trip switch [C]

ooc: narrative battles my beloved <3

This patrol was supposed to be fine. A routine check of the Thunderpath, with Wolfpaw at his side. It was a walk they had gone on several times together now, and one that had gone undisturbed so far. Now, though, as they wound their way back towards camp, their path was interrupted. In the time it’d taken for them to mark the border, linger, and turn back around, a dog had found its way into ShadowClan’s territory. It was a large, shaggy-furred beast, with a broad snout and big paws. Silverhawk hoped they could skirt around it and report its existence to Leopardstar, but as they tried to sneak by, it turned around with a quiet woof. The expulsion of air quickly turned into a deep-chested bark, then a round of them; then it was galloping towards them, heavy paws pounding and splashing through the mud.

”Watch out, Wolf!” Silverhawk shouted. He leapt out of the dog’s path and let its momentum carry it past him so he was behind it. When he was, he lunged forward and sank his teeth deep into the hock of one of its hind legs. The dog made an ugly yelping noise that Silverhawk relished in. Sweet, warm blood flooded into his mouth. He wrenched his head left and right, ensuring he would take flesh with him before ripping his head away. The dog’s attention was squarely on him when it whirled around: a dangerous position to be in, but one that, for the moment, kept Wolfpaw safe. Suddenly, memories of the fated encounter with that fox rushed through his head. That Honeylight died trying to protect him suddenly made sense. Silverhawk shook his head, not wanting to get distracted, and braced himself for impact.

Before the dog could lunge after in retaliation, Wolfpaw threw himself upon its shoulders. There was fervor in the growl that rumbled out of him between mouthfuls of flesh. For a whisker-long second, Silverhawk could only watch. The savagery in his brother’s attack held him riveted in place. Once, between snapping bites, he caught sight of Wolfpaw’s face: eyes blazing, teeth reddened with blood and clogged with scraps of skin and fur. Silverhawk’s claws flexed a little further from their sheaths, pressing deep into the muddied earth. It wasn’t fear or concern or repugnance that held his paws in place. It was admiration. All Silverhawk could think was that he’d trained Wolfpaw well.

But there was little actual time for thinking. The dog was twisting and snapping, thrashing in an attempt to loose the vicious flea from its shoulders, and Silverhawk would not allow harm to come to his brother. He pressed his paws into the ground, driving himself forward. His body dropped into a low crouch as he moved and he slithered easily between the dog’s legs while it was distracted with Wolfpaw. It would have been easier to just raise his paw and scratch, but Silverhawk had never been a creature that believed in easy--nor did he believe in refusing an opportunity to shed spare blood.

He rolled over onto his back and kicked out with his hind paws. The kick was just to earn the dog’s attention; reaching up with his forepaws to shred wildly at its belly was to earn its fury. And to satisfy himself. Blood welled immediately to greet his claws; when they retracted, it poured. It ran out of the dog’s body and down onto Silverhawk’s face, warm and welcoming and staining his fur with the color. Half-unbidden, a laugh rattled out of him. Then it erupted into a proper cackle, drowned by the howls of pain and rage from the beast. Silverhawk’s claws itched from the feeling of rending flesh, desperate to repeat the action. He could saw and scrape through the dog’s belly until its guts spilled. He wanted to watch its intestines unfurl over and around and on him. He wanted to see its body quiver with the last threads of life. He wanted to see fear and desperation in its eyes.

But the dog had other plans. In the ensuing fit, it finally managed to wrench its body hard enough to dislodge Wolfpaw, sending the apprentice to land somewhere vaguely in the near-distance. Heavy paws trampled over Silverhawk’s body, compressing the air out of him. Pain thundered through his bones, his muscles, his nerves. At least the step was momentary, as the dog was stumbling over itself in an attempt to escape its attackers and the leak of its own blood. Returning to his paws was a struggle and his legs were shaky from pain, but Silverhawk rolled back over and rose--just moments before the dog finally got its bearings and moved enough to unveil his presence. In an instant, its maw had fastened around both sides of his flank, biting hard and lifting him into the air. Silverhawk rose with a yelp, both surprise and further pain. Despite the clamp around his waist, he did his best to wriggle, trying to claw at cheek or muzzle or ear or anything he could reach that might prompt release.