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} TW: SIN OF SLOTH (POSTED THREE MONTHS LATE)
Lark could barely register that there was clean air around her. She had been in the hayloft when the barn had gone aflame. She hadn't just inhaled the smoke; it had forced its way down her nose, smoldering her throat. It had been everything, until she had found the window.
Then it was everything paired with sharp, bony pain. Blind in panic, Lark had thrown herself out the back of the barn.
After that, she ran, eyes shut with tears.
Her flee was animalistic, desperation in the heights of the flame. Though Lark suffered no burns, she knew something was wrong in her arm, something sliding beneath her skin that should've been rigid. It was up to her other three legs, trembling like a fawn, to land her safely outside of the fire.
Time was melting like the glass in her dying home. When she had enough strength to look around, the quiet prairie found her. Direction was useless.
Not only had she been awoken by a fire, confused and feral, Lark was now lost.
She settled on her haunches, allowing her wounded lungs to intake the wind. Thoughts broke at the surface of smoke, smoke that had filled not only her chest but her mind. An overwhelming tension at the base of her skull promised a headache; one that had already formed but was trumped by the bones in her arm feeling wrong.
It couldn't even hit her fully in her delirion. She couldn't even weep.
So she walked.
Lark hobbled, using her working limbs to make her way across increasingly unfamiliar features. She had lost the barn entirely, which was almost humorous considering it was a smoke signal in itself now. Every coo of an owl, the song of a frog startled her, wearing out the twisting in her stomach.
Her thoughts stepped along a spiral staircase: she would find the barn. She would find the group. She would find someone she knew. She would find a cat that could help. She would find anyone at all.
The calico's ears perked at the sound of rushing water. Around her, the air was cooler, the mist from whatever awaited her spreading wide in the air. It took several strides, but the glint of a river in the moonlight caught her eye. As if supernaturally, her exhaustion caught up to her in a single thunderclap. Lark's legs buckled, dipping the limb she didn't realize was kinked at an odd angle into the cold water.
Whether by sleep or loss of consciousness, she stilled until the sunrise.
@STORMSWIRL
Then it was everything paired with sharp, bony pain. Blind in panic, Lark had thrown herself out the back of the barn.
After that, she ran, eyes shut with tears.
Her flee was animalistic, desperation in the heights of the flame. Though Lark suffered no burns, she knew something was wrong in her arm, something sliding beneath her skin that should've been rigid. It was up to her other three legs, trembling like a fawn, to land her safely outside of the fire.
Time was melting like the glass in her dying home. When she had enough strength to look around, the quiet prairie found her. Direction was useless.
Not only had she been awoken by a fire, confused and feral, Lark was now lost.
She settled on her haunches, allowing her wounded lungs to intake the wind. Thoughts broke at the surface of smoke, smoke that had filled not only her chest but her mind. An overwhelming tension at the base of her skull promised a headache; one that had already formed but was trumped by the bones in her arm feeling wrong.
It couldn't even hit her fully in her delirion. She couldn't even weep.
So she walked.
Lark hobbled, using her working limbs to make her way across increasingly unfamiliar features. She had lost the barn entirely, which was almost humorous considering it was a smoke signal in itself now. Every coo of an owl, the song of a frog startled her, wearing out the twisting in her stomach.
Her thoughts stepped along a spiral staircase: she would find the barn. She would find the group. She would find someone she knew. She would find a cat that could help. She would find anyone at all.
The calico's ears perked at the sound of rushing water. Around her, the air was cooler, the mist from whatever awaited her spreading wide in the air. It took several strides, but the glint of a river in the moonlight caught her eye. As if supernaturally, her exhaustion caught up to her in a single thunderclap. Lark's legs buckled, dipping the limb she didn't realize was kinked at an odd angle into the cold water.
Whether by sleep or loss of consciousness, she stilled until the sunrise.
@STORMSWIRL