telle est la vie d'un misérable [c]

The she-cat wasn't particularly small but she was incredibly skinny. Her ribs poked through frail flesh, threatening to shed the patchwork pelt of her heaving sides. Every inch of dulled fur was a myriad of wounds and scars. Most were healed over time, although several poorly so. Her shoulder showed signs of having been torn open not too long ago and slowly healing into a stiffly matted mess. It looked like she hadn't groomed in ages, allowing dust and dirt to collect in her fur. In stark contrast to the rogue's unsightly appearance was her piercing gaze. Vibrant green eyes peered through the dense, brown undergrowth. Despite how weary the queen was, an exhaustion that clearly touched her gaze, there was a hidden purposed and determination.

Castella had a goal.

Her tail flickered back and forth in a tight arc, not wanting to stir up any of the forest around her. This particular patch of ground sat square between a couple of maple trees that stretched towards the sky. Their leaves were long gone, littering the ground and often underpaw. It had grown more difficult to avoid the soft crunch that her steps had made most of the fall. The changing season had been crueler than usual. Food had become more scarce overtime. Recently, large groups of cats had moved into the area. Her fur stood on end just thinking about it. One moment, it was just the two of them fending for themselves near the lake's edge. She had even chased off another lone cat here or there. And then, suddenly, this place was no longer safe.

Clenching her jaw, the ragged she-cat had to push back the fear that clawed at her. It was near impossible to travel far in her condition. For the time being, she had taken to hunting what she could find at night when the groups of cats had begun tucking into their nests. There had been several close calls where she had strayed to close with out realizing. Luckily, both times she had been downwind.

She wriggled her haunches and drew closer to the catch that was just beyond the deadened tall grass. A red squirrel rooted around in search of something. It was distracted. This was a catch that she couldn't afford to lose. Muscles tightened in her hindlegs as she adjusted her forepaws. The wretched shoulder had made her survival efforts straining. With a swallow, she prepared for the pain that leaping would bring. And... there. Castella sprang forward and caught the creature just under her front pads. Her angle had been slightly off and she stumbled. As the squirrel let out a surprised squeak of panic, she silently cursed as she lunged to sink her fangs into its throat. Relief washed over her. They would live another day.

Her stomach growled angrily at the flavor that seeped into her tongue. The urge to devour the prey was overwhelming as saliva instinctively dripped from her teeth. Castella allowed herself a small bite, tearing at the delicate fur with a tense restraint. She wanted more, needed more but had to stop. If she didn't pull back, she might have devoured the whole thing.

She stepped back and took a deep breath. On the inhale, an unfamiliar scent filled her nostrils. Dung. The fur along the back of her spine stood on end and a ball of ice formed in her throat. Castella's entire body began to pound with adrenaline. It was close. There was no option. Her paws wouldn't carry her fast enough away and they needed this catch. All of them. There was a desperate urge tucked far away that told her to flee. Care for herself, her wellbeing, and do anything she could to survive another day. But this was about so much more than the selfish desire to live. She needed to do whatever she could to make sure they were fed, protected. These foreigners wouldn't take that way from her.

Twisting in the direction of the scent, Castella was barely able to make out the sandy colored pelt of her stalker. There was no doubt they were after or, or at the very least after her prey. Without thinking, she left out an angry yowl and launched herself forward with unrestrained fury.

Castella used Jumping Strike on Vine Crawler. Dealing 7 (+3) damage, and using 7 stamina.

Castella
HP: 40/40
SP: 93/100

Vinecrawler
HP: 40/50
SP: 120/120

Feral language
Forest language

Vinecrawler had had no plans to go anywhere today, his third mouse inches away from his maw, the scent of its blood making his stomach growl in anticipation. It was only when the scarred-face of a russet warrior glaring at him from the other side of the fresh-kill pile had turned into a nasty warning growl over his greed, did he finally give in. He had already eaten the fill of a normal ThunderClan warrior, but his stomach always begged for more, even as he consumed both flesh and bone, never leaving a single piece behind.

A knowing look was given to the elder warrior, rising to his paws with a dramatic roll of the eyes, shoving the mouse back into the pile in a spiteful manner. He didn't like her much. Wasn't she the daughter of the Mother of ThunderClan? Somehow, she didn't seem like the tiny leaders kit at all. A pity. They could use more Mottlestar's.

Maybe it was because they had only just moved into the area and spooked all the prey, but Vinecrawler was having a hard time finding even a single worm to feed his belly. His tail thrashed in annoyance at the thought of having to travel even further in the chilling snow, but it was a sacrifice he had to make in order to satiate himself. He once thought himself to be a superior breed - a league above of the normal forest cats reach. Endless hunting was the price he paid in exchange for his size and natural born strength. Maybe that's why Gekala seemed so welcoming to begin with: a place where he would always be full, the prey in abundance. But until it was his time, he would still need to put in the work to support himself.

Chin raised and mouth agape, he scented the air as he padded further into the woods. Ears perked in excitement over the scent that greeted him: squirrel. Oh, how he missed that smell! Dropping low, the ThunderClan warrior carefully pushed through the snow in a crouch, doing his best to keep the giddy feeling in his stomach of another meal to a minimum. His tail swished as though it had a mind of it's own, making the red squirrels head whip around to look him directly in the eyes. No! He would not be losing it today! In a panic, he sprang forward in a full sprint, the thought of a predator being alerted the last thing on his mind as he struggled to maintain traction in the loose white powder. Fortunately for him, the Sun God smiled down on him this day. Claws dug into both bark and fluffy tail, followed closely by teeth around the rodents head. A sickening crunch echoing off the trees around him as he dug in like a starved beast. From the fur to marrow in its bones, the squirrel was his.

Vinecrawler caught a squirrel! -7 SP.

His joy was cut short, however, as a crazed yowl sounded behind him, followed by pins and needles in his flank.  Immediately, his mind was flooded with anger. How dared to interrupt his meal? Who dared to be so underhanded as to attack another while their back was turned?! The scent that flooded his nostrils as they flared was unknown to him, but there was minor relief that it wasn't owned by a large predator. In fact, the glimpse he caught of the molly who had her claws in him made all sense of danger leave: her two-toned face and semi-mottled black pelt was dirty. She was obviously malnourished and looked as though a gust of wind could scatter her like sand. As his teeth clamped around her neck in retaliation, the stench almost made him want to let go, the taste of copper washing that bitter taste away.  


Vinecrawler used Snap on Castella, dealing 8 damage and using 7 SP.


Castella
HP: 32/40 (-8)
SP: 93/100

Vinecrawler
HP: 40/50
SP: 106/120 (-14)

The member 'Flybot' has done the following action : Dice roll

---

'Hunting Dice' : 1

Panic rose up in the she-cat's chest at teeth closed around her throat. No! Not yet. It was far too soon for her to go down. She twisted and writhed furiously, pulling out of his jaws as flesh was ripped away. Castella's eyes widened as she took him in. This was no ordinary cat, he was a giant. Muscles rippled beneath his coat unlike anything she had seen before. This was it. She was going to die.

She swallowed back the rising fear that had become a boulder in her throat, threatening to choke her. More than her own life was at stake and she couldn't freeze now. Bearing her teeth and spitting furiously, the ragged-pelted molly surged forward in a fury of claws. Blows aimed at the tom's face, trying to hit his eyes and drive him away from the precious creature that lay hidden not far off behind her.

Castella used Front Paw Strike, dealing 7 damage and using 7 stamina.
Castella also used Desperate Blows dealing 4 damage and using 7 stamina.

Castella
HP: 32/40
SP: 79/100 (-14)

Vinecrawler
HP: 29/50 (-11)
SP: 106/120

belly rake roll

The member 'Flybot' has done the following action : Dice roll

---

'Effect Dice' : 5

Feral language
Forest language

A feral growl ripped from his throat, his head tucking down and away to keep filthy claws away from his eyes. Vinecrawler assumed that rage and desperation that drove the rogue forward in this fight was out of hunger. Something he himself knew all too well and understood completely. But he had no reason to be merciful when she had hit him first. Had snuck up on him like a coward... If she hungered this badly, he would do her the favor of parting body and soul. Sharing prey he caught himself was not an option. It might even be detrimental to his acceptance into Gekala if he gave up now.

He was so much bigger than her and he used that to his advantage. Muscles rippled under sandy pelt as he pushed forward and shoved her over with his heavy shoulders. Sharp, unsheathed claws raked viciously down her belly, blood spraying dramatically upwards and splattering across his face. The taste of it made his pupils shrink in excitement, suddenly unable to contain his own claws and ripping into her like a deranged beast. The God of Now must have been smiling around him to allow him such pleasures of using the strength he had been blessed with, and that earned a prayer muttered under his breath as he loomed over her. He enjoyed the thrill of fighting, not so much the kill. It was just an added bonus to be able to fully display it.

Normally, he would ask for a name to pass onto the the God of Death when it came stalking, but she had not fought with honor. She deserved eternal nothing for that... But he knew the gods would find mercy for her in her struggles. Just as he had given to her for not letting her suffer through life anymore. "I pray your next life is kinder to you than this one was... Tell me your name, poor soul."

Vinecrawler used Killing Strike.

The growl that ripped from her opponent's throat sent chills down her spine and shook her to the core. She froze, allowing the perfect opportunity for Vinecrawler to fully take advantage of her weakness. Odds had been stacked against Castella from the start. Protruding ribs and patched fur made that obvious enough, not to mention the vast difference in their frames. To the warrior, she was little more than a mouse under his pads. Easily, he threw her onto her back, exposing the soft flesh of her underbelly. Panic lit the tortoiseshell's eyes.

A burning sensation ripped through her stomach, followed by a warmth that she knew to be her own blood. Castella howled in immense pain. Her sides heaved in desperate, ragged gasps. Another yowl, a warning cry that echoed out to her hiding kin. All that mattered were thoughts of her kits, racing through her mind. Their soft fur, the warmth as her side, tiny claws kneading into her sunken belly... They were all that had ever mattered. She knew little of religion or gods, only hearing stray murmurs. In that moment, as he spoke of prayer and the life drained from her body, Castella prayed to whatever was out there.

Keep them alive. Keep them safe. Keep them from the jaws of this beast. Keep them alive. Keep them safe. My precious kits.

The heat of her breath caused clouds of frost in the biting winter air. She focused on that, watching the vapor drift up into the sky and picturing it at those unspoken words, flying away to be granted by some unseen deity. Castella wanted to sob, wail, let the pain of this life be known to every creature within earshot. But she remained silent. Despite all of the main pitfalls living had offered, she had been blessed with the most miraculous gift. A joy that was unmatched by anything else. Wholeness that she had once thought would only come in the form of a tom named Bronco. But it ad been Faraday and Emery that made her complete. Leaving them behind was her greatest regret but there was no more fight. Nothing left.

As the pulsing in her veins began to drain away into the earth, and her vision began to face, she left the world granting Vinecrawler his request, "Castella..."

Castella is deceased.

In the kits’ hiding place Emery shivered against the winter gusts that made their way between the bare branches and tangle of vines. She hated the way minutes seemed to stretch into hours when Castella was gone. Her coat was still too thin to protect her from the biting wind without her mother’s warmth, but even worse than feeling the cold was feeling the uncertainty and loneliness that came with waiting.

At least she had Faraday. Even when her mother was gone he was a constant reassurance at her side. She leaned into his warmth and let her chin droop sluggishly, trying to block out the chill in her paws and rumbles in her belly. In her sleep it was so much easier to ignore the cold. She dreamt she was in the world of her mother's stories, of a mythical place called 'greenleaf' where it was finally warm, the plants alive, and plump mice skittered behind every bush. Waking always brought with it a faint sense of disappointment, a bitter feeling that she had been cheated out of a kinder world.

This time, however, she awoke with a sharp sting of fear, the sudden panic striking right into her heart alongside the cold as her littermate's warmth was snatched away from her. She was on her feet several beats behind Faraday, ignoring the branches that snagged at her pelt as she chased after him in equal desperation to find the source of the scream. The source of her mother’s scream, as the kit had just begun to process.

She stopped dead next to Faraday and for a single desperate minute she hadn’t woken up at all. This was a nightmare. How could it not be?? The dark blood on snow, the metallic scent to it, the way Castella’s body was so, so still… it was just a nightmare.

One complete with a horrifying monster. The creature was bigger than any real cat could be, with giant bloodied claws and horrible predator eyes-  fixed right on them.

Reality came into focus in the split-second as Emery’s fear and adrenaline took over. She bared her teeth in a pathetic hiss, one of pure desperation rather than a challenge. The two pitiful kits stood no chance against such a beast. She was shivering now not from the biting wind, but from pure terror.

Feral language
Forest language

There was a moment of silence as Vinecrawler halted his own breath, so he carefully watch the billowing tendrils that escaped the mollys mouth and nose, ready to silence her forever. The last thing he wanted was for her to suffer even in death, feeling her life had already been hard enough as it was. To his relief, her last breath came soon after she surrendered her name: Castella. Honestly, he thought that to be a pretty name for the two-toned calico. There was no doubt she had been beautiful on her prime. Far before her muscles had atrophied. Far before she lay in a crumpled heap in the snow, her warm crimson blood melting the fresh dusting of snow they received that morning. He released his held breath in a long sigh. A fight over too soon.

Chestnut eyes trailed back to the squirrel that had been momentarily abandoned, but never forgotten. Unlike Castella's body that he would leave to mercy of nature. He was hungrier than ever, quick to lay down to devour every morsel. Even down to the muscle and bones within the fluffy tail.

Halfway into laying down, a creature caught his eye. What at first was mild curiosity, soon turned into widened eyes and a mouth agape: two kits stood side-by-side, frozen in fear as they gazed up at him with what he could only assume was hatred. But why...? He continued his silence as he blinked between the two.

Oh.

Oh.

Perhaps it did take a genius to connect the scraggly kits to the malnourished molly. Her share of the prey must have gone to these two. Castella's kits. Oh, how unfortunate for him. How unfortunate for them. What could he even say? Sorry? That wouldn't begin to cover it. Briefly, the thought of explaining to them that she had started it crossed his mind. That was not something to say to babies, now was it? Stepping between them and Castella, dropping the limp squirrel down on front of them. "...Castella caught this for you." Vinecrawler had never been nervous in his entire life, but faced with having potentially traumatized babies...? He had a heart. A heart so big that he couldn't just leave these two out here to fend for themselves when he had just taken away their last hope for survival.

His gaze flicked in the direction of ThunderClan's camp, hoping anyone might show up to convince them to stay. Judging by how they looked at him, it was doubtful they would listen. He would attempt to lie anyway. "Listen well, dear little ones. Her dying words were to care for you as though you were my own... If you follow me, I know a place where you may stay warm and eat till you're full." His gaze softened as much as he was able to, a liar he may be in this moment, but he was sincere in his please.

With the coming leaf-bare, Acornstem was stepping up in her duties. Nearly crushed by the responsibilities as of late, she had remained mostly within the camp - to assign patrols as needed and keeping an eye on her sicker Clanmates but now it was getting important to keep the fresh-kill pile as stocked as they could... Which had led her out into the snowy fields - tracking the lone scent of Vinecrawler in hopes they could hunt together as she would rather do so with company.

However, she came to a stop when she picked up another scent - unfamiliar, but from a cat...One that didn't belong to the Clans. A scent that was clearly following in Vinecrawler's path. Her heart quickened as she picked up her pace - breaking into a sprint as the scent of blood hit her only to freeze at the sight of the warrior alive and well, the corpse of the rogue not far...As the tom stared down at two puffed up kits. A quick scan of the scene told her everything - the scent of milk mixing with the blood, how frail the she-cat was and the squirrel that laid between Vinecrawler and the kits...

She stared down at the slain queen - a mother who had picked a losing battle in hopes of providing for her kits - a sigh escaping her muzzle before she pressed forward. "Little ones?" she called out to draw all of their attentions, hiding the twisting in her stomach with a soft smile. "I'm sorry - this shouldn't have happened. A misunderstanding, I am sure," she added, gaze flickering towards Vinecrawler with a surprising sharpness - a silent order that he would explain everything once they were back to camp before her attention swept back to the kits with the same softness as before. "We cannot take back what has happened and you have every right to fear us - but he speaks true. Follow us and we will take care of you - until you are strong enough to fend for yourself. Then, what  path you take next is of your own choosing," she meowed, straightening up. There was no way she would leave these kits alone - she couldn't! To leave them alone with the body of their dead mother...

She just hope they would trust her, even if they were wary of Vinecrawler as she would rather not take them to the camp kicking and screaming.

Feral language
Forest language

Shouders sagged when the kits didn't responded well to him giving them his catch, Faraday in particular looking like he wanted to claw Vinecrawler's eyes out. Standing firm, he would have allowed the kit to at least try. Nothing like letting your anger out at the cat who caused it; he wouldn't blame the young tom either. The other kit, however, seemed timid. Every tiny muscle in her body tensed like she were about to flee, though her eyes were less filled with hatred and more uncertainty.

And then another voice stepped in, spooking him and briefly raising the hairs on his wiry pelt. Followed close after was relief at seeing the round deputy. Even better that she went along with his lies, though the look she gave him made it obvious he would need to tell her the truth later. When these kits were safe and sound with a queen. "My name is Vinecrawler of ThunderClan. We have a camp not too far from here where you can rest with a queen until you are more fit to being on your own... If that is what you wish." He lowered himself, offering his own back for the kits to climb on if they wished to come with him and Acornstem. He felt walking in the snow with those tiny paws and weak bodies would just exhaust them more. If they chose to come with but refused a piggy back ride, he would be grabbing them by the scruff anyway. Life is hanging on by a thread for these two kits, and he would not let such innocent souls die from something so insignificant as pride or pettiness. "Come."