw, and she would try to manage Orchidpaw and Jaggedpaw on her own. It wasn’t a task she relished the thought of, but Deadmoon was well aware it was supposed to be something of an honor. Having both of them. She was, apparently, trusted to manage it. Why? Deadmoon wasn’t entirely sure, seeing as she hadn’t gotten an apprentice to warriorhood in moons (though admittedly Honeypaw had been close. But that was probably an even more catastrophic failure than any of the others going missing, seeing as she hadn’t recognized what was going on until it was too late). But she also wasn’t about to tell Twilightstar she was wrong, or that she couldn’t handle it. She had some pride, tempered with the knowledge of her own inadequacies as it was.
The rambling thoughts she had just now indulged in, however, were not the order of the day. Deadmon chased them away, as if waving a heavy stick, and returned her attention to the territory around them. It was still covered thinly in snow, though the days had been getting a bit sunnier lately. A bit warmer. Newleaf was on the way, and not a moment too soon. Much of the prey had been driven underground or elsewhere by the cold, and what hadn’t had been snapped up to feed the hungry bellies in Windclan.
She couldn’t smell much in the way of surviving prey, just deer. Deer and deer and more deer, absolutely soaking the meadow in their scent. Stars above, how many of them had been through here? She couldn’t even see their tracks, and she could smell them! Perhaps a new snow had fallen to cover their tracks, and that was why they had left no evidence of their passing? Casting her gaze to the sky, Deadmoon scanned the vastness for clouds. Evidence of past or coming snow.
And that was all it took.
A moment of distraction, of eyes somewhere other than the path before her. Even if she had been looking down, she might not have seen it, so covered was it by snow and dead grass. Deadmoon certainly couldn’t have smelled it, the musk of the deer overpowering all other scents. It made no sound, no movement, nothing to give itself away, before her front leg was within its grasp.
Her head flung back, eyes wide, and a yowl of agony wrenched itself from her jaws as the metal teeth sank into her flesh. It was stronger than any bite she’d known, stronger even than a fox. The injury was so great, the pain so sharp and white-hot and intense, that Deadmoon registered nothing for a moment. She thrashed, snow cold against her fur, control of her own body half-surrendered to blind panic. How could she be expected to stay calm? What cat could?
She was like a fish on dry land, so suddenly and completely out of her element that rationality departed. The scent of the deer was gone. It had been replaced by the tang of metal, coating her tongue in a mere breath. Deadmoon gasped in great lungfuls of air, pulling and thrashing at what restrained her. She had to get free, she must! If she didn’t it would devour her! Consume her! She refused to be eaten! Especially not in front of Vinesmoke and Jaggedpaw and Frostpaw!
Vinesmoke. The apprentices. Somehow that was enough to arrest her motion, to bring her to a halt. Surely they would be able to help her. They would, if it were something they could fight. The twins were too battle-hungry not to, and Vinesmoke was her friend! If this thing could be wrested away by their energy and force alone, it would already be gone.
So why wasn’t it?
Vinesmoke. It came out as a whimper. Pathetic, needy, like a kit. He was the first one she thought of, the only one she could even fathom placing any sort of weight onto. It wasn’t fair, he had done nothing wrong. He deserved none of the responsibility, the questions. But she couldn’t very well put it on one of the apprentices, now could she? Deadmoon was still resolutely not looking at her leg, because she was fairly certain that whatever she saw would probably drive her into a faint. The pain might do that anyway, but she had no desire to see what had happened to her leg. It had been near to useless to begin with. What would it be now?
What happened? What is this thing? The words came out in a rush, high and reedy. Another experimental, hopeless tug, and Deadmoon recoiled in pain again. She hunched over the injured limb, hissing. She didn’t know what was happening, and it hurt, and STARS ABOVE that was a lot of blood, where had that all come from? Surely that couldn’t all be from her! A frantic glance at the others revealed them unharmed. So where in Starclan’s name had it come from?
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