Youth: Barleytuft's Patrol [closed]

The fox was enjoying the prey, terrifyingly fighting. She slowly backed away with the tan cat distracted, circling back around to her original cat. But the stupid prey wouldn't let her have fun. He attacked her again, swiping and swiping. Spinning around, the fox felt a hard shoulder slam into her jaw. She let out a loud yip, pain searing through her jaw. Blood gushed out as the bottom left fang slammed against the top of her mouth wrong, ripping it out of it's socket. Spitting and bleeding, the tooth fell to the tunnel floor in the chaos. Her eyes scanned her companions. They would take care of this. Unable to fight in fear of additional injury of her mouth, the first fox to attack streamed out of the den, ignoring the other fleeing cats. She ran back to StarClan knows where, nothing but a russet streak on the moor.

Sandpaw was still struggling to figure out what she was doing. Where she was going. Mumbled words called out everywhere, and she managed to drag her way closer to an opening. Suddenly, more teeth gripped her scruff and she cried out in pain from the original injury form the fox. She went limp, exhausted and in pain. Allowing Elmskip to drag her. Oh lord, she would be in so much trouble.

Grousefrost hissed as the pale fox leapt for him. His hind legs coiled to spring, but there was no time as the weight of it crashed onto him. He snarled, rolling his body and twisting beneath the fox, desperate to pull his silver pelt free of the fox’s grip. He noticed the black and orange body of Elmskip as the older tom rushed by with Sandpaw, the tom’s loud voice making it perfectly clear.

They would not win this fight. They were too few and the foxes too many. He slammed his hindlegs into the dirt and wrenched his body violently in the direction the fox’s grip seemed the weakest before he darted into the golden grass around them. His tail low as he bounded away from the camp and Elmskip. If the fox followed him, he couldn’t risk bringing it back with him.

Grousefrost is no longer stunned, he has fled the battle.

Fox 3:
57/75 HP
135/200 SP

Grousefrost:
1/45 HP
140/160 SP

The sound of Elmskip's approach, retrieval of Sandpaw, and quick departure with the apprentice grasped in his teeth barely registered in Barleytuft's head as he struggled with the raging predator in the darkness with him. The fox was quick, and as the wariror grew more and more exhausted, blood pulsing from his sides, he realized that more of his swipes were hitting than missing. The fox was two steps ahead and drawing further; by the time Barleytuft recognized that the fox had enough time to coil its muscles for a spring, it was too late for him to do anything about it. A heart-stopping snarl wrenched from it, blasting the tom in the face an instant before the world flashed white. A debilitating pain struck through his face and rang in his brain.

Barleytuft couldn't imagine how badly he'd been struck by the fox's claws; all he knew was it had happened. Blood filled his nose and his mouth - had he bitten through his tongue? - and the tom was flailing his head, yowling with pain as he tried to scramble away from the injury he hadn't avoided. "Is everyone out?" the senior warrior demanded hoarsely, spitting blood as he gasped. Elmskip's voice sounded far away. No other sounds of struggle were present. That particular silence was the sweetest sound. StarClan, bless you; please get them home, he thought desperately, and I'll worry about myself while you help them.

It was his last hope; they would trap him in if they could, and he couldn't give them that opportunity. With another desperate cry, Barleytuft charged at the fox. Please let this work. He felt its breath hot on his kneck. He jolted, unpredictably, to the other side, and: an opening. Success. Barleytuft lunged at the fox's tail, dimly lit from the distant light at the end of the tunnel, and clamped hard as he continued to charge. He felt the jolt down his own neck - further splitting of his face-wounds - as he pulled hard, throwing the creature off-balance. Then he let go, and he ran - ran like he'd run on the mountains.

Barleytuft burst into the night panting, his body numb with adrenaline. He stared around, wild-eyed, for his companions. Of course; just as before the tunnel, the mist was too thick to see. Anywhere but here, he thought desperately, and then he noticed the looming pale fox in the darkness. He fled another way, tail bristling.

Barleytuft used Tail Yank on Fox 2, using 10 stamina and dealing 9 damage. Fox 2  is stunned for 1 turn.
Barleytuft has fled the battle.

Fox 2:
50/75 HP (-9)
135/200 SP

Barleytuft:
57/100 HP
235/280 SP (-10)

---

A good hit once again, naturally; the fox's heavy limbs slammed into the cat, and though he had staggered to try to dodge there was no escape. The predator let out a snarl, trying to wrestle and pin the writhing feline, but its desperation was great. The silver cat was suddenly twisting, and in a blink he was free. The fox let out a cry of rage, immediately lunging after him, but unknown to it the cat was of WindClan: the fastest cats in the forest. The tom's claws dug in and threw it flying across the moor, shooting into the mist like nothing.

For a few moments the fox cantered after it, panting heavily, but it did something a predator on the hunt usually did not: it stopped its chase, amber eyes glinting and pupils wide, as its long head swung to look towards the battle that it had been deceived into abandoning.

The sounds of battle were diminished; indeed, the fox could scent that two of the wounded cats had made it out already. In the distance, the first of the foxes was fleeing from the other tunnel entrance. The pale creature's face twisted in a cold snarl. They had broken the formation, and now what could have been an easy slaughter had turned into some yearling's squabble. It was huffing with anger and frustration when the final cat came shooting out into the mist. Their eyes locked - glinting amber to petrified hazel - and for a moment time stood still.

Then the pale tom was darting in the opposite direction, and the fox let out a low growl as it watched the cat flee. My pack. It turned its face again from the easy chase, instead turned toward the tunnel. It let out a screeching, yelping howl before it began to race across the moor after the fox who had fled.

Fox 3 has fled the battle, calling its companions with it.

The fox's eyes glimmered as it was left the last one fighting, teeth bared as it worked to corner the still standing tom so that it could properly get revenge for what he had done to the fled fox. Then, in an act of stupid bravery, the tom charged. The fox pulled back for a second, thrown before crouching ready to leap and intercept him...But then he suddenly stepped to the side and was behind the fox. It tried to throw itself back onto his paws, to turn and snap at him but a lashing pain through its tail caused it to yip as it stumbled away from him with a raging snarl.

And then he was gone.

The fox shook its body as it tried to regain itself, ready to charge after the fleeing cats but the howl from the other fox caused the beast to halt in its tracks. It snarled as the cats disappeared from sight, wanting to leap after them and finish the bloody battle but it contained itself as it turned to follow after its fleeing companions. The cats would get to live another day...But at least they knew to fear the open moor now, it noted with a soft grin as it disappeared into the unknown with the others.

The blow against the tunnel wall had left the attacker just as dazed as the victim. The ground shifted beneath the dark fox's paws, and by the time he regained his senses, Elmskip had fled with a trail of blood in his wake. Listening to the sounds around it, the predator realized only one other companion and one cat were left. The rest had fled or picked up pursuit. The dark fox approached the last battling pair, growling lowly and ready to sink his jaws into a new target, when Grousefrost bolted past the pair of them. The fox was prepared for the chase, but a call from another companion signaled that the hunt was over. No casualties... Not this time. Biting back a frustrated snarl, the dark fox broke onto the moor and raced alongside the others into the distance.