- Sep 5, 2023
- 153
- 27
- 28
content warning: description of dead bodies
When Downypaw and Sootspot had finally staggered back into camp, their coats flecked with dirt and eyes screwing against the brilliance of moonlight, they had been greeted by Lilacstem's body. Downypaw had been too tired to cry.
They have only ever caught glimpses of corpses before, a tail being dragged beyond the gorse walls, an errant tuft of fur with the scent of someone they haven't seen in days.
In the chaos, no one had bothered to close her eyes; and in the land of the loyal, no one would bother with a traitor. As they try to sleep that night, they stare into her eyes. Washed-out yellow, blank as the moon. Soft greys and creams sway gently in the midnight wind, as though her fur hadn't been bristled into a shield less than half a day ago. Her blood had seeped back into the earth long ago, so Downypaw watches the moonlight distort upon the dark crust of her throat instead.
A single fly lands on her ear, the fawn-colored one. Downypaw half-expects it to flick away the disturbance.
Nothing happens.
For some reason, she had still expected Sootspot to do something. He'd gotten her out of the tunnels, so surely it wasn't much more to rally WindClan around for a proper burial? For his apprentice and their kin? For the sake of keeping what flies still lived into Leaf-bare away, at least?
He's all she has left. Him, and the stars. They twinkle coldly upon the half-barren camp from their shrouded perches.
Lilacstem can't be up there, they think, because she's down here. If Brightshine was here, she would make sure her sister was buried, so the earth can send her to the stars. If Brightshine—if Brightshine and Heavy Snow and Finchpaw and Heathpaw and Pinkpaw were here...they don't know. Downypaw wouldn't be happy, because Lilacstem would still be dead even if they were here.
But at least they wouldn't be lonely. They shouldn't be lonely, surrounded by so many of their clanmates who have long since washed away the blood from their pelts. But they are, soul-crushingly so. Loneliness wraps around their ribs with a vengeance, squeezing tighter than even the ball she's curled up into.
The traitorous clan—their family—is at the Horseplace. The Horseplace is on the borders; it is a thousand, a million, a trillion tree-lengths away. They feel like they could walk the length to the stars and back and never even see it.
Downypaw would give anything to hear Pinkpaw throw a tantrum again. For Finchpaw to drag her unwillingly into the warrior's den, for Heathpaw to somehow hopelessly bore and confuse her again. She wants Brightshine to play games with all of them; she wants to hide in Heavy Snow's fur and pretend she's a tuft of it someone pulled out. She wants the last sunrise of her life back.
Downypaw stays turned away from the rest of camp and towards Lilacstem, so that the tears dribbling down their face will go unseen from her killers. She knows they may come for her too, if the wrong one sees. They press both paws to their mouth and shut their eyes tight, willing their useless flesh to do something other than run. But she is too small. They alone could not hope to drag their aunt to a suitable ground, much less leave camp with her unnoticed.
So, they just sob as quietly as they can into their pawpads.
When Downypaw and Sootspot had finally staggered back into camp, their coats flecked with dirt and eyes screwing against the brilliance of moonlight, they had been greeted by Lilacstem's body. Downypaw had been too tired to cry.
They have only ever caught glimpses of corpses before, a tail being dragged beyond the gorse walls, an errant tuft of fur with the scent of someone they haven't seen in days.
In the chaos, no one had bothered to close her eyes; and in the land of the loyal, no one would bother with a traitor. As they try to sleep that night, they stare into her eyes. Washed-out yellow, blank as the moon. Soft greys and creams sway gently in the midnight wind, as though her fur hadn't been bristled into a shield less than half a day ago. Her blood had seeped back into the earth long ago, so Downypaw watches the moonlight distort upon the dark crust of her throat instead.
A single fly lands on her ear, the fawn-colored one. Downypaw half-expects it to flick away the disturbance.
Nothing happens.
For some reason, she had still expected Sootspot to do something. He'd gotten her out of the tunnels, so surely it wasn't much more to rally WindClan around for a proper burial? For his apprentice and their kin? For the sake of keeping what flies still lived into Leaf-bare away, at least?
He's all she has left. Him, and the stars. They twinkle coldly upon the half-barren camp from their shrouded perches.
Lilacstem can't be up there, they think, because she's down here. If Brightshine was here, she would make sure her sister was buried, so the earth can send her to the stars. If Brightshine—if Brightshine and Heavy Snow and Finchpaw and Heathpaw and Pinkpaw were here...they don't know. Downypaw wouldn't be happy, because Lilacstem would still be dead even if they were here.
But at least they wouldn't be lonely. They shouldn't be lonely, surrounded by so many of their clanmates who have long since washed away the blood from their pelts. But they are, soul-crushingly so. Loneliness wraps around their ribs with a vengeance, squeezing tighter than even the ball she's curled up into.
The traitorous clan—their family—is at the Horseplace. The Horseplace is on the borders; it is a thousand, a million, a trillion tree-lengths away. They feel like they could walk the length to the stars and back and never even see it.
Downypaw would give anything to hear Pinkpaw throw a tantrum again. For Finchpaw to drag her unwillingly into the warrior's den, for Heathpaw to somehow hopelessly bore and confuse her again. She wants Brightshine to play games with all of them; she wants to hide in Heavy Snow's fur and pretend she's a tuft of it someone pulled out. She wants the last sunrise of her life back.
Downypaw stays turned away from the rest of camp and towards Lilacstem, so that the tears dribbling down their face will go unseen from her killers. She knows they may come for her too, if the wrong one sees. They press both paws to their mouth and shut their eyes tight, willing their useless flesh to do something other than run. But she is too small. They alone could not hope to drag their aunt to a suitable ground, much less leave camp with her unnoticed.
So, they just sob as quietly as they can into their pawpads.
