Hello and welcome to Purrgatory! We are an 18+ Warrior Cat Roleplay set in an AU where the clans were unable to leave the forest territories and perished!
It has been 100 or more years since then, the clans of the forest are but distant memories to any cats still alive, stories passed down to kits of strangely named wild warriors and leaders with nine lives but the time of the clans is upon us once more and the stars shine yet again.
{$title} SMOGMAW GETS STUCK IN A SINKHOLE UNDERNEATH A FALLEN TREE WHILE HUNTING. HE CAUGHT HIS FIRST PREY SINCE MOVING TO THE MARSH THO SO GOOD JOB SMOGGY!
The new land proves stingy, keeping its prey beyond the reach of his claws. Every foray into the thicket thus far has borne no fruit. Were it not for the generosity of the others who brought back surplus (namely his mate, or those liable to drop their wares when browbeaten), the tabby would be down to skin and bones by now. Dense vegetation, uncertain footing, slippery mud slogsβone or the other of these is bound to sneak under him at all times, and he's still grasping for a way to overcome such obstacles.
It's embarrassing, frankly. But that doesn't mean he doesn't make the effort.
Accompanied by a slew of others in the half-decayed overgrowth, Smogmaw prowls with a stolid yet impatient determination. Others have landed catches throughout the late-night excursion, and the looming potential of returning empty-pawed spurns him onward. The familiar chitter of some mouse-like critter eventually rewards him, a sound he can latch onto with confidence.
Without a second's delay, he gives pursuit to the scent-trail. The marsh rat, a thing not quite so compact nor nimble as a squirrel, scrambles through a maze of bramble and underbrush. Smogmaw is quick to gain on it, less than a fox-length behind by the time the critter dives under the shadow of a fallen tree.
A lapse in judgement, a misreading of the terrainβperhaps even an act of desperationβdrives his decision to burst headlong into the cavity beneath that dead wood. It's far deeper than anticipated, and his front legs slam hard into a steep slope that's slick with wet soil. His back half tumbles forward. The rest of him slides. He doesn't slide for long. Smogmaw's body pitches into a soft surface at the bottom, the landing a merciful one. Snout lifting from the mud he's fallen into, nose scrunching and eyes blinking away dizziness, there is a confused and helpless moment where the tom half-tries to get his bearings before realising what had just happened.
He's stranded in a moderately-sized sinkhole, its maw to the above world barred by the heavy, dead tree overtop. And he's landed on top of the rat.
His hocks hurt. His rump hurts, and so does his lower back. Everything just kind of stings, really, an ache radiating all up his spine. Smogmaw rises to all fours after a long breath, at least until the bottommost branch jutting over his head catches his ears. Lifting further causes only pain. Craning his head around and staring up from whence he fell, the dusk-toned warrior comprehends he's stuck here. It's a pitiful gap between the girth of the tree's trunk and the muddy surface. It's a heavy, barbed wood at that. Best not risk dragging his hide under the serrations of its spines while scrabbling for a foothold steep slope.
"Heeeeeeeelp," Smogmaw moans out. He doesn't want to sound like a wailing kit, but what else is he to do? "Could use a paw here!" Inwardly, the tom cringes at his own display. But, hey. At least he caught the damn thing. Silver linings and all that. Here's hoping he'll be able to enjoy it before he starts to decompose.
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