IT'S NOT OVER TONIGHT . [open]

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Sharp gusts of wind buffeted Larksong's short tortoiseshell pelt, turning her dusty brown fur inside out and nipping at the soft skin that lay underneath. She clenched her jaw and dug her sharp claws into the cliff face, hanging on for dear life. When the breeze finally died down, she used the last bit of energy that still remained in her limbs and heaved herself over the edge, collapsing on the cold, stony - but flat - surface above. The muscles all over her body screamed and throbbed with pain and exhaustion. She pressed her cheek against the stone ground and closed her large green eyes, letting her heart rate gradually slow down before rising on shaky legs again.

The view from up there was gorgeous, which was why this was Larksong's favorite hunting spot - except for the fact that it was one of the most difficult places to get to in FlameClan territory. She could see across the entire forest and beyond, even to the IceClan islands. The trees were blanketed in all shades of red, orange, yellow, and gold, and although the wind up here was much stronger and colder, it was better than the blazing greenleaf sun beating down upon her. She stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing off into the distance where the IceClan lake met the clear azure sky. Who knows what's beyond that? she mused to herself. The she-cat felt strangely peaceful, not a thought or worry clouding her blank mind. She blinked slowly and was about to sit down and continue enjoying the scenery before a sudden gust of wind nearly sent her toppling down the mountain.

Swiftly gaining her balance, Larksong scurried further away from the edge and returned to the task at hand, her attention fully alert now that she'd nearly lost her life; not that that wasn't uncommon in their Clan. She tilted her petite nose slightly upwards and sniffed the air very carefully. The faintest scent of a hawk met her senses, but it was definitely fresh. Excitement and adrenaline rushed through her blood as she crouched down slightly and crept towards the source of the smell. This mountain peak was much bleaker and flatter than most of the others, so she had to be extra careful not to make any noises or sudden movements at all. In moments, she could spot the silhouette of a hawk consuming its recently caught prey. "Gotcha," she smirked under her breath as she dropped to a complete crouch and crept forward very slowly from behind it. Luckily, the hawk was fairly small, so she would be able to take it on herself. She stopped once she was within pouncing distance, her heart beating so quickly that she swore it would be able to hear her. It didn't turn around, though, too engrossed in its meal to notice any predators nearby in this seemingly-abandoned landscape. This is it! She tensed her muscles and prepared to leap, praying to StarClan she wasn't underestimating the hawk's strength so it wouldn't fly off with her clinging to its claws.

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

Whipping harshly at his fur and whistling viciously in his ears, the wind seemed to nearly send Thistlestorm tumbling down the mountain into the valley below. Having hunting on this territory for many moons, however, the FlameClan deputy knew how to handle the invisible, deadly opponent. Crouching awkwardly as to not lose his footing on the steep slope, he unsheathed his claws, digging them easily into the soil. Other than the wind's strength, it didn't bother him too much; his thick gray coat guaranteed him a warm shelter from its bite. His unprotected eyes watering, Thistlestorm tried to orient himself again among the many slopes of FlameClan territory.

The height allowed him to easily see everything for countless fox-lengths around. The camp was easily identified, almost immediately below him, and he could make out little dots among the canvas of green -- his fellow warriors, out for a hunt or training session. Thistlestorm could hardly imagine any cat would want to come out for a stroll with the wind so strong today. For a moment, he just stood there, watching the indistinct figures move about, some slowly, as though battling the wind as well, and others quickly, as though buoyed by the same wind. It was these moments he loved best: he could see that all of FlameClan (and even large portions of IceClan and loner territory) were under him, smaller than his paws. He was the biggest and best, at the top of the world.

However, he still had a little ways up to struggle before he made it to the very top. That was where he was headed, where he would flout his abilities and training he had worked so hard for and bring back the fruit of his effort to the Clan. With an upward glance, Thistlestorm was surprised to see another figure already there. A few more paces, and he could make out the identity of the cat -- Larksong. He frowned; what was she doing? Didn't she know how easily she could be blown away by the harsh wind? He was surprised that she hadn't already tumbled down the slopes and broken her neck. Reprimands burbling in his mind, Thistlestorm clawed his way up a few more pawsteps, and found that the she-warrior was preparing to catch a hawk on her own. A small-sized hawk, one that might have been possible for a warrior to snatch on his own, but Larksong was so small! She would be carried away.

"Mouse-brain," he muttered, his words quickly lost in the wind. Before he could help himself, Thistlestorm leaped the last few rabbit-hops, finding himself on level ground. "Hey!" he hollered impulsively at the top of his lungs, wondering if Larksong could even hear him over the roaring wind. "What do you think you're doing?"

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Larksong could feel the blood pulsing through her body as her gaze pierced the hawk, watching for exactly the right time to dash out and pounce. The wind seemed to die down a bit for several heartbeats, and she could almost hear the noises the hawk made as it picked at its meal. She crouched, stone still, beneath the shade of one of the few rocks that stood on the mountain's peak, blending in easily against the pale brown surface of the rock and ground. The hawk suddenly leaned over its prey, seemingly extremely focused on a single part of the mouse, and that's when Larksong knew it was time. She was just about to sprint out and leap on her target when a booming loud voice suddenly called, "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

Nearly jumping out of her fur, Larksong spun around and faced the direction the voice had come from. The hawk had noticed as well - how could it not have? - and immediately expanded its wings and lifted itself into the air. "Fox dung!" she spat as she watched it glide away and into the horizon with dismay. Anger burned through her pelt, and she had the sudden urge to rip out the eyes of whichever cat that had interrupted her hunt. "You mousebrain! What were you doi-?!" Larksong abruptly cut herself off as she turned to face the cat and realized it was their deputy, Thistlestorm.

The she-cat stood still for a moment, her jaw slack as she half-stared, half-glared at the extremely large tabby tom that stood before her. She wasn't quite sure whether to believe that it was the deputy who had just let such a good piece of prey escape so easily, or that he was mouse-brained enough to call so loudly. Couldn't he have just come up next to me quietly and helped me with the catch? Larksong found herself again and quickly closed her jaws and realization suddenly struck her. He's a tom. Of course! Only a tom would be so stupid as to do something like that. Who does he think he is? Her respect for him as deputy nearly immediately vanished at this thought and she found herself glaring at him with her jaws clenched, strongly resisting the urge to unsheathe her claws. "That was a perfectly good piece of prey! Why did you let it go to waste? I could've caught it!" she snapped, clearly ticked off.

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

Feeling a rush of satisfaction that Larksong had, in fact, heard him and stopped, Thistlestorm watched with an air of almost smugness as the hawk she had been stalking took off. There you go, he thought snidely, some escaped prey is all you get for being so careless. His grin, however, melted slowly off his face as he found that he was face-to-face with an enraged she-cat. He wasn't used to being addressed in a verbally aggressive fashion, and before she even started talking, he straightened his posture and prepared for rebuttal.

"You mousebrain! What were you doi-?!" Immediately, Thistlestorm's ears flattened to his head at the insult, his muzzle receding to expose his sharp teeth. On instinct, his claws stopped their duty anchoring him to the ground and instead became lethal weapons, ready for use. Even when Larksong faltered (Probably realizing who she's talking to, he sniffed pompously to himself), he didn't relax his stance. "That was a perfectly good piece of prey! Why did you let it go to waste? I could've caught it!" At this, the deputy felt a sharp flash of rage, hating being accused of such. Thistlestorm drew himself up in what he hoped was an intimidating gesture, and stepped forward the last few paces until he towered over Larksong. Shoving his face in hers, he snarled in return, "I just saved you life! 'Caught it'? It would have carried you off like a rabbit! Like a kit! You're so... titchy!" The last word, he thought, probably wasn't the most insulting in his vocabulary, but he didn't dare revoke it under the threat of looking foolish. "Why are you even here, anyways?" he growled, struggling to keep his temper from firing destructively. "Alone? You should know better than to try and take down a hawk on your own! Even the most mouse-brained apprentice knows that!"

Oh, what he wouldn't give to just raise his paw and bat her off the mountain! It would be so easy! Probably less than half his size, Larksong would just roll down the slope like a dropped piece of prey. That would teach her. She wouldn't dare try a stunt like that again! However, Thistlestorm worked to keep his temper under control, even going as far as to shove his unsheathed claws into the ground to keep from smacking her off her paws. As he said, he had just saved her life, at the cost of some fresh-kill -- what point would there be if he just flicked her off the mountainside anyways?

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Larksong's stance was firm and aggressive, her hackles raised in rage as she glared at Thistlestorm. He began to advance, though, and she gradually began to remember just how big he was, especially compared to her. She wouldn't let a tom like him frighten her, though. She unsheathed her claws and dug them into the ground as he finally stood nose to nose with her, even though she had to crane her neck up to look into his icy blue eyes. From the rumors she'd heard and how she'd seen him behave before, she was sure he would've just flicked his paw and sent her flying off the cliff and into the forest below, causing fear and regret to flash in her heart for a fraction of a second. That emotion disappeared as soon as it had come, though, and she clenched her jaw, readying herself for the sharp words that she knew were coming.

"I just saved your life! 'Caught it'? It would have carried you off like a rabbit! Like a kit! You're so... titchy!" Larksong' eyes flared and she let out a low hiss at the insult. He had basically just called her a kit! Although she was completely aware of her extremely petite frame, it made her want to sink her teeth into the neck of whoever dared insult her about it. "Why are you even here, anyways? Alone? You should know better than to try and take down a hawk on your own! Even the most mouse-brained apprentice knows that!" Larksong scowled darkly at Thistlestorm, aching to rip out his jugular at that very moment. Surprisingly, this was the first time she'd had a confrontation with the deputy, and somehow she knew that this argument was just a kitten-fight for him. On the other hand, Larksong's blood was racing and boiling at the same time, her frustration and hatred for toms creating an lethal concoction inside of her.

"Just because I'm small doesn't mean I'm light and weak!" the she-warrior spat back. Although it took quite some effort, she was able to keep her voice from reaching an ear-piercing yowl, but that didn't mean it didn't sound like she was spitting thorns at Thistlestorm. "So many people underestimate me because of my size, and I'm sick of it! I could've taken on that hawk! Anybody can! If you'd just waited and... and watched..." Larksong trailed of miserably for a second, her blazing green eyes on the verge of tears. You're such a wimp! Why do you want to cry now, because of some stupid argument? You haven't cried since - No, she couldn't let herself think about her past, her father. Not here, especially. She swallowed and continued, more calmly, "I was planning on hunting smaller prey that the kits could eat, anyway, like snakes. There are lots of them around here. I just happened upon the hawk."

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

Rigid with contained fury, Thistlestorm continued to glare down at Larksong with his dagger stare. He began to shake, not from fear that the two of them would soon be swept away by the wind that continued to batter at their pelts or the cold nip of such wind, but from the immense struggle it took him not to raise a clawed paw and silence her arguments for good. The deputy flexed his claws, buried in the earth, hoping they would be enough to keep him from doing something dangerously impulsive. Like attacking the warrior in front of him, for instance. Squaring his shoulders and reemphasizing his size, Thistlestorm ground his teeth so tightly together that his jaw ached. He clenched his claws tighter as Larksong hurled rebuttals at him, each word like a thorn flicked in his direction -- not grievously wounding, but stretching his nerves thinner and thinner, his meticulously contained rage reaching a breaking point.

"Just because I'm small doesn't mean I'm light and weak!" Thistlestorm opened his mouth to refute, but closed it almost immediately. To tell the truth, he held fast with his assumption that she was much too petite to be grabbing at hawks single-pawedly. However, he was rather impressed that such a small cat could hold so much fury. Or yowl so loud. "So many people underestimate me because of my size, and I'm sick of it! I could've taken on that hawk! Anybody can! If you'd just waited and... and watched..." He felt a tiny surge of satisfaction -- or maybe relief -- when Larksong lost steam. There was a brief awkward silence as the she-warrior collected herself, and Thistlestorm prepared himself to verbally clash again. "I was planning on hunting smaller prey that the kits could eat, anyway, like snakes. There are lots of them around here. I just happened upon the hawk." Honestly, the deputy rather doubted that she could even nab a snake; didn't they eat kits without trouble? They might settle for something about the same size, he thought, his pale blue eyes never shifting from Larksong's tiny frame.

When he finally unclenched his jaw again, Thistlestorm's booming voice carried easily, even though the cat he was speaking to was merely kittensteps away. "Yeah, I could have waited and watched as you get carried away and fed to some kit-hawks," he intoned sardonically. Although he wanted to continue yelling at the top of his lungs, Thistlestorm seemed to have unintentionally calmed down a bit in correlation to Larksong. Taking a breath, he growled, Even if you weren't going for the hawk, they might have gone for you. You should know how exposed you are on these mountain tops. He frowned to himself, wondering how the statement could have come out sounding more like advice than scolding. Pull yourself together, he thought irritably to himself, You can't lose your edge now!

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

The way Thistlestorm seemed to stare at Larksong while flexing his claws suddenly made her think twice about what she was doing. It seemed to her as if he were trying to contain himself, to prevent himself from doing something extremely dangerous. Ha! I can take him on! she scoffed silently, although she soon realized she seemed to be trying to comfort herself more than anything else, as she eyed the massive size of the tom and her own body, less than half of him. She couldn't allow herself to be intimidated by him, though; she'd promised herself, when she was just a small kit, that she wouldn't let any tom do those sot of things to her emotions. So instead of letting her fear show through, she set her lips in a determined line and straightened up, increasing her height by just a little bit.

Larksong's nostrils flared at Thistlestorm's next comment, "Yeah, I could have waited and watched as you get carried away and fed to some kit-hawks." "That's not what I meant!"

[/color] she protested with a loud hiss. "If the hawk did something that could've risked my life, and you were there, then-!"[/color] No. She couldn't allow herself to even think about being saved by a tom. What was I thinking? You mousebrain! She gave herself a mental beating and listened as he continued, "Even if you weren't going for the hawk, they might have gone for you. You should know how exposed you are on these mountain tops." This time, the she-cat couldn't help but smirk at his comment. "I'm not mousebrained. I know perfectly well how to protect myself. Weren't we trained as apprentices on how to defend ourselves against a bird of prey if they ever decided to attack us?"[/color] Her eyes were burning with the adrenaline from arguing, but for some reason, her tone was eerily calm. It surprised even herself how they had gone from nearly shrieking yowls to normal voices in moments.

The gusts died down for a few heartbeats, and for the first time in a long time, Larksong could finally hear the sounds around her without having to strain against the whooshing of wind against her ears. She could hear Thistlestorm's claws grinding into the stony ground beneath their paws, and her own heavy breathing from the argument and trying to keep her balance on the mountain peak. This abruptly sent chills down her spine, and she realized that it would probably be wise to reach ground level again. "I don't know about you, but I'm going back to camp,"[/color] she grumbled, eying Thistlestorm with a look that said "this isn't over" before turning around and padding towards the cliff edge. She peered down towards the canopy of leaves from the forest below, the sheer distance and steepness not frightening her at all. The she-cat was used to it by now, living her whole life atop mountains and plateaus. She took a confident step on one of the jutting stones below, testing it briefly before putting all of her weight on it.

As soon as she did, it gave way and fell beneath her paws.
She let out a shriek as she felt herself go down.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

Thistlestorm wasn't really used to arguing with such a... calm cat. Usually, he would be shouting in the face of his opponent, and eventually ending up either attacking him or her, or storming away in a rage to go vandalize something perhaps a bit more replaceable. Larksong's sudden lack of ferocity after the initial outburst seemed to be rubbing off on him; his tense claws loosened a degree, and he was able to relax, if only slightly. Keep it together, he chided himself again, This isn't over yet. He kept his icy glare fixed on Larksong's face, wondering whether or not it would be worth it to get worked up again.

"That's not what I meant! If the hawk did something that could've risked my life, and you were there, then-!" Thistlestorm rolled his eyes, a trace of a smirk flashing over his expression. Secretly, he imagined the hypothetical scene in his mind: If he hadn't chased the hawk away, Larksong would have attacked. His gaze brushing over her tiny frame, Thistlestorm wagered that she weighed about as much as an overweight rabbit, which the hawk, despite its seemingly small size, would have had no trouble taking off, towing the she-warrior with it. He wondered what Larksong was going to say just before she cut herself off. Then? What would happen then? he thought cheekily, I would rush to the rescue and save the day. And bring down a nice hawk for the fresh-kill pile in the process. That would have taught her some respect. Thistlestorm raised his chin arrogantly at the thought, his smirk growing more pronounced. He heaved a breath, his jaw aching from clenching so hard, but before he could voice his sarcastic reply, Larksong continued. "I'm not mousebrained. I know perfectly well how to protect myself. Weren't we trained as apprentices on how to defend ourselves against a bird of prey if they ever decided to attack us?" "You should have been," he answered loftily, "If I were your mentor, however, I would have made sure that it got through your head that avoiding such situations in the first place might have been much smarter."

At this point, Thistlestorm wasn't sure if Larksong was even listening to his lecture or not. He caught her dark glance just before she turned away, and glared back with a look that seconded what he guessed she was trying to convey. Watching her pad towards the edge, the deputy exhaled in a resigned sigh, deciding that the argument had been a draw. Fine, he thought irritably, Go on back to the camp. That'll keep me from shoving you off. The tom finally loosened his grip on the earth, grimacing as he shook the feeling back into them. He stretched, enjoying the feeling as his stiff muscles finally moved a bit. A sudden shriek, however, had him freezing mid-stretch.

"Fox-dung," Thistlestorm cursed, scrambling to his paws instinctively and nearly tripping over himself in the process. Trying to catch his balance, he almost fell over anyways, with the wind battering at him shamelessly. When he did finally get a firm foothold, he rushed to the edge, where Larksong had just vanished. Without thinking, Thistlestorm leaped after her, his back claws skidding painfully in the ground as he tried to regulate his speed and keep himself from plummeting downwards. Blood pounded in his ears and his limbs shook with adrenaline as he half-slid, half-ran down the slope after the warrior. It was all he could do to sink his teeth in to Larksong's pelt -- never mind her scruff -- and hold on tight, praying to StarClan that they would stop before falling to their deaths below.

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Larksong felt herself land on something hard and pointy, jabbing her painfully in the side before she bounced off and back into the air. Barely able to see or thin, her paws flailed wildly as she squeezed her eyes closed, heart pounding out of her chest. I'm going to die, I'm going to die! she cried silently in remorse, barely believing the situation she had gotten herself into. Fox dung! Why was I being so shallow-minded? She felt herself land and rebound again, except this time it was against her limb, causing unbearable pain to shoot from her leg.

Just as that happened, Larksong felt something sink into her fur, and suddenly she wasn't bouncing all over the place anymore. Rather, she was dangling in midair, her panicky paws jerking around for something to hold onto. Right when she moved her left front limb - the one she had landed on before - a sharp pain tore through her muscles and she let out a yowl, which quickly died down to a quiet whimper as she calmed down and went still, allowing her body to go limp. Her vision was blurry with terror, but she could just see the canopy of leaves from the trees in the forest, countless foxlengths below. Stones and rubble crumbled from behind her, tumbling down the length of the cliff and landing among the greenery soundlessly. She swallowed and tried to collect her thoughts, figure out what was going on. In moments, the she-cat realized that she was actually dangling from another cat's jaws - Thistlestorm's, probably. She slowly twisted her head around until she could just see the tom's outline out of the corner of her eye. Sure enough, it was him, brown tabby pelt and all.

Gratitude and shame struck her all at the same time, but she was too shocked and scrambled to find any words to say out loud. Instead, she let out a soft whimper, but it was mostly to tell Thistlestorm to try to pull her up rather than from fear at dangling from such a great height. Guilt twinged through her, threading through all of her emotions like a thin silver lining. The argument they had just had; she had completely dishonored him and had been the first to leave, yet here he was, risking his life to save hers. Respect for the deputy was just beginning to bud in the deepest part of her soul, but it was far from full bloom. Her strongest emotion of all, though, was fury. It boiled inside of her, barely about to bubble over the edges and drip into the fire beneath. She couldn't stand the fact that she had made such a clumsy, mouse-brained mistake, and a tom had saved her from falling to her death. The she-cat had displayed her most vulnerable, helpless side like a show in front of him. I'll never hear the end of this, she thought to herself in shame.

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

Thistlestorm could count on the claws of one paw how many times in his life he had ever been rendered speechless. Ever. This moment constituted as one. Partially from Larksong's fur in his mouth, and partially from his heart pounding so hard it made him dizzy, he had no air left in his lungs to even scream. All he could do was unleash a random, erratic chain of curses in his mind: Fox-dung dead so dead mouse-dung dead i'm mouse-brain dead.... The mountains that he had strolled across so confidently only moments before rushed past him in a blur as he twisted and flailed his paws, searching for anything to hold onto -- a rock, a crevice, a dent in the ground. His claws, scrabbling over the rocky ground, caught in tiny divots and wrenched, making his eyes water from the pain. Tiny stones and pebbles rained down on and under him, rolling him and Larksong to their deaths below.

A miracle? Perhaps. All Thistlestorm could process was that the scenery had stopped blurring, and that he could no longer feel the ground moving out from undereath him. His limbs spread out in front and behind him, he found himself on his belly, a limp Larksong dangling precariously from his jaws. His heart thudded thunderously in his head, and he felt as though he were going to throw up from the relief when he could finally comprehend: I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. He let loose a low moan, relief flooding through his body that he wasn't on his way to StarClan. For a moment, he just lay there, enjoying that fact that he was still alive.

A heartbeat later, a whimper from Larksong told him that they weren't completely out of danger yet. Though loathe to stand, Thistlestorm shakily positioned his back legs into a standing position, and emitted a muffled scream when the rocks beneath them gave way and he lurched forward a few kittensteps, his front paws only mouse-lengths from open air. Though usually proud of his size, Thistlestorm cursed it for a moment, wondering if that was what would kill him. A shot of adrenaline coursed through his body again, and it took him enormous effort to move again. Shuffling backwards, the tom lifted Larksong upwards and back so that she was finally hanging over solid ground. It really was like picking up a rabbit! Ironically, he thanked StarClan that the she-warrior was so small; any larger, and the two of them would probably have slipped right off the edge.

Slowly, very cautiously, Thistlestorm worked his way a few paces back up the mountain on shaking legs. There were several more close calls, tiny misplaces of his paws that made him slip, subsequently making him scramble desperately for the foothold again. When he finally found a slightly more level stretch of ground, he sat down with another moan, gently lowering Larksong to the ground. Air whooshed into his lungs, and stars danced in front of his vision as he started to breathe again. He took shuddery breath after shuddery breath, so glad he was alive.

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Thistlestorm seemed to get Larksong's pitiful message, but when he tried to back up, the rock beneath them gave way, causing her to let out a small, high scream as they slid down a bit before suddenly stopping again. Her heart, which had just calmed down, was pounding for the who-knows-how-many time again. She squeezed her humongous green eyes closed, sending prayer after prayer to StarClan that she and Thistlestorm would survive this somehow, that they would be able to walk back to camp in one piece. When he managed to weakly back up a few steps, the she-cat didn't let go of her breath. She knew all too well that they weren't out of complete danger just yet. When she expected him to plop her down and make her follow him, he continued walking away from the ledge, slipping several times before finally coming to a stop at a more stable, wide, flat-surfaced rock and setting her on the ground. She heard him collapse in exhaustion, his breaths coming in heavy gasps.

Larksong couldn't quite believe what had just happened. She sat there for several long moments, just blinking at the ground before her, barely daring to believe they had survived that. Soon, she realized that her entire body was shaking, and she wondered how long it had been doing that. Once she was finally able to gather all of her thoughts together, she sunk down onto her stomach and began to take deep, shuddering breaths. Her limbs still shook, and she still wasn't able to think straight after suck a shock. The wind blowing through her fur and the coolness of the stone she lay on - she could still feel all of these things. She was still alive. A burning sensation formed behind her eyes, and she realized she was on the verge of tears. By instinct, she held them back, but somehow she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold for very long.

"I'm sorry,"

[/color] Larksong managed to sputter after what seemed like moons of just sitting there. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."[/color] After she had managed to find her voice again, it seemed as if she couldn't stop it. Apologies ran from her mouth, one after the other. She knew that they wouldn't have been in this situation, that they wouldn't have been a kittenstep away from death if it weren't for her carelessness. And for once, the she-cat wasn't afraid to admit her mistake, that she had been the one to put their lives at risk. This feeling inside of her made her feel so terrible, she just wanted to wither up and go to StarClan right then and there. She began to notice that she was sobbing, and let her fervent apologies trail off as she let herself cry for the first time since her kithood, stifling her sobs in hopes that Thistlestorm wouldn't be able to hear her.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

Glassy-eyed and staring, Thistlestorm could only sit there, waiting for his heart to slow back to its normal pace. It still tittered like a mouse's, drumming as though it were on its lasts beats -- which it nearly was. He felt nauseous; a combination of his over-active heartbeat and the adrenaline that still pumped in his veins had him clamping his mouth firmly shut in the effort to keep from vomiting. His breath came out in wheezes between his teeth, and now he was aware more than at any point in his life that each breath was not his last. I'm not dead, he repeated wearily to himself over and over again, I'm not dead. It calmed him, just repeating the fact, ingraining it into his mind that he, at that moment, was still alive. For a moment, he just sat there, listening to Larksong's and his own labored breathing.

"I'm sorry." Bewildered, Thistlestorm raised his head to stare at the she-warrior. It took his abnormally sluggish brain a few heartbeats to understand what she was talking about. When he finally did figure it out, he didn't have the energy to acknowledge it in his usual fashion; had he not just been on the verge of plummeting to his death, the deputy probably would have soaked in the apology greedily, and followed up with a very long, drawn out egotistical speech. Now, drained of any incentive to even speak, he simply grunted in acknowledgment. Ironic, it was the fact that he had been giving her a hard time about something that may have endangered her life, and when something actually happened, he didn't even open his mouth to speak.

Larksong emitted another sound, something similar to the muffled whimpers that Thistlestorm heard when they were about to fall over the edge. It was a little pitiful, even unnerving. Thistlestorm, unsure how to proceed, simply ignored it, awkwardly and very pointedly pretending he could not hear. He concentrated instead on keeping himself together for a little longer; he was himself enough to care that if he fell apart now, others would look at him differently for the rest of his life. So the deputy just sat there uncomfortably, waiting for his strength to return.

Thistlestorm wasn't sure how much time passed before the nausea began to fade. His breathing eased slightly, and he was able to sit more upright. He cleared his throat awkwardly, meowing, "We..." What was wrong with his voice? It sounded too high, too shaky. He coughed once and tried again. "We should be getting back to camp." Stretching his muscles, stiff from sitting, Thistlestorm realized just how shaky he still was. Besides that, he also found that the pale creamy white-gray fur on his underbelly was was dotted and streaked with caked blood from the sharp shards of rock that stabbed into his skin during the fall. Mouse-dung, he thought dazedly, grimacing as prickles of pain from the half-healed cuts. A glance at Larksong told him that she had obviously seen better days, too. He stood to the side, wondering whether she was well enough to stand up; he could carry her when emergency called for it, but he wasn't sure if his self-esteem could handle doing it again.

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Larksong's thoughts went from panic to disbelief to relief to just complete blankness. She blinked at the stretch of stone beneath her, to the edge just a fox-length in front of her nose before it abruptly dropped down to the looming depths of the forest below. By now her heart had slowed to a regular beat and her body wasn't so shaky, but shock still overcame her ability to speak or move. Gradually, she began to carefully recall what had just happened. Why had Thistlestorm saved her, when there was no reason for him to? They'd just finished a heated argument, yet he had completely risked his life for her. Couldn't he have just watched her fall helplessly over the edge and go back to camp unscathed? She couldn't quite process this thought, nor could she hope to understand why or how he did what he did.

It wasn't until Thistlestorm spoke when the thought of moving crossed her mind. That's right. Our Clan will wonder where we are if we stay too long. She took several deep breaths before moving her weak limbs. The moment she barely budged her front left leg, though, an unimaginable pain shot through her entire body, and she immediately collapsed back onto the ground with a barely audible groan. Great StarClan, don't tell me... She bit down on her lip and attempted getting back on her paws again, this time being careful not to move her left leg. After quite a bit of time, the she-cat was finally on three of her paws, the fourth one raised slightly above the stone. She couldn't help but steal a quick glance at Thistlestorm to see if he'd noticed her slip on her first attempt at getting up. I can't show him my vulnerable side again. He'd seen it in too many ways today.

Setting her lips in a firm line of determination, Larksong limped forward, cringing visibly at the pain stabbing at her leg. "L-Let's go,"

[/color] she croaked, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper; the exact opposite of what she'd expected. Clearing her throat, she limped to the edge of the rock where the nearest ledge was, luckily only about a pawstep below. Yet for some reason, it now seemed like it was as far away as the forest had been when she'd been dangling from Thistlestorm's jaws. Gulping, Larksong hurriedly backed away against the cliff wall and stared at the deputy, careful not to let her fear show through her face or body. "You can go first,"[/color] she meowed, her voice steady from moons of practice.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[. shadow*!]

& thistlestorm
      break the spell of the typical

The shock was still there, but ever so slowly, Thistlestorm felt more pieces of himself dribbling back into his body. He still felt winded from the near-death experience, but was a little bit less shaky, and a little more coherent. Little by little, he remembered that he still had things to do, things to say, and duties to carry out. Little by little, it dawned on him that as long as he had slipped out of death's grasp, then he might as well start doing something. "L-Let's go." He nodded a tiny nod of approval. A small sigh escaped his mouth, and he stretched again -- he was so stiff! How long had they been sitting there? Groaning softly at the dull ache of his muscles and the pinpoints of pain in his cuts, he tried to regain his previous swagger. "You can go first." The deputy shrugged, nonchalant. "All right," he growled, pleased that it wasn't the tinny, terrified voice it was only moments ago. "Be sure to keep up. I don't want to go through that again." Behind all of that bravado, there was the tinge of genuine fear. There was no way he was going to face that again. Surely, if he had the immense misfortune to have the ground slip from underneath his feet, there would be no way he could muster another miracle.

No, he told himself tiredly, half wanting to speak out, half not. It wasn't a miracle. It was all me. I did it. Telling himself this, he felt strength seep back into his fatigued limbs. "Let's go." For the first time in what seemed like moons, but had really only been moments, his voice rang with its previous authority. A backward glance told him Larksong was on her paws, as well, and a flicker of doubt intruded in his mind as he scrutinized her petite frame. Wasn't that what had gotten them into that situation in the first place, his nagging about her size? Once again, he began to doubt the she-warrior's ability, wondering vaguely if her size was a handicap. She didn't seem crippled, and even through the ordeal, she seemed bright and alert, with more strength than the deputy could ever imagine such a small cat could have. However, that didn't diminish the fact that she was, tiny, and probably weak, in his point of veiw. That's her problem, he thought confidently, Her problem, not mine. For the first time, Thistlestorm wondered what had even compelled him to run after Larksong in the first place. He had placed his life on the line to save a she-cat that he had been fuming at. How did that happen? Rather confused, he shook his head as though to clear his thoughts, and began his steady climb back towards the FlameClan camp.

[[ vi . ]]

☁ ^☁ _☁    Larksong

Larksong's heart seemed to beat faster with worry as she watched Thistlestorm continued forward, leaving her farther and farther behind. She didn't let it show through her face, though, and she limped forward to the very edge until she was peering down towards the next stone ledge, which seemed fox-lengths farther down that it really was. Pressing her lips together in determination, she crouched down until her belly was pressed against the cool flat surface of the rock she was standing on, then reached her right paw forward until it was firm on top of the ledge. Then she wiggled around until her right hind leg was over, and even more until her entire body was at last down. Thank StarClan! She sighed silently to herself in relief, and couldn't help but let a smile bubble up on her face at her accomplishment.

Suddenly, the thought struck her that if she continued climbing at this rate, they wouldn't be able to get back to camp by moonhigh. Horror almost immediately replaced the kit-ish glee that had been brimming in her brilliant green eyes just seconds ago, but it didn't last. Her determination and pride wouldn't allow those petty emotions to get in the way of her task. Larksong continued climbing down, platform by platform, the same way she'd climbed down the first one, not letting the increasingly shrinking shape of Thistlestorm far ahead of her deter her from reaching her destination. It didn't take long for her to exhaust, though, and finally the she-cat collapsed on top of a spacious, level rock. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, and her limbs were yet again shaking.

"This is impossible,"

[/color] Larksong groaned quietly to herself as she glared at the shape of Thistlestorm. "Maybe I'll just rest for a few moments, and then continue on. You'll be back at camp in no time."[/color] She sighed and closed her large eyes, inhaling the fresh scent of stone and moss beneath her nostrils, feeling the gentle breeze ruffle her fur. Her broken limb throbbed with pain, but it was only a fraction of what she had felt before. She peeled open her eyes halfway to glance at the leg, noticing for the first time how it was slightly more bent towards her belly than her other legs. Groaning again at the situation she had caught herself in, the she-cat buried her muzzle in her paw and lashed her tail in frustration.
[/blockquote][/blockquote]