Collecting More Strays [closed]

recap (continuation of this thread):

Relief flooded Barleytuft's adrenaline-filled body as he realized that the badger was withdrawing and, indeed, fleeing from him. The WindClan warrior stood panting in place, his back arched and the entire length of his spine bristling as his tail lashed. He snarled after the creature, his voice craccking hoarsely, "Don't come back, you flea-bitten furball!" When the shambling thing had lumbered from sight, Barleytuft whirled to find the RiverClan tom. Oh, StarClan, he thought habitually as he approached the battered warrior.

The ginger and white tom hadn't moved from where he had been stamped into the dirt, but the blood that oozed from the wounds on his face and shoulders let Barleytuft know that the RiverClan cat was alive. There was a cluster of several jagged gashes from the badger's first swipe against the tom's head and several more on the top of his head where the badger had slammed him down. Barleytuft pressed his nose against the other tom's neck, feeling his heart beating slowly but steadily. "You'll be alright, buddy, just hang in there," Barleytuft murmured to the unconscious tom, "I'll get you to Briarpaw."

The slender warrior slipped his body under the other tom, hoisting him over his shoulders. Barleytuft's aching muscles strained at the new weight, but he hadn't risked his life just to let this tom die on their territory. Tensions were already high between RiverClan and WindClan, and Barleytuft couldn't afford to let things get worse. As quickly as he could manage, Barleytuft made his way towards camp, keeping his ears attuned to the soft, shallow breathing of the injured tom on his shoulders.

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The trek had been hard, and Barleytuft was panting heavily, his legs trembling, by the time he reached camp. Something about this tom smelled off; during the fight with the badger all that Barleytuft had been able to smell was RiverClan, but after carrying the unconscious tom's body to camp to receive treatment for his possibly fatal wounds Barleytuft was beginning to wonder who this cat might be. He couldn't tell what was wrong with this strange cat's scent, but it wasn't exactly like the RiverClan scent that marked their borders. Something was off, and Barleytuft dearly hoped it wasn't the scent of death or sickness.

Barleytuft squeezed carefully through the narrow gorse tunnel entrance into camp, wincing when he felt thorns gripping his and his injured companion's fur. Still, he broke through and made his way immediately towards the medicine cat's den, trying hard to ignore the surprised, curious, and worried expressions of various Clanmates who happened to see him pass through. "Briarpaw," he gasped as he entered, bowing to allow the unconscious RiverClan tom's body to slide to the earth, "this RiverClan cat was attacked by a badger - he needs help or he'll die. Please. Do what you can to save him, I need to get Brindlestar." He stared hopefully at the young medicine cat apprentice - alone in his training - before backing out of the den and running speedily to Brindlestar's den.

"Brindlestar," Barleytuft rasped, his breath slowly returning to him, "we have a... a RiverClan cat in our medicine cat den. I-I was hunting and found him near the Gorge being attacked by a badger. He was badly hurt before I managed to chase the badger off." The sandy tabby tom was trembling now that his adrenaline was dying down, and the hunger in his belly was returning with a vengeance. Not only that, but Barleytuft knew that he had brought an enemy warrior - who was trespassing, no less - into their camp and directly amitted that to his leader. He couldn't even feel proud of almost single pawedly fending off a badger.

"I understand that RiverClan is our enemy, but I couldn't let a c-cat die," he defended himself hastily and quietly, though shame had crept into his voice.

Swiftstep's head turned around quickly and he got up on his paws as he scented the smell of Riverclan. What was happening? As he began to take a few steps toward the camp's entrance, Barleytuft rushed in and past him carrying the source of the smell. His former apprentice was wasting no time and entered the medicine cat's den. The deputy's eyes narrowed in confusion as he saw Barley emerge from the den a few minutes later and rushed toward Brindlestar's den. The brown tom walked over to the medicine cat's den and entered. He looked around for Briarpaw and the injured Riverclanner. When he spotted the young tom and the wounded, he padded over to the apprentice and asked, "Did Barleytuft tell you who this was and what happened to him? He smells of Riverclan."

The trek to Windclan camp had not stirred the bi-colored, despite the toll that being dragged along had on his frame. It wasn't until they reached the medicine cat's den sometime late that his eyes flickered open lazily. Unpleasant stenches of bitter herbs mixed with the pleasant aromas of several different leaves and flowers, immediately catching the tom's attention. There was a contented smile that spread across his maw that was disrupted intermittently by the unconscious recognition of a throbbing pain that radiated from the back and top of his skull. His gaze was still glazed over as an obvious sign of a lack of true consciousness. Starlord shifted ever so slightly in a futile attempt to dispel the stiffness and discomfort that seemed to afflict his entire pelt. This caused a stifled groan to just barely escape from the side of his maw.

"Goldeneye..." He mumbled, trying to adjust his sight underneath the heavy-laden eyelids that seemed to be unable to open entirely. All around the blurred outlines of cats were just barely visible against the dimly colored background that the winter moorlands provided. Something seemed off and he couldn't quite make it out. Perhaps worse than the searing pain that ripped through the fur and skin of the nape of his neck and above was the unadulterated dryness of his tongue. Letting out another low grunt, the orange and white loner found the strength to speak up once more, "Poppy seeds. Deathberries might make it go away quicker though." Starlord let out a low mrrow of laugher at his own pitiful attempt at humor, which was quickly cut short by a quick cough that rattled the cavern of his chest.

He needed water but seemed unable to bring himself to say anything else for a moment. Instead of speaking, the tom managed to twist his head ever so slightly up towards the fuzzy shape that he assumed was the medicine cat. There was the obvious agony but he managed a weak smile. During his unconscious state, Starlord had forgotten the events leading up to this moment and had assumed he was in Riverclan territory. To him, Goldeneye was the cat standing above him, when really his goofy, agonized grin was directed towards the Windclan deputy. With a slow blink of his eyes, flashes of the prior battle slowly came back to him as he grew more and more aware of the real world. Black and white claws lashed out at him. The memory was fresh, now raw, in the back of his mind. He smells of Riverclan. This wasn't the den of the cat he loved. No, he'd been fighting alongside one of the moonrunners. This was Windclan.

Finally coming to his senses, Starlord briefly attempted to get to his paws. But a surge at the back of his head corrected his actions. He sunk back to the ground. Resigned to laying there helplessly, the loner rested his head on the ground, unable to find any position where comfort was possible. This time, he glanced up at the Swiftstep without moving any more than his eyes, flashing the whites of them just as the bottom of his vision, "Unfortunately the fish stench is hard to wash out."
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Another patrol had been wrapped up, but this time with empty paws. Brookclover was not the kind to return to camp without a catch and the concept had caused frustration to rise within her. Clearly, she had not pushed herself hard enough. Even with the frost and cold of leaf-bare, feeding her clan was not an option. The russet she-cat's tail flickered back and forth in a motion reminiscent of the aggravated lashing another cat might display. All of the anger was directed inwards and at herself for being so inept. Her plan to soothe the displeasure was to seek out the companionship of Finchpaw, easily her best friend since kithood. However, Barleytuft, the young she-cat's former mentor, caught her eye first.

Curiosity was immediately peaked within her green gaze as her anger was pushed aside. Although she had missed his initial entrance into camp, she watched as the tom raced from the medicine cat's den to Brindlestar's. The only time she had seen such urgency in his normally quick cantor was when Oakberry had been returned to Windclan. She had been present for those moments as well. Deciding it was best not to interrupt as he addressed the clan leader, her delicate paws picked their way towards the medicine cat's den. As Brookclover approached, the sight of an unusual ginger and white pelted tom came into view. If the cat didn't look like he had just been shredded by a fox, her claws would have likely instinctually unsheathed. Instead, she stopped short just behind the clan deputy.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Swiftstep?" She inquired in her usual, smooth tone. Although her urge was to ask about the tom, the warrior decided it better to offer her aid to the deputy in what appeared to be unfolding in this strange occurrence. Not long before, Brindlestar herself had brought back a loner. So, perhaps this wasn't all unique for their clan. It was the whiff of Riverclan that told her otherwise. Along her shoulders, Brookclover could feel the black and russet fur rising. Her own disdain for Jaystar's clan had only risen with their incompetence at the last gathering, and to a level that almost mirrored her leader. While her teeth clench tight at the thought this was an enemy cat, she made to further movement or sound. But whenever Swiftstep spoke, she was prepared to respond.

"He said that he was fighting a badger on the RiverClan-WindClan border," Briarpaw meowed, binding up Starlord's wounds with cobwebs, "and that I needed to help him. I would never let another cat die, just because they're from RiverClan! They can't all be bad, right? Afterall, their Medicine Cat is Training me." As the battered tom made a request for some poppy seeds, Briarpaw quickly scurried to the back of the Medicine Cat den. He looked through their herb reserves. Poppys, poppys... where are the popp- Ah! There they are! Briarpaw emerged with a dried poppy head, walking over to Starlord He shook afew out in front of him. "Those will help you feel better!"

For several terse heartbeats in the immediate aftermath of Barleytuft's hapless interruption of the utmost quietude which had previously descended upon the camp, which was unsuccessfully staving off the worst of the chill that had wreathed across the moorland, there was only a poignant sigh. Pale gaze amiss with a belated sense of chagrin and dubiety, Brindlestar's narrow features twisted softly under the shifting weight of such contentious emotions. The stars seemed to grow greedy with her generosity! How many more wounded would show up on the turn of this moon alone? Head swaying slightly in a weary edict for the young tom's silence, the molly merely swallowed down a secondary sigh that resonated within the depths of her chest. "I understand," she eventually relented with a peal of slight trembling within her voice, "but I grow tired of the wounded believing themselves to be welcome into my lands at the first sight of their own blood." The complaint that trailed after the edge of her words was unbridled, drifting heavily in the wake of the Leader's begrudging movements. What in the name of the heavens and earth was she expected to do with a wounded RiverClan cat? At least Jude- er, Jaypaw had proven to adapt to Clan life with an unprecedented fluidity. Leaving merely a simmering trail of ashen breath in her wake, Brindlestar's already vexatious mood only served to flame further at the curious glances that were idly tossed in the direction of the commotion that had arisen from the bustling Medicine Cat Den.

Perhaps they could serve to ransom this supposed RiverClanner back to those marshland-dwellers if he proved to have any worth, and if not there were always other ways to benefit from such a situation.

However, these tentative schemes dwindled to a halt quite rapidly as soon as she actually caught sight of the wounded tom who was currently sprawled out within the unusually crowded confines of the den. "Hardly much of a RiverClan cat," the snide comment was simpered out after a moment of carefully studying Starlord, "Much too short and stunted, and not nearly comely enough to be a blooded RiverClan cat, that is." The grisly wounds that snaked through the splotched coat of the tom and the suffering exuded by such injuries was undeniable, even to the most blind of creatures. But how could she concern himself with something as futile as the wounds of a cat who did not share her loyalties, blood, or conviction? It was not her Clan's place to placate the suffering of those who did nothing but inflict such states upon others. Carefully brushing away her Clanmates who stood in immediate proximity of the wounded cat, Brindlestar roughly slipped a forepaw beneath Starlord's chin to wrench his head upwards so that she might peer more directly into his dilated pupils. "Tell me your name, unwelcome guest- and more importantly, give a reason not to toss you into the Gorge so that RiverClan might find you themselves."

Barleytuft felt his head hanging a little lower with each moment that Brindlestar let silence hang between them. Her first sigh had been a clear sign of her disappointment. When she continued, he was relieved that his leader didn't seem angry so much as annoyed and inconvenienced by the situation. Barleytuft dipped his head a little more and replied softly, "I understand." Brindlestar left the den and Barleytuft followed obediently, his sandy frame slumping dejectedly at the apprent frustration he'd caused his leader.

Upon entering the den, Barleytuft was surprised to discover it a bit more full than when he'd left: standing over Starlord now were not only Briarpaw but also Swiftstep, the deputy, and Barleytuft's former apprentice, Brookclover. Oh, good, everyone gets to know how upset Brindlestar is with me. He stood near the back of the den and peered around the gathered cats as his leader pushed through. Barleytuft felt a wave of relief when he saw the RiverClan cat being offered poppy seeds and movement of the tom's eyes. Thank goodness, he seems to be alright.

When Brindlestar addressed the tom roughly, however, suddenly Barleytuft found himself eyeing the cat. He hadn't really thought of it, but he had noticed that the stranger was a bit smaller than most RiverClan warriors he'd ever met. RiverClan has so many cats nowadays, I didn't think anything of not recognizing him, he admitted to himself. The lanky WindClan warrior continued to watch from near the entrance of the den.

Another rush of pain burned through the loner's head and he had to briefly squeeze his eyes shut to stave off the burning sensation. Cats gathered around as he struggled to keep consciousness. The noise from their collective meows reverberated through the sensitive hairs that lined the edges of his ears. Starlord clenched his teeth. Despite all of the battles that he had faced in his life, no cat's claws could compare to the sheer magnitude of weight and strength behind a swinging badger paw. Thinking about it now seemed to only intensify the sensation. A wave of gratitude washed over him as the young medicine cat pushed poppy seeds in front of him, as requested. With a flash of a crooked half-grin, the ginger and white tom dipped his maw to lap up the tiny seeds and swallowed them back despite the flash of a grimace that came from the raw, sand of his throat.

After giving in to the weight that forced his head to the ground, Starlord rested the bottom of his chin gingerly against his paws. There was another voice that seemed to push through the rest. Flashing the whites of his eyes, the tom looked up to see a ruggedly beautiful she-cat whose battle-scarred face fixed him with a cold expression. His ear flickered in a cool acknowledgment of her words. At least from what he managed to gather through the relentless surging of his head. Most cats would have likely whimpered from the overwhelming agony that had only been soothed by the creeping effects of the poppy seeds. However, a short snort of laughter broke from his maw. The thought of looking like one of Jaystar's cats was humorous to him. Even if he had lived among them long enough for their scent to saturate his coat, some of his features were thankfully untouchable by Riverclan.

It was cut short by a paw jolting his maw. He met the she-cat's eyes, for a moment only there was only a blank expression highlighted by the flickers of torment from the festering wound. Although an eventual weak grin twitched at the edges of his face. Had the discomfort been less, perhaps he would have thought more about what he said next but any sense was pushed to the recesses of his piddling consciousness, "Starlord, my dear. Reasons are... hm, well I'm fresh out of reason. But I think the gorge would be kinder to me than that rot-brained idiot Jaystar and his fish-brained warriors. So I'll take that one."
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Brookclover simply stared on with increasing apprehension as her claws pricked the earth ever so slightly. Her ears were pricked as she waited for the deputy to say something. Before he responded the leader walked in with her former mentor at her heels. She dipped her head respectfully and watched Brindlestar with interest. Of any cat, the Windclan leader would best be able to handle this situation. Silently, the warrior waited for something, anything to happen. If anything was needed from her, she would be ready to do her duty.

The frigid silence exuded by Brindlestar was practically palpable in terms of immediate displeasure that was wrought within the uneasy atmosphere of the den. Pale gaze amiss with a belated sense of wary curiosity and long-simmering wroth, an extended forelimb still supported the duration of the weight presented by Starlord's infuriatingly heavy head. Tongue clicking sharply against the forward-presenting canines that rested comfortably within the limits defined by the structure of her jaw, a subtle tendril of relaxation crept through the recesses of her being. A mild irritant was much more preferable than a genuine threat. "How interesting," the molly's voice was noticeably lacking in the previous venom that had tainted her initial words, "Mayhaps I'll just send you back to Jaystar instead, once you're able to survive the journey itself- I do just adore the art of giving gifts." However, in contrast to the seemingly unveiled threat, Brindlestar merely allowed the wounded tom's head to rest upon the comfortless support offered by the soft, earthen floor below. Pale gaze flicking to both Starlord and Barleytuft, her next command was simply discernible as stern at best. "Tell me everything."

Barleytuft watched with interest despite his shame at bothering his leader. He felt mildly uncomfortable when this cat addressed Brindlestar with such informality, but truth be told the ginger-and-white tom looked half delirious. I'm not sure I'd be so bold after getting pummeled by a badger, Barleytuft thought, but he said nothing as he listened to the rest of what this "Starlord" had to say. The tom offered little information, but his name and behavior were clear indicators: this tom was not a Clan cat. Barleytuft cursed himself silently, wondering how he could've mistaken the cat for a RiverClan warrior. Other than the smell Starlord was clearly nothing like them. That much was evident in the way he referred to Jaystar, the leader of the rival Clan.

Brindlestar had considered Starlord for a while longer finally letting the strange cat's head fall into a more relaxed position. Barleytuft let out a soft sigh despite the mild threat his leader made. She intended to let him heal, at least, before perhaps sending him back. Barleytuft wondered if Starlord would make a case as to why he should be allowed to stay in WindClan; however, Brindlestar interrupted his thoughts with an order: "Tell me everything." The sandy WindClan warrior nodded dutifully and straightened up, swallowing his uneasiness and confusion to respond with what he knew.

"I was out hunting by myself at dawn," Barleytuft explained, "and while I was searching near our border with RiverClan, I scented RiverClan. I thought it could have just been a fresh patrol at the border, but I went to double check. I spotted this tom -" he flicked his tail to Starlord, "- in our territory and began to race to confront him when I... well, we both spotted a badger heading for him." Barleytuft tried to relax his shoulders as he continued, "A badger in the territories is a danger for every cat in any Clan, so I ran to help him chase it off. I, uh, noticed he didn't quite speak like any RiverClan cat I'd met, but he fought well enough to seem like a warrior."

Barleytuft paused again, gave Starlord an apologetic look, and added, "Well... Until it bashed his head into the dirt." He returned his dark amber eyes to Brindlestar and meowed, "I managed to chase off the badger. When I returned to the tom, he was unconscious. I don't know RiverClan territory well enough to have taken him there on top of them being hostile towards us, and I couldn't risk letting him die to his injuries or other predators, so I brought him here." He dipped his head to Brindlestar, then looked at Starlord expectantly. He likely had a much more grand story to tell about before he was flattened by a badger.

"I thought Riverclan were the enemies? You seem so willing to present Jaystar with exactly what he wants. I, however, am not so keen on such an idea, especially after everything he's done." The leader's forepaw forced his head up from its place on the fur of his forepaws, causing his head to swim for a brief moment. Even with his less than secure grip on reality, the loner was able to muster up bitter disdain for the Riverclan leader. Picturing the smug look across the silver tom's face as he demanded respect that was never owed or earned. His vivid blue gaze was alight with resentment and disdain as he remembered the final moments with his kits. Claws dug unconsciously into the ground underneath him before relaxing as the she-cat allowed him to rest once more. And she asked for everything.

Starlord had never been one to shy away from speech. There were rare moments when he tamed his tongue in respect for the cats around him. Usually, his ton was wrought with unabashed truth, especially when he was as impassioned with feelings as he was with the displeasure that filled him now. The Windclan warrior who had fought alongside him immediately told of their battle together, not leaving a single detail out per the she-cat's demand. If it were one of the Riverclan cats groveling at the feet of the great Jaystar, he might have viewed it as a pathetic display of submission. However, the ginger and white coated tom found there to be something respectable about this Windclanner in the few short moments he had been in her presence. After mulling over it for a moment, he decided there was no harm in sharing the truth with her.

"I used to live in walkerlands not far from here. Rescued a cat Jaystar had sent from the clan while she had her kits while I was there. That idiot doesn't even follow the precious code himself... Anyways, I saved them and helped them all get home to Riverclan." Starlord hesitated slightly as he realized what he had just said. Hopefully, she didn't press further on that. Goldeneye had been left out of any implications. He was grateful for what little sense still dictated his speech, "They took me in for a while, per the she-cat's request, nothing to do with their leader. Eventually, one of their warriors bore my kits. Jaystar chased me out, vowing to never let me see them. I don't want to go too far without my kits so I've been wandering the forest while I wait until they're old enough to come to see me. And that's how I ended up here." The speech rendered his throat raw. But it was vivacious with venom as he mentioned the leader's name, blatant disgust dripping through. He owed this cat nothing. Usually, he would not even consider that on another cat's territory and yet he found himself not troubled by the sharing of his own story. With an exhalation of breath, he tilted his head sideways and flashed the whites of his eyes as he looked up at Brindlestar to respond.