Tied By Blood (closed)

Strom was out early, leaving Batbite to sleep for a bit longer, his heart feeling full of an emotion still new as he glanced at her black pelt and smiled. He paused for one last look back at her - her sleeping form still curled up - promising silently to bring something special back to her. Eyes bright and nose lifted to the wind, he padded down the hill a short way, winding through the bushes, his pawsteps like those of a wraith in the early morning light. A smile spread over his maw as he remembered another morning like this, barely a short time before, the sunrise rippling on the river as his eyes met Bat's, both of them finally finding not only a place, but each other - more fully than they ever could have before.

A sound caught his ear as he angled across the face of the slight incline - a shuffling, crunching sound coming from his right. His ears pricked, eyes searching out the source as he froze, one paw just raising. The wind shifted with a sighing sound, rustling the leaves of the foliage around him and wafting the scent of rabbit to his nose. A sudden grin broke over his maw, his eyes narrowing mischievously. Hah! Wouldn't it be great if I managed to catch one of those? If he even could catch one alone. The image of him arriving back, covered in scratches from gorse bushes and bringing back nothing but rabbit scent danced through his mind. He could just imagine the look on her face if he did! But... it's worth a shot. What could it hurt? There's always more prey out there. With a mental shrug, he settled into a hunter's crouch, moving as softly and carefully as he could.

It wasn't soft enough. As he drew near, now able to make out the brown speckled with white on its body through the branches of a bush between them, it suddenly stiffened, raising its head and throwing a startled look behind at him. Making a snap decision, he leapt forwards, paws kicking up a sudden flurry of dirt and leaves. But the rabbit was faster. Sprinting forwards, its hind legs kicked debris back at his face. He pushed as hard as he could, gritting his teeth as he furiously wished for the lean legs and fast build of a WindClan cat. Even with his best efforts, he could still feel himself falling behind, that maddeningly bobbing tail pulling ahead. Just a bit faster!

Both of them burst out into the open with a crash of twigs and a pounding of paws, and in a last-ditch move of desperation, Strom gathered himself and leaped forwards, hoping to snag some part of it and at least bring both of them tumbling to the ground. Paws outstretched, his claws grazed its tail, catching a leg. Then he was down, tumbling and rolling for a moment as he fought to keep a grip in its pelt. His efforts achieved nothing, the rabbit scrambling away from his claws and darting away with a kick.

With a groan, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, panting as he winced at the new tenderness in half a dozen spots on his body. "Well, that went well," He muttered to himself, examining the claws on one paw gingerly just in case he'd managed to tear one. Shaking his head, he stood, looking back up at where the rabbit had vanished. Wait, this isn't near the barn.... Sudden shock hit his pelt like cold water, and he stiffened, suddenly alert and painfully aware of just how far he'd managed to wander. This is WindClan territory. His pelt crawling, he glanced around, opening his mouth to draw in the scents around him. I need to leave before I run into anyone.

rambling:

The patrol assignment came as a relief. Dealing with these things was easier when he didn’t have time to think about them. Though he didn’t want to leave Burningwolf unguarded, Lightfang couldn’t refuse an order or an opportunity to spend time with Swallowflight. He’d always been closer to Cardinalpaw and Arno, but…he’d been worried about Swallowflight since Cardinalpaw's exile. Now, he was the only sibling Lightfang had left to fret over. Lightfang wouldn’t lose him, too.

Their matching golden pelts cut through the heather, Lightfang trailing slightly behind his brother. His ears twitched at the tiniest sound. Every step brought back the feeling of Burningwolf’s unconscious form draped across his shoulders. He prayed Swallowflight wouldn’t pick up on the tension burning through him as he bristled for what could have been the hundredth time, mistaking a breeze for a predator—and in the distance, a pair of shapes burst into view.

As Lightfang dropped into a crouch, he realized those shapes were too small to be foxes or dogs. By now, even he could recognize a rabbit on the run and a cat (ginger, plainly visible against the grasses) in pursuit. Still, urgency transformed his voice into a near hiss. ”Something’s here.” No sensible creature was feather-brained enough to wander onto the moor now. Either they were a Clan cat looking for a fight, or they were from beyond the Clans. Trouble either way. His next move was clear: chase this stranger off. Before he could unsheathe his claws, however, the beasts flashed through his mind yet again. If a fight broke out, would it draw their attention? They could be anywhere. They could be here, ready to spring.

Lightfang glanced aside at his brother. It wasn’t worth the risk. They’d have to find another way… At least Swallowflight was here to do most of the talking. Steeling himself, he rose to his full height and padded toward the stranger. The foreign scent was the surest proof that this cat wasn’t a WindClanner; his broad, sturdy build confirmed it further. Lightfang surveyed him for a long moment, dull blue eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion. ”Are you aware you’re on WindClan territory?”

Swallowflight wasn't too ecstatic about being dragged out of camp, but the presence of his brother made the assignment more bearable. He wasn't fully recovered from the recent illness he caught, apparent in the slight sway he had in his stride and the occasional sniffle, but was still deemed fit enough to go on patrol. He needed a breath of fresh air anyway, away from the medicine den that he had been confined in. He, however, refused to make conversation, allowing the silence between the two of them to remain. They were better off that way, anyway. Swallowflight had things he didn't want to talk about, and he was sure that Lightfang wouldn't care. He had a mate to worry about now, and no time to spend with his brother. Besides, he was never any good at talking about his feelings. He usually just had Cardinalpaw tell him a funny joke to distract him from the pain, or had Sandblaze do something stupid to make him laugh, but both of those cats were gone and his thoughts constantly haunted him as a result.

With the heaviest of sighs, the pale tabby turned his attention back to the task at hand. He looked over his shoulder at his brother, and noticed that he had stopped quite a ways away. He looked apprehensive; his fur was bristling and he appeared ready for confrontation. Swallowflight tilted his head to one side, confused, and followed his brother's gaze to the silhouettes in the distance. He too, dropped into a crouch, a growl rumbling from his chest. "You could've at least warned me before I charged head first into my potential death," he whispered to his brother in mock anger. Lightfang seemed to be thinking the same thing; there was no way the two of them would stand a chance in combat. Not considering their current reputation, and his own still recovering from illness body. They'd try to talk to him first, and if things turned south...well...Swallowflight cleared his throat, returning to an upright position, and padded alongside his brother towards the figures. Upon closer inspection, he realized there was only one, and judging by the scent, they were probably an outsider as well. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew this cat; it was something about his broad build and ginger pelt that caused a sense of familiarity. As Lightfang finished speaking, he elaborated, in hopes of not causing a skirmish, "We won't have to fight you if you leave peacefully, and cross the border."

Oh no. Strom stiffened as two cats rose out of the long grass, a sandy, blue-eyed tom with scars on his throat, and a pale tabby with ginger stripes. Both of them didn't look exactly like the typical WindClan cats he'd seen at gatherings. Definitely not loners, though. From the smell of them, they'd been living in WindClan long enough to pick up the scent.

They also appeared to have been living in it long enough to pick up the loyalty to it, too.

"Yes, actually, though that might be partly because two WindClan cats just turned up...." And of course, because they'd caught him right after his embarrassing attempt at catching a rabbit, he just had to start cracking jokes. An absolutely wonderful way to smooth their prickled fur. Forcing his own to lie flat, Strom sent them both an easy smile, a slightly embarrassed twitch of his ear the only sign of his chagrin. "If you'll believe me, I actually didn't mean to drop in on you like that. I'm not going to put up a fight; I'll leave peacefully if you'll let me. No need to bring out claws or anything."

And it would probably be best if after this he made extra sure he didn't accidentally end up on their territory again.

Having come to stand beside him, Swallowflight chose to follow his lead. Settling this without a fight would be quieter and, with any luck, faster. Lightfang’s gaze darted to him again; he brushed his tail against his brother’s shoulder very, very gently in an unspoken question. No matter how grateful Lightfang was for the company, there was no ignoring just how sick Swallowflight had been. WindClan’s deputy could have been too hasty in sending him out of camp. Aspenheart… Admittedly, Lightfang was more reluctant to assume the worst from a cat to whom he owed so much, but Aspenheart, too, could have misjudged.

In any case, the sooner this ended, the sooner they would both be back in camp. The sooner he could be at his mate’s side. Turning back to the rogue with a flick of his notched ear, Lightfang regarded him with skepticism, then clear disbelief as the rogue began to speak. A trespasser, a would-be thief—and, apparently, the type of cat who took neither of those offenses seriously. He met the rogue’s smile with a steady frown. If he couldn’t chase him off, what was he meant to do…?

Finally, a tentative solution rose to the front of his mind. ”We’ll escort you to the border.” Once more, Lightfang’s striped tail bumped Swallowflight’s side, this time in an attempt to apologize for the detour. Unfortunately, it was the best way to ensure the rogue actually left. That, and… ”Don’t try to hunt here again,” he said, less force behind the words than before. ”It’s dangerous.” Though he had no fondness for thieves, he wouldn’t wish what had happened to Burningwolf—what could have happened to all three of them, if they’d wandered the moor long enough—on any cat, friend or enemy. She had survived with plenty of scars to show for it; anyone living without a medicine cat’s aid wouldn’t be so fortunate.

Escort him to the border? Wasn't that a...bit much? It was just one loner and, by the looks of it, he wasn't much of a threat. He looked at his brother curiously, tilting his head in slight confusion. Ah, if Lightfang deemed him that much of a threat, he'd go with it. With a shrug, Swallowflight turned back to the loner, copper eyes gleaming. "It's been settled, then. We'll escort you to the border. If you do return here, we won't let you off so easy," he meowed curtly, stepping past the loner and striding towards the border. He glanced over his shoulder and gestured with his tail for both the loner and his brother to follow him. He hoped that Lightfang would remain in the rear; if this cat decided to make a run for it, Swallowflight wouldn't be able to chase after him. Not in his current condition, at least. It was taking all his strength not to hack up a lung in front of the stranger, and show potential weakness. "Raventail really shouldn't have chosen me for this.." he thought, forcing down yet another cough.

Strom felt a flicker of surprise move across his face, followed almost immediately by the raising of a brow. “...Alright. If you really need to....” He glanced sideways at the ginger-striped, copper-eyed tom as he moved past him. "Believe me, I don't plan on running across your territory again. I never meant to in the first place, either."

He moved in behind Ginger-stripes, casting a quick glance at the blue-eyed lighter tabby’s face again. There was something... odd about these two. More than just their builds being out of place in WindClan. Something almost... familiar.

It didn’t help that the grumpier, more scarred one had blue eyes. But then, something in Strom would always twitch at the sight of eyes blue as the sky, eyes like all the cats he had ever loved and cherished... and one he had technically never known. To be honest, though, the other tom would almost look like Princess if he took the blue eyes of his companion and deepened them a shade. Strom felt a small pang at the thought, his sister's smiling face passing through his imagination for a moment. No. No one could look like her. Or replace her. Even if her spitting image turned up somewhere, all it would do was drive a thorn into his heart. Or more accurately, the piece of his heart she had once been in.

He shook his head slightly. No use thinking about it. They never would have known her, and colours don't make resemblances.

Still... it wouldn't hurt to make a bit of casual conversation, right? Maybe he could find out if he'd ever seen or met them at a gathering. That could explain why they looked vaguely familiar.

He glanced at Blue-eyes, letting a bit of curiosity with a hint of playfulness into his tone as his ginger tail swished slightly behind him. “So... you’re just... patrolling? On the lookout for stray loners making fish-brains of themselves?” Before the other tom could reply, he tilted his head slightly, adding, “By the way, what are your names? It’s not exactly the greatest to have to think of you as Blue-eyes and Ginger-stripes all the time.”

Whether because of the decision to guide him to the border or the warning, the rogue looked more baffled than anything. If Lightfang had needed proof that this cat hadn’t dealt with the beasts, that was it. Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. The pale tabby closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to StarClan: Please, not today. Any patrol but this one. Of course, the sudden appearance of a moor-beast might give this cat a reason not to trespass, but Swallowflight… Training his worried gaze on the backs of his brother’s ears, Lightfang fell into step behind the rogue. As uneasy as trailing near the back made him, someone needed to keep an eye on the stranger in case he tried to run off—or, worse, attack Swallowflight. Even Lightfang knew there was a time and a place for risk-taking; this was neither. If the rogue so much as flicked an ear, he would see it.

Invited by the silence, a curious thought poked its nose into the forefront of his mind. Would this cat know Starlord? Lightfang wrinkled his muzzle. Starlord. The cat who’d doomed them, in one way or another, and hadn’t lived long enough to own up to it. The cat who’d had the nerve to name them. True, half of them had used those names in the end, but he still preferred to think Delta, Arno, Calder, and Caspian had come from his brother’s imagination. It was…easier, that way. For moons, one had carried his sister; now, another guarded his oldest brother. If they were from Arno, from family, he could begin to love them.

Besides, ”ginger, large, and a loner” made for a vague description at best. Come to think of it, it even fit the cat walking in front of him.

Lightfang looked up—directly into a pair of clear green eyes. Of all the things he’d decided this cat might be, he hadn’t planned on “talkative.” He tipped his head to the side, confusion flickering across his face, until the rogue finished speaking; then he waited a moment longer, just in case. Witty responses were his siblings’ territory, but he could at least answer harmless questions. ”We watch the borders, we hunt. It’s what warriors do. …I’m Lightfang. This is Swallowflight, my brother.” No point in hiding the connection; they looked like brothers. Like Firflower. This stranger had no inkling of what they'd left behind or why; Spottedstar had announced their names to the Clans, not to the world as a whole. ”And your name is…?”

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Swallowflight’s ear twitched as the loner talked..and talked...and talked. “By Starclan,” he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the ginger tom, “for a loner, he’s quite talkative.” He wasn’t used to an outsider being so..curious for no good reason. Rogues and loners usually kept to themselves and didn’t need to be escorted to the border. This one, however, was different, and it made him feel a bit uneasy. Nevertheless, he remained silent, intent to take no part in the conversation. He physically wasn’t feeling up to conversation, either; no matter how hard he tried to suppress them, the coughs were growing stronger. He wanted to return to camp soon, as soon as this encounter was over. The cream tabby looked at the two cats, gesturing that he wished to make haste, and increased the pace of his own stride. His chest hurt from the frequency and intensity of his coughs—it appeared as if he wasn’t as fully recovered as he originally anticipated.

Strom nodded as Blue-eyes spoke after a moment of hesitation, feeling a slightly wry smile twitch at the corner of his maw. Guess I deserved that. It was a pretty stupid attempt at conversation. A cough caught his ear, and he flicked it back to the one in front of him, the sound sending a vague thrill of alarm down his spine. Greencough?

"...I'm Lightfang. This is Swallowflight, my brother."

Strom felt his whiskers twitch slightly as he glanced from Lightfang to Swallowflight, who had started coughing again - and picking up the pace, forcing Strom to lengthen his stride slightly. Grass swished under his paws, a faint hissing sound almost like the wind. Brothers.... That explained why they looked similar, at least.

And since he knew their names, it was only polite that he answer Lightfang's question as to his own. "Strom," He replied easily, a smile creeping up the side of his maw, turning it lopsided as he dipped his head to the other, force of habit taking over. Another series of coughs brought one of his ears twisting around, a flicker of concern running through him. "Is your brother okay...?"

Quiet settled over the three of them once more, only to be broken by a series of half-stifled coughs from the front. Lightfang’s ears twitched. That deputy had definitely been hasty. Swallowflight may have been less talkative than usual since the beginning of their walk, but at least he hadn’t been coughing like this; he was getting worse. A talk with Aspenheart was in order. But Aspenheart wasn’t here, and they couldn’t leave a rogue who’d already proven himself a thief unattended on WindClan territory, especially with prey running as thin as it was. Ahead, Swallowflight picked up the pace; though Lightfang, hesitant, eyed the backs of his ears with obvious concern, he hurried to keep up with the group.

Unsurprisingly, the rogue spoke again. After a moment, Lightfang remembered he’d asked a question; Strom was only answering. ”Strom,” he echoed, as if saying the name again might help it make sense to him. A name fit for a cat on the run, as meaningless as Calder or Caspian. ”Did you choose that for yourself?” Arno had. Delta had. Maybe their circumstances were unique, or maybe that was a theme among cats outside the Clans. Before he could continue—to apologize, of course; rogue or not, it was a rather personal question—another set of coughs burst out from Swallowflight. Instinct told him to brush past it, act like nothing was wrong. Dishonesty had never been one of Lightfang’s strengths. ”He’s been sick,” he said. Giving a flick of his tail, the tall warrior lengthened his stride until his steps matched his brother’s. Taking his eyes off of Strom was a bad idea, he knew, but if things kept up like this… In a low voice, he asked, ”Do you think you can make it to the border?”

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