It Was Over Before We Knew It [Post Raids Topic]

Bloodstrike's eyes flitted open. There was an even pressure on his underside, but it wasn't ground. It was moving. He blinked a few times to focus his eyesight. His nose wasn't far from the dirt below him. He recognized the silvery fur on the legs that carried him. Beechface... she must have slung him over her back. He picked his head up and looked around, noting that his clan was all here but looked... well worse for wear. He took another moment to take in his surroundings and noticed that it wasn't just Beechface that carried him, but Ashstorm as well. Slung across the shoulders of two of his daughters, Bloodstrike couldn't help but feel.. maybe a bit embarrassed. He'd lost. Sure, he took two warriors down and got some decent hits on Ivystar before finally falling, but he hadn't taken out both of those clans.

"Beechface..?" He whispered, though he knew his daughter had been mad at him for quite a long time. Ever since he had broken up with Smokefeather... which a part of him regretted now. She shouldn't have said those things to Dawnhawk, no mother ever should speak to her children in that way... but had she been wrong? Bloodstrike wasn't sure why he was able to think so clearly out of nowhere, especially not after taking a few blows to the head. Maybe battle was what the giant tom had needed all along. He didn't do well in times of peace.

"You killed Lilacstar..." He chuckled softly. A smile was on the tom's face... for the first time since he had come back from the prison of the Asylum.... It disturbed him a little that battle of all things made him happy, even if he hadn't come out on top this time. He wasn't that peace-seeking apprentice anymore... he was beyond that. Bloodstrike had changed too much to ever strive for forest-wide peace again. He would take the challenges as they came... and to The Dark Forest with trying to mend the damage done to all of the clans.

"I'm proud of you. I don't say that enough and I entirely blame myself for that. You deserve more praise than you get. I know we don't see eye to eye very much anymore, but I have never, not once, been ashamed of you." Maybe this wasn't something she wanted to hear, but it was still things he needed to say. "I know you didn't want to become a medicine cat, but you were phenomenal. You shouldered a burden that you never wanted and outshined our enemies when it really mattered. You took care of me when I was being unreasonable... and I never thanked you. Well I'm doing it now. Thank you, Beechface."

Bloodstrike looked ahead and saw that they were in Skyclan territory now. It wouldn't be long before they reached camp.

"Get your apprentice trained up. If Wolfstar doesn't release you from being a medicine cat, I will when I am Bloodstar, if that is what you'd want. Starclan can shove it if they don't like it. You deserve to be happy too." It was a rare, warm moment for Bloodstrike. He'd been so full of anger and frustration for so long he hand;t even realized that he forgot what it was like to feel good. Despite the pain from his injuries and the tiredness in his heavy limbs... he felt better than he had in seasons.

....

The scent of blood crashed through those warm, fuzzy feelings. Bloodstrike's head swiveled towards camp.... and his heart immediately sank. The scent of blood was coming from camp...

Beechface padded silently through the forest, shoulder to shoulder with Ashstorm with the deputy slung across their backs. Mountainheart was pressed against her side, her weight supported by Beechface on one side and another clanmate on her other side. Not a single one of them were clean of blood and injury, and the stinging of her wounds was a constant presence on the silent trek back towards Skyclan territory. Wolfstar padded in front, and the rest of Skyclan had spread themselves around the medicine cat and the more wounded of their clanmates. Beechface grimly took note of who was injured severely and who had minor injuries, mentally preparing for the long day she had ahead of her once they got back to camp. The silence was a heavy weight across the group, nobody was really in the mood to talk after what had happened.

And so of course, that silence had to be broken. Bloodstrike had finally woken up, it seemed, and was focusing on... Her killing Lilacstar. Beechface curled her lip in response. "A shame it was Lilacstar, but maybe she'll learn her lesson." She muttered nastily, tail lashing back and forth. If only it had been Dawnhawk's throat beneath her fangs, instead.

Bloodstrike continued to speak... And Beechface stopped dead in her tracks, ears flattening against her skull and fur bristling defensively. The paused was barely a heartbeat, and she forced herself to keep moving with Ashstorm so as to not throw the clearly delirious tom off of her back... Though it was really, really tempting.

"Don't." She choked out, voice hoarse. Speaking, Beechface found, was suddenly difficult through the lump that had formed in her throat. For some unfathomable reason, her vision blurred, and she blinked, struggling with the sudden surge of anger... Yes, definitely anger. Not anything else, at all. He'd hardly spoken a word to her before now. She'd busted her tail to get him healthy, and he'd cast her and the rest of the family aside like they were nothing. He'd hardly said a word to her since, and she sure as the dark forest wasn't happy about this belated thanks.

Beechface stalked onward, sure that Bloodstrike would be able to feel the tenseness in her movements, but she couldn't seem to relax. They had entered Skyclan territory at last, and her plan was to dump his sorry behind into a nest and get to work.

The scent of blood that hung in the air as they neared camp only had her tensing further. "Wolfstar?" She called out softly. She wanted to be imagining the scent of blood... But the stars were never so kind, were they?

The trek back to SkyClan's territory seemed shorter than it had on the way there. The sunrise was not far off by the time they crossed the border back into familiar territory, and Wolfstar felt his shoulders slump in relief as a tension he hadn't realized had been holding him finally released its grip. They were home, and now they could rest. Most of the way back, they'd been silent, but Bloodstrike roused about midway to the camp, and Wolfstar's ears flicked back to listen to what he was saying. The dark leader smiled to himself at the deputy's words - he was right, after all... Beechface had been invaluable, in more way than one. He had to find a way to thank her, to mend this rift that had formed between them. Blossomstep had always been good with words, and feelings, she could tell him what to say.

Almost as if on queue, the scent of blood reached his nostrils - not blood like what he'd been smelling the entire way back to camp, this was different... this was... SkyClan. All SkyClan, like it was concentrated in one place. Wolfstar broke into a run before he knew what he was doing, ignoring the twinge in his ribs, or the way his entire body ached each time his paws hit the ground. He burst through the entrance into camp, heart slamming into his ribcage as panic overtook him.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. Nonononono.

The camo was supposed to be safe but, there was blood, blood everywhere. It overwhelmed his senses, and as he swung his head around, ears alert for threats, his eyes landed on two slumped figures, side-by-side, outside the apprentice den, a growing puddle of blood beneath them. Foxfire. Blossomstep.

His paws went numb, and he stumbled forward clumsily. He tried to call out, but the words died in his throat, and as he approached the horrific sight, the red form stirred, slightly. Relief washed over him like a cold rain - they weren't dead. "Foxfire... Blossomstep, what happ-..? who did-..?" he'd finally reached them, but his brain refused to form the queries he sought. He lowered his nose to gently nudge his mate's shoulder, and then stiffened in horror as he was met with chilled, firm resistance instead of soft, warm flesh. His eyes flicked to Foxfire, confusion and disbelief written within their amber depths. Cats didn't... they didn't feel like that, they..? Not if..?

Blossomstep's eyes were closed, as he pulled away to look at her. She looked peaceful, she looked beautiful, like she always did, and in that moment Wolfstar thought that he could look upon only her, for the rest of his lives, and not miss a thing. No sunset or mountain view could ever be as stunning as this, the cat who had given him kits, who had pulled his own heart out of sorrow and selfishness time and time again, who had stayed by his side when he'd not deserved it, who had forgiven him when he couldn't forgive himself.

"Blossom, wake up, my love," he crooned, pressing his forehead against hers. "Blossomstep, please," his voice cracked, and a shudder wracked his entire body. He inhaled, shaky, uncontrollable. "Blossomstep, please." He set his teeth into her scruff, pulled, pointedly, towards his den. She was tired... something had happened here and he didn't know what, but she would tell him when she woke. She needed rest, though. She slid ever so slightly with his coaxing, sending a fresh wave of blood-scent through the air. "Please wake up, please," he crooned, releasing her and choosing instead to rasp his tongue across her forehead, and her cheeks, but the silver tabby she-cat was still and firm, and through eyes that swam with tears yet unshed, Wolfstar saw the vicious gash in her throat, the life blood that soaked the ground beneath her.

His legs crumpled, and the leader crashed half-atop his lifeless mate, his forepaws kneading her shoulder, his face pressed into her soft silver pelt. "Wake up wake up wake up," he begged, pulling against her protectively, whispering into her fur, but now his prayers were to StarClan. "You brought me back, you brought me back, please... I know you can do it, please... don't take her from me, don't-" he choked on grief then, unable to form words, only incoherent, desperate sobs in between ragged breaths, and a howl of absolute torment that rang across SkyClan's territory until his throat was too raw to make sound any longer.

It was the sound of heavy paws and voices that stirred Foxfire. The first thing he was aware of was the pain - it was blinding, it called for his attention and for him to cry out against it, beg for help...But the energy was not there. His body felt heavy, slow...Cold. His breath came in shallow gasps, faintly aware of the crimson pool that was gathering below him. The voice...The voice was familiar, the one that had stirred him as he struggled to focus on the form that was pressing itself against Blossomstep's. ...Wolfstar. The elder tried to stir even more, recalling his last moments of anger toward the leader as he tried to pull up a growl. It was his fault. Why had he left them... He didn't have the energy for the anger, not yet. He puttered out as quickly as it had started, causing him to fall limp as the heavy darkness started to claw at his mind again. "Wolf...Star..." he muttered, trying to use the last of his strength on his words, as he reached out a bloodied paw toward his old apprentice. "...Dawn...Hawk. He..." That was all that the elder managed before his paw fell limply to the ground, the darkness swimming across his vision. There was two final word that the tom managed, a soft whimper - a plead towards Wolfstar, towards anyone.

"Help me."

Then with that, the tom slipped back into unconsciousness.

His steps were stiff and painful but Juniperlight plodded on in silence. His complaints would be a mere burden. The medicine cats knew their jobs and he wouldn’t insist on being seen before any of the more gravely injured warriors. And Spottedpaw… oh, Spottedpaw. She didn’t deserve to experience such a horrific night. None of them did, really. His yellow eye followed Wolfstar’s dark form at the front of the group. ‘What will we do, brother? Will we fight, kill, and suffer until we have vengeance?’

The scent of blood slammed into him like a tidal wave. It was fresh and it reeked of fear, and his leader’s black striped pelt bristled and darted into camp only a moment before Juniperlight was able to react. He dashed at Wolfstar’s heels, momentary uncertainty completely wiped from his mind, and stopped suddenly as the gruesome sight greeted him. His adoptive eldest brother’s form laid almost limply on the ground. Blossomstep… he realized it as Wolfstar gentle nudge went unanswered. No, he… he never had the chance to thank her for taking care of Wolfstar… She was leaving family behind!

The black warrior hunched over Foxfire’s crumpled body. “Beechface!” He croaked before burying his nose in Foxfire’s neck fur. What else was there to say? What could he ask her to do that she wouldn’t already do herself? This was a nightmare. The forest burned around him, smoke filled his lungs. SkyClan was being burned to the ground once more, but the flames were rage. The destruction of an entire Clan fell to one cat’s paws:

"...Dawn...Hawk..."

And, like always, StarClan watched in apathetic silence.

His whole body felt as if it were made of stone. Lichenblaze caught himself periodically fading away into his own head, only coming back to reality when he accidentally bumped Newtpaw into the ground. Newtpaw...The apprentice trailed limply in his jaws, unmoving except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. The scarred warrior wasn't even sure how he was still walking, let alone carrying his apprentice. His teeth ached, and a wave of relief crashed over him as someone nearby mentioned they were nearing camp.

That battle was a disaster, all he wanted to do was collapse into his nest and sleep for a million moons. But the smell of blood distracted him, and it wasn't coming from the furball he was holding. It was fresh, sickeningly so, and Lichenblaze willed himself to move faster, to get into camp.

The sight of camp made his stomach twist in horror, and he nearly lost the last meal he ate as it rose into bile in his throat. Blood covered the camp. Bodies littered the dirt floor and he named them in his head as his eyes passed them. Foxfire. Cloudmane. Wrenspring. Blossomstep. Maplepaw. They were slain in camp, and Lichenblaze had no doubt who committed the atrocities. Foxfire was, thankfully, still alive, but Smokefeather was nowhere to be seen.

Wolfstar's wail of grief stopped his heart, and the mottled tabby felt himself collapse to the ground, Newtpaw dropped in a heap. A dark cloud settled itself in his head, in his heart, and he nosed Newtpaw to rouse him. He had to see this, better sooner than later.

"We are so foxing stupid..." he croaked, blinking quickly as tears filled his eyes. Tears of sadness, yes, but also tears of rage and pain. "He wasn't there, 'cuz he was here...Gramma...An' Maplepaw...I hate him. When will this end...?"

He hadn't seen Smokefeather. Where was she? Shaking, he got to his leaden paws, tears streaming down his cheeks and mixing with the blood on his fur. "This was all for FOXING NOTHING. How much longer!? How much longer before we catch him, or he drives this Clan into the ground? I...am such a coward. I should have killed him when I had the chance. Foxheart, bloody foxing scat." he howled, his voice hoarse with emotion. Unable to contain himself any longer, he dissolved into sobs. "I c-can't...do this anymore...Wh-Where...where is Mom?"

What was the last thing he remembered? It was... that WindClan cat, brightly trying to introduce himself. Since then, Newtpaw had been lapsing in and out of consciousness, spending more time out than in. He only really stirred when one of his legs bumped against a stray rock or an overgrown root as Lichenblaze dragged him home.

Then there was pressure against him, and slowly, Newtpaw's eyes fluttered open. His head was swimming as he looked up, and he groaned as his world stopped spinning and he was able to focus. Where were they? Were they– they were home! They had made it back, despite their injuries. He wanted to ask if they had won, if he'd done good, but before he could piece any words together his mentor was swearing and struggling to hold back tears.

"Lichenblaze...?" He groaned, shifting to sit a little more upright and wincing at how sore he was. They had made it back to camp, which meant things were fine, right? What had happened?

It was then that the stench of blood registered, too fresh to be any of theirs, and it was then that Lichenblaze uttered his sister's name. Suddenly fully alert, Newtpaw heaved himself to his paws, ignoring the way he stumbled and swayed as he rose. Now that he was upright, he could see the horror they had returned to: their home was covered in blood, the bodies of their Clanmates strewn about.

Maplepaw's body.

His eyes found her quickly, and his jaw fell open with horror. Was she–? No, she couldn't be. There was no way. He took a few shaky steps forward, froze, then continued towards her on stiff legs. Crouching, he buried his nose in the ring of fluff around her neck, trying to ignore how cold she felt. "Maple? Hey, we– we're home, y'know." His voice was low and hoarse as he nudged her, not caring if he got blood on him. "Okay, y'can go ahead and get up now. It– it really isn't funny," Newtpaw insisted, voice breaking as hot tears started to collect in his eyes.

Was this Dawnhawk's doing? Had he really followed Bloodstrike and Wolfstar so eagerly to war to protect something he lost anyway? Sucking in a shaky breath, he lifted his head, turning to look at Lichenblaze as he wailed his own grief. He gave Maplepaw a long look, pressing close one more time before returning to his brother's side. He wanted to apologize, say something smart and emotional that might help, but no words came, so Newtpaw just pushed his forehead against his shoulder, shaking as he tried to stifle his own sobs.

Bloodstrike wiggled himself off of the backs of his two daughters. His paws hit the ground on weak legs, but he forced himself forward. It wasn't the pain that bothered him, it never was... but his body was tired. Adrenaline and pure determination had pushed it nearly beyond what it had been capable of. Had he not been knocked out when he had been, he may have done irreparable harm to his own body from pushing it too hard.

And there he was again, pushing it.

Wolfstar's wailing followed by Lichenblaze's... Bloodstrike's heart quickened. The sight that greeted the deputy literally forced him to a standstill, a wide-eyed, open-jawed expression of complete and utter shock. While other clan mates around him ran to their fallen clanmates, Bloodstrike could barely even breathe. Blossomstep. Cloudmane. Maplepaw. He knew lifeless bodies when he saw them. Wrenspring and Foxfire looked bloodied and beaten.

Bloodstrike had no doubt who had done this. Dawnhawk hadn't been at the battle between Windclan and Skyclan because he was here at the camp... destroying everyone. Speaking of Dawn... Bloodstrike had noticed something no one else had yet. Dawnpaw wasn't in the apprentice den. Smokefeather wasn't around either.

Maybe Smokefeather had taken Dawnpaw and r-

His thoughts stopped there. There was no way Smokefeather ran off with Dawnpaw. She couldn't run. And Dawnhawk was a trained Windclan cat now... Escape would never have been possible. Bloodstrike's eyes swept across the camp once more and shook his head to himself, as if it would make this scene go away. Of course it didn't, because this was real.

Your clan is falling apart, Bloodstrike... He thought to himself as he looked around again at his devastated clan mates. His heart ached and his lungs wouldn't inhale. He had lost his mother and a daughter... There had been no warning. There had been no chance to say goodbye. Skyclan had lost an elder that had been an apprentice when Tinylegs became Tinystar... and he took his wisdom with him.

Despite all of this, despite the emotional turmoil wreaking havoc inside the deputy, he forced himself to breathe. He focused and forced his body to obey him. Someone needed to be the rock. Someone needed to be an anchor... because there wasn't one right now. His clan would float off into a sea of despair if at least one cat didn't pull himself together. Bloodstrike felt like it had to be him...

His eyes were shiny with wetness and he choked back several sobs as his heart shattered, and those tiny pieces shattered, and on and on it went. You have to be strong for them, now more than ever. You're the next leader... you don't have time to grieve right now. Bloodstrike eventually got his shaky body and quivering lip under control, but not without difficulty.

"Beechface," He called out, though his voice wasn't as steady as he would have liked. "Muddythorn," He managed to say his name well enough, but he was sure his voice was still more strained than normal. "Please gather herbs, both for Foxfire and Wrenspring... and for our fallen."

It wasn't right to let them lay in puddles of blood like this. In the mud. In the dirt. Under the heat of the sun that was rising. They deserved a proper funeral... and he would allow his clan to say their goodbyes. Bloodstrike tried hard, extremely hard, to speak and walk normally, to be the rock for his clan, but if he got even one more shred of bad news... he was afraid he was going to explode. The pressure in his chest was too much. The pressure in his head was too much.

"I need to find Smokefeather and Dawnpaw. That's where I'll be. If anything happens, yowl for me as loud as you possibly can. I will come running." It was his final few words to Beechface before he set his nose to the ground, to the air... anywhere that he might pick up a scent of either Dawnpaw or Smokefeather. Hopefully both. Hopefully both alive.

Primroselight had thought it would be safe in camp. But of course, sweeps of bad luck never truly left Skyclan. First came the distinctive smell of blood from the camp. The whole clan moved faster when they noticed it, injuries forgotten. The sight they were met with was one taken directly from the warrior's nightmares. Blossomstep, Cloudmane, Maplepaw, Foxfire. However, upon closer inspection she realised that the latter was still alive, just unconscious. She was already crying, even if her brain couldn't take in all the information. Wrenspring had the scent of blood on his pelt, his own mixed with another's, but who's it was unclear.

Stop kidding yourself Primroselight. Who else would do this other than Dawnhawk?

Even though she had to pause briefly to process everything, soon her mind and body kicked back into focus. Dawnpaw and Smokefeather were missing. She hurried to the nursery, limping slightly, much like many of her clanmates. I can't loose two kits in one day. But we'll find Dawn. Primroselight let herself breathe for a second when she heard the soft breathing of Stagkit in her nest, somehow still asleep. As much as she wanted to wrap herself around her kit to keep her safe, it would be better to leave her unaware of the situation. Some things were better left unwitnessed.

"The kits are all alright," Primroselight said as she emerged from the nursery, putting no effort into measuring her voice.

She almost asked to join Bloodstrike in his hunt for Dawnpaw and Smokefeather since it would be dangerous to go alone. But they couldn't leave the camp as undefended as last time. And her father could handle it - he'd been through far worse, after all. "Be safe out there!" She called to him as he set off. Loosing another clanmate of family member today would be a tipping point.

Beechface hardly heard Lichenblaze ranting. Hardly heard Primroselight as she checked in on the nursery. Her gaze swept over the bloody clearing, refusing to comprehend the scene in front of her. Blossomstep was too still, far too still. Maplepaw lay in her own blood, also far too still. Cloudmane's fur looked more crimson than white. Wrenspring...

Wolfstar's grief-stricken wail split the air, and Beechface swallowed, paws frozen to the ground. She was dimly aware of Birdsong running for the nearest bush. She'd never been one for violence or bloodshed, and this had probably been too much for her. It was too much for Beechface, too.

"Absolutely not." Beechface whipped around at Bloodstrike's words, teeth bared. "If you actually cared you would be resting and not making my job ten times harder than it needs to be!" Her voice shook as she continued, but Beechface hardly noticed, "If you insist on aggravating your wounds, don't come crawling to me for help. I won't drag your unconscious body back to camp a second time." As quickly as it appeared, her anger was already giving way to despair and exhaustion, however. When they'd left camp the previous morning, Beechface hadn't envisioned she'd be healing everyone who had stayed behind. She hadn't envisioned that three of those who had stayed would be dead.

"I'm here." Smokefeather's voice croaked out. Beechface spotted the elder emerging from the bushes, ears pinned flat to her skull and patchy fur bristling. She didn't seem injured... Physically, anyways. Dull gray-green eyes locked on Wolfstar, though Beechface had the impression she was speaking more generally, "I went for a walk and came back to... this." Her voice was hollow, grief-stricken.

It took a moment for Beechface to process Smokefeather's words, though clearly the elder had already realized it well before the clan had returned. Sheer, dumb luck was the only reason Smokefeather was still standing.

With a choked off snarl, the medicine cat stormed forward, pressing her nose to Foxfire's neck. Alive, barely. She lifted him effortlessly, he had lost far too much weight, and his fur was far too saturated with blood. Setting him into a nest in the medicine den, she went and retrieved Wrenspring as well, feeling her stomach twist at the state the two elders were in. They should've been safe in camp, and yet they were more injured than most of the cats who had gone to battle.

"Ashstorm, Muddythorn, round up the more seriously wounded-" Most of the clan really, but those who were more gravely hurt than others needed to be in her den "-and get me as much water-soaked moss as you can carry." Her store was usually enough, but with how much blood coated some of her clanmates, Beechface had the feeling she'd be needing more than what she already had available. She'd stocked up on herbs in a final hunt before the battle, but she'd need to find more before long. The thought of leaving the camp for any length of time, even for something so important, did not sit well with her at all.

Distantly, Wolfstar registered the flurry of voices and movement around him. Juniperlight. Lichenblaze. Newtpaw. Bloodstrike. Primroselight. Beechface. All of their voices swirled in his head, but none of their words made sense, nothing pierced the thick veil of grief that enclosed him, all consuming. There was a shifting, movement beside him, but he didn't look up. Wolfstar pressed his face tighter into Blossomstep's still form, breathing in her scent as if it were the only thing keeping him alive, and sobbed, though his voice was too hoarse for anything other than guttural sounds of sorrow.

* * *

Having roused shortly after leaving WindClan's camp, Spottedpaw dragged herself home on sore limbs. Her whole body hurt, but the flashbacks of the war before her eyes as she walked kept her mind busy enough to ignore it. Still bodies, blood, claws and teeth flashing in the darkness, she would never forget the absolute chaos. She was just ready to be home, to curl up with her siblings and forget the bloodshed.

How cruel was StarClan, to see them home to even more pain. Stunned into silence, Spottedpaw trailed into camp, her mouth slightly agape, her ears instinctively sticking against her skull. There was more death here than had been at the battle itself. Everywhere she looked there was blood, streaked on the ground, on the pelts of elders, on the too-still bodies of her grandmother, and...

No.

Newtpaw beat her there in his haste, and Spottedpaw felt her mouth go dry as her eyes locked on to the small, unmoving pelt of her sister. She moved slowly, arriving just as Newtpaw moved away, and stared down at Maplepaw's body. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she forced herself to look away before they fell into her sister's pelt. Her father's voice broke Spottedpaw out of her thoughts, and bile instantly rose in her throat as reality crashed over her. Maplepaw was dead. Her sister was dead. But there wasn't time to grieve, right now. Dad was being strong, and Newtpaw was being strong. She had to be strong, too.

She forced herself to leave Maplepaw there, and heavy paws carried her to Juniperlight's side. She pressed herself against the dark tom's side, trembling, "W-what do I do? What can I d-do?"

Ravenclaw was not in the best of moods. Losing a battle would do that to a cat. She padded back home along with her clanmates, hissing in pain at the searing scar on her side. That rabbit-hearted WindClan cat... That entire rabbit-hearted clan. Not to mention RiverClan. They were just as big of scourges. Dawnhawk got away too on top of that. It was a colossal failure on all fronts, and it was WindClan's fault for nesting such a terrible cat that they had been warned about on multiple occasions.

Her brain was so focused on what had happened that she didn't notice what was happening in front of her at first. There was the smell of blood, but she didn't sense it initially. She just kept walking until she heard the wailing of cats, and that got her attention. Snapping out of it, she then smelled the blood, and her heart went cold. She hurried into camp, hoping that her nose was wrong, but what she saw proved that it was all too right. Foxfire and Blossomstep were lying outside of the elder's den, and neither of them were moving. Ravenclaw stopped moving as well, staring wide-eyed. Then she realized... the elder's den. Wrenspring!

She started running, moving like - ironically - the wind past Wolfstar, Bloodstrike, and her other clanmates. Her side stung like heck, but she refused to acknowledge it. Not until she knew what happened to Wrenspring. She burst into the den, and in the light of the moon she saw him. He was lying on the ground, and he wasn't moving.

"Wrenspring!" She rushed towards him, and she nearly passed out at the smell of blood on him. Not because she couldn't stand blood, but because it was him bleeding. There were clawmarks on him, like he had been attacked by some animal, but the worst was a bitemark on the back of his neck. She pressed her body to his, grief already attacking her fiercely. "Wrenspring, wake up! What happened?!"

Ashstorm left the battle happy that the war was over, she had no idea what she would end up returning home to.

When Bloodstrike was talking to Beechface about how he was proud of the medicine cat, a small smile came on the ash colored cat.  It was the most sentimental she had seen her father and she knew how much Beechface needed to hear it, even though her sister didn't say much back.  Ashstorm in her father didn't have the best relationship.  How could they?  He wasn't there when she was an apprentice.  He wasn't there when she became a warrior.  He wasn't there for much of her life.  She knew that wasn't his fault, it was the Asylum's, but it still almost felt... weird having him there again.

The smell of blood reached her nose as they approached the camp.  Her smile quickly faded into a worried expression.  What's going on?

She wanted to walk faster, but she kept her pace to stay with Beechface. They went into camp and she was horrified by what she saw.  Pools of blood all around the camp.  A apprentice lay on the ground dead along with an elder and... even a warrior.  "Blossomstep," she whispered.  In that moment she felt empty.  She heard nothing, besides the thumping of her heart.  Tears filled her eyes, no matter how much she attempted to hold them back.  Her grandmother... the only one who she felt she could talk to... just lying there limp.  Ashstorm swallowed.  She felt glued to the floor.  This cant be true.  This can't be true..."  But deep down she knew it was.

Her claws dug into the ground.  Who did this?  She thought and ansered her own question in a moment.  What am I thinking?  I know who it is.  No matter how much she wished that wasn't true as well, she did know exactly who was capable of this.  He probably planned it all.

Beechface's voice broke her thoughts.  She said nothing to her sister but did what she asked.  She decided helping the others was better then just standing there in her own sorrow.  How could you, Dawnhawk?  I thought you may have loved even just our grandmother, clearly I was wrong.  Well, you have no ally in Skyclan anymore.  And if I get the chance... I might just try to kill you myself.

Light had faded from the elder's vision. Muffled sounds were a background to the mild buzz that had seemed to permanently fixate itself into the depths of his skull. Dawnhawk had won. Somewhere in the recesses of his failing conscious, the ragged gray and white tom couldn't help but circulate the thought that he'd lost, disappointed the entirety of Skyclan and failed the warrior name that had been bestowed on him so many moons ago. He wanted to crawl forward and lash out again but his body could do little more than quiver, never mustering up the ability to do more.

It seemed like endless seasons that he lay there with a vague sense of the happenings around the camp. The stillness was unnerving, almost peaceful, in a way that was sickening and made the fallen tom want to retch. There was a nauseating tang of blood on the breeze; it seemed to stifle the pleasant scents of greenleaf and danced in a horrible dissonance with the underlying scent of Skyclan. Dawnhawk had done exactly what he wanted to, creating everlasting scars that would cut deeper than this moment that was now buried into his pelt like an unforgiving tick.

Finally, he felt himself being moved, shook from the condemning cocoon that had become his half-deadened state. Cries and murmurs broke out through the clearing, solemn voices that held a vague familiarity. It was the call of Ravenclaw that plucked him from the foggy depths, pulled him from drowning in this muddled state of being. He blinked several times and flinched at the slivers of moonlight. Somehow even such an inconsequential glow was overwhelming. Finding the black she-cat's features and the worry written across them, Wrenspring mustered up the little strength he had to speak.

"Dawnhawk... attacked... I tried to... stop him." The gravel of his own voice sounded like it belonged to another. He felt abnormally thirsty and even more tired. Sucking in a low breath, the former warrior clenched his teeth at the painful wounds. His one saving grace in the heat of battle had been the adrenaline that pounded fiercely through his veins. That blessing had faded, dashed away in the dark of night, stripped from him like the final hope that had been snuffed out by the losses they all faced this night.