Back again...[open]

His paws numb from the cold, yet somehow still feeling scratched and worn, Minkpaw trudged through the snow one step at a time. At least it wasn't snowing, above he knew the stars were shining, Silverpelt glowing with its usual light, but his head was turned down and away from its beauty. One step at a time. Faint crunches and the whistle of the wind were the only things that filled his ears as he made his way across the starlit snow. His pawsteps trailed behind him back towards... No, don't want to think about that. The trail staggered a bit as his paws stumbled with the ferocity of keeping those memories away.
A faint breeze blew across the snowy landscape, ruffling his whiskers and fur, smelling as cold as it felt but also bringing a familiar scent... The river! His head jerked up, tiredness suddenly forgotten as he gazed across the empty snow dotted with white mounds towards a dip in the ground. A tired, almost crazed grin spread over his face as he shoved his paws forward, bounding in great leaps towards that line, that hope. Not much to go. Gonna make it.... Suddenly his legs collapsed underneath him, skidding as he tumbled down the slope. Powdery coldness flew up in his face as he skidded down, trying desperately not to end up rolling over and over. His panting breaths rang in his ears as the snow-covered river approached. I really hope it's as frozen over as it was...!
Gritting his teeth as it came right up to him, he tried hard not to think about trying to swim as tired as he was. A thud, and he found himself sprawled on his side, half-buried in the snow, the white powder settling around him. Rasping breaths thundering in his ears, he couldn't do anything but look up at the sky, staring at the stars shining above so softly between drifting clouds.... Tired. Tired. The faint throb in his paws suddenly became a painful sensation almost like sharp rocks stabbing into the pads, and he gritted his teeth as he tried to summon the will to lick them back to life. But he could do nothing, even as the gash in his hip began to sting worse than ever at the snow pressing up against it. His head made a faint movement as if to rise, then flopped back onto the ground, his eyes slowly closing as his breathing began to settle. Even his shivering was beginning to fade away. Too tired... shiver. But no matter how hard he tried, sleep didn't come, only a strange frantic fluttering in his chest that invaded every part of him, even his limbs.
"Strom... current. My sons and daughter, you will be incredible." A phantom voice flashed through his mind, so real he swore it was right beside him, the warmth so close he could almost touch it. The ethereal scent of milk filled his nose and mouth, and he instinctively curled, a faint choked purr rumbling through him for a moment. The purr cut off almost as quickly as it came, muddled yowling rampaging through his head, filling him with a panic he couldn't identify, his muddled brain cycling through his memories, past and recent. Blood flying. Claws slashing through thick webs. Sickly yellow eyes glowing in the gloom as one of his clanmates - no, not one of his clanmates, someone else - was struck, a savage growl rising into a snarl. Panic, overwhelming panic as he was pulled through water, unable to breath. Panic as something was flung over him binding him helplessly, strangling him. No air, just the current, dragging him....
...Named you Strom, for the current.
Panting, head whirling, he blinked open his eyes. All he could see was a spinning sky above him, even his mind feeling like it was frozen over as his breath clouded weakly in front of him. I won't die like this. Shivering so hard he could barely move his head, he scrabbled at the ground underneath him. The snow, all around him - choking him - shifted and was flung off as he desperately pulled himself into a crouching position. His whirling vision gradually coalesced into familiar shapes as his head stopped spinning, a faint breeze ruffling his pelt with a bitter chill, making him shiver harder. Cold? This is nothing. I can do this. He blinked again, forcing his stiff legs to move, and tottering to his feet. Almost collapsing again as his vision lurched, Strom took a stumbling step, and then another. His feet - feeling more like blocks of ice than paws - moved him forwards unsteadily, his tottering form leaving behind an uneven line of holes.
An age passed, his jaw beginning to hurt from constantly clenching it, when a frozen reed almost slapped him in the muzzle. Blinking dazedly, he looked up, finding a veritable wall of stabbing reeds rising in front of him. His mind took a while to process it, but when he finally sniffed the air he detected a scent he had never been so happy to smell in his life. The fishy scent of a bunch of fish-eating cats.
He let out a delirious laugh that rang out briefly before clamping his muzzle shut. Don't want to wake 'em too soon. Need to get in first. With a grunt, he shouldered his way weakly through the plants in front of him, almost feeling as though he was trying to shove through a solid wall of earth.
Eventually, with a grunt and a last shove that left him sprawling on his muzzle, he found himself inside RiverClan's camp. Home.... He finally let his eyes close with a contented sigh. No one's up yet. You fall asleep now and you're as dead as you were out there. The annoying thought buzzed through his mind for a moment, making his closed eyes scrunch up. "Urrgh."
With a monumental effort, he heaved himself to his paws again, tottering across the snowy clearing towards where he distantly remembered the medicine cat den being. Shadows blurred into cat shapes at the edge of his vision, forming into steadily watching shapes waiting for him to meet his destination. In what seemed like forever, and yet a short time, he stumbled into the dim entrance and collapsed.
"MStrm, Ineedsmhlpi'mdying," He mumbled incoherently, his eyelids finally sliding fully closed and staying that way. Good enough, I guess.

(ooc: have a ridiculously long post)

It was truly a freezing night. Even through his thick fur, Scorchclaw could feel the bite of leaf-bare's deadly chill. The breeze, temptress that she was, ran her ice-cold, ghostly fingers through his whiskers. With every breath he exhaled, a wisp of the clouds escaped from his parted jaws. To stay up awake at such an hour, in such weather, was something few sane cat would attempt to do. Nevertheless, there the RiverClan deputy was, crouched unmoving atop the Willow Branch. He was mostly hidden within the shadows, the starlight casting silver strips across his pelt. Only his eyes were really visible, glimmering a faint but unmistakable green. While any cat happening to catch sight of him would likely question his sanity, such was a pointless endeavor. Scorchclaw had once again found himself bereft of sleep. Perhaps he had ascended the willow tree in an attempt to clear his mind; perhaps he had simply intended to exert himself in the cold. The large tabby himself was not quite sure of the reason at this point. With every passing minute, he was beginning to regret his decision. Surely enough time had passed? It was time to return to the Warrior Den. But not yet. Not yet. The tom flexed his claws, watching blankly as they sunk into the half-frozen wood beneath his paws. Which would come first—his death or Jaystar's? The question flashed through his mind. Were the answer to be the latter, the role of leader would be his. He would be the second Scorchstar in the current generation of leaders. Scorchstar. He silently pondered over the name. Did he even want it to be his? Even after all this time, he had yet to arrive at an answer. He had simply been doing what was expected from him, from the one that Jaystar had chosen. Would it be fine to accept the title of a "star" in this manner? In a way, things would be much simpler if he were only a cat of ambition. Pondering. Pondering. Pondering. His eyelids slowly drifted shut.

Heavy rustling sounded at the far edge of camp. In an instance, Scorchclaw's eyes were wide open, his tufted ears pricked. Who goes there? The words were right on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. The fur along his shoulders bristled. No mere critter of the night would cause that much noise. As he watched on, the silhouette of a cat stumbled into view before sprawling out on the ground. His brow furrowed, his fluffy tail twitching. Then recognition set in. The RiverClan deputy immediately leaped off the Willow Branch. Snow crunched beneath his heavy pawsteps. "Minkpaw." He stated, almost uncertainly. Indeed, it was Starlord's son. A whole week had passed since Scorchclaw had last since Minkpaw. Knowing the smaller tom's origins, he had not been too surprised. The whole territory had been combed by search patrols; Minkpaw had been nowhere to be found. Scorchclaw had ended up assuming that the apprentice had left to join his father; if so, why was he back here? His gaze hardened.

Minkpaw seemed not to hear his name being called. Paying no heed to Scorchclaw's presence, he staggered up again and headed for the medicine den. When he had collapsed for the final time, the fluffy deputy bounded over to check on him. Scorchclaw nosed the younger tom, frowning deeply when he felt the stiff, cold ginger pelt. "Goldeneye! Fallowpaw!" He called, voice rising somewhat in volume. He had no idea if the medicine cats had already woken. For now, questioning Minkpaw could wait. Regardless of whether Minkpaw had deserted his clan, Scorchclaw could not exactly leave him there. Uttering a low growl of frustration, he hoisted the other cat up by the scruff and dragged him deeper into the medicine den.