an exile once more (closed)

Dawnpaw had shut her eyes tightly before the roaring water slammed into her body and she refused to open them until she felt solid ground beneath her once more, although there was a significant period of unconsciousness somewhere in between. The unstoppable tide had stolen her breath long ago, ever since it had made contact with her and forced the air from her chest. How she had managed to continually resurface with enough time to gasp and then be dragged back into the murky depths eluded her. But the worn she-cat didn't care at the moment. All the mattered to her was the feel of wet earth as her claws tore through it and the steady pull of the current against her as she hung on to the first ground she'd felt in what felt like moons. Dawnpaw's grip weakened and then ripped free, and she was once again tossed around in the unknown until her body was laid forcefully onto an unknown and unexpected shore.

Choking and sputtering, Dawnpaw expelled all the water she could manage from her stomach and lungs in just a few involuntary retches. She was gasping for breath, her chest feeling as though it had been set ablaze inside with each inhalation. Her throat stung like no sickness she'd ever suffered before. The battered tabby's muscles ached with each minute movement, and her pelt was littered with bleeding cuts apparently from brushing against trees and bushes in her travels. Dawnpaw hesitantly adjusted to examine the stinging in her forepaws: she'd wrenched a good majority of them just trying to hang on for dear life. The pounding headache and dizziness in her skull soon commanded her attention, and Dawnpaw let out a low groan of pain as she rested her head on the murky ground. Her tail and a single hind leg were still being tugged at by the river of filthy water. She was too exhausted to remove them.

In her mind, Dawnpaw knew the best move was to check her surroundings, analyze her condition, and find somewhere safe. But she was tired and rapidly losing consciousness again. The tortoiseshell she-cat, hardly recognizable under the mud that clumped to her thick, long pelt, gave one single pull to get out of the river before her vision went completely black and her heavy body fell back onto the marshy bank. Both of her hind legs slid back in the mud; she was in immediate danger of being torn away from ground again and being victim to the merciless torrent once more.

The nature of appearance was a strange thing. With each straining pawhold that dragged his hulking frame along, sweat began to form throughout the fur and slick back his pelt. At the same time, the sweltering heat evaporated the moisture that had soaked into the fiber of his very being. What was left behind was a humid coat of dried mud. It had caked to the tom during the churning of the waves that had flung him to such a strange place and split him from the clan, and the muck seemed desperate to hold on. Each movement became more and more straining as the dehydration became evident with a thick and heavy tongue that constantly begged for the saliva at the back of his throat. Beartooth could feel his vision becoming blurry and resolve begin to fade. He had set out to find a way out and rejoin the cats he loved. Although, it appeared that there as little more than the endless rock-face that looked over the pond and cast an ominous shadow.  

Just when all hope seemed to fail, his green gaze settled on something comforting. A flat surface. Somewhere to rest his cracked and bleeding pads. At first, the mud had protected them from the prodding nature of such jagged surfaces. But as it fell away into dust, the pads were exposed and swiftly torn apart by his efforts. Yet he pressed on. Nearly collapsing onto the surface, one that barely accommodated his size, the massive tabby allowed himself a breath. Lungs screamed for oxygen and seemed to sigh with relief at the action. It was then he truly recognized the need to quench his thirst. His maw opened and closed a few times in a futile attempt to draw some liquid into his sand-like pallet as his tongue ran roughly over the roof of his mouth. That was what finally drew his gaze back to the murky water below. The thing that had demolished camp and tore apart the entire forest. Now he needed it.

As he sought the strength to haul himself back down the rocks, Beartooth's eyes scanned the shore. After a moment, he blinked. There was something below. Something in the shape of a cat. While a majority of the creature's coat was marred by a similar layer of mud to his own, a break in the monotone coloring revealed a multi-colored coat, one he knew well. His struggle along the jagged shores had not been in vain. Dawnpaw lay at the shore below. That was the strength he needed to haul himself back onto the bleeding paws, which flecked the stone with scarlet drops as he ungracefully threw himself down the steep incline, inhaling sharply with each stabbing at his exposed wounds. When he finally reached his apprentice's side, the tom ignored the drive for sustenance and tugged at her scruff to pull her away from the grabbing waves that threatened to throw her under once again.

He swallowed the sand that overwhelmed his throat and glanced down at the water. It was unappealing at best. But regardless of what effects drinking it would have on him, the warrior had no other choice than to lap up a could mouthfuls. Beartooth leaned forward and after the first lap of his tongue, he found himself eagerly gulping a few more down despite the foul taste of the muddied liquid. Then glancing back at the she-cat, he used an overgrown paw to stir up the water and throw it over her coat. His tongue rasped around her ears to clear some of it away. After a few moments of dislodging some of the wreckage that clung to Dawnpaw's coat, he finally dared to test out his throat. The words were raw and cracked as his voice shook, "D-dawnpaw. You have to get up."

The cold water splashing over her body brought her back to the dull ache of consciousness. Momentarily confused as to where she was and why her body stung all over, Dawnpaw stayed still as she felt another cat's tongue brush through her clotted pelt. She was a bit farther away from the water now, out of immediate harm and more awake than she was moments before. Her ears flicked at the tom's words. She quickly recognized Beartooth's voice and a quiet sense of relief washed over her. At least he wasn't being entirely useless, and she wasn't alone. Hesitating, Dawnpaw lifted her head to survey the it surroundings: a steep cliff face and the murky shoreline only a few pawsteps away. There was no imminent danger here besides exposure to the elements. Obeying her mentor, the battered she-cat took a deep, shuddering breath and hoisted herself to her paws as her muscles screamed in fatigue. 'The pain is good. It means I'm still alive,' Her thoughts echoed in this manner until she was good and comfortable with standing. She wasn't done yet.

Events replaying in her mind, Dawnpaw recalled what had happened: she had been in camp. There was screaming and fear. Cats were running around, panicking, looking for friends and family. Why? A wave, a big one, crushing and sweeping and indiscriminate. And there she was, looking for... "Duskpaw. He must be near." She meowed, her voice rough and scratchy though filled with certainty. Of course, Dawnpaw really wasn't certain at all; she couldn't find him in camp, why would she find him in this strange new place? The question tugged at her heart and made her pace slowly depite her physical state. Her fear for her brother drove her more than anything else at this point. She turned to her mentor, tired eyes meeting his gaze with steeled resolve. "Did you see him? I need him."