sensitive topics And I’m only 22 // Death

[Whisperwish]

There is no StarClan, not here, in this hell. How could there be? If there is solace to be found, it has not made its way to her. And so she stays, the darkness inching ever closer.

Whisperwish has not done much since the fight broke out between WindClan’s own, leading to their splitting. She continues to do as she’s done before, slink in the shadows and make her presence as small as possible so she’s not perceived as a threat. It doesn’t mean she’s safe, however. She’s fully aware that she is in dangerous, bloodied water that cannot be cleansed, and yet she feels so hopeless.

The anxiety has not left since the moment her body froze in place on the battlefield. She finally moved after the chaos dwindled, but she has been on edge, a screaming in the back of her throat before the pain even happens. What pain? She does not know. She is just very much aware that something will happen, and soon. And yet, here she stays.

She gets away with it, for a while. Whisperwish hates how guilty she feels, pretending everything is alright. Eating with these bloodthirsty, pitiful excuses of warriors. But being stagnant is all she has known, and she can barely imagine a world where she suddenly gains a sense of dependence. Maybe it will continue to stay that way.

On a particular night, she is finally acknowledged, something she is not used to. It shocks her to her core, and her blood runs cold. The moon taunts her as a dark figure with only some splotches of white allowing her to see makes itself known, glowing orange eyes seemingly staring into her soul.

“Harbingermoon… do you need me, or?” That’s all Whisperwish manages to say, voice slowly tapering out as she once again goes silent, as she always does. ​

 

[HARBINGERMOON]

☾ He'd been given his rightful title but scorned by the snaggle-faced Moor Runner Venomstrike. His ear now gone and the ends of his tail a pale and black mess of fur and flesh. Wolfsong's promise of staying close a bitter echo of every cats true nature - lies. Hatred burned deep within the guts of the older tom and bloodlust was at an all time high. Knowledge of his pregnancy had only furthered the putrid anger. Boiling them alive at all hours and Harbingermoon craved compensation. To take control and strangle the life of those that burdened him day in and day out. Spending many miserable moons with the 'do-gooders' of Starclan's followers left him swallowing back bile at every turn.

In Harbingermoon's opinion just leaders had true power, the lives that he so wished to observe for himself were within reach. The Moor Queen had proven herself quite efficient, maintaining a grasp on those lives despite her betrayal of the stars. Now, he no longer needed to hide his disdain for the cats cowering away outside their borders. It was just a matter of time until he could claw past the others' ranks and rid the vermin attempting to rot their numbers. For several days, he had observed which cats stood proudly in the new Windclan, and who cowered away in the shadows, or upturned their lips. One in particular seemed especially weak, just the kind of cat he needed to rid himself of baggage.

Quietly, they hid in the darkness well behind Whisperwish. Trailing and observing her every movement with rapt eagerness. Finally, out of earshot and perfectly alone, he made his move. Slinking from the darkness with a confident swagger, his fangs shining brilliantly in the moonlight. Voice dripping with honey he kept his true intent hidden while circling the molly. "Actually, I do! I have something very special in mind for you Whisperwish." Tail lashing low to the earth as he purred aloud. "Do you enjoy a good spar?" His head lifted from its snake-like droop and tilted quizzically. "We've gotta keep our vigilance up after chasing off those traitors, you know? I haven't seen you so much as lift a paw these days or during the fight." Alas, their facade began to crack with his accusations of her behavior had come to light.

In his haste to dash away during the conflict Harbingermoon had seen her cowering frame in the backdrop. Later in the respite of his den and shortly after the meeting he knew just what to do with such a coward. Haunting gaze glimmering from contained excitement. His plan since then had now come to fruition. No one would question him any longer and if his attempt to purge Smokestar was anything to go by he did not fear his leader's wrath. After all the bullshit he tolerated since giving up his rogue ways after the clans formed had tamed him just enough. Before he had happily fought and killed any that stepped in his way. Mostly in groups or when he found them in more vulnerable situations such as tonight's event.

With Sootstar in place his true nature could come out to play at least when left to his own devices. Their movement stopped just behind the she-cat's exposed back, haughty gaze brimming with barely contained hunger. Not allotting the terrified cat any time to answer, his tone sunk with a snarl. "Maybe you'll like this new method. I'll have the honors of demonstrating. First rule is be sure never to leave yourself exposed!" Leaping forward, he took advantage and clambered onto her back. His claws sinking in deep, hoping to assert dominance with vicious vigor as he anchored himself into their flesh. Leaving one paw free the Lead Warrior shoved her snout into the dirt muffling cries she may have attempted. Hunkering down with every bit of strength flashes of those that had crossed him built up like a frenzied wildfire inside them.

Glee ran up the tuxedo's spine like the thrill of a good catch. Leaning forward he murmured slow and steady tinges of mindless satisfaction clear and poignant in each syllable. "Aww... Too bad. You didn't act fast enough. I'd like to have played longer but I must cut our fun short." Easing back he maneuvered his free paw once more. Gingerly tucking it beneath the crease of their throat and shoulder with exposed claws. Sinking steadily into the soft flesh and methodically tearing strips through silver fur. Now his speckled paw was lit up with the gorgeous welling of crimson. Spilling across the chilled earth beneath them and splattering as his hold broke free. Spoiling the ground like the wildflowers that spread across the moors in newleaf.

Once the life began to fade from her body only then did he step away. Grinning wildly while Whispersong's life came to a unceremonious end. At last his spirit felt free of its heavy burdens. Tufted chest gorging on the sensation of elation as his stress felt soothed by the cruelty. The poor sap may not have been the cats of his bane but for now this kill would sate him for many days. If questioned he would say confidently she attempted to make a run for it while they hunted in a pair and he simply dealt with a traitor. Now he would make good work of cleaning himself of the gore as he practically pranced away to camp. Good ear raised high and tail swinging as if they'd brought home the largest rabbit for supper. ☽​

 

[Whisperwish]

The chill in Whisperwish’s thin frame grows ever colder, being met with a sinister tone she fully expected from one such as Harbingermoon. His words might be nice, but the malice behind them does not escape her. The facade quickly slips away, and by instinct she backs up. “A spar, hmm? In the middle of the night?” She quivers, anxious and ready to bolt but not allowing the tom to leave her line of sight.

She gasps at the mention of how her cowardice during the breakout fight was apparently noticed. She really was getting sloppy…but she had felt that her time was about to be up during that fight. She still does, but she made it out alive, and maybe she will this time too. She relaxes a bit as she allows her claws to unsheathe, not wanting to show too much weakness in front of this monster.

It doesn’t matter, though. Whisperwish is quickly jumped, and since strength has never been her strong suit, she is easily overwhelmed. As her face falls onto the dirt, forced down, she curses herself for not being a better cat before now. She really did waste her life, huh? Well, at least it will be over soon.

Even as the last scathing comment she’d ever hear comes from his brutal throat, she does not put up much of a fight. She allows herself one final win, not letting it get to her. She almost changes her mind as sharp talons rake across her throat, coughs quickly coming out as her lungs fill with blood, but she does not falter. The last laugh is hers!

As Whisperwish loses the last of her strength, her last thought is her laughing, praying that she will be allowed entrance into StarClan despite her being a pathetic excuse of a warrior.​