One Last Murky Day (closed)

Murkpaw opened his eyes to see a dim light filtering through the twiggy, patched-looking branches above his head. It was early. Well, early for him, anyway. With a slight groan, he sat up, his head feeling slightly groggy - as was usual in the morning - but not quite as bad as it normally did.

Today was the day agreed upon. Surprisingly, he didn't feel too bad about that. It was a chance to go do something that wasn't the mindlessly boring task of weaving bits of bush back together, and instead go hunting. Maybe even hang around other cats and... talk. A slight shudder still ran through him at the last prospect, but it wouldn't be possible to live if he didn't have some cats he actually liked to hang around with. At least, so some said.

With a yawn, he stretched his forepaws out in front of himself, feeling the faint aches and pains still left over from the journey flaring comfortably before fading away again. He's still sleeping, isn't he. Yes, a glance over at the fluffy-furred black and white apprentice showed that he was still comfortably asleep. If Silverstrike hadn't dragged me out of my nest so StarClan-forbidden early all the time, I would still be sleeping like that lump. He shrugged off a brief wave of sadness at the thought of the tom never doing that again. He'll be tormenting some stupid apprentice in StarClan somewhere.

Now came the problem of how to wake up Ravenpaw.

For a moment, he simply sat there, staring at the apprentice as if he could wake him up with mindpower alone. Then, he cautiously reached out a paw and lightly poked him. Nothing happened. How do you wake up a cat? His mind mulled over his own experience with his mentor, and a thought flew into his head. I wonder.... He stared back at the tom. Ravenpaw didn't move, his flanks rising and falling in the stead rhythm of sleep. Slowly, a creeping sense of mischievousness tugging at the edges of his paws, he moved closer, practically standing over the other.

Then he sat on him.

Never before had the hustle and bustle of WindClan’s camp gotten on Ravenpaw’s nerves. He’d always thrived on the knowledge that he had friends or friends-to-be all around him, guaranteed meals within walking distance, and a busy place to come back to when his wanderings wore him down. Now, the occasional surges of noise jabbed at him like thorns in his pawpads. Rather than take refuge on the moor, he paced through camp and quietly watched his Clanmates go about their lives, or else did the same from his nest. For security's sake, he could ignore the noise. Sand in his fur had never been so comforting.

The night before the agreed-upon date, he’d remembered the hunting trip. Ravenpaw knew it would be a good idea to get out of camp with someone—to get out of camp at all. As the denmate he knew best (discounting Grousepaw, whom Ravenpaw wasn’t sure how to talk to in the wake of what had happened), Murkpaw was his best shot at that. When he really, really thought about it, the possibility of catching his first rabbit was almost exciting. Almost. Then his thoughts looped back around to the sinkhole, and it was a long, long time before he got to sleep—long enough that he was still thoroughly unconscious when morning rolled around. Murkpaw’s approach didn’t wake him. Neither did the poke.

Murkpaw sitting on him, however, did.

All the air whooshed out of the smaller apprentice with a soft oof, and his eyes shot open. Recognizing the scent as that of one of his denmates, he relaxed and tried to twist enough to look at his "attacker"; a few seconds later, he gave up, possibly sensing it was a doomed endeavor. ”Hey! Murkpaw,” he complained into his nest, drawing out the last syllable as much as he could with Murkpaw’s weight on him, ”it’s so early.” In the cold light of morning, Murkpaw's agreement to show him how to take down a rabbit by himself was so distant it might as well have happened in a different world. But this time, Ravenpaw was determined to be better. It was bad enough that Finchstar had withdrawn—Finchstar, who had led WindClan in the mountains, who took time out of his day to listen to an apprentice he barely knew. Who was, or could have been, something like a friend. For the leader’s sake and his own, Ravenpaw had to keep up some semblance of normalcy.

Besides, it was that, or never learn. Ravenpaw squirmed out from under Murkpaw and pushed himself up, giving his tail an exaggerated wave as if to make sure it was undamaged. If he looked less energetic than usual, moved a little slower, he sounded more or less normal. ”Where’re we headed?” Though the idea had been his, he was happy to cede control to Murkpaw for this outing.

ooc: reduced-paradox edit is GO

It was oddly satisfying to sit on top of someone else for a change while they attempted to wake up, Murkpaw reflected. No wonder his mentor had done it. That the other cat was fluffy enough for sitting on him to feel like being on a pile of moss helped. How many rabbits does he eat to make his fur grow like that? He steadfastly ignored the other cat's complaining, a slight smirk growing over his muzzle.

Until he remembered he was a scrawny bag of bones that most could wriggle out from underneath easily. He made a slight noise of disappointment as he was reduced to sitting on the other's less-than-ideally kept moss before turning to face him. "It's always early. No one lets you sleep around here." Though there would normally be a slight hint of bitterness at the thought, for once he actually felt alright with the concept. StarClan forbid he was becoming normal.

He snorted as Ravenpaw gave an exaggerated wave of his tail, tilting an ear back sardonically at the thought that his scrawny weight would be able to damage anything. At the same time, though the other tom seemed to be in high spirits as usual, there was a faint edge of something Murkpaw had felt before hanging around the edge of every movement and expression. Though the other was obviously trying to hide it, there was something that was bothering him. Perhaps it had been Murkpaw's unconscious intention to lighten the mood, though it clearly hadn't worked. So he tactfully chose to pretend he hadn't noticed anything and didn't ask.

The other tom's question caught him slightly off guard, and he blinked, trying to figure out for a moment where the most rabbits were usually "I don't know. Somewhere the rabbits are?" He finally replied with a shrug, padding out of the den and into the chilly air of the camp's clearing. Why is it always cold? Glancing up briefly at the mostly clear sky, he tried his hardest to ignore the wind ruffling his fur and headed towards the nearest exit, which just happened to pass near the leader's den.

For some unfathomable reason, he hesitated as he passed the entrance, his yellowish eyes peering in at the dark hole. A tom he knew resided there, a friend who had been kind to him when he was just a kit. Though, it wasn't like Finchbreeze had been himself since that other cat died. That could be why everyone's unhappy? Because she died? As he stood outside, he couldn't help but feel just a hint of... something strange. He'd known Finchbreeze liked her, and they were mates, he just hadn't known her, so he couldn't be expected to mope around the camp like the others. Still... he couldn't help but feel something, even if it was only a faint sadness at seeing the other like this.

Murkpaw roused himself, preparing to head out onto the moor and shaking the feeling off. If he continued like this, he'd end up... who knows what. Some sappy rabbit-head, probably.

Murkpaw, Ravenpaw. Finchstar watched them with cool yellow eyes, a moon of contemplating swirling behind those orbs. Appearing to be hunting, the leader let his gaze follow the two, watched as they hopped among the grass tussocks on their way from camp. It was hard to meet their gaze, Finchstar had discovered. He was still unable to assign Ravenpaw a new mentor after Brookclover's death, still feeling as if their presence would illegitimize hers. Instead, WindClan's able warriors had stepped in to take turns training him. Not that Ravenpaw needed looking after, he had grown quite a bit since Finchstar first meant him, and now he was patrolling with Murkpaw. And Murkpaw, Finchstar remembered meeting him when he was only an apprentice, finding him in the nursery, keeping him company. Their age difference was slim, and had it not been for Finchstar following Brookclover's ambitious nature, perhaps he'd still be a windblown warrior, weaving through the moors with his friend. He had missed both their company these past few sunrises, but found it wasn't until today he could conjure up any energy to follow them. If he was to explore the crevices of his sorrow soon, then perhaps it would be best to follow these apprentices while he still had his sanity.

"Looking for rabbits, are we?" Finchstar mewed, his throat raspy from his lack of speech these past few sunrises. Although the grief had somewhat subsided, he was still subject to its will. The leader found it hard to meet Ravenpaw's gaze, remembering the last time he had a real encounter with him, was when Brookclover died. He hoped today would change that. "Do you... mind if I come along?" For once the leader's confidence faltered, and he wondered if perhaps the apprentices had been avoiding him for a reason. The grief didn't just plague his body, but radiated outward, seemingly affecting his clanmates as well. Finchstar felt like a walking thistle flower, and that one wrong step would prick his friends. With Cloud, he had been open, and it had been easy to let his emotions flow then. But here, with the sorrow brewing, it was a hard thing.

Last time he’d been out on a patrol, they’d more or less stumbled into a rabbit. Ravenpaw stopped himself just before he could say so. He’d always been a believer in luck, and nothing worthwhile could come from making that comparison. Today was going to be a good day, even if he had to drag the goodness out of it kicking and yowling and clawing at the dirt; he would not ruin it before it had properly started, especially after all the effort he’d put into convincing Murkpaw.

So, instead, he gave a playful flick of his ear and meowed, ”I’m pretty sure that’s the whole moor.” It was too late; by that point, Murkpaw had started toward the camp’s entrance. With one final stretch (and a slightly mournful look at his rumpled nest), Ravenpaw shook the last bits of sand out of his fur and followed, blinking as the breeze hit him head-on. To his surprise, he realized he’d missed this—Outlook Rock, wildflowers, the wind, annoying though it could be. Maybe hanging around camp so much had been a mistake.

When Murkpaw stopped briefly near Finchstar’s nest, Ravenpaw caught up with him, then passed him entirely, not even looking to see if the red-and-white tom slept within. He hadn’t been avoiding Finchstar, exactly—rather, he hadn’t been avoiding only Finchstar, but Grousepaw and Barleytuft as well, and anything that seemed vaguely like a ceremony. Finchstar had returned the favor, if he’d noticed Ravenpaw’s absence at all. Ravenpaw couldn’t begrudge Finchstar that, not really. Between carrying a Clan and the weight of his own grief, the leader had more than enough on his mind; there was no room for a lone apprentice, especially one so firmly tied to Brookclover. One more reason to spend today on the moor.

Though his paws stuttered as they left the gorse tunnel behind, half-tempted to turn back toward warmth and safety and sleep, Ravenpaw felt what seemed like every muscle in his body relax as the cool, clean air of the moor enveloped him. Murkpaw appeared a moment later. ”I hope we catch something,” he said, taking a stab at conversation now that he was sure his voice wouldn't wake the others. Suddenly, he was glad Murkpaw hadn't accepted the "complete silence outside of camp" part of his offer; he probably couldn't have kept that up for an entire hunt. ”Do rabbits usually come out in the morning?“

”Looking for rabbits, are we?”

Of all the voices he’d expected to hear, that ranked just above Brookclover’s. It was undoubtedly different, ragged from disuse and less wordy than Ravenpaw was accustomed to, but he recognized it all the same. Ravenpaw steeled himself, pulled on a smile, and turned to face WindClan’s leader. Finchstar didn’t meet his eyes—just as well, because Ravenpaw was staring squarely between his. He couldn’t very well admit to the reason behind this so-called patrol, especially not now. That would all but guarantee getting hauled up on the Tallrock and being assigned a new mentor, and then… ”Go ahead, I don't mind." As if he'd just remembered he wasn't in charge (which wasn't far from the truth), he added, "Unless Murkpaw does.”

Murkpaw shivered as he padded out of camp to the figure of Ravenpaw, his short fur fluffing up against the breeze already blowing across the moor. The other tom started talking as he approached, and Murkpaw flicked an ear. "They were there when my mentor used to drag me out."

A moment later, he halted as a voice came from behind, and turned to see Finchbreeze padding after them, looking... tired. Though maybe tired wouldn't be exactly the best to describe it. No, he decided as he looked a little harder at the tom that he appeared to have been figuratively dragged through a burning gorsebush with extra sharp thorns and then crushed in a pit full of rocks before being run over by a monster. In other words - "You look terrible," He stated bluntly as Ravenpaw paused, running his eyes curiously over the tom who stood in front of him, looking much like Murkpaw himself probably had after the flood.

He could still remember the days after waking up on that log, his body battered and bruised. They... hadn't been pleasant, especially when they finally found the Clans, only for no one he knew to be there. For the first time in his life, he had been lonely, abandoned. There was no one there, no one who cared. Everyone he knew was gone. When Ravenpaw had butted in on his hunt, he had cared less about his life than he ever had before. And then a chance encounter had begun to bring him back.

To his own mild surprise, he found he understood just a little of what his friend was going through. And for once in his life he didn't hesitate. "I don't mind. Come with us if you want." He didn't exactly know how to smile, so he just settled for a relaxed twitch of his ears and turned, heading off with a glance over his shoulder to see if they were following.

After being told he looked terrible, Finchstar let out a half-hearted snort, feeling as if his emotions could keep up with Murkpaw's remarks, but his soul was still left behind. "You have an honest heart, 'paw." He gave the darker apprentice a lop-sided smile, paws dragging over the ground. Ravenpaw followed to their side, his presence like a rift in space, saying nothing and yet ever present. Finchstar wanted to speak more to him, but perhaps a sarcastic remark was all he could muster. Long, thoughtful conversations took a different kind of energy.

The moors were warm, with the occasional nip of newleaf air. Heather swept through the grasses, and the sun beamed onto the leader's face. He wanted to fly into its depths, to burn with its fire and sleep in its mass. But he was grounded, stuck to the surface of this world, subject to fate and fortune. A hunt should do him good, something to take his mind off of the dismal place it had resided in. "When was the last time you went out for rabbits?" He rasped to the apprentices, wincing as he realized what the answer could be. The last time Finchstar went out was when he and Brookclover died in that pit. He prayed Ravenpaw wouldn't say the same.

And Murkpaw, Finchstar remembered first sitting with the brown tom in the nursery all those moons ago, telling him he'd be his friend. But with the flood and the happenings, it seemed to pull the two apart, with the only bridge being those promised words so long ago. He watched him climb over hills, letting the breeze catch in his fur. Tragic, that an opportunity like this one should surface at a time such as this. Had it been another day, Finchstar would have loved to catch up with his long ago friend, but he didn't have the mental capacity to even handle that. All his willpower was sent into his paws, to drive him through the grasses.

To his credit, Ravenpaw didn't outwardly wince at Murkpaw's blunt statement, glad Finchstar hadn't taken offense at...well, at the truth, and thankful he'd never been the meticulous type himself. At least his fur couldn't give him away. Surprisingly, Murkpaw allowed Finchstar to join them. That was...something, but Ravenpaw decided he didn't mind. Finchstar had promised they would share a rabbit sometime, after all.

Finchstar's presence aside, setting off was easier now that they'd already left the camp. The small apprentice padded along after his older Clanmates without hesitation, sticking as close to them as he could without raising questions. Silence, too, came easier. As his gaze darted across the hills, Ravenpaw's mouth was firmly shut. When the moor had given way, it had done so with no warning. Then again, his memories of that day were oddly muddled—breaking into flashes of clarity, often only in one sense (the texture of dirt on fur, the scent of blood, his Clanmates' terrified cries), before receding back into a blur. Maybe his subconscious remembered what he could not; either way, he watched the moor too carefully to think much about conversation.

Finchstar broke through his focus so suddenly Ravenpaw almost jumped. The question had two answers: the honest one and the right one. It was possibly the easiest decision Ravenpaw had ever made. "A few sunrises ago?" Hopefully that lie was vague enough that neither of his companions could call him on it; after all, it was only recently he'd decided his time was better spent in camp, and that was already wearing thin. He went on with more confidence than his next words warranted: "I didn't catch anything, though." Even if he had gone out, he would have come back empty-pawed. Catching rabbits by oneself was harder when their burrows scattered across the moor and there weren't many clusters of trees or rock formations in which to corner them; Ravenpaw wasn't sure he could take one down at a sprint. With something like a playful grin, he turned toward Murkpaw and chirped, "So, Murkpaw, have you been hunting rabbits without me?"

Murkpaw flicked his tail at Finchbreeze's words, the equivalent of a shrug, as a small smirk lifted the corner of his lip up. At least the comment seemed to have brought the other cat to a more bearable state of one of the more energetic rocks lying around, instead of slack mud. He kept half an ear out to the conversation of the others while he tasted the air, the different scents of damp earth, grasses, and heather drifting on the breeze to his nose and tongue. It was funny how when the sun came up they seemed somehow... brighter, and warmer.

His ear twitched at Ravenpaw's question, and he turned his attention from the currently rabbit-less breeze to his companions. "...Yes? There was one patrol, and they let me walk out of camp. They didn't let me catch anything." Tail lashing once, he remembered that they'd told him to go, and then once out had promptly told him to wait until he was needed. Sadly, all the rabbits had run the other way, like they could sense he hadn't had a chance to hunt in what felt like moons. Just the thought of it sent a tremor of frustration up his spine, and he opened his mouth again, trying to catch some hint of a rabbit's scent.

He was almost surprised when the faintest trace of one drifted to him on the wind. "Wait, I smell something...." Ears pricking, he worked to pinpoint it, straining to sift through all the other scents. It seemed to be coming from somewhere in the thunderpath's direction, away from Outlook rock. "Over there."

Finchstar let out a sigh as Ravenpaw answered his question, blinking in relief, glad his own recklessness hadn't caused more heartbreak than necessary. Murkpaw responded to the black tom's inquiry, and then the conversation was over, as quick as it had started. The leader had began to wonder if him joining the apprentice's patrol had been a bad idea, but perhaps it still would have been just as quiet had he not come along. Murkpaw had always been somewhat abrasive, but Finchstar found he had grown accustomed to that side of him, the leader didn't ever get agitated very easily. And Ravenpaw was easy-going and friendly, the two made for an interesting pair, and Finchstar wondered about their chemistry. Once again, his mind sprung at the chance to distract himself from the everlasting grief in his heart. Perhaps a good hunt would spark some conversation between them, or maybe Finchstar was just spoiled with a lifetime of being surrounded by talkative cats. Perhaps today, the silence was preferred.

The moor was gray, with the sun hazy and dull. Finchstar hadn't opted to leave camp yet, and now on his first time out, he was glad for the company. The sinkhole that had swallowed up both him and Brookclover still resided on the moor, and while they had given his mate the proper burial, the scars on the land would take quite a bit more time to disappear. He didn't look forward to laying eyes on that spot again, but thankfully Murkpaw made a turn toward the Thunderpath instead. "Scent something?" Finchstar inquired, following close by, without getting in the way of his scent trail. Whatever it was, hopefully the leader could help bring it down, and finally be able to say he had made a hunt that didn't feature his mate dying.

Never one to leave a cat hanging, he replied, ”Oh, that’s no fun.” With that, the conversation died away, plunging their hunting party into silence once more. Ravenpaw returned to surveying the moor the way one surveys a rabbit who’s just noticed it’s been spotted, as if it might disappear the instant he broke eye contact. He had no power over it…but he could hope.

Above, the sun climbed higher, casting its gentle newleaf glow over them. The moor-smell was startlingly different from the camp-smell; fresh, clear, less thickly cluttered with the scents of his Clanmates. Ravenpaw inhaled, willing the gentle breeze to loosen the tension in his chest again. This hunt was far from unsalvageable, but the dark-furred apprentice still wished they would all relax soon, himself included. If things went this way, he’d catch his first rabbit today—rather than startling it into another cat’s paws or losing track of it over a hill or just plain letting it outrun him—and he needed the story to be a fun one.

He was casting about for another topic when Murkpaw suddenly turned toward the Thunderpath. The first scent. ”What is it?” Ravenpaw said (in a whisper, thankfully). ”Did you find a rabbit?” Though his paws itched to hurry forward, he had learned it was bad manners, not to mention unhelpful, to knock someone off a scent trail. Instead, he crept closer to Murkpaw, crouching ever so slightly. Then, ever the paragon of self-discipline, he leaned forward a little in an attempt to catch the scent as well.

Murkpaw spared a quick glare in the others' direction - especially Ravenpaw's, just in case he decided to run forwards and trample the scent trail - before turning back to concentrate on the smell. "Yes, I already said that." He moved forwards, tasting the air as he went. Through the wind whipping into his face, he could tell as it got stronger that it wasn't quite as far as he'd first thought - maybe just beyond that slight rise in the ground ahead. Finally, a hunt I actually get to do something on. Anticipation began to prickle through his pelt, and he unconsciously dropped into a slight crouch as he half-turned to face the others. "I think it's after the ridge. Should we hem it in or just run?"

It felt oddly exhilarating to be an actual part of the hunt and making decisions, instead of hanging back and staring at the grass while all the warriors did obscure tail signals and whispered among themselves. His tail twitched slightly behind him, the enthusiasm of his Clanmates - or just Ravenpaw - sending a spark of energy through him. That's it, I'm turning into a rabbit-brain. And the worst thing was that he didn't care, even as he had the thought.

Murkpaw's eyes traced the scent trail in front of him, and Finchstar hung back, watching as the grass swayed with every gust of wind. The dark tabby was prickly, but the leader found himself eyeing Ravenpaw, wondering how the black tom would take it. Perhaps it wasn't his duty to involve himself with relationships anymore. They were certainly interesting to watch, and even in his grief, the orange and white tabby would never get bored of it, but the apprentices seemed to be fine without him. Murkpaw's observation skills were acute and well honed. Finchstar wondered how far his friend had progressed while he hid in his den. Perhaps he should start thinking of a warrior name soon for the dark tabby. He certainly had the skill, and perhaps his abrasiveness was cheeky and a niche of lovable emotions. "Perhaps we should run, but it's your call, 'paw."

Finchstar didn't know if he could muster an elaborate hunting arrangement with his meager emotions that now were focused on setting one paw in front of the other. The last teamwork for a rabbit he had performed was with Brookclover, and perhaps he didn't want to ruin the memory. On the moor, they had danced and frolicked like the sun on the grass. They were beautiful, and now they were gone. Finchstar blinked and found himself back in reality, the Thunderpath emitting a harsh unnatural odor, Ravenpaw by his side, and Murkpaw on the hunt.

By now, he’d adjusted to Murkpaw’s grumpy nature; a glare was nothing compared to the fight that had almost unfolded during their first meeting, so Ravenpaw had learned to take them in stride. He stumbled backward a few steps, giving the older apprentice a sheepish smile before pushing his thoughts back to their objective. Rabbit. The same prey as the last one. But, he reminded himself, the moor was full of rabbits; if every patrol involving them ended in disaster, there wouldn’t be a WindClan to hunt for.

His own legs might not be fast enough, especially now that he had to watch the ground so carefully, but Murkpaw had been able to catch rabbits on the river despite the trees and rocks scattered around. Ravenpaw had no less faith in his speed here. Hadn’t Ravenpaw come here to see that speed in action? That, and…now that the hunt was properly beginning, he’d noticed an odd energy he usually didn’t see within Murkpaw. If there was anything Ravenpaw was good at, it was taking a friend’s enthusiasm and making it his own. With that and Finchstar’s agreement in mind, a sprint didn’t sound too bad. ”I say we run,” he meowed with a careless flick of his tail. "It's more exciting that way." If Ravenpaw's history with rabbits was anything to go by, he'd end up scaring the thing off well before he reached it; this time, waiting for Murkpaw to take the lead was easier.

Murkpaw hesitated at Finchbreeze's reply, a frown forming on his muzzle. Usually the older cats did all the planning, didn't they? And then just expected the apprentices' to run around carrying them out? Not that he was complaining, since he finally got to have a say in how they hunted and where. His tail twitched slowly behind him as he thought furiously, trying to reach inside his mind for a plan. Don't they usually run around the rabbit and then jump on it?

His planning was interrupted as Ravenpaw spoke, and he glanced at the other tom. Just... run? He contemplated the thought deeply for a heartbeat or two, and then flicked his tail. "Alright," He abruptly mewed. "I run down the middle, you two run around the sides, and then we eat it when we catch it or it gets run over by a monster." He added the last with just a hint of wry humour, his tail flicking behind him as he turned and began stalking up the ridge, making sure to keep his paws light on the ground. If they spooked it too soon, it might just run for the nearest hole and disappear before they even got close.

Strangely, it was almost hard to keep to the relatively slow pace, the wind brushing his whiskers making him want to go faster. He shoved it aside, cautiously approaching the small ridge. As he slowed, he carefully poked his head to view over the rise in the ground, his muscles tensing to spring in case the rabbit was watching and spooked. A brown pelt caught his eye as it moved, and he snapped his gaze onto it. Fortunately, it was facing away, and hadn't seemed to notice him as it nibbled at the grass. Before it could raise its head and see him, he eased his head back down, casting one glance around to see that the others were ready.

And with a twitch of his tail he sprang over the top. Paws hit the ground smoothly with as little noise as he could manage, and immediately bounded forwards. Ahead, the rabbit noticed, its ears standing to attention as it startled and whirled around, scrambling madly as it careened away from him. Settling into a smooth rhythm, Murkpaw hurtled in pursuit. The wind streamed through his fur, roaring in his ears. Every breath came in tune with it. The grass under his paws, the early sun beating down on his fur, it exhilarated him. Stretching his paws further and further, for the first time he felt alive as he never had, bearing down on the bobbing tail just ahead, a smile beginning to stretch across his muzzle. Each stride brought him closer, closer, until he leapt, claws outstretched.

They buried themselves in its back, the creature letting out a sharp squeal as they both tumbled to the ground. Before they could fall to a halt, he buried his fangs in its spine, warm blood running into his mouth as the resounding snap of the bone travelled through his teeth. It fell still immediately, its dead weight flopping onto the ground as he stumbled to his paws, sides heaving. A triumphant smirk stretched across his face, his yellowish eyes sparking with the excitement of the hunt. He opened his mouth to call to the others, his tail rising-

And stopped as a scent flooded his mouth and nose, along with the significantly closer stench of the Thunderpath. A frown spread over his face as he turned, fur beginning to bristle.

He was just in time to see a flash of black and white - along with a pair of snarling jaws - bound towards him. In an instant, he was scrambling away, barely avoiding its bulk as it swiped a paw at him. Heavy-set black claws just caught his tail as he whipped away, sending him off-balance for a moment. Luckily, the thing just bulldozed on, heading away from him.

But before he could begin to feel relief, it lunged straight for Finchbreeze, its paw crashing into the orange-and-white tom with resounding force.

Badger used Heavy Blow on Finchstar, dealing 25 of damage and costing 20 SP.

Badger
HP: 120/120
SP: 300/320

Finchstar
HP: 95/120
SP: 300/300