Glass Animals {EXXUS PLOT FINALE}{OPEN}

Zinnia spotted the black dog, flanked by several other WindClan cats, and charged. Driven by a desire to protect this place she had claimed as her home, and the friends that lived within, she raced toward the gathered Clanmates and their opponent. Was this dog just a dog, or was it like the fox-cat? She had no time to speak as she leapt into the fray once more, having taken only enough time to catch her breath and find the source of the rest of the chaos. Her claws raked through the maybe-dog's pelt with tranquil fury. Not a hiss escaped her now, but her fury was written plain to see with just a glance at her face. She knew to mind the spines now, but that wasn't enough to escape them completely. Still, she tried not to let the pain she felt show; instead staring down the 'dog'. "The creature that attacked Aspenheart was a cat wearing a fox's fur," she called to the cats around her. It was best they knew, wasn't it? And she wasn't sure they could see.

Zinnia used Run-and-Tackle on the Black Dog, dealing 8+3 damage and costing 10 stamina! Zinnia sustained 3 damage from Prickle Spines!

Black Dog
41/75 HP (-8 & -3)
150/200 SP

Zinnia
31/40 HP (-3)
95/120 SP (-10)

Barleytuft
92/100
250/280

Lightfang
26/60 HP
180/200 SP

Raventail
92/100 HP
235/280 SP

Dae winced as the surge of cats swarmed her again. The black apprentice whacked her then faded out of consciousness. Before her, her companion and partner tore through the prey cats they had come to destroy. And they would, they would succeed. It was time. Dramatically, Dae wailed woefully, staggering forward. She was bleeding hardly, only the most recent wounds affecting her. But it was the plan. With a convincing yowl, Dae collapsed to the ground, giving a final twitch before laying completely and utterly still.

Burningwolf had been awoken to a rush of yowling and scuffling. Her eyes flew open, to see a fox in the den. Gasping, she sat up as fast as she can. Her wounds were almost closed, but still painful. The entrance was quickly filled up with warriors, blocking her escape. She had just missed Ploverpuddle grab Grousefrost, but their nests were empty... They... Left her alone to die here too. Pushing that aside, Burningwolf pressed her small frame against the very back corner of the den wincing as the dirt ground into her wounds. She didn't cry out, she hardly felt the urge to speak. Please, just let it be over.

Sandshrew woke with a start and took a few seconds to gauge everything. When the dog crashed through the border, it was her chance to go. Prove to herself and her clan that she was ready to be a warrior. Though she was tiny, she was mighty. She ran to the dog, and struck him with her claws. Before he could react, she spun around and kicked him with her back paws.

Sandshrew used Swift Strike on the Dog and caused 3 damage and used 15 Stamina. Sandshrew used Back Kick and caused 10 damage and used 15 Stamina. Sandshrew has received 3 damage from Prickly Spines.

Black Dog
26/75 HP (-13)
150/200 SP

Zinnia
31/40 HP
95/120 SP

Barleytuft
92/100
250/280

Lightfang
26/60 HP
180/200 SP

Raventail
92/100 HP
235/280 SP

Sandshrew
37/40 HP (-3)
90/120 SP (-30)

Barleytuft's yowl of alarm shook Elmskip into action and he spun just in time to see a huge black dog crash into the middle of camp. It swiped at Spotpaw and sent her limping away before turning on other nearby cats. Barleytuft, Sandshrew, and two of their newest Clanmates Lightfang and Zinnia leapt into a fight with the dog. Zinnia said something about the fox being a cat wearing a fox pelt. Hot anger boiled up into his chest and the three-legged warrior let out a cry of rage before racing to join the others. He took a flying leap towards the black creature, bowling it over. Sharp thorns stabbed at his body from somewhere in the pelt and he hissed in pain and confusion. The skin underneath him felt strangely loose and wrong. Was this...was this creature a cat as well? A cat wearing a dog's pelt?

Elmskip has -20 stamina for lack of sleep.
Elmskip used Jumping Strike on Black Dog?, dealing 12+3 damage and costing 20 stamina.
Elmskip sustained 3 damage from Prickle Spines!

Elmskip
52/55 HP (-3)
130 /170 SP (-20, -20)

Black Dog?
11/75 HP (-12, -3)
150/200 HP

Zinnia
31/40 HP
95/120 SP

Barleytuft
92/100
250/280

Lightfang
26/60 HP
180/200 SP

Raventail
92/100 HP
235/280 SP

Sandshrew
37/40 HP
90/120 SP

Something sharp dug into Raventail’s paws, and he leapt back, blinking in confusion. Maybe his half-awake thought of the dog being part gorse hadn’t been far off. Out of the corner of his eye, Barleytuft, too, was shaking off some sort of pain. So it wasn’t just a figment of Raventail’s imagination. He didn’t much care to figure out what the dog had done to its pelt—there was no time. The battle in the medicine den must have ended. WindClan flocked into the open, now, claws and teeth bared. A voice broke through the chaos—Zinnia, explaining what she’d seen. A cat wearing a fox’s coat. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much time to think about what that meant, either. Raventail reared up again. He’d steeled himself for the spines, but when he made contact, driving his claws into the dog once more, he recoiled too quickly.

Raventail used Rear-up to Slash on Black Dog, dealing 17 damage and using 15 stamina.
Raventail took 3 damage from Prickle Spines.

Raventail
89/100 HP (-3)
220/280 SP (-15)

Black Dog
0/75 HP (-17)
150/200 SP

---

The dog’s claws raked across Lightfang's stomach, making the world flicker. Somehow, WindClan came to his aid. First, the deputy and one of the senior warriors—the senior warrior, especially, moved faster than any SkyClan cat he’d ever seen. Then cats began to spill from what seemed like everywhere. The apprentice who'd abandoned Burningwolf before. A three-legged warrior. One of the loners who'd come to stay with WindClan some time ago. He’d never been so relieved to see another Clan’s warriors before. Lightfang pushed himself up, braced against the medicine den's outer wall.

The warrior felt the sandy grit of camp dig into his wounded paws, and Barleytuft struggled to recover himself. A few more of his Clanmates came to his aid, attacking the dog without mercy. Zinnia, Sandshrew, and Elmskip surged in like a raging storm, all battle cries and raking claws. Their strength and pride, their courage and speed, gave him the same. He felt stronger despite the pain as he reared back at the dog again, slamming his paws into the creature's skull with claws unsheathed and digging mercilessly. Surely it couldn't take anymore! These beasts weren't leaders, they were just beasts - why couldn't the WindClan cats seem to kill them? Raventail raced in, and then the creature was hidden from Barleytuft's sight.

The senior warrior stood bristling, staring uneasily with his tail lashing.

Outside, Clovertwist stood outside the nursery, his back pressed close to the wall. He had watched his Clanmates part to fight, and heard the yowling on every side. Things were getting quiet, but somehow that didn't bring the young warrior any peace. He shifted uneasily, crooked tail twitching awkwardly.

Foxspirit woke to screams. She rushed just outside the nursery, and could barely see the fighting going on. But she could hear it. She could hear Spotpaw's cry of pain as she was mauled by one the savage animals. "No! Spotpaw!" Her daughter crawled up to the  nursery, and Foxspirit followed her inside. Once she collapsed next to her siblings, Foxspirit began to tend to her wounds as best she new how. "Please... StarClan..." She said, her voice almost a whisper as she stood protectively over her daughter. "Don't let her die too! I can't stand to loose anyone else..." Memories flashed before her eyes. Memories of death. Willowpaw's corpse dragged into camp, covered in SkyClan scent. Sweetpaw hacking on her last breaths as she died of greencaugh. Shadefall's head at an odd angle, his neck in the jaws of a fox. Necterleap, the only parent she had ever known, dying at the claws of his old friend... Foxspirit's legs began to buckle as tears fell from her forest green eyes.

Briarthorn ran around, panicked as the battle raged around him. He rushed towards the black fox, finding her by scent. He stoped in his tracks when he saw her. Great StarClan... That was a cat! He arrived just in time to see her die. Briarthorn approached the dead cat? Fox? Whatever it was, and slashed it's dead body again for good measure. Whatever this monster was, it deserved to die. Turning around, he rushed towards the medicine den. Arriving inside, he saw the mass destruction that had occurred. Aspenheart was barely on his feet, having taken several wounds. Briorthorn gave him support, and urged him to sit down. "Aspenheart, even though I'm not a medicine cat anymore, I can tell you need to lay down. I can protect the cats in here, including you. Just rest, please." He indicated with his tail to a patch of ground near the herbs before dashing to just outside the medicine den, standing protectively in front of it.

Aspenheart was set down by Briarthorn just in time for his legs to give out. If he had the time, he might have attempted a weak smile. His body gave out in a series of convulsions as he gasped and whined on the ground, one of his worst yet. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't think. The seizure attacked his bleeding, broken body with more vengeance and violence than the fox-cat had. He thought he was free, clawing himself out of his trance, only to be dragged back in. It was too much. Why not let go? Why not let them go?

They were winning, after all. The world would keep spinning on without him.

Why not sleep a while?

He trembled, kicking and scrambling on the dark den floor. He was upside down and rightside up all at once, tossed in an eternal sea of thrashing. Great StarClan above, this was bad. This was worse than ever before. In the moments between seizures, he heard the muffled sounds of war, the scuffling of paws on the ground, and the yowls of the cats he loved. This was okay... Well, if he lived, that was another story. This was going to hurt. A moon, maybe? A half-moon of recovery if he was lucky. He wasn't in the mountains anymore with too little rest and too many traumatic head injuries. This was manageable.

And they needed him. That was enough to hold on. The convulsions subsided for just one moment. "T-thank you," he gasped, gripping the dirt in his claws. "Burnet, c-chamomile, poppy seeds... thyme. Can't help if... can't move. Hurry."

The fox pulled away, but it's pelt remained. Eyes wide in horror as the fur was shed from another figure, she watched helplessly in shock as it pulled away, the now empty flank laying at her paws. Her hesitation cost her, though, and she ran after just a heartbeat too late. Crowpaw, his father still slumbering after his injuries and mother buried, slashed his paws through the cat that now stood before then, a she-cat that would have been a beauty if not for her actions. However, the spines in her fur caused the apprentice more damage, and he slumped to the ground. Grasping his scruff, she hurried him to the nursery, thrusting him inside. Her eyes met Ploverpuddle and Clovertwist's, fear shining in their blue depths before giving them a nod and turning back. Raventail and Barleytuft weren't far away, along with some others, battling a black dog. Or, well, was it even a dog? The pelt seemed much the same... As the dog crumpled, however, she felt a small wave of relief. They had won, hadn't they? Warily, she stepped forward the Raventail's side, eyeing the two bodies nervously as she brushed lightly against his shoulder.

Burningwolf slowly unpressed herself from the side of the wall as the chaos in the den died down. Aspenheart laid bleeding next to her. Before Aspenheart could talk, the WindClan warrior that had came in had already rushed out to stand at the entrance. Wincing, Burningwolf grabbed the poppy seeds and put them in front of Aspenheart. Remembering her own pelt, the red warrior found the cobwebs and pushed it into the medicine cat's wounds clumsily. "Where are the other herbs?" she asked softly. "Or what do they look like? I will find them for you." She couldn't fight, but she could do this. Lightfang... Would he come save her?

Cats swarmed; the dog staggered and, in time, stilled. Yet the quiet brought no solace. The tiny puncture wounds in Raventail’s pads and forelegs stung, but for better or for worse, he was otherwise uninjured. A thousand commands ran circles in his head. Run to the medicine den. Run to the nursery. Check on Grousefrost, Ploverpuddle, Burningwolf. Check on Aspenheart himself, he’d been more or less alone when the fox had first attacked, hadn’t he—? All important, all impossible. Doing any of that would require turning his back on the creature (the dog, the cat, the cat-in-dog’s-pelt) slumped onto their camp’s sandy earth. The beasts had survived tunnel collapses, poisoned rabbits, every battle before this one.

A faint brush against his side broke through. Relief gently pushed Raventail off-balance, into his mate’s side. He leaned against Dappleshine a moment longer, not sure if she was wounded but unable to stop himself regardless, trying to keep himself grounded. His eyes did not leave the dog. Please be dead, he thought, holding his breath, asking StarClan, the moor itself, anything that cared enough to listen. Please, let this be over.

---

Though sleep and pain had a significant hold on Lightfang’s head even now, he could at least think clearly. Cats in varying states of raggedness emerged from the medicine den. A silver-and-white tom took up a position by the entryway, standing guard against a danger that, StarClan willing, had passed. Lightfang shouldered past him and into the den.

Fresh blood dried slow and dull into the walls, the dirt. One of the beasts lay motionless on the ground. Part cat, part fox. Lightfang turned his head, stomach lurching, but the image had already embedded itself somewhere behind his eyes. He refused to look again, even if it might mean making sense of it. Watching Aspenheart’s claws scrabble against the earth was no easier. Instinctively responding to what he interpreted as an order, Lightfang scanned the walls. Instead, his gaze fell on Burningwolf. She bustled around the den, bearing cobwebs and poppy seeds, patching up Aspenheart as best she could. Her injuries were all too clear despite how many sunups had passed since she’d received them. By now, Lightfang knew them nearly as well as he knew the stripes that had been on her pelt long before—more than well enough to tell none of them were new. ”You’re all right,” he said faintly, with a step toward her.

Then he shook himself. Aspenheart needed help now, and Lightfang owed him. Owed WindClan, on top of that. They needed a medicine cat. Burnet, chamomile, thyme, he repeated. Some of those words were familiar. Between his visits to Cardinalpaw and his own time under Amberdawn’s care, he should know…no, he had to know something of use. Finally, the pale tom fished out a cluster of round, sharp-edged leaves and deposited them at Aspenheart’s side. Burnet, if his memories weren’t lying to him. Without another moment’s pause, he returned to the herb stock, squinting at piles of leaves and flowers.

Beforehand...

Supporting each other's weight, Finchstar and Goldengale limped over the dawn-washed moor, eyes bright in the rising sun. WindClan sat over the gorse crest, a sight he knew well. Finchstar never thought he'd enjoy the sight of home so much, but here he was. There was no sounds of fighting over the walls, but the scent of blood could be distinguished in between the lines. The tom broke into a painful sprint, crashing through the gorse tunnel to meet his clanmates' eyes. "WindClan…" He gasped, realizing he still wore Pakhet's raccoon pelt. Finchstar smiled wearily as he let the rancid thing slide from his shoulders, padding into the center of camp.

But the stares were prominent. Finchstar turned to find their source and noticed two bodies dead on the ground. Dae and Ov. WindClan did not need saving, as they were as noble as the sun itself. "I should have known..." Finchstar chuckled, turning to meet Raventail, Barleytuft, and the rest of his beloved friends. "What is it?" The leader whispered, realizing the horror in their eyes. Aspenheart lay bleeding out on the floor of the medicine den, crimson mixed with leafbare sand. Spotpaw rested in an unconscious state. Finchstar was blind to their trials, unwilling to see defeat, but it was present still. The nightstrikers had taken a toll on WindClan, sacrifices that he had come to terms with.

Weary and broken, Finchstar padded to Aspenheart's side, nodding to Burningsun. "Aspenheart…" He whispered, pressing his muzzle into his dear friend's cheek. "Today is not a day to die." The clearing was quiet as WindClan counted their injuries. Finchstar sat and could only hear the breath of wounded battle cats. It was peaceful, but their bravery was apparent. Victorious even through the crimson. Finchstar grinned bittersweetly, watching the corpses in the clearing with unease. Tail flicking until one stirred.

The voice. Her love has returned. With the small twitch of her paw, excitement pumped through Dae's body. The tom was so beautiful, the only cat to match her beauty and grace. And for a moment when he first heard his voice, the implications of him being here didn't cross her mind. She cracked open an eye... Pahket's oldest raccoon pelt lay tail lengths away. Slowly, everything seemed to connect in her mind. Her ruthless leader and the cat who loved her would never have let Finchstar escape without being mortally wounded. Finchstar was not supposed to be back here in camp.With a surge of rage for her surely fallen comrades, Dae heaved herself up and spun around to face her love. They were supposed to be internal and immortal together. He was hers. But he must have done something very, very bad to her Theron and Packet. "What did you do to them?" she growled, taking a step forward. Claws unsheathed, the rage she displayed now never could be met with her fox pelts. Love, hatred. It was all the same emotion. With a yowl, Dae moved swiftly and launched herself against the grey cat that had attacked her the first time, slamming her into the wall like a monster hitting a cat head-on.

Dae's rage has revived her. Dae has gained 60 health.Dae has used Sanctum Strike on Dappleshine, causing 15 damage and using 20 SP. Dappleshine is stunned for one turn.

Dae
60/70 HP (+60 HP)
125/200 SP (-20 SP)

Dappleshine
74/100 HP (-15 HP)
245/280 HP

His attack was brutal, but WindClan had responded in kind - the dog found himself swarmed at every side by cats yowling and burying claws into his pelt, ripping and tearing at fur and spines alike. Perhaps a bold-faced attack hadn't been the best strategy to handle their enemies, but strategy hadn't been his job. His job was to tear, rip, maim, and bleed these scraps of fur with every ounce of his strength and the black dog obliged to the very last. He felt his legs buckle under the weight of the cats, exhaustion burning his muscles at every swipe and kick.

Ovinnik fell to the ground, hidden deep beneath the layer of fur that shadowed his identity. It had done well for the past few moons. Stripping it from that mangy mutt that dared attack the Nightstrikers in some darkened alley had been one of his proudest moments since their mission had been assigned, but now it was through. Ov wasn't sure how he'd get out of this mess, only that when they prodded at the body, they'd surely find out his not-so-secret. Only they didn't - they turned to one another, meowed in fear and relief, tended wounds according to their severity. Would they really leave him lying there? He could so easily jump to his feet and flee if he left behind the ragged pelt...

The leader's gasp filled Ovinnik's ears. 'The finch!' The sheer shock of hearing the patched tomcat again stirred him from beneath his pelt. He had to see, know if it was true; he flailed on the ground of the camp, peeling the dog's head back with four pristine white paws kicking until it had been shed completely. Ovinnik rolled to his feet amid the crowd of WindClanners, his black-and-white patched fur littered with spines and mud, and glared with the fury of unnamed gods at the dead yet living leader and the pelt he'd brought with him. The sudden appearance of light over the horizon was left unnoticed.

"Pakhet!?" The Nightstriker howled, eyes on the blood soaked raccon pelt of his superior. His eyes flicked back to Finchstar, and within a heartbeat, he'd crashed through the alarmed cats and collided with him in a last-ditch effort to draw as much blood as he could drain from the tom he now hated. "Die, wretch!"

Ovinnik's bloodlust has revived him. Ovinnik used Sanctum Strike on Finchstar, dealing 15 damage and using 20 stamina. Finchstar is stunned for one turn.

Ovinnik
60/75 HP
130/200 SP

Finchstar
45/120
300/300

It seemed like hardly any time had passed since the Windclan cats had returned from their attempt at fighting off the foes that threatened their existence and the clan leader had been lost. Every cat seemed to be exhausted from the efforts of doing what they could to preserve their way of life here. But it was evident how broken most of the clan way. Arcayus had done what he could to support Elmskip and the other cats, mostly in assisting Aspenheart with herbs and sharing their own teachings on healing. He spent most of his time in the medicine cat's den, between his twisted paw, and nervousness about integrating himself into clan life. With the medicine cat's help, his paw was all but healed. Now, he was simply torn in several directions by his overwhelmingly anxious nature. Everything about him had made him the perfect loner. How could he have left behind his kin and lived on his own for moons only to associate himself with a clan?

It was enough to madden him. Besides, there was the other concern of the fact that he had been born into a reasonable discomfort around other cats. Their sickness being passed along could weaken him far more quickly than it would others. Why was it he was always in the medicine cat then? Anxiety had always wracked him and it was no different now. Conflicting thoughts bounced around in the mind of the tom known as Patrick to this place. But he had at least come to a tentative decision on one thing: for now he was going to stay with Windclan. It was the least logical conclusion he had ever made and he picked at it constantly. Whether it was his newfound attachment to Elmskip or the natural desire for community and connection that even a cat like him couldn't shake, he wasn't sure. As he considered this for the hundredth time, everything seemed to explode into madness in camp. He wasn't sure what was happening but it sent him scrabbling for the back of the den, away from the danger.

Just outside the shallow scoop in the moors, beyond the camp walls, he listened to the struggle of clan and beast. His paws wanted to flee far, far away from this place and leave the danger behind. However, Arcayus was rooted to where he stood. The desire to run didn't seem to sway him this time. Before, it had been the overwhelming pressure of personal burden that had sent him running with his tail between his legs. Maybe that was why this instance was different? He gulped the cool night air, desperately seeking to calm himself and catch his breath. There were several long moments that passed as he hid there, away from the other cats that struggled for their lives and the lives of their beloved. It was not the first time he branded himself a coward, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. As he tried to raise himself onto four steady paws, it was the first time since his injury that he accepted it was healed. There were no more excuses.

Steeling away his nerves, the bicolored tom darted from his hiding place in the deadened grass. He was back in the medicine cat in a moment, before he could even consider the self-endangering stupidity of his actions. The sight he encountered was horrifying. An animal pelt, that of a fox, lay tattered on the floor of the den. Previously wounded cats crowded the space. Aspenheart, the kind tom who had brought him to this place, lay weakened on the floor, "I-I'm sorry." Patrick hung his head in shame. But hearing the screeching from outside, he knew this was no time for apologies. These cats were hardly in a state to battle. At his core, he was an Oasis cat, born to protect those weaker than himself. No matter when these trembling paws carried him, that would never change. He could hardly meet their eyes, these cats he hardly knew who had attempted to take him in as their own. Few groups other than Oasis could boast such a selfless act. And, if Oasis was gone... he couldn't let this be demolished too. With a shaky breath, the aged loner made his way to the entrance of the medicine cat's den, standing with his feet planted in front of the cats inside. There was no way he could take back his previous actions, any of them, but he could still do something.

Golden eyes lay on the pelt of Elmskip as he stood there. Something about seeing the other tom only strengthened his stance. Yet, it also caused him to want to run once more. As much as he needed to guard these cats, if Elmskip was in danger, he wasn't sure he would stay rooted to the spot. Silently willing on the warrior, he watched from afar. For now, the horrifying creatures were occupied with others. Based on the other pelt, these monsters had been cats. It was a horrifying thing. Even with all the knowledge the Oasis possessed from moons of travel an experience, he had never heard of cats that stripped other beings of their coats. Once again the lump formed in his throat. He froze; he couldn't move. Arcayus would not run from this, no matter what. His brain, anxious as always demanded he consider the possibility of what this meant... he was now rooted to Windclan.

Aspenheart lapped up the herbs as his assistants brought them one by one, eagerly chewing the juices. It was painful, but everything was painful. Each movement sent a stabbing feeling through his body, making him flinch and gasp. He felt his mind going hazy as he doubled over again, curling in around himself.

But then, a muzzle tapped his bony face, and the smell of sweet heather invaded his senses. He twisted his neck and bit back his own tears. Finchstar. He felt his stomach stirring back to life. No, it wasn't a day to die, not when his friend was back from the dead. Aspenheart grunted, sucking in a few thousand short huffs as he hoisted himself up to his front paws. If he could sit up, he could heal. If he could heal, they could survive. He felt cuts and scratches tug as he forced a weak smile, bumping his muzzle against Finchstar's own. "I told them you were alive," he whispered softly. "But, honestly? You had me going towards the end. Don't do that again." Aspenheart moved slowly. There were two deep gashes in his side that were going to bite for the next half-moon. He was frail when he was healthy; with less blood to go around he was even more lethargic and cold than before. Still, he winked at his old friend. "Just a scratch."

The pelt-wearers suddenly exploded from where they sat, throwing themselves at Finchstar and Dappleshine. Wildly, Aspenheart came to life, crawling to the herb stores and pulling down practically everything they had. "When somebody goes down, bring them to me!" he barked at his non-combatant assistants. "Just this once... everybody is going to live!"