Average Day in The Steamlands (short story)
Horsejaw emitted a mangled, throaty growl that sounded like a mixture between a hiss and a whine of pain. “No! Absolutely not! Not him!”
Bursnout dropped the herbs he had been carrying dejectedly. “I’m getting better!” he promised.
“You said that last time,” Jayfrost grumbled while chewing dirt free from beneath his claws. He lay perched on a flat-topped stone a tail-length above them.
“If Horsejaw doesn’t want any help, just leave him,” Webstripe told them.
Horsejaw had–as has been the case for many of them, a regular occurrence, in fact–been dragged to the Death Ring, where he was clawed and bitten for three days straight before the Steamland cats managed to sneak him out and back to their home.
Now, Horsejaw lay bleeding on the sandy dirt, streams of crimson leaking between the stones. His left ear had the top part sliced almost clean off, dangling by a thread, while the other was punctured with so many rips and tears that it flopped down as weakly as a dog’s. His tail had two impressive rips in it, and several of his claws had been torn out–no, not torn out, the ‘Clan’ soon realized as they had inspected their companion. His claws had been forced INTO his feet, deeper than simple retraction and painful enough to make them hold their own, healthy toes.
It was normal for all of them to be dragged to the Ring, and to be sliced and diced for the entertainment of the crowd and torturer, but Bursnout couldn’t help but think that this was worse. Normally, they were tools for someone to take their anger out on, clawed and torn into by someone who was usually caught in a blind rage. But this was different, meticulous. Someone had really wanted to hurt Horsejaw, but who? Those he had affected in life were now in Starclan.
Horsejaw’s pelt was criss-crossed with strings of red wounds. With a paw, Bursnout attempted to reach for them again, only to have Horsejaw swing a paw at him, and then hiss in pain at the movement.
Jayfrost sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can it really be worse than what you got going on now?”
“Last time, he used stinging nettle!” Horsejaw growled.
“It’s just berries this time!”
“Let me guess, poisonous berries?”
“Eat them and find out,” Jayfrost grumbled, slithering into the argument.
“Look at me! I’m more red than ginger. The least you useless lot can do is get me a proper medicine cat.”
A wave of anger crashed through Bursnout. Not too long ago, Horsejaw had been half-dead, gasping in pain and thanking them with what little energy he had as they dragged him free of his prison. Where had that gone?
Was he trying to seem strong, because he was still so hurt and scared?
“Who do you suggest we go to, then?” Webstripe challenged. “We SNUCK you out, remember?”
“Oh, what a strange occurence! No one in the Steamlands has ever snuck out anyone ever!" Horsejaw responded with dramatic sarcasm. "Cats sneak out of there all the time, no one cares. You’re only a scratching post while you're trapped, and right now, I bet no one has the energy to trap me again,” Horsejaw stated with a huffed air. That was true, after anyone was taken and either forced to fight or be beaten, the Death Ring was empty for a small time, the bloodthirst satisfied until the next cat came along. “I’d like to see them try!” he added more to himself.
“So would I,” Jayfrost smirked. “We ARE a Clan, somewhat,” he went on, “we should have a medicine cat, shouldn’t we?”
“But I–” Bursnout began to reply, when Webstripe cut him off.
“Fine, fine! As your leader–” the cats grunted– “I will look for a worthy medicine cat. Happy?”
Was going to make it a jokey-thing but kinda made it more just a normal story? Whoops?