Post by Mama Oak on Jun 22, 2013 6:36:25 GMT -5
frosttalon of riverclan
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Y O U ' R E x N O T x T H E x F I R S T x A N D x Y O U ' R E x N O T x T H E
L A S T , x B U T x Y O U ' R E x P O S S I B L Y x T H E x P R E T T I E S T
The sound of rain slapping against the lake’s surface was a symphony to the RiverClanner’s ears. It was hardly more than a calm, light shower, but had persisted for most of the morning. The thick, scary clouds that were rolling in fast, though, promised a more-powerful onslaught very soon. Half-submerged in the water, floating on his back, a white tom was humming quietly with a smile stretched across his muzzle, eyes closed as the rain pelted his stomach and face. What could have possessed the tom to such activity in the middle of a thunderstorm, no one could guess, but many of Frosttalon’s clanmates were quite used to his inexplicable actions. He just found it all rather relaxing.
But suddenly, thunder rumbled warningly and the downfall became much more spirited and heavy. In a flicker of graceful motion, Frosttalon slipped beneath the surface and moved downward. He’d spent most of the storm floating lazily on the lake, taking refuge in the depths when the rain began to sting and returning once more when it lightened back up. As he weaved his way downward, he was suddenly caught by a powerful and violent current. Very close to the WindClan border and knowing the lake well, he knew this current fed the stream that wound throughout the hills and moors. What Frosttalon had not counted on, however, was how strong the current would be after the long and persistent rainfall. Unexpecting and caught off-guard, his body was taken by the powerful tug and he was sent tumbling helplessly along. No longer enjoying himself, no longer having fun, the RiverClan tom struggled in the water to move upwards again; to free himself from the current and claw his way back to the surface.
He struggled for what seemed like an eternity, and only when he felt his lungs would burst, did his head finally emerge from the water. With a painful gasp, Frosttalon felt a pang of dread as he realized where he was; where he was going. The world had changed completely — everything had shifted. He hadn’t been underwater for long, but the sky had darkened ominously. The rain was now coming down in violent sheets, battering him relentlessly. And worst of all, he had been carried right across the RiverClan and WindClan border. The lake had given way to a ravine and he was being pulled further and further into WindClan territory.
Desperately, he tried to turn himself toward the bank nearest him, but the imbalance of rushing water and his shifting weight sent him once more under the current. His back legs kicked out and when his paws struck painfully against the creek-bottom, Frosttalon knew he was in big trouble. The stream was a lot more shallow than the lake, at least in this part of the river, and the rain-fed surge was relentless. No doubt, the current would drag him painfully across the rocks; their sharp and jagged points tearing at his body like the claws of a hunter into the plump, delicate belly of its prey. As a RiverClan warrior well-adapted to the water, he had never felt the fear of drowning before... but now... now he was suddenly aware that he was going to die. It didn’t matter how good of a swimmer he was... the swollen creek and turbulent waters would break his bones along the ravine’s hungry bottom.
When his head re-emerged from the swirling waters and sound returned, he coughed and spluttered up all the liquid he had unexpectedly taken in and began to shout. Mewing hopelessly for help, with all the volume his throbbing lungs and burning throat could muster. Between the roar of rushing water and the loud crashes of thunder, it suddenly occurred to Frosttalon that his cries for help would go unheard. All the WindClan cats would be taking shelter from the downpour, far from the ravine. Safe. They’d be dry and cozy, huddled up in their dens, waiting out the storm. It was what he should be doing. Curled up next to a pretty she-cat, his most recent play-thing, and purring as they shared their warmth with one another. Was it possible that only minutes ago, he was actually enjoying himself? Was it possible that that morning he had whispered in Lichenfrost’s ear that he loved her — a lie, of course — and mended the heart he had broken, just to break it again later? She had licked his nose with a purr, and Frosttalon had smiled cheekily.
Strangely, despite the terrible realization, Frosttalon’s panic promptly dissipated and he found himself thinking (surprisingly) quite methodically — clearly, even. Scenarios ticked through his mind, one by one, and he dismissed those that were instantly deemed unhelpful. Swept along the fast-moving water, his thoughts were categorically sorted. Briefly, he wondered if this... odd clarity... was some sort of comfort for those who had no chance. He was doomed to die... but at least he wasn’t hysterical. Paddling fiercely against the current, Frosttalon banished the thought immediately — he simply wouldn’t let something stupid like this be his final moment.
He pushed himself toward the bank once more, the panic that wasn’t registering in the moment still there, bubbling just below the surface of his thinly-stretched determination, ready to burst forth at any moment. Trying to suck in as little amount of water as he could, he scanned the bank again, searching frantically for a protruding branch or tree root; searching desperately for a miracle. Turning downstream, he saw it. The ugly, twisted branch, hanging over the water, low enough to be snagged... if he was lucky. Shoving himself toward it, he felt the surging current around him pick up speed. He only had one chance at this.
Gathering all the strength he could manage in his aching haunches, Frosttalon tried leaping from the water, and felt a rush of short-lived relief as his jaws closed around a good mouthful of the many, thin branches. The panic finally burst forward as the precarious limb strained under his weight. For a moment he was submerged back underwater, but he refused to release his hold — it was his only hope. In his mind, over the thundrous sound of rushing water in his ears and the hammering throb of ache and pain, he was screaming. Pleaing. Over and over. Please don’t let this be it. Not this.
He expected the branch to succumb to the flooded current, but thankfully, it held up. When he once more surfaced, he pushed himself forward, clawing and paddling fiercely toward the bank. With the branch as a crutch, there was a chance he could get out. Maybe. Hopefully. Probably not. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he was almost certain his weary, abused body would be capable of saving itself. He needed help... he wasn’t getting out of this without some serious help.
And he knew (though he chose to barricade the knowledge from his conscious) that help wouldn’t come. There would be no one.
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Words: 1,170
Tagged: Open... my little sleaze needs a hero!
Post Scriptum: Ohlawdy, and I thought Littlepaw’s post was dramatic. *headdesk, headdesk* I get carried away too easily. Anyway, this didn’t end up exactly like the prompt, but I do hope it’ll count!