I Went Out for Fresh Air (closed)

This hadn't been the plan.

Minkstar's already battered, barely healing body slammed into the hard, ice-caked stone, limbs screaming from the pain and bleeding red spatters into the white as they sprawled limply. His breath gasped in his throat, and the blurry image of a black and tan, white dog loomed, wavering in front of the background of bare-leafed trees.

He'd come out for a change of pace, feeling far better than he had in a while since that other tangle with predators, hoping in the process to find a snake or two. Extra prey that he'd been forced to eat while healing had given him a brief strength, a will to track down and find more.

Instead, he found himself cornered by another terror foreign to the forest, the creature's jaws snapping out for him. He gritted his teeth, wild adrenaline giving the strength to lash out, crazed by pain, maddened by fear. Somehow, his claws connected, digging into soft flesh, pushing back against slavering jaws and tearing savagely. An ear-splitting yelp drove knives through the dizzying torpor of his mind, and he scrambled away, limping heavily on a limb that spiked with pain, ribs that grated slightly with each gasping breath. A snarl came from behind, rushing paws dashing after him. Half-falling, half-leaping, he dove into a crevice - barely sparing the effort to hope no adders happened to live here - hot breath brushing the tip of his tail, something more snapping with a savage click at his fur.

He shouldn't have gone ahead, should have waited.

Snuffling probed at the crevice, a whimpering growl vibrating the air as it pawed at the entrance, sending flakes of ice and dirt skittering down into the darkness. Minkstar simply lay in the shadow, panting - warm wet seeping out to stain the ground beneath, dizziness pulling at his mind. He fought to stay awake, to drive away the hovering blackness of unconsciousness that terrified him more than anything. That sucking sensation of falling away - so tempting.... His will wavered, a weak hiss aimed at the prowling figure outside all he could summon.

He could only hope the others had heard, distantly, and that they were running here even now.

Then again, maybe it was already too late.

Of the things she expected when lurking near clan territory, the heavy, vicious, excitable bark of a dog was not it. Atalante's fur lifted as she shared down at the creature from where she perched in the low branch of tree. It had chased a ginger and white tom into one of the rocky crevices and seemed frantic to get to him. The tom was unfamiliar to her, but was in a bad way and carried the scent of the clan whose borders she'd promised not to trespass on again.

Unfortunately, some promises needed to be broken. And Atalante needed a way in. Father's order, nothing more. That was more important than flimsy words said to save her own hide.

Still, the savage beast below made her paws hesitate. Atalante didn't enjoy fighting, not in the slightest. The dog wasn't a foe she knew well, but it also wasn't a cat. She didn't know if she could stomach another death like the one she'd helped cause in those filthy marshes.

If she didn't help, the ginger and white tom might as well be dead, though. He had clanmates who would miss him... And Atalante was here. A huff escaped her, claws unsheathing as she gripped the branch harder.

She wouldn't be fighting a clan cat today... Hopefully. And if the dog stayed here, she'd be just as trapped in the tree as the tom was in that crevice. She wasn't so confidant in her ability that she could make her way through the trees with ease like her father could.

Foxdung, dad... What have you gotten me into? She didn't want to be here at all. But she couldn't just go against orders, either. Saving one of their own might just be a good way to find herself not entirely unwelcome by Thunderclan warriors, then she could work on actually finding a way into the clan. Right?

The dog whined and panted, pawing at the crevice. The tom let out a weak hiss. Neither seemed aware of the rogue perched above.

Atalante dropped onto the dog with unsheathed claws. It yelped and snarled as she landed on the beast's back, clawing at its flanks. "Get away from him." She muttered. Not that the dog could understand her. It was already bleeding from a previous injury, while Atalante was fresh and uninjured. She just hoped she could drive it off before that changed.

The member 'kjSage' has done the following action : Dices roll

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'Invasion Dice' :

(okay, i didn't really think about this when i opted out of the battle system, heh, but if you want me to change anything lemme know!)

With a suddenness that drove away the waves of darkness to sharp white clarity, new sounds exploded outside the crevice with a yelp and frenzied snarling. And Minkstar's existence changed from painful suffering bordering on blackout to alert and tense. Through the stink of dog permeating everything, a tinge of cat broke through, along with fresh blood.

Who-?

He levered himself into a more upright position, gripping at the stone with his paw, a sense of urgency thrumming under his pelt as the bright slit to the outside world resolved into the madly twisting form of the dog and an unfamiliar pelt clinging to its back. Even as he watched, the dog twisted with almost unnatural agility, wiry, barrel-chested frame snapping in a move that dislodged the stranger.

Frogdung!

This newcomer would end up like him if he stayed huddled away - stars only knew why a loner had leapt in in the first place. Dogs like this couldn't be defeated one-on-one, though its sides held a glisten of fresh, dark blood, marking new injuries. So the stranger could fight well, at least.

Gritting his teeth against the burning pain, he slipped out of the crevice, his low yowl more pained that threatening as he taunted the dog bearing down on its new prey, a limping rush letting him aim a calculated strike at the tendons on the back of its rear leg. If the thing hadn't been mad before, it was now. Saliva glinted from flashing yellowed teeth, the whites of its eyes showing as it kicked out at him.

He winced as it grazed his hip, the bleeding wound on his left foreleg slowing his attempt to leap away. "Go for its eyes! Anything!"

The dog twisted with an almost impossible speed, and it was only quick reflexes that Atalante managed to land on her paws. She heard a voice off to her right, risking a glance to see the ginger and white tom. Blinding the thing would be a good idea. It's sides were already slick with blood, bright against white and brown fur. Atalante bounded forward as the dog turned on its original target, claws flashing as they caught first an ear, then the forehead in rapid succession. She'd wanted the eye proper, but the thing didn't like staying still. Rather unfortunate. Blood dripping into eyes would be a hindrance, but not a large enough hindrance.

Of course, it also brought her right back to the dog's attention. It snapped at her, and Atalante wasn't quite fast enough to dodge as fangs sank into her side. She dimly registered the pain, adrenaline keeping her main focus where it needed to be as she retaliated with another vicious strike, aimed at the sensitive spot where the inside of the foreleg met shoulder. Her claws dragged downward sharply, and then she was leaping away as the dog snarled in pain and frustration as the leg buckled.

Sharp, hot pain shot through her ribcage as she moved. Atalante was going to regret this later, she was sure of it. No time to bother with inspecting the damage done however. The dog was limping badly and moving slower, but the danger wouldn't be over just yet. She circled behind the dog, determined to find another opening.

Minkstar winced sympathetically as the dog snapped at his benefactor, hovering outside its range as he looked for an opening, a grimace twisting at his maw from the pain in his own leg, old wounds protesting as well as new. This isn't going well.

Surely the barking, snarling, and yowling could be heard halfway across the forest? He might have said he wasn't going far, but this should have been enough to trip alarms from here to RiverClan.

And then the dog stumbled, the rogue - a she-cat, he noted vaguely somewhere in the corners of his mind - expertly slashing at the inside of its leg despite her own wounds. But that was alright - they were both bleeding red all over the churned-up ground. So long as they lived and continued to fight, they could keep going. They had to keep going.

He had to keep going.

With it briefly distracted, he lunged forward and aimed a strike at the softer skin between its hind leg and belly, doing minimal damage as he hopped back again, but still eliciting a short, high-pitched whine.

The dog whirled, leaning heavily on its other legs, the injured one showing spattering glints, its jaws snarling, its eyes fixed on him, and then the rogue as she dashed around its back. Foxdung! It lunged, a mad blur of snapping teeth aimed at anything and everything moving and clawed.

He leapt in, burning pain lancing up to his shoulder as he gritted his teeth around the agony, slashing at its other leg, aiming for any sensitive skin, heedless of how close to its head he got. Almost immediately it rounded on him, teeth snapping with something akin to panic, catching briefly at his pelt as he ducked underneath it and ripping at flesh. Stars. His throat closed around a cry of pain, a crazy tilt to his perspective swirling at the edge of his vision.

It twisted above, and he stumbled below in its shadow, the cold iciness of dirtied off-white mush grinding into his shoulder, a heavy-clawed paw shoving him unintentionally into the dirt. Yellowed teeth, flashing eyes, a furious snarl.

Deja vu.

He twisted, teeth burying in his shoulder instead of his neck, his own teeth bared as he lunged upwards, barely registering the abrupt explosion of white-hot under his skin, the matted fur of its throat under the point of its jaw his target. His aim struck true. White teeth pierced it, a ripping sensation in both his own shoulder and beneath his teeth sending stars scattering in painful flickers across his vision. He drove upwards, crazed, digging into a mouthful of rancid-smelling flesh, gagging on the taste of its blood, but seeking that throbbing heat, the vibration of a howl building in its throat reverberating through his frame, his blurred vision shaking.

Warm, sticky wet. Cold. Gasping. He could feel thick liquid seeping into his fur, ice-cold air on a pulsating feeling in his shoulder. When had the dog let go?

He stumbled back, fuzzy blurs grey and white and brown. The smell of blood was overpowering, the feel of the ground under his paws cold, grainy, icy, chapped. Except it wasn't under his paws anymore. The world tilted on its axis even after he'd slid to the ground, whirling in nauseating circles around him. A familiar feeling tugged at his pelt, sliding his soul from beneath his skin.

Not again.

Far, far too familiar.

His eyes slid shut against the dizzying striations bending out of shape in his vision, sound garbled and draining away in broken shards. Every time it was different, but the one thing stayed the same.

The life draining out of his paws, the feel - the thumping sound - of his heart abnormally loud in his ears, labouring and failing.

The stutter of one last, pained gasp escaping his maw.

The world being swept away in a rush of cold.

One last thought lingered, faded.

Funny. I've become an expert on dying.

Foxdung, foxdung, foxdung, Atalante thought. The dog had whirled on her quickly, fangs catching her already-wounded side... Only to whirl back around as the white and ginger tom sank teeth and claw into its flesh. With the dog preoccupied, Atalante slashed at the tendons in a hind leg, in much the same way she had done to the front. The dog had the tom in strong jaws, the overwhelming scent of blood filling the air.

Atalante darted beneath the dog and slashed wildly, ripping own soft, unprotected belly fur. All this blood was going to mat awfully in her thick fur, but right now she needed to focus on surviving. Stumbling from beneath the dog as it howled in pain, she caught sight of the ginger and white tom landing motionless on the ground.

Foxdung.

The dog was bleeding from the throat and side of the neck, though. Atalante lashed out again as it whipped around and snapped at her, but the dog stumbled again. It was bleeding heavily... Good. The dog lunged... Only to again stumble and sink to the ground. Between the two of them, the cats had done enough damage. And the ginger and white tom had sacrificed himself to get it done. He was still motionless.

Atalante sat panting, adrenaline that had gotten her through the fight starting to slow. The agony in her side announced itself with each small movement, and she hissed softly.

If a Thunderclan patrol found her with their dead tom... Well, not like she would get far. But maybe they'd show mercy with the dog laying just as still.

"It hasn't been very long, has it?"

A gentle tone holding a hint of sadness pulled at his ears, accompanied by the soft sighing of wind soughing through leaves overhead, a faint burble from some distant stream chuckling in the background. The scent of StarClan filled his nostrils, a sweet mixture of smells that somehow encompassed every loved and nostalgic hue he'd ever inhaled. Something peaceful, something that filled his soul with longing even as it soothed it.

For a moment, he simply lay there, letting the gentle sounds pluck at his ears, the scent of leaves and river water clean and fresh without any sullying tang of dog or blood. Soft grass underneath him, a blade tickling his nose as his fur shifted in the breeze.

"My home away from home," He mumbled.

He thought he heard a soft laugh on the breeze, achingly familiar. It prompted him to finally open his eyes, shifting up off his side, one forelimb propped beneath. The faint hint of a sweeter scent twirled mischievously around him, and for just an instant he thought he saw a faint glimmer of stars, a twinkling gaze in their midst.

His throat ached, a prick behind his eyes.

"That may be so," The other she-cat's voice came once more, soft tones holding a faint tinge of amusement, and beneath that sympathy. Of course she'd seen. Probably seen better than he had, "but you can't stay."

He tried to hold onto that scent, the sound of that laugh, for just a moment longer before sighing and finally drawing himself up. Standing, he turned to face Swansong, noting with disappointment that they were alone, her tail neatly curled over her paws from where she sat at the gnarled roots of an oak tree. "I don't get to say hi?"

She shook her head slightly, glowing eyes locked on his face. "There's someone waiting for you when you return. I'm afraid you can't linger here. Not this time."

He shrugged, resignation pulling at his paws. It was probably for the best - the separation was the hardest part to bear. Though... A frown pulled at his maw, garbled memory swirling to the surface. "You're talking about the rogue?" If she was still there... well, he'd be surprised.

"Yes. She came to your territory for a reason."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "What reason?"

A faint smile returned, her whiskers twitching. "I believe I'll let her answer that question. It is not for me to say."

Why had he even bothered to ask? Snorting softly, he shook his head. "You're really vague, you know that? You couldn't give a straight answer sometime?"

"Not every straight answer leads to a better outcome," She said with a soft mrrow of laughter. "Knowing everything won't solve your problems, Minkstar."

"No, but it might help," He grumbled under his breath, and yet the corner of his maw still twitched upwards. Straightening, he set his paws firmly and levelled his gaze, waiting for the feel of the real world to start creeping back once more. "Alright, I guess that's it for the impartation of wisdom?"

She had that patient look honed to a fine art. Either she'd been a queen when she was alive, or having to shepherd leaders like him had given her ample practice. A soft smile, tinged with something knowing that saw to the centre of his cracked soul. "It's not your fault, Minkstar. There are some things you can't change."

His jaw tightened slightly. A glint could be seen through the trees, a faint glimmer of starlight on the surface of a stream. For a moment the sound of it and the wind through the trees was their only companion. No, there were some things he couldn't change. But that didn't mean he held no regrets.

In the corner of his eye, he saw her rise to her paws, padding silently across the grass to stand in front of him. Meeting her gaze, he braced himself to be sent back, waiting for the tingling touch of life returning to his dead limbs. Instead, she met his gaze, a hint of wryness to her mew. "They told me to say to you, 'don't throw yourself out of another tree, furball. Stop punishing yourself.' And to remember to eat something before you go out."

His breath hitched in his throat, a smile inadvertently twitching at his maw. She chose that exact moment to send him back - while he was distracted - and the softness of starlit grass fell out from beneath his paws with the feeling of ice breaking underneath him.

Plunging into a swirling darkness, bright silver disappearing like fireflies blinking out, he gasped air into aching lungs, the scent of blood and snow coming back in a rush that almost made him gag as his heart thundered back to life. Almost immediately, as usually tended to happen, his throat caught on a wad of congealed blood and mucus, drawing hacking coughs that grated at his battered ribs and drew a wince.

Worst part. Feeling a little light-headed, he drew himself up off his side, air shuddering through his lungs and fiery pain making itself known throughout his whole body. Toads in a bog. I hate dogs....

At least it hadn't cracked his head open. Being able to shake it in an attempt to clear the fuzziness away was a relief. Blinking up at the wan leaf-bare sunlight shining on red-stained sludge, he focused on the limp, motionless mound of a body, a quiet sigh escaping from the pit of his chest. His eyes flicked from it to the figure of the she-cat, his voice resurrection-raspy. "That's one dead dog. Glad we managed to take it down." Hopefully she'd just assumed he'd blacked out, and hadn't checked to see if he was dead. That could be awkward to explain. "Thanks for the help."

"...I don't think we ever exchanged names?"

Atalante's heartbeat began to slow as the adrenaline wore off, and for a few moments all she could do was sit there and stare, gaze flicking between dog and too-still ginger and white tom. It felt like an eternity, though logically she knew it hadn't been more than a few moments. Surely there would be a patrol happening by soon in search of their fallen clanmate, or simply on their way somewhere else-

Her eyes widened as the tom twitched and gasped, making his way back to his paws. Wide cerulean eyes fixed on him, her surprise obvious. He'd been laying too still... He wasn't dead, then? The thought was relieving, though it took her several moments to find her voice even though she'd seen it once before.

"Atalante-" She offered, wincing as she turned to face him. "-Ow. Foxdung. I assume being attacked by a dog wasn't in your plans today, either? I heard the barking, you looked like you needed the help." Her words were punctuated with a short hiss, tendrils of fiery pain spreading from her side with each breath. Blood soaked her side just butt it soaked the tom's pelt, though on hers it perhaps stood out much more starkly.

Unfortunately, the one thing he'd neglected to think about with swapping names was the whole name-swapping part. A flicker of caution pulsed lightly in the back of his mind. Now, like this, is probably not the best place to give any indication that I'm leader of a Clan. From that curse, it sounded like she'd had some contact with the Clans, though she wasn't looking at him like he'd just risen from the dead, so hopefully she didn't suspect anything. Even with the wound on his shoulder sealed - though still aching with a stubborn burn that spiked when he moved it - she was in far better condition than he was. Not mention younger, and probably healthier, overall.

Red-tinged memories waved insidious creepers at the back of his mind, the older wound on the back of his neck - a scabbed mess - itching in reminder. He stayed as far away from that particular moment in history as he could. Perhaps he could afford a little caution - just in case.

So he settled for a compromise, letting a quirk lift the corner of his maw at her words. "Strom. No, believe it or not, getting mauled wasn't on the agenda." He glanced down at the blood crusting and staining the white of his chest and running streaks down his left foreleg, a grimace replacing the smile. "And you have no idea. This is the second time I've been run down in the last couple moons - bad luck coming out my tail or what, I don't know." Looking back up at her, he eyed the wound on her side, red matting in her paler fur, before meeting her gaze. "If you hadn't showed up, I'd probably be dead."

...Well, more dead, anyway.

"Wasn't exactly expecting you to hang around, though," He added, a faint smile touching his maw, a slight wince mostly hidden as he shifted his weight away from the injured left shoulder and leg. "You know this is Clan territory, right?"

The bloodied tortoiseshell grimaced in sympathy at the tom's words. "Tell me about it... There's always trouble from predators, if not other cats. Being on my own has been difficult at the best of times even without bad luck like that." She'd met clanners that traveled alone before, of course, and Ata did so herself when she wasn't with her family. But observation told her being off on one's own wasn't quite the norm, not within the clan's own territory. It was normal for a simple loner, in the very name itself, and that's all Atalante was.

The tom revealed a name, and Ata blinked, a flicker of surprise in her blue eyes for a moment. Beneath the scent of blood and dog, she only smelled the same scent that permeated the rest of this section of forest and that has come from the two toms she'd met previously. She hadn't learned their names, but she'd learned the names of others and his simply didn't fit. "Strom... That's not a clan name. Your clan accepts loners, then?" The curiosity was genuine. Her father had been a former clan cat, but so far she'd not heard of a cat that had kept their loner name after being accepted into a clan.

"I can imagine," He murmured.

So she did know a few things about the Clans. His maw twisted in a flicker of a wry smile, and he carefully stood once more, left foreleg only lightly touching the ground. "Yeah. You know a bit about the Clans, huh?"

Tilting his head, he eyed her for a moment, before flicking a look into the trees. Someone had to arrive soon. "Looking to join or something?"

"Only what I've heard from meeting a few cats at borders." And her father, of course, but that was irrelevant.

There it was, what she was hoping to do. "Yes. I- If your leaders would accept me." She responded. Klaus hadn't given her a description, just names to go off of. That is, if the supposed Minkstar was still in charge. She'd neglected to ask how recently Klaus had known him to be Thunderclan's leader. "I know your clan probably isn't looking for an extra mouth to feed in this season- I can hunt." And he'd already seen her fight, she didn't think that needed repeating.

Hm, so that was what she wanted. One would wonder why. Still, his StarClan guide of all-knowing wisdom and eternal patience had seemed to think he should at least not dismiss her out of paw. And besides, she was good with her claws, and seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Somehow he doubted she wanted to join simply for the company and security, though. That didn't quite... fit... with the cat he saw in front of him, though he couldn't place it more exactly than just a faint gut feeling. ...Can't exactly leave her out here with a wound like that after she just came running in to save me, though. Whatever her reasons, she must really want to join if she's willing to go that far to save a total stranger.

He shrugged with his good shoulder, an odd sense of surreal bringing a faint smile to his face. "They accepted me, and all I did was walk in." True, though if he'd been the one to see himself in, maybe he would have turned the young hot-headed, bright-eyed tom with a cocky grin away the minute he poked his nose in. Luckily, Oakstar hadn't been as judgmental. ...Nor any of the StarClan cats he'd thought would be critical of him, actually.

...Maybe he was too hard on himself, sometimes.

The slightly joking edge to his tone faded, and his whiskers twitched. "Though you're right: this Leaf-bare's not exactly great for bringing extra mouths in. Still, I can lead you back to camp, get a look at that wound - pretty nasty-looking. Not exactly something you want to live with out in this weather."

...And seeing as whoever was on guard duty apparently had an inordinate amount of faith in his ability to stay out of trouble, it looked like they'd just have to walk back on their own.

The tip of his tail flicking lightly in a gesture of invitation, he started limping in the general direction of camp, opting after a few steps to just tuck his leg under his chest and hobble on the three remaining, the pain of his wounds stretching bringing a grimace to his maw. Glancing back at her, he added with a lopsided smile, "You're not secretly an assassin looking to kill our leaders and kits in the middle of the night, right?"

There was a bit of skepticism at the tom's words, though his tone seemed more amused than anything. "Just walked in?" Her whiskers twitched.

The reminder of blood staining her side and the pain radiating from the wounds was an unpleasant one, but the offer of getting it looked at wasn't unwelcome. "I'd appreciate that." Atalante knew the clans had medicine cats... Presumably they'd have much more knowledge than the basics her parents seemed to know. And Thunderclan's camp would be much less of a walk than trying to make it back to their own camp, with the fire radiating from her side. "Not something I'd want to run around with, no." Running might prove difficult, actually.

At his next words Atalante scoffed. The tom seemed to have a sense of humor, albeit a terrible one. "I'm only interested in killing predators." She glanced back at the dog, then stood to follow Strom. Her side protested, and she grimaced. Hopefully Strom's mentioned camp wasn't too far of a walk.