Smother that Last Flame

More rain. More wind. The trees whistled and wailed as strong gales forced their way through the twigs, rattling their sickly branches with a sound not unlike bones clacking together. The winds whispered a promise, softened by trembling leaves above, that storms may once again wash the forest away, perhaps for good this time. The faintest mist floated down from the canopy, covering the undergrowth with a slick coat of water. Scents of mushrooms, soil, stones, and rotting wood and leaves blossomed in the cool humidity. What could have been a normal day. Indistinguishable from yesterday nor tomorrow. When the vibrancy of the forest was dimmed enough to match what he saw, nothing more, nothing less.

Though already muffled by the splattering of raindrops on the forest floor, a cat slunk ever so silently, olive gaze blank and his face emotionless. His mind felt filled with nothingness, with only a faint goal to grasp. Occasionally he would forget what he was doing, simply moving stealthily through ThunderClan territory without purpose. By scent he was unrecognizable, more like the forest than of the cats who lived in it, though that faint wisp of ThunderClan still lingered. To a blind cat, he was unrecognizable, even if he spoke, his voice was raspy and weak with disuse. His one remaining characteristic was his face, if anyone had dared to look him straight-on and remembered what he looked like. Even then, his face was gaunt, white fur stretched over thinned frame and with sunken eyes. Would anyone believe it was Poppypaw? Perhaps not. This was some other cat inhabiting his body, or maybe he was pretending. Maybe his loyalty was slipping away and the apprentice was just separating himself, yet still technically present, so that finally leaving would not be too much of a surprise. But no, Poppypaw was still as loyal as ever, though right now he was breaking a clear rule that apprentices could not go into the territory without a warrior. ‘Yet I’m older than so many of them.’ A brief flash of anger coincided with lightning, with a crash of thunder swiftly following suit. Even now he hunted for the clan, barely registering his empty stomach. Or that his pelt was soaked through.

His mouth agape, he sifted through the scents raised by the falling raindrops – though this was an otherwise terrible time to hunt – and slowly followed a faint trail, but at some point it had gotten washed away. The previous Poppypaw would’ve felt annoyed at this, but this one couldn’t muster the energy to feel much of anything. So he moved on. At some point, a squirrel chittered foolishly above his head and he froze, gaze drifting upwards to the source. Could he get it? Did he want to? No, not wanting to was selfish, he had to. Whether he could or could not, there was no choice. He waited, eyes unblinking, watching as the creature scurried around the branches, and finally descending the slick bark and onto the forest floor. When the time was right he crept forward. Though he had done everything right, a bush rustled from somewhere and the squirrel darted back up the tree. In a sudden burst of desperation Poppypaw rushed after it, leaping up the tree, only to have its bushy tail slip through his claws. And he was no SkyClan cat, he slid back down with nothing but a few hairs of his prey. Frustration burned through him, though nothing he felt had any words to accompany it. He moved to stare right where the noise had come from, sticking by the now claw-scarred tree as a weak form of camouflage. Was it a raccoon? A fox? Or maybe a cat?

Not so much from curiosity, Poppypaw stuck around via pure instinct. If it was a predator, hiding was easier than running. And he knew he could scale some tree if he really needed to, though he might lose a claw in the process. Adrenaline could fuel him enough. Even if he couldn't remember what he ate last.

The raccoon turned its great head towards them, its eyes shining with some sort of morbid glee. The alleyway as closed at both ends- there were no cats to defend him this time.
The sickly little tom felt his heart in his throat as the creature shuffled towards him. Its legs dragged on the concrete as if it no longer had control over its body. As it opened its mouth, whatever sound it was trying to make was drowned out in a mountain of foam. Lynxpaw screamed.
And awoke with a start, jumping to his feet, his sides heaving and his flanks soaked with sweat. Blinking rapidly, he looked around. There was no alleyway, no rabid raccoon. He was safe- and so were Batpaw, Mothpaw, Silentpaw, and Minkpaw.
The brown tom glanced down at his brother, curled up in a nest next to his, before stepping gingerly around him. Lynxtail needed some time to clear his head. The nightmares weren't fading like he thought they would. If anything, they were growing more frequent. It was terrifying. To go to sleep and know that sooner or later he'd be back in that alleyway, watching his loved ones die for his sake when he knew that he wasn't worth anything, let alone their lives... Although he knew that his dreams weren't real, he still dreaded falling asleep.

Slowly, he made his way out of the warrior's den, careful not to step on any tails or paws for fear of awakening their owners.
The last thing he deserved was a sympathetic gaze and a shoulder to lean on. When he finally managed to peer outside, he couldn't help but feel confused. Was it night already? Midmorning, perhaps? The sky was overcast and a layer of fog had begun to blanket the camp.
This wasn't the first time the tom had slept through the day. Since the flood, many warriors had been sleeping in shifts, working all night and sleeping once the sun rose. Lynxtail found that this strategy worked quite well- someone was always working on repairing something, and things seemed to get finished much quicker. There wasn't much prey running at night, but the tom found that he preferred building and patching holes in dens much more than hunting anyways. There was something comforting in the repetition of it- moss, mud, water, repeat. It was something concrete that he could focus on.

When he finally ducked into the open, Lynxtail sighed in relief. Already, he could feel himself relaxing. Usually, when a nightmare woke him up, he checked the camp to make sure there was nothing to worry about. Knowing that everyone was safe and the camp was well-protected helped to keep his anxiety at bay. He quietly walked towards the apprentice den, suppressing a grin as he remembered how many times he'd knocked his head on the entrance after the dusk patrol. He'd been so small for so long, once he finally grew, it had been difficult to get used to his height. He bent down, peering into the den. Some apprentices were fast asleep, and although not all the nests were filled, every one of them looked well-used. He was sure that it must be exhausting to be an apprentice, now that there was so much work to be done.

Lynxtail frowned. Poppypaw's nest was almost barren, devoid of moss or feathers. Just as it had been since they'd arrived back at camp. At this point, Lynxtail wasn't entirely sure that the tom slept in camp. In fact, he hadn't seen the surly apprentice actually spend time here unless he was eating. With a sigh, the golden-brown warrior turned to head towards the Medicine Cat den. He was probably fine, and just off doing whatever strange thing he did when he was alone in the forest.
Alone. In the woods. The tabby shook himself, glancing briefly into the Medicine den as he passed. With the foxes, and badgers, and dogs... Why couldn't Poppypaw stay in camp like he was supposed to? Why did he have to make everything so difficult all the time? He was probably bleeding out, Starclan knows where, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it.
All was well in the nursery. Lynxtail knew he should go back to sleep, but there was a small prickle of doubt itching at the back of his mind. Stupid Poppypaw.

Lynxtail turned back to the second den he'd checked, he spied Mosspaw fast asleep. The journey must've been taxing for her as well, and he hated to wake her up when she clearly needed rest, but... "Psst. Mosspaw, wake up. Poppypaw's missing." He quickly ducked out of the peculiar-smelling den as soon as the calico she-cat began to stir, realizing with a jolt that it had begun to rain. Perfect. How was he supposed to track Poppypaw now? It was almost as if the apprentice didn't want to be found.

Mosspaw had finally laid to rest, her paws sore and aching from all of the task she had been trying to juggle. Curling up tight in her new nest she had positioned carefully under some ferns near the medicine den, she was grateful that she had the forethought to make sure she chose a spot that would shield her from the fat rain drops that started to fall from the sky. Tail tucked near her nose, it wasn't long before she fell asleep, her weary body relaxing as the soft pattering of rain drops lulled her to sleep. It wasn't long before her rest was broken, though, and she woke up suddenly, momentarily not sure of what woke her up. Keeping her eyes closed and her body still, she took a slow breath, hoping that she would be able to determine what it was that woke her. The strong scent of Lynxtail hit her nose as she did, and she immediately opened her eyes and started to sit up, her muscles aching in protest as she did. That's when what the warrior had said sunk in - Poppypaw was missing?

She quickly got to her paws, taking a moment to shake a couple lingering scraps of moss from where they clung to her pelt. Quietly she made her way into the medicine den, grabbing a couple cobwebs that she had collected a few sunrises before, and then hurried back out to Lynxtail, careful to not disturb Pricklebush where he slept. Once she met the tom, she mewed, keeping her voice low. "You said Poppypaw is missing?" Her ear flicked as a drop fell from the canopy above and landed flat on her head. Resisting the urge to try to shake it off, she continued. "We should hurry, before the rain washes away his scent much more. Let's get going." Ducking into the forest, her paws moved swiftly as she tried to catch a scent that matched what she remembered as Poppypaw, but the only thing she could pick up was stale ThunderClan scents of different cats. Turning back to look at Lynxtail, she shook her head solemnly. "Let's try over that way."

He knew what it was. Two long, perked ears bouncing along to an unusual, but characteristic gait. The tom quickly crouched before it could see him. He wasn't prey, he'd found prey. Poppypaw cautiously moved backwards and around the tree. Closer to his new target. It was a rabbit, small and a bit haggard-looking as everything did, but it'd be perfect for the small and haggard cats back at camp. It could smell him, of course, but it sniffed only where he'd hidden before. With its back turned, he aligned himself before leaping forward, though he couldn't nab it on the first pounce. He had no choice but to give chase.

Paws skidding across the slick leaves he followed, weaving in and around trees and bushes. In any other weather he would have lost it already, but the rain left the ground just as slippery to the rabbit as it was to him. In the chase they zipped closer and closer to a familiar path, one well-trodden by warriors on patrol. Perhaps he would’ve slowed if he’d known there were cats there at the moment, if he could. There was no way now that he was practically sliding down a small hill at an unnervingly high speed. His target didn’t fare much better, tumbling and rolling with sharp squeaks interspaced between the low thumps of it rolling down a bit farther. Only after zooming past a few cats – he barely had the time to even notice them, a bit busy at the moment – did he catch up, though not on purpose.

A tree had finally appeared directly in their path, stopping his prey in its tracks. And him as well. “Foxdung!” With a hard oomph he smacked into the unyielding trunk, landing on top of the dazed rabbit. Confused, he wrestled with it, easily killing it thanks to the injuries it had already sustained. Poppypaw sat and panted, feeling extremely light-headed. He needed to lie down, but he also needed to bring this back to camp. Yet he couldn’t think straight. Or walk straight now either. Maybe he could bury it for now and just sleep right here. Yeah, that sounded good…

"Thank you," The golden-brown warrior trotted close beside Mosspaw, constantly shrugging his shoulders in an effort to shake off the rain before it soaked into his fur. Lynxtail realized that this was a losing battle, though. Every inch of him was soaked. Raindrops hung from his whiskers, and although a few fell off when he shook his head, more quickly replaced them. Lynxtail wasn't a Riverclan cat, but at times like this, he envied their sleek, quick-drying fur. Maybe it was the fish...

" Let's try over that way." Lynxtail nodded wordlessly, trying in vain to catch Poppypaw's fading scent. If it kept raining like this, they could get lost themselves. If they wandered into the Stony Hollow, well... It would be better to go back now and keep looking once the rain let up.
The young warrior turned towards his companion. "Look- if it rains any harder, his scent will completely disappear. I can barely smell him n-
Lynxtail nearly jumped out of his fur as a small, dusty brown blur sped between them. He stared at Mosspaw for a moment, blinking. Did that really just happen? Then he was off, crashing through the undergrowth, all trails abandoned. Even with his eyes narrowed, he could hardly see in the rain. Luckily, the surly apprentice wasn't exactly a silent hunter. The tabby warrior skidded to a stop, sending a spray of mud onto Poppypaw and his quarry, who were engaged in a furious tussle.

"Language!" Lynxtail barked when he caught his breath. His fur was soaked, he was starving, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. Although Lynxtail wanted to believe that he followed Poppypaw because he wanted the tom to be safe, a different, hunger and exhaustion-fueled part of him was sure that he'd only check up on Poppypaw if his Clanmates noticed he did so. There was no way they'd suspect he was Bad if he dragged himself out of his nest at Starclan knows what hour and chased after some apprentice who should know better... Either way, the tabby warrior was far from happy. "What in Starclan's name are you doing out here? You know apprentices aren't supposed to be alone in the forest- what if a fox found you?! I've had it up to here with this kind of behavior, Poppypaw. I didn't want to do this, but I'm going to have to tell Marshstorm about this."

"Of course." Mosspaw replied simply as they walked side by side. Her attempts as trying to track a scent were constantly thwarted by the rain, and she kept having to blink the droplets from her eyes as they padded along. Her fur was soaking wet now, and for a moment she wondered if she would ever get dry again. She looked up to warrior as he spoke, and nodded once. He was right, the rain was definitely making it difficult to smell anything, let alone Poppypaw. Her paws stopped for a moment, and the next a figure shot by her whiskers and her eyes widened, still staring up at Lynxtail. Had her fur not been plastered to her body, it would have tripled her size as she stood completely still for a couple heartbeats, her paw still in the air for the next step.

In the next heartbeat, Lynxtail went charging after the lone figure, and Mosspaw followed clumsily behind him. The mud mixed with the unnatural path, especially in the rain, was hard to maneuver carefully. She stopped at Lynxtail's side, looking at Poppypaw with concern in her eyes. As the warrior finished his scolding, Mosspaw laid her tail on his shoulder gently, blinking as a fat raindrop from the canopy above landed on her nose. "Lynxtail, it's late and I'm sure we're all exhausted. We can talk to Marshstorm tomorrow, for now let's just be grateful that we found him and he's okay."

Moving closer to Poppypaw, she saw the rabbit. "Hey, nice catch! I was never fast enough to catch a rabbit. But let's go home for the night, it's wet and if you catch a cold you'll have to stay in the medicine den with Pricklebush and I - surely you don't want that?" She purred, trying to stay positive as she stifled a yawn. She was uncomfortable, and wished for the warmth and dryness of her nest in the camp, and knelt next to the apprentice, who seemed almost dazed. "Come on now, you look exhausted. Let's go, Poppypaw."