Ruined In A Day [Assignment/Open]

[Mama Oak]

cobweb, the wretched
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Blood hung heavy on the air. Not the stale, stagnant ichor that always lingered within the catacomb, but fresh blood, seeping from a significant number of wounds and also from the single rogue, screeching profanity in the center of camp as his heart gradually pumped the last of his life from opened veins. He was the only one who had fallen; the rest of them had gotten away, though some with injuries that would not permit them to get very far. Just as Cobweb was beginning to grow sick of the dying tom's agonized curses, another cry rose above the persistent annoyance.

"Two of the kittens have been stolen!"

Cobweb flicked an ear. Her kittens? The queen snorted contemptuously, wondering — with a great deal of bitterness — whether or not Afflictedstorm would be out there, chasing the rogues that had made off with their children. The camp was suddenly a buzz of confused activity and attemptive organization as cats squandered about to form a pursuing patrol, while one or two others bolted off without any delay or direction. The BloodClan queen doubted neither patrol nor individual would be very successful. Whatever foolish rogues were willing to steal into camp and attack a clan of venomous felines were obviously seeking some suicidal thrill. As soon as the BloodClan cats gained on them, they'd probably slit the throats of her insolent whelps.

Cobweb craned her neck to nurse a long scratch that stretched down her side, which had cracked and was beginning to bleed. Not a wound inflicted from the attack only moments before, but one awarded her beneath the paw of her dearest mate. As her tongue drew rhythmically across the jagged welt over and over, and the medicinal taste of blood filled her mouth, she thought of her cat-napped children. Which two had they made off with? Probably not Swiftkit — the squalid little tom would have given them too much trouble. Maybe Kestrelkit, though Cobweb was never blessed with such good luck. Bitternkit was more likely, smaller than Kestrelkit and not as violent as Swiftkit. They snatched up Phoebekit, no doubt. She, at least, stirred some tiny amount of compassion within the BloodClan queen. The pitiful she-cat stood little chance, but Cobweb hoped that she would manage to escape to that faraway place in her head when the rogues decided they'd had their fun.

When her wound no longer wept crimson, Cobweb stood and raked her gaze around the camp. The "rescue patrol" had departed and now the catacomb was eerily quiet, except for the muted groans of those cats injured in the small battle. The rogue had either finally died or grown too weak to keep up his furious ranting. With a sigh, Cobweb forced her broken leg — securely splinted with a ratty piece of wood and strands of ivy — in front of her and approached the nearest cat, who seemed to be helping one of their wounded clanmates.

"Hey, you need any help?" Although the offer was a selfless one, it was not spoken with any trace of warmth and the queen's voice was not entirely friendly.

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Words: 519
Tagged: Any BloodClanner
Post Scriptum: Man, I sure am on a role with these crummy posts. xD And how would you like Cobweb as your mother, eh?

[FENRIS]

Rackham

Whatever did he do to deserve this kind of torture? Rackham laid in his den on his side, groaning and cursing StarClan for what they have done. What was he going to do, he was not going to be able to survive this. The tabby lost all composure as he stared at the wall with pained honey pools, maybe this was karma for all the murders he had commited? Was it because he traumatized Littlepaw? Maybe because he lied to Stormpaw's face about his brother?Whatever the reason, it did not constitute StarClan's actions. Those Rogues, some of them he knew from his exiled days. Those mangy heathens, they deserved a lifetime of suffering for what they had done to him. The tom slowly rose to his paws and let out another pained moan, he was suffering. Suffering because he knew he had to care for so many cats he didn't give a rats ass about.

When he finally gained his composure, The medic skulked out of his den into the center of camp to see the extent of the damage. His supplies were going to be empty by the time he was done with all these cats, this meant he'd have less for LeafBare which also meant that he wasn't going to be able to help those who get sick during those cold moons. Not that he particularly cared, though he was really not looking forward to getting more herbs before the frost killed them all. Rackham sighed at the thought of having to go out during the days just to find what he needed, his poor eyes are going to be in such pain from the sun. Sometimes he cursed his ShadowClan blood, cursed it and cursed the cats who kitted him.

Rackham scanned the area for cats in need and realized there weren't too too many of them, though far more than he ever wanted. With an exasperated sigh, Rackham began with a "Any cat who is able, please make your way towards my den and find a place inside to seat yourself. I will be in there soon enough to aid you." before picking his way through the bodies and helping them towards his den. A few cats rose around him to crawl towards the den while the more able-bodied helped the others around them, either picking them up entirely or letting them rest on their shoulders while they limped. Rackham found a young Warrior laying among a pile of dead cats, he recognized the cat to be Gore. The cat's leg had bone piercing through the skin and was pretty scratched up though he'd live through the ordeal and make a perfect recovery with some constant care. "Rest your weight on my shoulder, there is a nest in my den for you." He gently ordered, helping the cat stand.

Once Gore was up, Rackham was about to walk with him when he heard a voice behind him. The golden tabby turned his head to see Cobweb, a Queen with a nasty leg injury. He gave her a look that said 'really?' then shook his head. "I'd rather you make your way into my den and seat yourself among the others miss. That leg of yours isn't looking to good, how long have you kept it like that?" He inquired, his attention back on Gore who was starting to slip. A quick re-adjustment and he began padding his way back, his tail giving Cobweb a come hither gesture. "If it's infected my dear, I'm afraid I might not be able to help you. But with your kits gone, do you think it would be such a big loss? I do not mean to offend of course, but you don't seem entirely worried about them."

[Mama Oak]

cobweb, the wretched
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"Been broken a few sunhighs." Shrugging, Cobweb followed the medicine cat as bid, her green gaze studying the golden tom's graceful movements carefully, as if his fluid stride were the key to some puzzle. Rackham, with his words so ginger, and his manner terribly polite. His voice so soothing. Oh, he wore the concern flawlessly and had most everyone fooled. But Cobweb, herself being a (less accomplished) pretender, knew how to spot the disconnect there. The soft tone never quite reached his hard eyes and it didn't all feel quite genuine to her. Perhaps he wore the mask because that's what clanmates expected of a medicine cat. She knew naught of his past or his life before BloodClan (though, herself being born in ShadowClan, she knew where the tom's descent held root), so she could not say.

Though it did intrigue her.

When he spoke of her kittens, Cobweb's gaze was unflinching. She offered her medicine cat a bitter smile, dressed up with a sickening sweetness that was almost grimly mocking. "A mother cares for her kittens just as fiercely as a medicine cat does his patients." Her grin tucked inward at the corners as she tacked on the next line in the same, subtly-sardonic lilt. "So, one might say that I care for my children just as much as you care for us." Underpinning her words was a certain implication that she would leave to the tom to detect or not. Without waiting to see what he made of the weighted response, she shook her head and ducked into his den. "More like the furthest thing from a big loss." She admitted bluntly, flicking an ear knowingly. "I entertain no delusions that I've been nothing but a burden for the last three seasons. The idea that my first attempt at hunting in ten moons might prove my death, or at least interminable lameness, would be nothing less than ironic." Crinkling her nose, she settled upon her haunches and sniffed at the edges of her makeshift bandage, wondering just what infection smelled like.

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Words: 343
Tagged: Blizzy/Honeyleaf
Post Scriptum: If this is just... unacceptable, I'll try and re-do it sometime when I can think more cohesively.