development ˙ ˖ ✶ venus heads ┊ grieving.

[Cherryblossom]

They dropped her flowers when they carried her in. Or maybe the wind carried them off. No one has come to sweep them away yet though, so they lie still among the lush tufts of grass and paw-trodden soil. Slowly withering. Cherrykit snatches up as many as she could when they finally let her out of the nursery. They smell like crimson at first, sharp and dazzling, sharp enough to make her cry, but she doesn't cry. She feels wobbly inside, like her heart and lungs are squishing together, like there are wet paws inside her ribcage kneading them into each other, trying to make a pulpy soup that she'd be able to swallow. But swallowing feels like weaving the stiffest of grasses together, finally bending one and having the other spring back up. The more she tries, the harder it gets. She hobbles back to the nursery in a fog, the fog, cradling precious flowers between trembling milk teeth, trying not to look at the ones slipping out beneath her chin into the grey.

It's only when she gets back to the nursery that she cries. "They're hyacinths," Spiderpaw says, bringing her blue-speckled tail closer to Cherrykit. "Don't they smell nice?" Yeah, she agrees. A scent sharper than blood, enough to poke leaks in the corners of her eyes, and they smell like unripe berries and thick grass and blood again. Blood smells like Duskpool and Bobbie; it looks like Yukio and Snowpath. Now it's in the form of Spiderpaw, arching her swan neck before her with red dripping off her slim muzzle, red slicking back her luscious fur, red pooling up all inside her. A storm of red, a red fog, thick enough to choke in. They aren't letting her see Spiderpaw, but Cherrykit knows she is all red.

Hyacinth pistils reach up to powder her nose, and she licks the pollen, wet, off. The girl crouches over her bundle, staring into the pool of blue flickering in between the nest feathers and the nursery's woven shade. She sees herself in the puddle of flowers, gently rocking back and forth, eyes red-rimmed and glistening piss yellow. Spiderpaw would need her flowers back soon, but Cherrykit needs them more. She is not beautiful right now. She is not an old-time beauty. Cherrykit is ugly because she is crying, and she is crying because she is sad, and she is sad because she knows Spiderpaw won't just sit up and give everyone an earful about how dramatic they're being. She's like Snowpath, who never got up from beneath the tree and had to have warriors dig and drag him out of his Snowpath-shaped hole. She's gone—she's dead! Dead! Dead! DEAD! They don't want her to hear the word so she hears it anyway, because everyone says gossip's a fool's errand, but she says knowledge's power.

Spiderpaw is nice. Spiderpaw taught them all how to accessorize, although Cherrykit thinks she's the only one who ever really picked up on it. Accessories only look as good as the cat they're on, but Cherrykit is not a good-looking cat right now. She spies an orange-red splotch on her tail, messy-looking, shouting at her in the dim, and she gets to work. Methodical, clean, clean it up. She has to make it look nice. Nice, nice, nice: the message reverberates in her subconscious to the rhythm of her strokes. When she next looks up at the approach of paws, her jaw is sore and her tongue is dry. "Th-they're mine," she hoarsely growls at the feet, wrapping her tail around Spiderpaw's remains.​

 

[Orangestar]

Orangeblossom had been quick to herd her kittens to the safety of the back of the nursery when Spiderpaw had been brought in, sharp eyes peering between holly leaves and woven stems to try and catch a glimpse of smoky fur; while, simultaneously, ensuring her kittens could not. Thank StarClan she's not a small cat; and, while her kittens are growing, none of them seem to have inherited their father's extraordinary height. It makes her job easier, for certain, and she only lets up when a familiar muzzle peers into the nursery and tells the families that Spiderpaw has been tidied enough to visit and say their goodbyes before her burial.

Cherrykit returns from a different route to her siblings, clutching a violet prize between her small teeth. Hyacinths. Orangeblossom had only learned the name of the purple trailing blooms when Cherrykit had bounced up to her, exclaiming about the flowers Spiderpaw had taught her; but now, the small calico cradling the blossoms narrows ochre eyes with a cracking grief. Orangeblossom doesn't have the heart to take these final mementos away from the kitten.

"They can be yours." Orangeblossom agrees. When these flowers wilt Cherrykit will have nothing left of her friend but memory, and even those will become fuzzy around the edges with time and distance between. Especially so, with Spiderpaw lost at Cherrykit's young age. StarClan knows Orangeblossom herself has forgotten the sound of Blazing Dawn's voice, moons on. The exact tortoiseshell patches of her aunt's muzzle are lost to the ever-stalking hunt of the seasons, though she can see the distinctive dark orange in Cherrykit's pelt sometimes when the light catches it.

But this is not about her aunt. Cherrykit does not know loss like this before, not so near and dear to her. Her Cherrykit had been friends with Pigeonsong's unruly apprentice, closer than she had been with Snowpath. Orangeblossom wishes that she'd had the foresight to ask where Spiderpaw found her prizes, but she'd never once thought it would come in use. The apprentice was meant to have a great many moons ahead of her.

The deputy sits down next to her daughter, careful as she brushes Cherrykit closer with her tail, and notes the overgroomed patch in her daughter's fur when she leans down to press her nose to the top of the kitten's head. She's three moons now. Were she a moon older, Cherrypaw could have been the one to discover Spiderpaw's body. Silently, as she waits for Cherrykit to decide whether or not she'll talk about what she's feeling, Orangeblossom prays for more time.

— info

•  
• 
  orangeblossom. tags.
  — she/her, skyclan deputy.
  — mentor to eveningpaw.
  — attack in #e08550. uses trees as an integral part of her fighting style.
  — mean enough to note that her thoughts don't reflect my opinions as a writer haha.
  — penned by mercibun; @ me in any official tabbytales discord for plots. :]
  — art by merc!<3
  

​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Mama relinquishes the flowers to Cherrykit, but she couldn't have taken them from her anyway. Dried moss and pine needles crinkle dimly behind her, and she is softly aware of her mother moving to sit closer. Even as she grips the decaying mementos, she doesn't resist the orange-tinged tide that pulls her in. It smells of sweet pine resin and crackling bark. The pure scent of SkyClan begins to mingle with the lurid green taste of hyacinths. She sinks into the wall of her mother's offered flank, her ribcage a sun-warmed stone, each breath a glowing lake wave breaking upon her. Orangeblossom's whiskers brush past hers when she leans down, and warmth blooms on the checkered patch of skull between her ears. She hadn't realized how cold it'd gotten in the middle of Greenleaf.

The warm, gray craters trailing down her cheeks are still there, but the delicate white fur pressed against her dams the hotter rivers for now. Snowy petals flutter closed over her eyes, rimmed in stinging cherry juice. Silence trickles by the mother and daughter pair as Orangeblossom lets Cherrykit sit in grief, her tumbling thoughts, until one gathers enough pieces to put into words. Flame-ashen ears twitch briefly at the sounds of the other nursery inhabitants, moving in measured steps across the miniature sea of grass, speaking in low and brittle tones, all trickling slowly back into her awareness. The furred sun remains wrapped around her, halted in her unfathomable journey just for her. She knows she will get tired of basking in the warmth soon, as she tires and forgets all good things, but she lets herself hide within the confines of her mother's embrace for a few moments longer.

Cherrykit doesn't know how long she stayed. She could've fallen asleep, holding the bundle of flowers and Orangeblossom's tail like a teddy bear, and never noticed crossing the border into dreams. Her jaw is stiff. "These...these are hyacinths, mama," she whispers. Only StarClan knows what train of thoughts led to this statement, because Cherrykit certainly doesn't. She just feels the need to tell her mother that she remembers what Spiderpaw told her. The girl lapses into quiet for another few breaths, deep and even. "Is she in StarClan?" Her tongue carries none of the wonder kits often have when they talk about StarClan; it's a far cry from Sunshinekit's wondrous imagining. Not a "What if?" or even "Why?" It's only a question, dully serious, and filled with consequence.​

 

[Fireflyglow]

Fireflypaw has experienced enough loss in his life to know how it feels, the crushing weight of reality bearing down on him every day he wakes up and realizes his baby sister is no longer on Mother's lands with them. She is buried beneath the ground in ThunderClan, all bones and lavender now. But in her wake, she is starry and beautiful in all her glory- the stars take care of her now, nurture her. She may never grow, but she is still Morningpaw. His beloved little sister, Moonpaw's beloved twin. He listens to the conversation between mother and child, his ears swiveling as guilt eats at him for eavesdropping. Cherrykit is mourning the loss of Spiderpaw, as they all are- but Fireflypaw wasn't as close to her as the young kit was, for sure. He didn't see the she-cat as nice, nor as comforting; but he respected her nonetheless as his clanmate. He mourns her too.

"Of course she is, Cherrykit. She's probably catching more prey up there in the stars than we ever could down here." Fireflypaw finaly speaks up, his tail draping over his paws as he scoots himself into a hunched over sitting position. "In the stars, cats never go hungry. They never fall ill." He preaches, though he tries his best not to go down the spiral of preaching like his mentor does. No, instead, a soft hymn is hummed under his breath instead. His body sways momentarily, ghostly pale eyes opening to stare sightlessly into the distance.

The smell of flowers catches his attention soon after, and Fireflypaw leans his head down in an attempt to sniff at the plant. "Do you want to know how to preserve this flower, little one? So that even when it wilts, it will still hold it's shape. Timeless, beautiful."​

SKYCLAN MEDICINE CAT APPRENTICE ✦ 12 MOONS ✦ CHUNKY, BIG-FOOTED SEAL POINT ✦ TAGS​

 

[DOOMPAW]

Doomkit is strangely quiet when confronted with the death of their Clanmates. He had not known Snowpath at all, but Snowpath had saved Plaguepaw and Cherrykit’s lives—he does know that. And Spiderpaw… he’d not been close to her, but he’d seen the rare kindness the snappy she-cat had shown his tortoiseshell milk-sister. Watching her crumple those flowers in her forepaws now, grief clouding her amber eyes, is strange. Orangeblossom allows her pelt to brush her daughter’s, and there’s a rare motherly softness when she looks at the brightly-painted kit.

He closes his eyes, a primal memory bubbling in his brain. Blood scent mingling with curdled milk, with the smell of flesh rendered rotten in blistering sun.

He does not know what it means, but he shudders. He shoulders past Fireflypaw on his way to the nursery, eager to get away from this strange vigil Cherrykit holds for her dead friend.

// out

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — doomguy . doomkit
  — afab, he/him, kit of skyclan
  — unknown sexuality ; single
  — short-haired blue tortoiseshell with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette

​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Cherrykit hears movement outside the den, but then again, there's always movement outside the den. This time, a cat emerges from it, pulling his bulky fluff through the hazy tunnel of background noise. Fireflypaw kneels, massive form collapsing into a round, funny thing, and when he pokes his head into a den she feels like a mouse in a hole, blinking up at the gargantuan face of a cat. But Fireflypaw is far from a threat. When his jaws open it is not to eat her or admonish her for crying, it is only to provide her with an answer.

"Of course." Of course. She's been right all along about StarClan, hasn't she? The stories were true—of course she'd known. Of course. She blinks up at the night-tinged muzzle, StarClan's very throat, from where stars are supposed to drip down with every word. Dawnglare sure talks like that, distant and incomprehensible, but Fireflypaw ushers the stars closer, enough for her to feel their warmth in every breath. She stares with star-kissed eyes as he continues. No hunger, no illness. Cherrykit had never experienced any of those things anyway, in this fortunate riot of season she was born in. But she is very slightly happy Spiderpaw would never have to experience them either, if she'd ever been plagued by them before.

Fireflypaw's unseeing face drifts closer. Milky spirits swirl in the glassy cages set in his face, and she leans away from them as he draws downwards. Her flowers. She instinctively swipes her tail back over them, scattering a few more petals into the nest. Normally she would echo him, this word, "preserve," but she feels too dull to puncture the continuing sweep of his voice. "Timeless, beautiful," he adds. Beautiful. She would want that. Spiderpaw would want that.

Doomkit finds this very moment suitable for pushing his way out of the nursery. No glare torches the back of his head this time. Even his annoyance and confusion, uncaring lines sketched on his youthful face, are muted in the din of her grief. She simply turns back to Fireflypaw. When she decides to speak again, her voice gurgles softly in the wake of her tears. "Yeah." No expectant cock of the head this time, no shuffling into a straighter sit. She only waits for him to press his paws into her mold as well, sturdying the places that Spiderpaw left unfinished.​