camp 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ╱ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

[SUNNVAR]

By the time that the sun should begin to set, WindClan tastes smoke. The warriors that hurry in and out of camp cough and sputter. His son's body, lifeless and limp, smelling no longer of gorse and heather but burning fur and the sickly-sweet beginnings of decay, still rests nearby. There are no eyes left to protect from the sight of him. Those most vulnerable in this clan are stolen away to a place that is lush and protected; a battleground that Sunstar still remembers, faintly, by heart, now a nest for their battered fledglings. They will come back to a place where Bearpaw is already buried. Or perhaps not at all, if these flames refuse to be cowed. Whatever trenches they dig seem to have stalled it some, and the drenched-sweat shield of their wetted heather wall is a final stand.

The last pieces of the moor. The last remembrance of who they were, and what they had hoped for. A few final remnants of a dream that had carried Sunstar from the mountains, past valley and river, past peaked stones and verdant plains. To a place packed with battle and gore, betrayal, heartache. To begin again, he had thought. And perhaps, now, to die.

He does not sit in his den. Where his leg had once been is now crusted and dry. The wounds Wolfsong had tended to are at the very least neat. Each breath is slow and measured. Not to what he needs, but to the most he can care for. All that he can offer: the automation of a body that he does not wish to die, despite all that it has been through. In, and out. In again. Should he imagine it well enough, Bearpaw's ribs move with his own. His eyes close to preserve the image as the fire creeps closer. Scorchstreak still leads the clan towards its salvation. Still, she does what she can to save them. To protect the clan that she had abandoned him for, and its now-useless leader sheltered within.

Their loyalty is the last thing that he deserves.

Had StarClan spoken true, with the light blacked out before their eyes? A warning, not of his cruelty, but his demise? The terrible path that he would lead his clan to by merit of his own existence? If his kin were to die before he was; if he were to sit here in heartless abandonment as his warriors fought against the inevitable — did he not deserve each moment of this final agony?

His head turns towards the heavens.

And in this darkest of hours, the clouds above WindClan split. And as if StarClan cries with them, a brush of rain kisses his muzzle. Like silver tears, it sizzles into the flames. Across the walls of their camp. Across the fur of the son he had not thought he would lose so soon. There had been a time to avenge the threat to Rivepaw, to struggle against Featherpaw's wound. This was not a warrior's mourning, but a miserable father's, and he wishes only to gather the pity of StarClan into a new breath of life that he might spill into his clan. His home. His son. When his eyes open, hazy rings of color wash over the corners of his vision. The clouds, once packed tightly in rivulets of smoke and ash that they carry with disdain, now split to golden rods of light shot through to the very earth. Its graven beat, once the drole of a funeral song, touches every crevice of their camp.

It pierces him through. A soft shaft of pink, and the golden tones of his son's pelt, and the soft blue of his eyes — his grandfather's eyes, the ones that have been carried through this family until the end of all things — and this feeling, which must be StarClan's forgiveness, as the fires closest to camp lose their battle against this mortal enemy.

The rain that had brought the flowers avenges their demise.

And Sunstar, with his throat turned skyward and his eyes softly closed, with tracks of wetness down his face and a choked shivering trembling in his chest, drowns in this, and is for a moment at peace.

⋆ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄  ╱╱ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝗕𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋 〚 04.17.2024 〛 𖤓ᨒ

• OOC. —
• 

  SUNSTAR. WINDCLAN LEADER.  ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
  ——– AMAB HE - HIM - HIS ╱╱ 4+ YEARS OLD.

  NPC x NPC,. MATE TO WOLFSONG; FATHER TO ONE LITTER WITH HIM. MENTORING RIVEPAW.
  
  TH ╱╱ A LARGE, SCARRED CHOCOLATE AND WHITE ROSETTE TABBY TOM WITH SEAGLASS EYES

• "speech"

​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

Hellish flames lick and salivate like drool from a hound's gaping jaw, dribbling closer and closer in on WindClan's camp from all around. The warriors had raced to and from the Sun-warmed Pool, scrambling to reinforce their hollow with moisture. Snakehiss himself had stayed behind, hacking and coughing up thick smoke from his lungs. There wasn't any chance that Snakehiss would leave; what if he got burned? What if the fire got to him?

Their attempts are only feeble and Snakehiss feels his life begin to count down before his very eyes... not too much longer now and they would be burned alive. His heart flutters madly like a caged bird; trapped, frightened, in a state of dread.

That is... until rain begins to descend from the heavens. Snakehiss looks around, wide-eyed, watching as the flames begin to sizzle and diminish with every droplet. The waters slice like a sword through the perilous embers, a knight slaying a monstrous beast, until it is no more.

While some may believe that this was a means of StarClan helping WindClan in its most dire moment, Snakehiss can only see this as a mercy. Their ancestors had spared them, if not only to force them to look upon their destroyed territory. The heather and wild grass are charred black, their moors laid to waste. Everything is gone. The stench of ash and wet soil and death lingers in the Sandy Hollow. WindClan had suffered StarClan's wrath. Snakehiss' heart aches.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙀 𝙃𝘼𝙎 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎 𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏

•  

• 

• 
  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾
  snakehiss
  

  — he/him; moor runner of windclan
  — long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  — father to violetkit, cricketkit, and privetkit (duskclan)
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

​

 

[SCORCHSTAR]

༄༄ WindClan’s newly-named deputy ran out of energy a while ago. Their bones themselves ache as the calico continues to dig, scooping pawful after pawful of dirt out of the trench they have been working on. The halfway-tunnels serve as an obstacle for the flames to conquer before they can reach the clan’s protective walls, but there is no amount of digging that could stop the blaze in its tracks entirely. StarClan has made no efforts to save them; perhaps that is what the sun’s sudden darkness had foretold. But no matter the prophecy, no matter what fate or StarClan has in mind, Scorchstreak will not allow WindClan to fall. Not here, not now, and certainly not to this.

The first droplets of rain strike Scorchstreak upon the nose, running gently down their muzzle. It drips to the ground, wetting dirt dry and cracked from the blaze that promises to burn them all. The calico’s lungs burn, aching with each inhale, but they cannot stop now. This rain is a gift, but it may not last—and it may not be enough to put out the fire. With a heaving breath, they move to scoop more dirt from the hole, and it is in the same moment that rain pierces the fire’s source at last. It is doused, the threat they could not stop, by a mere rainstorm.

The sun shows itself between clouds, beams of light shining down upon the territory, and Scorchstreak collapses to her haunches, exhausted. Golden eyes shift upward, to the clouds and the stars beyond. They are not abandoned, not left to burn in their darkest hour, after all. That is all that they can be grateful for.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ she’s a growing bed of thorns

• ooc: —
• 
  SCORCHSTREAK ❯❯ she/they, deputy (tunneler) of windclan
  ༄ small, slim flame-streaked calico with fiery golden eyes. stoic and shrewd, but clearly cares deeply for her clan.
  ༄ mate to bluepool ; sibling to rattleheart & rabbitclaw
  ༄ mentor to pinkpaw
  ༄ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ༄ penned by foxlore

​

​

 

[Quietcrow]

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ He had long since stopped running, opting to faithfully drift along, retrieving waterlogged moss from the sun-warmed pool. Something cold hit his back, and he snapped around, expecting a bug to be hitching a ride, but more and more came down, soaking him. In his drowsiness, it took Quietaw a moment to finally register what was happening. Droopy ears snapped up; he’d almost forgotten the feeling of crisp, chilly rain. Wide blue eyes drifted to the flames, fighting and failing to get away.

Quietpaw hung his head, letting the rain trickle down his dark pelt, and put his moss down on the grass. Water poured down his face and was absorbed into the parched dirt below. Into the beloved moor that he’d spent his youth racing across. The sweet feeling of relief was rushing through him; the danger was being eaten away by the mercy of Starclan themselves. Windclan had survived.

A grin spread across his face. It was about time. “Finally!” A small voice yelled into the sky. Yes, his home is almost completely burned to the ground, and the prey had fled to safer territory. But that was a problem for another time; right now there was a black cat who couldn’t help but celebrate. The storm raged on, and Quietpaw was running, leaping, and kicking the last of his energy out. Before collapsing onto the floor, dead tired but at peace at last.

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  Quietpaw — he/him ･ 8 moons ･ apprentice, Windclan ･ PENNED BY @Ghostunes!

  A timid mostly black tom with white markings on his chest and backTags ​

​

 

[FEATHERSPINE]

Featherpaw's lungs ached, heaved, screamed- and her head thumped, the knowledge her brother was dead knocking on the bone of her skull. Water trickled down his chest, bled from pads and pads of moss- Featherpaw's feet ached, yowled, but he was silent. Blinking against the sting of the smoke, for a moment the marbled tabby did not notice the heavens parting. The welkin began to weep, for them, for Bearpaw. And maybe it was Bearpaw crying, knowing what he would not be here to help mend.

The moor was blackened, but alive. Wind still blew and rain still fell; Featherpaw took a long breath and dared to lower her haunches- to watch, for a few moments, as the fire hissed away.

There lay within her a small, petal-thin fear that, once the inferno was gone, there would be Twolegs facing them on the other end of it- but there was nothing there. Featherpaw let himself still, let spines become soft, just for a moment. Numbness sprawled fiercely through his body, stasis seeping into his marrow, stilling him, setting his face into the same, comfortable scowl it always bore.

Tiny etchings betrayed the breadth of grief twitching beneath. Within sharp yellow eyes was the dew of tears- and with the rainfall, she could face blinking them away. His sobs were silent and stoic, shaking spine-maned shoulders, muffled behind a tight lip and tighter fangs.

There were too many things to cry for. Even now, as StarClan wept too, Featherpaw felt wrong, felt unsuited for shedding tears. In silence- that would be her reprieve. He would never wail again, but salt would fall from his eyes, and might melt over what was scorched and soothe it. Just for a moment. It was all she would need. ​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[PINKSHINE]

She'd thought they were doing everything wrong when they left Sunstar before. All she'd seen was a friend that needed help. No leader, no nine lives, but it was Sunstar, and Sunstar had always been there. Pinkpaw had thought she'd never see him again. Pinkpaw had thought that she'd have to tell Featherpaw and everyone that they left him to die, and they couldn't do anything about it.

One of those things had happened, but now Sunstar was here with the rest of them. And even though it was him, and she was happy... He seemed different, somehow. More so than the big, ugly gash that was his once - leg. And she thinks that was different enough already. She didn't like looking at it very much at all... And Sunstar probably liked it even less, no matter how impossible that might seem right now.

He wasn't forever - dead, but Bearpaw was, in his stead. She can't feel it too much yet, the lack of his presence. Because as they all sat there in silence, tired from all the work they've been doing so they could maybe save... something, it felt like they were all sad ghosts in a room. She forgets about Featherpaw, about Scorchstreak, about Snakehiss and everyone. She looks at the sky, and she wonders what will happen next.

And then it starts to rain.

She'd forgotten that could happen, she'd forgotten that all she'd had to hope for was rain. She'd always hate - hated it. Hated the puddles that made her have to watch her step; hated how it made her fur feel all heavy...

She's never been happier to see a raincloud before. Did StarClan send it? Whoever it was, she tells them, Thank you.

Quietpaw is out of place, amongst these ghosts, but he reminds her that she doesn't have to be a ghost too. She shouldn't feel bad for being happy. She should be happy so the others wouldn't feel bad being happy, too. So alongside him, she says. " F-finally...! " and fixes a wobbling smile onto her face.​