Tragedy Strikes

Lynxtail stretched, his green eyes wide. The past day had been a blur: One minute he was waking up on the shore, the next he was surrounded by cats. He barely knew the apprentices, but he was grateful for their company. Anything was better than being stuck out in the middle of nowhere with nobody but a half-drowned kit.
Speaking of kits... The little fellow was curled up beside him, purring loudly. It was a miracle that he survived the flood, but Lynxtail supposed that this was Starclan's way of telling him that not everything was as bad as it seemed.
The Thunderclanner slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. The sun had yet to rise, although the eastern sky was slowly growing lighter by the minute. It seemed that dawn was on her way. With that in mind, Lynxtail turned towards his companions. Beartooth and Poppypaw were sleeping near each other, and the others were sprawled out a short distance away, snoring softly. All was well, at least for now. The golden-brown tom sighed and sat back, turning his gaze towards the swiftly fading stars. He was sore, bruised, and hungry, but at least he wasn't alone.

Poppypaw's form shifted on the bare ground. Hunger had not lent itself to restful sleep. Terrible dreams made him toss and turn. He'd been having a bit of a... well, he couldn't call it a crisis per say, just doubts. Spurred on by these few days with their merry band of enemies, dreams of isolation haunted his mind every time he laid his head down to sleep. This time, it was worse. Something had led him to this point, he wasn't sure what, but now his life was on the line. He sat before Leopardstar and Marshstorm below the Tallrock, though this wasn't his warrior ceremony. Far from it. Words he couldn't hear proclaimed his exile - for what, he didn't know - and he felt himself pushed towards the briar exit by Nighthawk, his own mentor. She didn't look at him. He whipped his head around, looking for anyone at all who would vouch for him to stay, his eyes landing on Weedblaze. His father wasn't even paying attention; he was solely focused on his other children. The ones who didn't give snappish remarks. The friendly ones. The ones opposite him. Once he left the confines of camp, all sense of reality fell apart. He couldn't remember anything after that.

He didn't wake with a start, nor a gasp. He was still tired. Bleary green eyes opened to an unexciting world. His stomach whined for something to eat and he was forced to obey its wishes. Only Lynxtail was awake, but he was in no mood to chit-chat. Especially not with someone who was starting to see right through him. The red tom heaved himself onto his paws, setting off in some direction with his nose at attention. They wouldn't miss him for the time being. If he was being honest, he needed them more than they needed him.

Strom floated in a dark murky dimness full of strange images thrown together into an incoherent mess. One moment a fox was leaping at him, its eyes boring into his soul, and the next a cat had leapt straight into it. Everything was swept away heartbeats later by a raging wall of water he somehow rode all the way to the top of a shadowed hill, groups of milling cats hanging about, their eyes shining in the dimness behind their cage bars. The rumbling of the monster came to a halt, and he became aware of the entrance opening, light flooding onto his eyelids.

With a blink and a slight twitch, he woke. Lifting his head and squinting against the light, he gazed around disorientatedly at the group of mostly unfamiliar-smelling cats he was lying near on an open, marshy beach. Huh, so it did happen. As he was attempting to patch the slightly disjointed pieces of his memory back together, the sound of pawsteps trailing away from their group caught his ear, and he turned his head to see Poppypaw padding off somewhere. Someone looks unhappy. He sat up with a yawn - ignoring the other apprentice for now, since it looked like he didn't exactly want company anyway - and stretched. Slightly outside of the little group of sleeping cats, Lynxpa - tail, he was Lynxtail now, despite what Strom's mind kept thinking - was sitting near the kit he'd saved from the flood.

Strom sat for a moment, mulling over his friend's new name. If he hadn't had that injury, or even gotten abducted by twolegs in the first place, he would have been a warrior by now, too. Mottledspark.... He stared up the beach, almost expecting to see the tom lying there somewhere, a sodden patch of fur dr@ped lifeless on the mucky shore by the water. He shook his head, getting to his paws and padding between the other sleeping cats before sitting back down near the other cat. Yawning again, he flicked his tail. "So, what're we doing now? Hunting, finding the Clans?"

If he was honest with himself, the last thought oddly didn't appeal. For most of his life, he'd been expected to do what the Clan expected of him, be stuck within rigid rules that despised his bloodline for being what it was, and live with it. Now, he had been dumped on a distant shore further from Clan territory than most cats had ever been, and he found himself almost... happy to be there. Finally, a chance to find out if I'm better off as a loner than a Clan cat.

OOC: I'm gonna post to move this topic along (and also have Lynx catch some prey so he can level up ;; )

IC:
Lynxtail sighed, easing himself to his paws after a brief moment of silence. As Marshstorm often said, the prey wouldn't just catch itself. Without a word, the Thunderclanner trotted as quietly as he could away from his companions. There was no use waking them up- it wasn't like they had anything to defend after all.
Suddenly, a series of chattering barks caught his attention. What luck! A squirrel was nearby, and clearly had no idea that they were nearby. It took the warrior a moment to find the creature's scent, but he quickly located and caught it without much fuss. He padded back to the makeshift camp with a satisfied purr. "Rise and shine everyone, you'll never guess what I fou-"
A feathery blur rushed past the tom's ear, a harsh cry piercing the morning stillness as its talons found its target.
"No!" Lynxtail rushed towards the hawk. His prey lay forgotten in the dust, and he trod on its soft red fur in his attempts to reach the struggling kit. "Help me!" With a shriek that nearly tore his throat in two, the tabby warrior reared onto his hind paws, reaching as far as he could, stretching hopelessly into the sky...
His claw caught one of the hawk's feathers and he lifted his lip, seizing his chance as the bird hesitated. Several furious swipes later, the hawk was on the ground, squawking in alarm. "Before it flies away!" Lynxtail couldn't lower his voice- every word was a scream as he crouched, his muscles tensing as he waited for just the right moment to land on the bird's back. A good leap would snap its back clear in two as long as he caught it just as it was about to take flight.

The member 'Drippy' has done the following action : Dices roll

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'Hunting Dice' : 5

(occ: battle system or nah?)

Magpiepaw's night had been anything but restful.  Settled a little bit off to the side of the main group his makeshift nest was almost destroyed, his dreaming movements having ripped apart the moss.  At this point though, he didn't care; the little tom had finally drifted off, dirty front paw curled protectively over his nose.  Lynxtail's voice though cut through the darkness, and with a low groan the RiverClan apprentice cracked open his eyes, sore muscles throbbing terribly.  "...uhg...wha-?!"  That wasn't a cat flapping in front of his face, it's deadly talons gleaming in the weak sunlight....  With a gasp of realization, Magpiepaw scrambled to his feet, the ThunderClan warrior's cries echoing in his ears.  He needs help...it's going to take the kit!  His claws slid from their sheaths, but his paws seemed stuck to the ground, unable to move.  But...I've never fought anything before!  I don't know how...  His body shook, every second felt like an eon as Lynxtail clawed the bird down to earth, the kit's squealing cries cracking his soft heart.  You can't keep hesitating like this...this is why Mama and Cloudstone thought they needed to die for me!  I have to be brave!  It was easier said than done though.  With a whimper, the short tom dashed forward, flashing out with his paw at the hawk's eye.  It felt weird as claw connected with flesh, and small lines of blood appeared as the giant bird let out a screech, sending Magpiepaw stumbling backward.  I...I don't know what I'm doing!  Is this helping?  Or just making it harder for Lynxtail?  Looking up, he tried to catch the tom's eye, looking for anything of help.  Advice, direction, a rebuke...anything!  Mama, help me!