And the {Nettles} Grow Among the [Moss]

[Babylonranger]

The silence was oppressive, enhancing the foreboding atmosphere surrounding the large gray tabby tom. He padded through the sparse underbrush, each plant as dead as he was, inspecting his new, gloom-encompassed abode in the Dark Forest.

Nettletooth hadn't realized, at first, that he'd been killed - neck broken or breath choked out of him by the fox trap the rogue had thrown him into. He'd risen to his striped gray paws, ready to tear out the throat of his attacker regardless of the Code or his nearby clanmates, when the senior Leafclan warrior saw he was no longer where he'd been the moment he lost consciousness. There was no snow, no battle, no cat to be found. Just Nettletooth and the eternal darkness.

Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion and reflection. The tom had not been alone for long. A few of the other inhabitants of this cursed afterlife had visited him some time after his arrival and explained where he was. Learning that Starclan actually did exist surprised Nettletooth; over the many moons of his life he'd convinced himself that it was a hoax, or desperate wish fulfillment. On the whole, he much preferred to stay in this somber, dim place even if some of the cats he came across were rabid, murdering fanatics. The gray tabby had always done better by himself.

The muscled tom paused in his tracks, flicking his dark gray ears. Something was rustling the brambles close by. Sinking into a crouch, the former Clan cat waited with baited breath for his new quarry to appear. No one snuck up on Nettletooth and escaped unharmed. No one.

((@viridiian))

[Deleted]

Mossypaw sucked in his breath.

Silence.

A chill encased the disoriented tom, a weak shiver rippling throughout his frame. He squinted his green optics, but to no avail; darkness crept along the entirety of the area. Nothing; no sound, no distinguishable points in his vision. Nothing but a feeling of dread ingrained within his stomach. Fear began to steadily rise within his body, his heart rate increasing in speed.

From what the juvenile feline understood so far, he had been sleeping soundlessly a moment prior, completely dreamless, though he was still, introspectively, foggy from the abrupt awakening. Mossypaw took a moment to reflect, taking in the sensory aspects of his current location. It had felt blank before, but now that he was somewhat focused, he heard the faintest rustling from a few tail lengths in front of him. The scent, it smelled like death, though the slightest pinch of another cat grazed his nasal cavern. As he focused, the stench became prominent, and he practically tasted the rot. Retracting his thorn-like claws, he prodded at the platform, feeling a dirt-like texture. And finally, his vision. His orbs had began to adjust themselves, and a few, dark shapes had begun to form within his line of sight.

What to put it off as? A simple, lucid dream? Perhaps a message from Starclan? Mossypaw felt his heart skip a beat. "No, Starclan can't have such an... intimidating aura." The anxious tom pondered. Flicking his tail tip apprehensively across his nose as he often did when nervous, Mossypaw lowered his body, putting a single paw in front of the other.

- Babylonranger -

[Babylonranger]

Nettletooth's amber eyes narrowed as his face contorted in an angry snarl. He pinpointed where his erstwhile shadow crouched among the brambles and bunched his muscles in preparation. The cat who had been following him had stopped, undoubtedly thinking that the gray tabby would ignore it and continue on his way. Or perhaps it thought the senior Leafclan warrior hadn't discovered or noticed it.

Well, Nettletooth had no issue with showing this cat the error of its ways. With an enraged yowl, the striped tom leapt forward, pouncing into the dead bushes. Seeing a young brown tabby tom, he slashed at the smaller cat's face with claws unsheathed and lunged towards him, intending to pin him to the ground.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip you apart," he growled.

[Deleted]

As Mossypaw squinted forward, straining to visualize a proper view of the territory aside from beclouded shapes, the scent of the plausible other party became more prominent. The trembling tom opened his jaws ever so slightly, letting the pheromone waft within, attempting to identify the individual. It was certainly no one he knew, which was odd; he figured dreams included events that had been conceived at some interval prior. As he pondered, one of the silhouettes in the distance shifted. "It moved?" He thought, fear constricting its merciless, snake-like body around Mossypaw's form. There was definitely a second party, just as he had anxiously contemplated beforehand.

Claws met skin, and lukewarm fluid began to stream down his muzzle.

Before he had time to react, Mossypaw was on his back, pinned against the ground. Dazed, he blinked open his eyes, only to be face to face with a gray-looking feline. Frozen with fear, Mossypaw did not attempt to fight back, his heart slamming against his chest as if it were pumping a million beats per minute. A soft grunt escaped his muzzle, the only noise he could ruminate. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip you apart," the unidentified tom growled. Mossypaw could not form coherent words, much less a reasonable explanation for his business here.

Moments fluttered by, for what felt like moons, like forever migrating butterflies. The terrified apprentice managed to speak, somewhat, at least. It was something, something of value, something that perhaps, just maybe, would spare his life, unless this was simplistically a nightmare. He was familiar with nightmares, but this felt so real.. the throbbing pain in his face, the trickling liquid that he assumed was blood, and the weight of the tom above him. He said, "I don't know.. Where am I? Is this a nightmare? Is that it? I don't know... Who are you?"

It had sounded so much better in his head.

Mossypaw was so sure he was going to die. He searched himself thoroughly, attempting to excavate a drop of strength. He formulated a plan, albeit a risky one, but it was something. If the tom tried to seal the deal of death, Mossypaw would twist out of his grip and run for it. He took his agility skills into account, trusting that he would be able to make it to a safer area, perhaps a tree or the like.