Kaelan
Leader of The Immortal Ones
The metallic tang of blood clung to the air as Kaelan shouldered his way into Sile's new healer’s den, pungent with the scent of yarrow and cobwebs. A jagged gash split the fur at his throat, crimson streaking down his chest where Ravenstar’s claws had found their mark. Each step left a faint crimson droplet in his wake. He didn’t stagger—never that—but he leaned heavily against the stone wall, one paw pressing casually over the wound—betraying the strain of torn muscle beneath the gash. Taking over ShadowClan had been a messy affair, but he’d left their leader’s body cooling in the marsh. Victory, as always, tasted better when it bled.
Kaelan paused at the entrance, cyan eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the dim light before locking onto Sile, who stood frozen near a shelf of dried herbs. He watched the healer's gaze flick downward, tracing the crimson rivulets matting Kaelan's white fur, the jagged tear at his throat still weeping sluggishly. He tilted his head back, exposing the gashes—four claw marks, deep and angry. "Don't—"he rasped, holding up a bloodied paw before Sile could scold him, "Make a fuss about this. Just fix it." Kaelan coughed—a wet, rough sound—and slumped onto a nest of nearby ferns. His claws tapped a slow, erratic rhythm against the rock—a nervous tic he’d developed as the sickness gnawed deeper.
