Rest and Healing (Thunderclan gathering)

As the fight broke out, Silverpaw glanced over at Flickerpaw, not withholding the scoff they let out at his words. He was basically shaking he'd probably have tripped over his paws running, and he hardly looked like he'd be able to stand a chance against any of the ThunderClan's new residents. It was a good thing they were here to protect him, even if the newly appointed apprentice didn't see it that way. Very much so the typical over-confidence present in the youngest apprentices. "I am sure you could." meowed Silverpaw airily "But would you not prefer it was my hide marred than yours?"

The fight was over as quickly as it started, Mottlestar disengaging the pair, and yanking Firefly backwards like the elder was just a kit. Mottlestar's strength despite her tiny season was something that always left Silverpaw amazed. They supposed most of it came down to whatever gifts StarClan had once granted her, but it was impressive none the less, and more than likely why she commanded so much strength. The tortoiseshell's voice was just as powerful, but that was different. No one could grant you a strong spirit, you either had it or you don't. It is something you're born with. As the conflict fizzled out, the pelt along the silver apprentice's spine flattened and their stance relaxed. Still it was all a bit uneasy, no doubt it would soon pass and Mottlestar and Acornstem appeared to have it handled.

The unfamiliar forest was tilted further upon alien axis, the acrid stench of old hostility scoring fury-hot scored blood; a wan shadow peeping out from behind the lurking mass of Crocusfrost, stained with the sticky remnants of exhaustion and wary trepidation at the unfolding sequence of disarray. All was unfamiliar, even that which existed only on the shaded reaches of Kestrelpaw's sleep-desperate gaze, with little forgiving grace to be parsed out- both the half-inhabited camp and those who sought refuge within its prickly walls going wholly without recognition in the young molly's curious mind. Though, curiously enough, as Kestrelpaw made to observe the bedraggled guests of varying repute idling beyond the safety of Crocusfrost's warmth, it was as though the world abruptly came back into focus at the accidental meeting of her gaze with Chad. A sharp inkling of tension suddenly curling up tight and unrelenting against the soft vitality of her red and raw innards, an unpleasant constriction that lied somewhere between the shared urges of immediate infatuation and immediate dislike.

Unnerving, as though looking into the eyes of prey and finding something shockingly similar to higher cognition and awareness gazing back at you. Magnetic, something terrible clicking into place with abject finality.

"Yes, Crocusfrost," Kestrelpaw mewed, verging on ripped down to vital musculature at the sheer depth of her own exhaustion, relieved at the prospective escape, the ability to withdraw and remove herself from the terrible burden of wakefulness. It was easy to abandon the unseemly spectacle unfolding mere paces away, easy to abandon the newfound twin mirror to her own heart in favor for the escape offered by Crocusfrost; even when the young apprentice's dreary steps away were softened by the faint sticky shadings of blood.