camp ‘I LOVE YOU’ NEVER FELT LIKE ANY BLESSING [✦] News

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR​

Honestly? She’s not sure how she’s done it. How she was able to bring herself to walk away from him. How she had the strength to walk back to camp even. She stumbles through the gorse, though bearing no wounds she looks the worse she’s ever been. The way she moves and carries herself is almost entirely void of life in itself. The scent of disease clings to her pelt, her lips draw back in a snarl, ”My mate is dead.” ’My mate is dead and I walk these hills widowed and godless’ Sootstar does not feel like the queen of the moors anymore. She finds it difficult to understand what it really was she had been working for. She just wants to go back to yesterday, where Weaselclaw’s heart still beat. Back to any of the many moons he shared her nest, where she could bury her nose into his fur and feel the wrath of gods slip off her shoulders. Kin such as Moorpaw and Mintshade still lay sick in the badgerset den, but despte that Sootstar cannot help but think either of them worth sending her strong to the mountains for. Only Weaselclaw had been worth that price. Only him.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » WindClan Leader
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[HUMMINGBIRDHEART]

As soon as the leader crosses the threshold of WindClan’s camp, it is clear to Hummingbirdheart that something is wrong. The cat who stumbles into their midst is unfamiliar, and distinctly not their queen. Sootstar looks awful, firstly, and it takes a significant effort from the cinnamon-striped tunneler to keep her muzzle firmly shut. She wants to ask whether the leader is still feeling ill, or whether she needs a nice long nap or even a good meal to eat—the clan has been rather short on prey as of late, and Hummingbirdheart would hate for Sootstar to go hungry before any of the rest of them.

The tabby makes to take a step toward the leader, but before she can, Sootstar snarls out a terrible, heart-stopping statement. Her mate is dead. Weaselclaw, whom Hummingbirdheart admittedly wasn’t super fond of, is dead. It wasn’t enough for the clan to lose Snailstride and Venomthroat—they had to lose a lead warrior as well. "I…" For once, the normally chatty she-cat has no words to offer, and the silence feels deafening. "I’m so sorry," she murmurs, ears falling flat against her head. WindClan has lost so much; how many more clanmates can they stand to lose?​

[ my materials in pyre ]​

​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Bluepaw’s father is very, very ill. That’s what she’s heard, at least, from Cottonpaw. According to her sister, when she’d last gone to visit their sire, he’d been twisted and hunched in his nest, mumbling about curses and refusing to eat his prey or the herbs administered to cool his fever. She is not close to Weaselclaw the way Cottonpaw is, the way her brothers are, but he is blood nonetheless. Admittedly, she’s been under the impression that he, Moorpaw, and Mintshade would all be fine.

Then Lambcurl had died, and now her leader is stumbling into camp, her fur clumped and disheveled. Sootstar looks as though she’s lost another life, but Bluepaw cannot see any wounds, nor is the scent of blood clinging to her smoked pelt. Only the familiar reek of yellowcough the badgerset carries.

When her mentor speaks, it’s slow and full of fury. “My mate is dead.” Her lips pull away from fearsome teeth, her eyes both vacant and fixed upon some distant dark star. Bluepaw stares at her, not comprehending.

“Weaselclaw?” Her voice is full of disbelief, her eyes gone wide. “That cannot be right.” Bluepaw’s lower jaw trembles. “Sootstar?”

There’s something not right—not right, with her—

“…Mother?”

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

​

 

[SUNNVAR]

✦　　. 　 ˚　.   His pelt prickles as if there is an enemy nearby. A great predator with its teeth aimed for his throat. He is alone where he stands, his gaze surveying their dwindling numbers with a troubled twist to his brow. So few of them remain. So many bellies to feed. He has never regretted the choice that he made with Wolfsong; he will not regret the kits that bustle about their camp now, healthy and unaware of the troubles surrounding them. But he is terribly aware of the rib-arced sides that cage all of them in. Would they join them soon? Weaselclaw does not eat, so another's belly may be full. There is no convincing him wholly that it is good and just, that any warrior is worth more than his friend. He has many of them here, and Sunstride would not pick one over another. That is what he tells himself.

In the moment, however, other decisions must be made. He almost wishes he had chosen them earlier. To shove prey and herbs down his reluctant throat and force him back to wellness. With time, the tabby would thank him for the efforts. Once the others have returned with lungwort in their jaws, victorious and proud...then he would be thankful. How was he to know that his decision was made far too late?

Sootstar looks both ill and deranged. Immediately he moves as if to support her, to offer a shoulder to lean upon. Almost just as quickly, his body stills. "Dead?" he repeats before the word has fully set in. His maw opens, and then closes. That is the curse of this place– death is for leaders, for those who will return. Death has ceased to be for those he trusts and relies on. Lambcurl had not struck him so terribly. The odd tunneler was pleasant company and a tolerable companion. Weaselclaw was a friend. The moons of loss before WindClan come crashing down upon him again. The ones he had failed to save. Weaselclaw had not fallen in battle; if only he had. If only it was not illness that took him. Hesitantly, he offers: "I will gather the patrol to return him here, and prepare his final place upon these moors. Sootstar–" Whatever he might have ended this with falls flat. You should rest. I am sorry. I cannot imagine this pain.

All of it true, and none of it important.

𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘕; 𝘚𝘜𝘕-𝘉𝘓𝘖𝘖𝘋 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌  ╱╱ 9.16.2023 ˊˎ＜

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  SUNSTRIDE. FORMERLY SUNNVAR. HE - HIM - HIS OR THEY - THEM. DEPUTY OF WINDCLAN. 4 YEARS OLD. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  —————————
  
  
  ——  a tall auburn tabby with thick fur and bright glacial eyes. sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond it, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of them. he radiates confidence and self-assured authority.
  
  

  ✦ NPC x NPC. DECEASED MOTHER, ESTRANGED FATHER. NO LITTERMATES. MATE TO WOLFSONG. FATHER TO BEARKIT, SINGEDKIT, RIVEKIT, SUNLITKIT, AND FEATHERKIT ——

• "speech"

​

 

[breezerunner]

Tragedy has befallen WindClan yet again. Breezerunner looks on, droopy and defeated, at the moor queen who looks as though she is on the verge of senility. If he didn't know any better, he might think that Sootstar had fallen victim to the kittypet cough too. The impact to WindClan at the announcement of the death of Weaselclaw hits far harder than Badgermoon and Curlewnose's betrayal. Though both had justly hurt Sootstar, to see his leader so fraught with hurt and angst fills Breezerunner with a distinct sense of dread. Though he doubts any of the other soft and frivolous clans have dealt so resiliently with such trials.

"I am... So sorry, Sootstar," Breezerunner murmurs, his voice joining the deflated chorus of condolences from his clanmates. He's nearly in disbelief. Of course he cares for all of his clanmates, but Weaselclaw was just different from the rest of them. Sootstar's love for her mate underscores that. Breezerunner can't help but to feel dread welling up in his stomach like a heavy stone meant to drag him under the waves of tragedy.
​

 

[FEATHERSPINE]

My mate is dead.

Those words were not meant for young ears. Featherkit was an eavesdropper, though- a bronzed shadow, bowed in darkness, too silent and small to be noticed by wayward warrior eyes- unless they were particularly perceptive, like Harrierstripe. He had believed it was a good habit, though- too wrought with strange uncertainty to enjoy socialising in kitten-games, Featherkit had figured that he was simply getting older- inescapably, at two moons old. Next moon, he'd be an apprentice- a strange thought that churned his stomach if he thought about it too long. It was why listening made him feel better, most of the time... it was just learning. Being prepared. And she had thought she liked learning.

Yellow eyes wobbled with fear, and silence wrung a tight grip around her throat. The nerves throttled her, the terrible thought. My mate is dead. Featherkit knew enough about the Clan to know that Sootstar's mate was Weaselclaw, and that Weaselclaw was an important cat. A father to many she'd spoken with, even if briefly- his mind cast soon to Cottonpaw, and then sunk into selfish worry.

If Cottonpaw's father could die, then Featherkit's parents could die, too. Terror shook her then, though she pulled her face into something unreadable and taut. Disturbance was clearly written across her, and she took a step backward, closer to the mouth of the medicine den. Sunstride was out here, Sunstride was alive. Featherkit wanted desperately to find Wolfsong but couldn't move.

His eyes glazed with tears, and she burned sun-hot with an unfamiliar and horrible feeling.​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[beetlenose]

So another WindClanner had expired. Sootstar turns Beetlenose's head with ease; the moorland queen only loses her composure when there's a gouge in her throat. But no blood spills from her now as she wobbles through the gorse tunnel. No blood, no wounds, no smile, no fire in her eyes– she spits a single sentence into the sandy dirt. Weaselclaw is dead.

As always, apathy is her instinct. Beetlenose's tail flicks as the clowder around her wear their grief and sympathy; she offers little of the same beyond a grimacing frown. So there are less mouths to feed. So there are less ill to heal. So StarClan has added another cat to their ranks– or so she presumes, because what else could she possibly believe? The dark-pelted molly slots herself in at Hummingbirdheart's side, perturbed by the lack of chatter she offers, perturbed by the wet eyes and drooping mouths of her clanmates. Can she put herself in her leader's paws? What would she feel if her own mate, were she ever to take one, perished? She supposes she'd be upset; she supposes she'd rather not feel that feeling as much as possible, because the longer she didn't know it, the longer she could be happy.

"May StarClan guide his paws," she murmurs lowly, because what reason would she have to believe that StarClan had turned its back on WindClan? Weaselclaw had been a good cat, as far as she was concerned. A good cat to a good queen– their wickedness lost on her entirely.​

 

[Azaleafrost]

Weaselclaw is dead.

She is shocked by this news, and it briefly shows on her face. Wide eyes, a slightly opened mouth, and frozen legs. It fades in an instant, back to her characteristic unreadable expression. She shouldn't be surprised, Weaselclaw was very sick. Not to mention how irritating a patient he was. He'd have lived longer if he had taken Wolfsong's herbs, she thinks. If he had stopped spitting nonsense and eaten. She finds she has no sympathy for him, just as he would have no sympathy for her.

Those around her offer condolences, share in their sorrow. She can't find it in her to do the same. She feels nothing.

Weaselclaw was a figure that's been there her entire life, same as Sootstar and many other warriors. The thought of them not being there is strange. Something in her norm has shifted, and she must adjust. She looks at her paws thoughtfully. Was it right to feel nothing? Should she at least pretend to be sad? Weaselclaw was a prominent figure in the clan and many cared about him whether they be family, friends, or fellow council members. surely she can muster something.

Yet, she cannot. And it feels strange. Lambcurl's death brought her sorrow, even if they didn't interact much. Their most notable interaction was watching a bug. Though...As far as she could tell, Lambcurl never looked down on her. Perhaps that is where the difference lies.

She remains ever silent, only thinking of the cats she does care about. Mintshade could be next... And that thought frightens her.​

 

[cottonsprig]

Inevitability does not lessen pain; all the same strength rarely provides cushion for breaking hearts.

Cottonpaw had seen her father herself, several times over several more days. She was told she was cursed but given no leeway to learn as to how or why. Herbs and meals were abandoned to the wayside as the brown tabby tom got skinnier, sicker, angrier. She's spoken to her siblings, argued with a few of them, and tried to keep her head up, and yet - and yet -

She knows as soon as Sootstar's shoulders part the gorse. Her mother looks hollow, worse than her father had been days prior, and her words deafen her youngest daughter. A piercing red noise starts ringing in Cottonpaw's ears as she stares deftly straight ahead - condolences are shared with their leader, some offering to help with the burial, others still shocked with the news. Cottonpaw's gaze flits around the WindClanners idling nearby, finding Bluepaw, yet her limbs don't have the strength to carry her to her sister. Instead she's stuck, her limbs feel water logged and her paws feel as if they're slicked with sap and pasted to the ground. She doesn't even know how her mother still stands - her legs buckle and provide her with only enough to sit clumsily.

Weaselclaw is dead. Her father is gone. It feels unreal - she just saw him breathing! - and her entire body feels cold (his must, too) and... and... her mind numbs. She tries to tell herself that it's all just a bad dream, but the chill in the air around her tells her otherwise.

'May StarClan guide his paws,' someone says in the crowd. Cottonpaw was not there to hear her mother's denouncement of the stars, however selfishly she almost agrees with the sentiment. Weaselclaw's curse feels heavy on her shoulders and tears splash at her paws, and she wonders just what she's done to warrant a deceased father. Has StarClan chosen to guide her paws through grief and misfortune, or is it their plan to cause it? Do they enjoy watching their own prophets suffer endlessly? Maybe.

The ringing doesn't stop, and neither do her silent tears.​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR​

Sootstar’s heart pounds so loudly in her chest she barely hears Hummingbirdheart’s condolences. Her eyes are narrowed and glazed, her tail lashing as she feels her claws dig into the soft soil. Bluepaw approaches, disbelief blatant in tone and facial expression. She seeks out her mother’s confirmation- maybe even comfort, but Sootstar does not find it in herself to provide it. She looks at her almost blankly and can’t help but be grateful she looks nothing like her father. She avoids searching for the likes of Addervenom, a near splitting image of the fallen lead warrior. Even Harrierstripe is not sought, for the streaks of brown his name was built upon would remind her far too much of what she’s lost. Looking away from Bluepaw after providing no clarity or comfort she sets her gaze upon Sunstride. The deputy is quick to make his intent known, he’d set out to bring Weaselclaw home. Sootstar winces, not sure if she was ready to look at his unmoving form again. ”Do not fret about a burial spot. It has already been dug.” Her worst fears had come true, she had been digging his grave. Breezerunner also offers condolences, Sootstar again seems to offer no words of response. Not even a look. Not to Cottonpaw either who lingers in the peripherals of her gaze. Instead she makes for her den, not another word shared with anyone.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » WindClan Leader
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

Good stars, Sootstar looks horrible ( for a lack of better word ). She appears disheveled and exhausted, both uncharacteristic of the iron-fisted Moor Queen, as she gracelessly staggers into camp. Snakehiss figured that the leader was out at the abandoned badger den checking up on Weaselclaw, but never would he have expected the words to draw from her maw:

”My mate is dead.”

Dark pupils stretch wide in realization. Sootstar's loyal mate and WindClan's senior lead warrior had been taken by Yellowcough.

Snakehiss finds trouble in processing the news, as do a lot of other clanmates. Weaselclaw had been a constant in Snakehiss's life since he was born; many cats came and went, from death or exile otherwise, but the brown tabby had always been present for everything. Now, he had been reduced to a cold corpse, likely beginning to rot away in the badger set next to his own gravely ill mother.

He doesn't even look at his close companion Cottonpaw, who is likely feeling a nauseating wave of emotion and grief at this moment. Snakehiss barely registers what the others say; condolences, prayers to StarClan, plans for the lead warrior's burial. The young warrior just stands there, dumbfounded, only thinking of Rosepool who could very well follow Weaselclaw's fate.

✰ INFO

• 
  
• 

  ✰ SNAKEHISS
  —— he/him; warrior ( moor runner ) of windclan
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and a notable bite mark on his right foreleg
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[Bluepool]

Death does not disturb her the way it disturbs others. It is a natural thing, something that she had seen much of and something everyone has gone through. At this point, she had seen enough death for several lifetimes. What does disturb her is the change she can already see in her sister. Bluepool had never lost anyone so precious to her that it made her weak but looking at Sootstar's face she can see just how deeply the passing of Weaselclaw had affected her. How could it not? She could imagine that he was her everything.

It feels unreal that Weaselclaw really could be gone. He had been one of the strongest among them and it makes her grow more and more worried for the fate of her sister and she finds herself wondering after Mintshade's health. She watches Sootstar go but does not say anything. What could she even say? Sorry? Why. It wasn't her fault the brown tom had died and it would not make her grief any less. Instead, she turns to Sunstride. "I will help you, if you'd like" she offers, her voice muted and calm.
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