Silence is Deafening (PM to join)

Snow covered the ground, golden stalks of long grass shivered in the cold embrace as the wind bit across the moore. It sliced into his grey and white pelt like sharp claws, wounds only still healing ached in the frigid air. He knew this land by sight. It’s ridges and hills, each and every tunnel he had ever found and marked.

Yet, he heard nothing. Crows leapt out from the grass in front of him, their calls mute. If an eagle dropped on him, he’d see only it’s shadow, and it would be too late. For the first time, in many moons, he was vulnerable. His claws dug into the frost bitten stone before him. A rumbling echoed in his paws, it vibrated up the pads of them into his very bones. A waterfall.

The gorge.

He shouldn’t be here. He knew it was wrong. Goldengale would panic when she found out that he had slipped away from her. His heart clenched painfully as he thought of the golden she-cat. The one who’s voice he would never hear again. Forced to live with only the soft echoes of her voice that faded softly in his mind. He hated that the most. Memory wasn’t infallible, and he could tell that the voice in his head was wrong. Too soft, or too bold. Too loud, or too high.

His head lifted. Blue eyes staring up at a slowly darkening sky. Brief glimmers of starlight flickered in the early evening that began to slowly work its way through the field. He wanted to yowl. His chest ached with the urge to yowl out his anger, his hatred… his fear. It wasn’t fair. He had fought so hard, for so long… and still it felt like it was for nothing.

Goldengale would move on…

He blinked as the thought occurred to him. His heart felt stabbed by claws that tried to rip him down the cliff he now looked down. A single tail length, and the ice would send him over. His claws dug in deeper. Of course Goldengale would move on. His first attempts at speaking had been soft, but he had seen the way some clanmates flinched as he spoke… or did he yowl? He couldn’t tell, because he couldn’t hear himself. His silver tail lashed in frustration, none of this was fair.

The silver and white pelted tom sat at the edge. The low rumblings of the waterfall soothed his limbs. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it. Even if just for a little while, he wanted to relish in the one ‘sound’ he could ‘hear’.

Dappleshine's mouth felt dry, fear and dismay apparent in her blue eyes as she raced alongside her beloved mate and one of her dearest, oldest friends. The knowledge that Grousefrost had gone missing had shocked the entire camp, and before she knew it she had volunteered to accompany the two on their patrol to search. What if something had happened? Goldengale's dismayed, adamant cries as she was left behind in camp, her injuries and emotions forcing her to remain behind, echoed in the silver she-cat's head. Shuddering in a mix between the cold and the suspense, she pushed her paws faster in a feeble attempt to keep up with the other two WindClan cats. 

As they neared the Gorge, Dappleshine watched the far edge for any patrols of RiverClan, or signs of a scuffle. She didn't see anything, until she turned and her eyes landed on a lone silhouette on WindClan's side of the gorge. Flicking her tail to her companions sides, she gestured in the direction that it was. "Barleytuft, Raventail, there!" Her eyes narrowed against the wind as she raised her voice to the two toms, trying to see just who the still form belonged to. A gray tabby pelt revealed itself as she drew closer, and she chirped as she recognized Grousefrost before the cold claws of fear and concern gripped her again. What in StarClan was he doing here?

The moment that it had been discovered that Grousefrost was no longer in camp, the serenity of the cool but mild leaf-bare day was shattered like the surface of a frozen pool. Barleytuft knew nothing could comfort his daughter but her mate's safe return, and the senior warrior wanted nothing more than his children's comfort and safety. He volunteered for the search patrol within breaths of learning the warrior was gone, and now after doing his best to comfort Goldengale the pale tabby loped across the snow-blanketed moors with Raventail and Dappleshine nearby, the three warriors scanning desperately and tracing any signs and scents of where the recently deafened warrior might have gone. The nearer they drew to the Gorge, the more he felt like claws were twisting in his stomach. He kept silently begging the path to change. It didn't.

Barleytuft's dark hazel eyes honed in on the distant figure an instant after Dappleshine's half-relieved, half-panicked alert sounded. Yes, there Grousefrost was, seated with his back to his Clanmates near the cliff face. "Oh, thank StarClan," he breathed, but the danger of the situation wasn't lost on him. It was dangerous to be around here even with all of one's senses fully in tact. How could they minimize the danger while still getting him out of harm's way?

With Barleytuft ahead of him and Dappleshine behind, Raventail sprinted through the snow. He may have kept his distance since Grousefrost’s awakening, but he’d also kept an ear open. As if being Clanmates wasn’t reason enough, they’d trained together far too long for him not to be concerned. Even if he hadn’t been listening, the news would have been unavoidable. “Grousefrost” and “missing” hadn’t fit right in his head at first. Then he’d remembered battle cries and the thunder of foxes’ paws in the night, and he hadn’t been able to think of much else since. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one; he’d never seen a patrol gather so quickly. The feeble assurances he’d tried to give Goldengale echoed in his ears. At least Grousefrost, whether he'd meant to or not, had left something of a trail to follow.

The shape of the moor was no different under snow. From that alone, Raventail knew their patrol was nearing the Gorge. Trusting the others to look ahead, he searched the ground for prints, snapped or bent stems, anything that might lead them elsewhere. He often forgot how dangerous the Gorge could be—a side effect of associating it with security rather than the cold, cruel waters at the bottom. Not today. If Grousefrost wasn’t at the top… Dappleshine’s shout dispelled that thought before it could take root. A glance was all Raventail needed to identify the shape sitting at the cliff’s edge. He slowed to a trot, relief and worry warring in his stomach. Why here, of all places? Why not let someone know…? ”Grouse—“ Too late, he bit his tongue.

The waterfall had no answers for him. Grousefrost stared at the cliff’s edge. For a moment, he closed his eyes. Let himself think for a moment that he could hear again, as the rumbling at his paws strengthened and waned. The thrum of the waterfall felt… peaceful. A single rock tumbled past his paws, followed by another, but he didn’t hear it.

The rumbling intensified. His paws could feel a deeper trembling than the waterfall had made before, and it caused him to open his eyes. Jerking him back to a world he couldn’t hear, as more rocks tumbled past his paws. He watched them for a moment, confused, then felt the rumbling roar beneath him. Pelt prickling, he turned just in time to see the land behind him shifting. Stones and mud, thawed from the sun’s light broke off and tumbled towards the tom, who had no time to get out of the way. He dug in his claws, almost relieved he couldn’t hear the horrendous screech of them on sheer stone as he felt the rocks tumble into him.

Scrabbling desperately, he clung to the side of the gorge as he was pushed to the very edge. Where ice lay too packed to get a firm grip, and felt his body begin the plummet. Determined, he sank his front claws deep into the ice with a fierce snarl. He wasn’t ready to join starclan yet.

Or was he?

He shoved the bitter thought from his mind. He had Goldengale… and his kits… and even if they would move on and love cats who could actually hear them more… he at least got to see them while he was down here. He could… do something for them.

The trio of cats all seemed far too aware of the danger that the gorge posed, but the relief surrounding them was palpable. Turning towards her two companions, Dappleshine mewed softly. "He won't be able to hear us approaching, so if we catch him by surprise he might jump... Perhaps we should get some grass or something, or position ourselves so the wind brings our scent towards him first?" She offered, glancing back towards Grousefrost as she made her proposals.

As she watched, something seemed to be wrong. The ground was... Moving? On its own? She looked at her paws in mild panic to find the earth still, but as she looked back to Grousefrost she heard the ground giving away under him. Thoughts of Goldengale and Crowpaw rose in her mind as she leapt forward, trying to get closer as the tom's paws scrambled for a grip on the icy ground. It was pure instinct, and Grousefrost's snarl reassured her that he was still there, barely hanging on. As she neared the edge and saw him, the ground under paw seemed to stop moving, and he was just a whisker-length away... She almost had him...

And then the ground shifted again and the two cats tumbled over the edge, falling into the cold waters that raged far below in the gorge. Dappleshine's help of surprise was cut off as the frigid water closed over her head, her paws instinctively churning, fighting to get her head to the surface. Just when she thought she wouldn't make it, her head broke the rapids and she gulped in air frantically before attempting to calm down. Oh stars, it had been moons since she last swam, and she had never dared face the rapids like this.... Where was Grousefrost though? Oh he just had to be there.... Somewhere... She couldn't lose him now.

The water splashing into her eyes kept blinding her for precious moments at a time, but finally she spotted the pale gray tabby pelt of her clanmates bobbing among the waves. The way to him was painstakingly slow, and her legs ached with the effort of fighting the harsh current. Every skill she had learned and practiced over many moons as a RiverClan cat was put to the test, but finally she had his scruff gripped between her jaws, and could start searching for a shoreline. She knew there was a cave nearby somewhere, just where exactly was it though?

Barleytuft's ears flicked as he heard Raventail pull a bit closer, himself alerted to either Dappleshine's alert or Grousefrost's presence; he could hardly blame the deputy for beginning to cry out for their friend only to silence himself when he remembered. The senior warrior had barely resisted the urge to do the same. He'd done so a few times in camp already. Barleytuft nodded once in grim agreement as Dappleshine pointed out the risk that surprising him here posed. "Yes, we need to get upwind; he's attentive enough, he'd scent us if we found the... right position..." His voice trailed off as a low, resounding rumble from the depths of the moors began to vibrate through the air.

Immediately alarmed, Barleytuft managed to warn his companions, "That feels like a collapse!" before the earth under Grousefrost began to prove him right. A few pebbles dislodged from a stony patch and rolled past the deaf warrior. "Grousefrost!" the tabby tom yowled uselessly, suddenly feeling infuriated by the affliction that had befallen the gray warrior that prevented him from hearing the collapse before the shifting could begin. One of the original tunnelers after the flood took the remainders; Barleytuft and Grousefrost had dreamed beside each other at the Moonstone. Surely of all the cats who had come to understand tunneling, Grousefrost should have been the first to hear something was wrong, but those star-forsaken beast-cats had stolen that gift from him. Instead, the earth began to crack, and only when the cliff let out a grinding cry and began to drop Grousefrost did he notice anything was wrong.

By then it was too late - too late for Grousefrost, and somehow too late for Dappleshine. All Barleytuft could do was let out a wordless cry of fear and protest as he watched her sleek RiverClan frame suddenly shoot onto the unstable ground, racing for the falling warrior. Barleytuft's heart was pounding, but the sound was lost in the collapse. The cliff fell, and it was ages; it was seconds; it was instantaneous. The yelps and wails of terror that echoed in the Gorge were cut dreafully, instantly silent. More earth began to slide, and Barleytuft suddenly found himself fleeing from the ledge without thinking.

No - not fleeing. Chasing. "We have to get down to the river!" Barleytuft tried to yowl over the sounds of a landslide drawing to an end, slamming into the waters below. He couldn't see the rapids from his position. Would Raventail hear him? They had to get to the river. "Raventail!" he yowled, but he didn't wait to see if his deputy was following. There was no time to waste. Barleytuft dug his claws in and raced towards where the neutral ground began to descend less steeply towards the winding river below. He felt his claws fraying, his paws stinging and joints jolting with protest, as he sprinted down hillsides and stumbled down boulders. The roaring of the river was nearer; he could see waves further downstream bashing against the shoreline, unsettled by the collapse. "Grousefrost! Dappleshine! We're coming!" he cried.

Still subdued from his prior slip-up, Raventail nodded as Dappleshine voiced the outcome they all feared. Finding Grousefrost safe was only the first step. They couldn’t just tap him on the shoulder and drag him back toward camp, and calling for him was… Thankfully, Grousefrost wasn’t the type to have his head in the clouds. Raventail, frowning, considered the gray-and-white tom’s back. He might notice their scents on his own once they got upwind, but Dappleshine’s idea of gathering plants wasn’t bad. Surely Raventail could find something useful under the snow. If Grousefrost happened to realize he had company while Raventail was gone—that was probably for the best. Raventail sighed. ”I can run and get some—“

Though Grousefrost’s lessons had made him more attentive to his surroundings, he was unfortunately still a moor-runner at heart. Barleytuft’s warning reached his ears before the rumbling did. Raventail reeled back, an instinctive response to the mention of a collapse, flinching at the fruitless scrape of claws against stone. Dappleshine ran past him. Brave to a fault. He watched in silent horror, unable to give shape to his protests, as she almost got hold of Grousefrost, and when the cliff gave way, it tugged both of them down.

He would have thrown himself into the water after her. After either of them. Two full fox-lengths from the cliff’s ragged, still-crumbling edge, his legs locked in place. That was what happened, always. Always him watching his Clanmates plummet. He thought, he’d never practiced this; he could swim no better as Raventail than he had as Ravenkit; all he’d accomplish by jumping in was giving them another cat to rescue. He thought, Mouse-heart. Then Barleytuft charged toward the neutral territory, and Raventail remembered they could get closer—stars knew they couldn’t do much else—and between the thunder of his paws and his heart and the blood in his ears, there wasn’t room for thinking after that.

The Gorge was turbulent on the best of days. Today, it churned and surged and spat up chunks of ice and earth. His ears went flat at the slightest spray of water. Every breath felt like swallowing icicles. When he found words, they poured out of him in a trembling murmur, peaking in a yowl. ”No, no, no no no—Dappleshine!” His gaze darted across the river, picking out every indistinct gray spot he could see as he dashed after Barleytuft, then alongside him. ”Grousefrost!” Even if Grousefrost was alive, he wouldn’t answer. Raventail shouted for both of them again, and then he was nearly to the water itself. A wave sent him scurrying back.

The sight of the grey she-cat was a short one, but one that made Grousefrost’s eyes widen in disbelief as his claws lost their grip on the ledge. The dirt and ice falling after with them as they plummeted down the gorge, into the icy claws of the river below.

He felt it take through his pelt. Sharp stabbing talons of icy water that made him howl and choke as it closed over his muzzle. This wasn’t like a cave-in, where he could sit still, this was water. Fluid and constant, that would rip him away from his home again.

The terrifying memory brushed his conscience. The last time he had been surrounded by rushing water, the entire camp had been washed away. He’d lost his mother, his siblings… nearly everything. His chest throbbed with the urge to breathe, Goldengale’s face appearing in his mind.

She would be sad. How long would she mourn him? The fact that he couldn’t bear shoved itself into his mind as he felt teeth clamp at his scruff. Something was pulling him. He was being dragged. Dragged. The word bothered him. It implied that he was helpless… but he wasn’t helpless, was he?

He couldn’t hear, but he could still see. He could still smell… his blue eyes blinked blearily from the water. Great Starclan. What had he been doing, moping about? He hadn’t hunted in nearly a week… but he could? He still had his limbs, his lungs. The realization made his legs start to churn. He had to get back to land, to let the she-cat who’s warmth he felt beneath the chill guide him back to shore.

It was time to be Grousefrost, the efficient tom again.

All Dappleshine could hear was the road of the river in her ears, and Grousefrost was getting heavier with every heartbeat. Oh StarClan, what was she going to do? She couldn't give up now.... But he was so heavy.... If something didn't change, they would both end up drowning. That thought filled her with a looming sensation of fear and desperation, the thought an eerie one. Just then her head went under for a moment, but as she thrust up with her hind paws her head broke the surface and she found the shore.

Instinct took over as her hind legs desperately steered her in that direction, and the sense of relief heightened as the tom in her jaws seemed to suddenly come to life, his paws churning underneath him. Not well, but they were moving, and in the rapids every little bit helped. Thanking StarClan for the second chance, she loosened her grip on the tom's scruff, more working to keep him afloat and steering him in the right direction than doing all of the work, and soon they were close to the edge. She took a deep breath before ducking under the waves and setting her paws on the rocks below, thrusting up with all the weight she could muster to force Grousefrost to shore. Moments later she resurfaced, and hooked her claws into the face of the shore panting heavily, feeling her strength ebbing with every heartbeat. The water was so dreadfully cold...

As Barleytuft continued sprinting further down the decline, he discerned the sound of Raventail's paws clattering over the stones and his fearful wail echoing on the walls of the Gorge beside them and determined that the tom was following. Whether it would make a difference or not the senior warrior couldn't begin to guess, but it made every difference to him personally. At last he had raced down river and descended close enough to the splashing banks to view it clearly, and his dark hazel eyes darted from whitecap to wave in a panic; he looked crazed as he tried to keep moving while searching. Barleytuft couldn't pick out any sounds of cats among the roaring of the rapids, and his heart began wrenching more tightly. "Oh, StarClan, please - where are they?" he breathed, barely more than a whimper that was cast away in the breeze.

A dark shape suddenly burst through the surface, and within a heartbeat another paler form appeared by it. "There - there!" Barleytuft shouted to alert Raventail, if he hadn't seen them already. As he finished his cry, still racing towards the pair of cats being swept in the river, he leapt from a boulder. He landed wrong, he could tell, stumbling hard as a stab of pain lanced from his foreleg to his shoulder; despite his best efforts, Barleytuft yelped and spat, "Dirt!". Immediately he gritted his teeth, spitting, "Keep going!" for both Raventail and for himself as he staggered back to his paws. He'd strained his shoulder before; he would survive that. Grousefrost and Dappleshine needed them. The senior warrior continued to move, albeit noticeably less quickly and stable, down until the shore had fully flattened out.

The final stretch was both the easiest and the most terrifying. He loped  down the fairly straight line of the shore, glancing desperately from the shoreline to his companions as they struggled in the currents and gradually towards him. Being closer, Barleytuft could now see Dappleshine and Grousefrost struggling in the current, the former RiverClan warrior looking exhausted but determined as she gripped their Clanmate in her teeth. Even the WindClan tom seemed to be trying to swim for his life. It wasn't the first time he had done so, most likely, and the horror of the memories of the flood threatened to knock Barleytuft off his paws more than his pulsing shoulder did. When at last Dappleshine was near enough that Barleytuft could see her paws strike the river bad, he threw himself into the water.

The cold was a shock up to his belly, and Barleytuft immediately sucked in a breath that made all his fur stand on end. The lean warrior could feel the current tugging at his legs, but it was shallow enough that he kept his footing, reaching his companions the instant that Dappleshine thrust Grousefrost's sagging frame forward. Barleytuft gripped the silver tom's scruff in his teeth and immediately began to haul him back to the shore, out of the water and onto the stones. He couldn't risk Grousefrost losing his footing and falling in again; even as his Clanmate gained his own footing Barleytuft kept a grip until they were clear from the water. Then immediately, as a father grooming his own kit, Barleytuft was grooming Grousefrost's fur the wrong way, huddling close to give him some semblance of warmth even as he himself trembled.

Worn out now by pain and exhaustion and fear, Bareytuft barely noticed as he began to rumble between licks to a tom who couldn't hear him, "It's okay... You're okay. I'm here. I'm always here. I'm with you, Grousefrost... You'll be okay."

A new set of shapes broke through the waves. Raventail’s gaze caught on them and promptly moved on, too frantic to recognize them until Barleytuft’s shout gave them definition. Raventail blinked. The shapes remained as they were, Dappleshine and Grousefrost, shades of gray matted dark with water, and he yowled a belated reply: ”I see them!” A yelp tore his attention away. Barleytuft was gone. He almost turned back, a half-formed question on his tongue, but Barleytuft’s command pushed him onward. Barleytuft was alive; Barleytuft was not in the water. Until they were all safe, Raventail’s fear stretched that far, no further.

The downward slope flattened out, and all at once, Raventail stood almost level with his struggling Clanmates. Up close, the river looked twice as violent. Grousefrost paddled desperately against the current; Dappleshine’s head dipped out of sight, then resurfaced a little lower in the water with her muzzle angled toward land. Raventail recalled tumbling in the flood, immobilized by cold. That had been in newleaf. No matter how well she could swim, Dappleshine couldn’t keep herself afloat forever. On top of that, she had to carry Grousefrost. If she let go, he was lost. If she held on, they both were.

Before he’d fully processed this thought, Barleytuft hurled himself into the river, and Raventail stopped breathing. For a moment, all he could see was rapids. But the senior warrior kept his balance, in direct defiance of the roar in Raventail’s ears, and reached Dappleshine just as she vanished beneath the waves again. Barleytuft stumbled back, gripping Grousefrost’s scruff tightly in his jaws. With a sharp exhale, Raventail looked back at the water, where Dappleshine remained, unburdened, clinging to the edge of the shore. She did not push herself up.

There was no other option. As Barleytuft dragged Grousefrost ashore, Raventail squeezed his eyes shut and brushed past him. Ice drove the breath from his lungs. Frigid water shoved at his legs and belly, pressing his pelt flat where it made contact. Digging his claws into the soft riverbed, he leaned forward as far as he dared. It was barely enough, but it was enough. He latched onto the scruff of Dappleshine’s neck. Her fur felt like ice in his mouth. Part of him urged him to loosen his hold for fear of hurting her; a much louder part posed the worry that he might inadvertently let her go, and he pulled her up, then back, with renewed strength. Once they were even with Barleytuft and Grousefrost, Raventail released his grip and collapsed. A moment later, he curled himself around as much of Dappleshine as he could manage, burying his face in her pelt. ”You’re okay,” he murmured to her, to himself. ”You’re okay…”

Both of them were. All of them were. His eyes stung as the barest hints of Barleytuft’s low rumble reached his ears, unintelligible but comforting all the same. He lifted his head to see his former—former?—friend pulling at Grousefrost’s pelt. Of course. A distant memory, something about mud and warmth, surfaced at last. Quiet now, Raventail began to groom Dappleshine’s fur, an equally shaky mirror to Barleytuft’s motions.