Drowning But Not Out [Assignment/Open]

[Mama Oak]

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!

[Mama Oak]

Since this post has been up for nearly two months with no reply, I am going to reply to it today with Redfang. A short, sweet little thing that will both keep my WindClan cat from being deleted while also, perhaps, making this thread a bit easier to reply to.

So, in shorter words, this thread is momentarily tagged for Red!

[Mama Oak]

redfang of windclan
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F I G H T I N G x F O R x N O T H I N G x I S
W H A T x Y O U x W E R E x B O R N x F O R

The rain had done little to discourage Redfang’s small hunting party. It was a warm and light rain; altogether quite pleasant. But the excited squeals of a young apprentice had sent the WindClan tom straying from the group, eager to enjoy the greenleaf shower in comfortable silence. Now he was pushing his slender body through the foliage that bordered Willow Creek hoping to spy a few water-voles, darting to their shelters among the ravine’s many winding roots while the storm grew more violent.

As he poked his ginger head through the bushes, Redfang pinned his large, triangular ears to his skull. The wind had picked up considerably and the rain had grown abusive; whipping sidelong and stinging with each drop. All of a sudden, the weather had gone from tolerable to fearsome. The WindClan warrior pressed himself close to the ground before standing back up and turning himself around, prepared to dart back to his patrol and locate some suitable shelter to wait out the storm’s abrupt tantrum. But without warning, the edge that he was perched upon crumbled beneath his weight and he was sent tumbling down the ravine, fighting to catch his balance before he was sent careening into the hungry stream itself.

He managed to steady himself halfway down, but before he could try to force his way back up, his attention was snagged by a bobbing white shape in the river. A cat, being carried through the ravine a far ways up the bank. Redfang’s eyes widened as the feline’s pleading screeches reached his ears, before the tom managed to sink his teeth into a flimsy willow branch suspended across the water.


Redfang felt a thrill of adrenaline course through his veins as he threw himself down the muddy bank and almost went tumbling into the stream, just managing to catch himself on the water’s very edge, right above the unstable willow limb; the white cat’s only tether to shore and living, bobbing dangerously beneath the tom’s weight. Once the orange WindClanner was back on his paws, the mud on his pelt already washed clean by the relentless rain, he felt his stomach drop with a sickening pang of helplessness. What could he possibly do now? The unfortunate, water-stuck cat was too far to be reached from the bank, only just so, and his tether was too thin and too weak for Redfang to even consider walking upon.

The solution occurred to him only a single moment later, and in the next moment, he was blinking stinging rain from his eyes as his voice boomed, carrying over the cacophony of chaotic sounds, ”You’re going to have to let go!” He was moving downstream as he screeched, paws sinking into the mud and making his sprint clumsy and slower than he would have liked. He turned back toward the stranded cat once he was far enough away and again forced out the loudest command he could manage, ”Push toward the bank!” Without thinking of the danger, without giving his body time to freeze from fear, Redfang braced himself to step as far from the bank as he could without being unbalanced, muscles taut, ready to help the white tom gain sturdy ground. ”I’ve got you! I promise!”

Please, StarClan, don’t let me be wrong.

He watched the struggling cat for a long moment, and just when he decided that the tom was too scared to let go or hadn’t heard his commands over the river’s roar, he was suddenly being swept toward him and directing himself frantically for the bank. He was shouting something at him, or maybe just squealing with fear, but he could hardly comprehend the babbling before the cat was upon him, paws slapping at the water’s surface and eyes wide with terror. Lurching forward with cautious acknowledgement of his precarious balance, Redfang outstretched his neck and intercepted him. He pulled back with all his strength as soon as his jaws clamped around the cat’s scruff, struggling to manage the stranger’s weight and maintain his balance at the same time. Dimly, he could feel the white cat begin to gain purchase on the bank, all while the tug of the current tried to tug them both away.

And, for a stretching moment, Redfang just knew the cat was going to pull him in. Time ceased to be a factor and the few seconds elongated into an impossible eternity. The sharp, earthy scent of rain and dirt was choking. The persistent roar of the ravine thundered in his ears, muted only by the muffled, droning pound of his own heart.

But with a fierce heave, the spell was broken and Redfang could feel the wiry muscles of the white cat’s neck tense as his paws found a sturdy brace; the power of his slender shoulders shifting as battered forelegs struggled to bring him to safety. His own paws pushed themselves against the bank, digging into the mud as he helped ease the near-drowned tom forward. When he shot backward and the white cat fell atop him, sputtering and gasping, Redfang was overcome by relief. The muscles in his neck and shoulders felt sore and overextended, but the discomfort was eased considerably by the sudden and irrevocable impulse to laugh.

They’d made it.

When the white cat weakly moved away from him, Redfang pulled himself to his paws and forced himself to look the feline over. Now he could recognize the tom as Frosttalon of RiverClan; his white pelt, usually sleek and glimmering with vain attention, brown with mud and red with blood. He was obviously injured, and injured quite bad — his body had been battered and cut by rocks and debri. He had been out of the water for only a few moments, and already the mud beneath his body was gathering a scary amount of crimson.

Redfang’s eyes widened. They weren’t out yet.

Suddenly, his thoughts returned to the patrol he had strayed from only moments before the storm had reached its worst. They were surely still close, right? If only he could find them, between them they could get Frosttalon somewhere dry. Someone would know what to do. Moving toward the RiverClanner, he looked up at the bank and began to cry out the names of his clanmates. Beside him, Frosttalon groaned weakly. Glancing down at him warily, a glint of concern and fear touching his eyes, Redfang yowled the names again, as loud as he could.

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Words: 1,075
Tagged: Open
Post Scriptum: I have never rushed through a post like this before. >_< But I got it in before midnight (only just), even if it is an incohesive mess of nonsense and extreme err. It's there and Redfang will live.