- Dec 17, 2022
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In the distant horizon, the sun breaks through the treeline.
A pale leafbare gleam lighting the nearest sky a grey-tinged white, inexorably swallowing the darkness. Their battle had begun under StarClan's fading vision, but ended with the dawn of something new. It is...quiet. Aside from the heaving breaths of his clanmates and the shuffling of wounded bodies, no longer do his ears ring with cries of war and agony. Those that followed Sootstar had fled or died in their attempt; he could think of no more fitting an end for the cowards than that. Yet he still stands before their leader's grey-furred body when her final wound, that gaping hole within the very river of life that sustained her —
began to knit closed.
He does not know what he felt in that moment.
It is not a part of him, separate from mourning and rage, grief and relief. It fills up his chest and his lungs. Sunstride exhales harshly at the sight, and the warriors that had fought nearest him turn to glance his way. They will see a wearied, hardened tom where he stands. A cold look to his eyes, and a tension to his shoulders, still gently weeping with their pain. So much blood had been spilled this night. He is not afraid of more. Why he hesitates, Sunstride could not put to words. It would be all too easy to end her completely. To free this clan unceremoniously from its tyrant and truly make this morning to a joyous fresh start.
He snarls his frustration, and snaps: "Help me take her to her den! Scorchstreak, Bluepool, you are to stand guard with myself until her wound has healed." The force of his voice brokers no argument. "The rest of you, secure this camp! Take the worst of the wounded to Wolfsong's den; drag them if you must." Without waiting for the reactions that would surely follow, he fixes his teeth to the fallen leader's scruff, and begins to pull.
A pale leafbare gleam lighting the nearest sky a grey-tinged white, inexorably swallowing the darkness. Their battle had begun under StarClan's fading vision, but ended with the dawn of something new. It is...quiet. Aside from the heaving breaths of his clanmates and the shuffling of wounded bodies, no longer do his ears ring with cries of war and agony. Those that followed Sootstar had fled or died in their attempt; he could think of no more fitting an end for the cowards than that. Yet he still stands before their leader's grey-furred body when her final wound, that gaping hole within the very river of life that sustained her —
began to knit closed.
He does not know what he felt in that moment.
It is not a part of him, separate from mourning and rage, grief and relief. It fills up his chest and his lungs. Sunstride exhales harshly at the sight, and the warriors that had fought nearest him turn to glance his way. They will see a wearied, hardened tom where he stands. A cold look to his eyes, and a tension to his shoulders, still gently weeping with their pain. So much blood had been spilled this night. He is not afraid of more. Why he hesitates, Sunstride could not put to words. It would be all too easy to end her completely. To free this clan unceremoniously from its tyrant and truly make this morning to a joyous fresh start.
He snarls his frustration, and snaps: "Help me take her to her den! Scorchstreak, Bluepool, you are to stand guard with myself until her wound has healed." The force of his voice brokers no argument. "The rest of you, secure this camp! Take the worst of the wounded to Wolfsong's den; drag them if you must." Without waiting for the reactions that would surely follow, he fixes his teeth to the fallen leader's scruff, and begins to pull.
- OOC. takes place immediately after the battle, and very shortly before this thread!
-
SUNSTRIDE. WINDCLAN DEPUTY & MOOR RUNNER.
——– HE – HIM – HIS ╱╱ 48+ MOONS OLD, ADULT.
TH ╱╱ LARGE CHOCOLATE ROSETTE TABBY, ICY EYES. -
"speech"