Broken [semi-open]

Neck straining under Rookpaw's weight, Brindlewhisker's nostrils flared fervently as she struggled to carefully carry the she-cat. While attempting to carry an adult cat in a manner similar to how one would carry a kit was quite foolish, it was the only way to avoid worsening Rookpaw's already grave injuries. Wincing as she caught sight of the apprentice's battered and limp hindlegs, the Deputy forced herself to gaze ahead once more. Trying desperately to ward off the foul scent of blood and harsh metal that still stubbornly clung to the dark she-cat, there was an undercurrent of nausea that boiled within her throat. Was the journey always this long? It seemed as though she had been carrying Rookpaw for a lifetime now, with next to no progress made in their travels. It was like she was stuck on some neverending repeat, with only a half-conscious Rookpaw and nightmarish memories to keep her company through it all. Could she even carry her all the way back to camp? Swallowing down the rapidly strengthening wave of despair that was boiling within the pit of her belly, Brindlewhisker tilted her head back further as she continued to half carry, half drag Rookpaw back along the familiar trails.

It seemed to take a lifetime of agonizingly slow limping to finally return to camp, but the moment that the familiar dip in the earth became visible, it was as if a second wind had been exhaled into Brindlewhisker's body. Suddenly finding a renewed source of strength deep within her bones, the Deputy found herself hurrying along with a new sense of urgency. The concept of returning back to camp, to where cats could actually help Rookpaw, was a total relief to her stricken mind. Everything would be okay now that they were back at camp. Half skidding, half dragging Rookpaw through the tightly-woven barrier to camp, the Deputy's legs felt like giving out as she finally managed to stagger back into the safety of camp. Unwilling to break the somewhat steady pace that she had managed to create, Brindlewhisker hurried straight for the Medicine Cat's den, huffing with effort. She would go back for Quailfeather and Silentstrike after this.

"Mottleheart! Featherlight!" Brindlewhisker cried through a mouthful of Rookpaw's scruff, "Please hurry, it's an emergency."

Featherlight had, momentarily, allowed herself to relax. More than a day without any major emergencies was a novelty for WindClan as of late, after all - though perhaps she should have realized that they were due for disaster about now. Still, her mother's shout for her or her mentor reached her ears, and she rose to her paws. She had no idea where her mentor was at the moment, so the duty of dealing with whatever had happened this time fell to her.

She caught sight of the deputy, and immediately wished she hadn't. Brindlewhisker herself was not the problem, clearly, but her apprentice, Rookpaw... She had been on her Moonstone journey, hadn't she? Something had obviously gone terribly wrong, then. "Oh, StarClan help us..." she whispered, rushing over to help Brindlewhisker move her apprentice to the medicine den.

The day had been a particularly calm one so far- that should have tipped Ashstar off that something was about to go horribly wrong. The day was beautiful and warm, even for newleaf, which seemed to be approaching greenleaf temperatures lately. She had been sharing tongues with her Clanmates, next to a full-to-bursting fresh-kill pile, wondering idly when Brindlewhisker would return from taking Rookpaw to the Moonstone. After taking in the abandoned she-cat, she'd only wondered briefly about the apprentice's capabilities- but due to a more than proficient mentor and no shortage of instinct herself, the young she-cat would be a worthy WindClan warrior. As she scented her deputy's familiar scent, the leader turned towards the entrance, face bright, relieved somewhat from the recent troubles they'd suffered through by the beautiful sunlight. She wondered idly why her granddaughter was carrying a giant piece of fresh-kill, and where Rookpaw was.

Then, the other rock dropped.

"Oh no." Adrenaline flooded through the leader's veins, and she shot to her feet, eyes wide with panic. The smallish, vulnerable-looking form that Brindlewhisker had just dragged into camp was Rookpaw. What in Silverpelt's name could have happened...? If it had been another Clan, Ashstar was doomed. Maybe it had been a fox? A rogue? Some other creature? Repressing her motherly instincts to rush in and lick some of the blood off of the young she-cat's fur, she instead stood tensely as Featherlight took charge. What could she do? What on earth could any of them do? If anyone could help her, it had to be the medicine cats... StarClan save us. Every time she thought everything in the Clan was going right, something had to prove her horribly wrong. "Featherlight, you do what you can," the older she-cat finally pleaded, a note of despair and defeat in her voice. After seeing so many tragedies, the emotions were burnt-out and all too familiar. "I'll help you with anything you need. Brindlewhisker... are you okay? What happened? ...Will someone get Quailfeather and Silentstrike?" Rookpaw's adoptive parents had looked on her as a second daughter. This would... hit them hard.

Rookpaw's head was swimming, drifting between painful awareness and unconsciousness. She was shaking in agony, it seemed, quite unaware of the world around her. Part of her feared she would die.