sensitive topics BACKBONE ᚾ injured

[Bearflight]

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TW- Vague burn descriptions!

Routine patrol, check the borders, see if the flames had rampaged more aggressively since the last time. WindClan smells like soot and ash, his nose wrinkles everytime he takes a breath and he hates it more than he could ever express in words. Bearpaw had not initially been assigned this patrol, he had volunteered to go, another set of paws for it when he had them idle and unbusy for the time. Everything felt slick and sinewy like muscle torn tissue, he wanted to go roll in the sun warmed pools to rid himself of this layer of black. The sight of his father's mangled leg is still burned into his eyes from the moment the sun spotted tom arrived back to the camp to the second he placed Scorchstreak as his deputy; as warmed as it was to find him alive the truth was seeing Sunstar in such a state shattered something in him he hadn't expected to be destroyed. Unbreakable and unwavering, his father had always been, and now he was less whole and the evidence of his mortality plain to see. Or his immortality. Was it a curse or a blessing to survive such things? He wonders if this is what sent Sootstar into madness or if she had always just been insane.
The patrol is quiet, no one cares for banter or chatting in a lighthearted way during such times, he is only just barely paying attention when a murmur ripples through the group - a shift in wind, the blaze picks up and spirals. He watches it careen like a wave around blocking forward and back, a mad dash begins and he loses his footing, stumbling as cats hurry to get away from the center of the inferno before it can ensnare them; Bearpaw is not so lucky.

He has never really known pain in his life, not like Rivepaw ripped open in battle or Featherpaw battered in defiance, he can not hope to understand what it feels like to lose a limb or an eye; his family is so much more hardened than he is he realizes because when the fires touch him he can not do anything but scream. Red, orange, blazing white, pain sweeping over evey inch of him; he feels submerged in ice water despite the heat, cold and drowning and his voice rips raw and hoarse from the panicked yowls strangling out of his throat. He is not even aware of when teeth secure in his scruff to drag him out, he doesn't feel frantic paws battering him to smother the embers streaking chocolate spotted fur. Bearpaw's thoughts are buried under layers of agony, he can't focus, can barely breath outside ragged and shaky wheezing. His attempts at words a murmured shrill cries as he's carried charred as the moorland back to camp.

ᚾ ——— Red fell the stone from his hand, O Lord ᚾ ————— 'round and 'round again

• Ooc- Anyone can be the cats helping him back to camp!
• 
  
  
  Bearpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of WindClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Chocolate Rosette Tabby w/blue eyes.
  

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[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── Wolfsong earned his first scar as a kit, and Sunstar was no different, even if it was not so drastic a loss as an eye. Though he wanted —and wants— his children to be formidable warriors, he did not want them to know such pain so young, and in so doing, understands his father's cowardice even if he still struggles to forgive it. Would he not also surrender his dignity if he thought it might ensure the lives of his family?

It would be far nobler than what his cowardice has truly wrought: death and agony and an unquenchable fire. When Rivepaw fell under Hummingbirdheart's claws, he tore at her heart, mangled her body— but the flames have no blood Wolfsong can spill, no throat to bite or eyes to blind, and as his clanmates carry the wailing body of his son into camp, there is no flesh to punish but his own. And none more deserving.

"My son," he rasps, and the medicine cat mind knows he is not long for this world even as the ðir's mind rails against it. His father's eyes, clouded with pain, and his pelt more blackened skin than Sunstar's burnished hues. He pitches forward, staggers as though he is the warrior who lost his leg, and prays. Begs the kinder creatures overseeing the clans for a mercy the mountains would not give if he asked. My son, my kit. StarClan take him gently, do not punish him for my mistakes. His vision blurs and a wet gasp rattles in his throat. "Sunnvar!"

He presses his nose to the dirt beside him, chalky with ash and soot. It is all death, death where there was once kitten milk and kneading paws at his belly, pink-tongued yawns and sleepy eyes.
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WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 42 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTAR (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge.
  — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know; he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel."
  — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you.
  — ★★★☆☆ KITTING: Thanks to Starlingheart and his own pregnancy, he's better prepared for the arrival of kits, but any complications will need a little faith and a lot of luck.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you.
  — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

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[downyfur]

Downypaw's uselessness has never been so apparent to them. Their little paws couldn't wrench him out of the fire before they overtook him. Their tunneler shoulders were too narrow to shoulder his weight as they carried him back home. Their cowardice stopped theirs from joining the flurry of paws at the flames eating Bearpaw alive.

On the hurried march back, they can't keep their eyes from straying to what remains of Bearpaw's pelt. Once curled with soft, loose ringlets, the only thing that curls from it now is thin tendrils of smoke. Rosettes of red, weeping flesh have replaced what was lovely, brown, and plush. The horrid scent of burning flesh stings their face and clings to the tears that coat it. The apprentice shuts their eyes, trying to remember his form for what it once was, or what it would be in StarClan. For his dignity, Downypaw should look away. How awful would it be to know your friend was staring at your backside the whole time? If they had ever been intent on preserving his dignity, they'd failed at it now.

Them, them, them. Somehow, they had made this all about them. What about Wolfsong and Sunstar? StarClan, to lose a leg and risk losing a son. And Sunlitpaw, Singedpaw, Rivepaw, and Featherpaw...Oh, if Featherpaw didn't truly hate them then, she would surely hate them now.

They hold their breath through the gorse tunnel. If the other members of the patrol hadn't announced it, the smell alone would draw them over.

For all their anguish, Wolfsong's lament cleaves their heart clean in two. Downypaw watches, stricken, as the medicine cat simply keels over before his son's body and cries for his mate. Slowly, they realize, He's not doing anything. The gold-furred cat just crouches there, nose snubbed into the bloodied ashen dirt, as though all the herbs in the world had already failed him.

Dry-mouthed, they quietly croak, "You can't help him?" It feels so wrong of them to ask for anything more out of a grieving father, but really? There was nothing, and he was dying, and that was it? The hope that had suspended them all this way slowly crumbles into dust, leaving them stiff and brittle where they stand.

The bloodied pile of ashes and mewling was once a boy who preferred punishment to the thought of hurting them. (Why him?) The soon-to-be mound of dirt with flowers on top was once a pair of downturned eyes and a rueful smile, their edges made soft in the shadows of the medicine den. (Why him?) Each memory, each thread of their budding friendship, they carve a piece from them until they're nothing more than another skeleton standing in the way of those more important to him.

(Why not me?) Son of a tyrant-slayer and a prophet, sun-hearted and heaven-eyed: he was destined for everything, but not life? And he had been—Downypaw sobs—he had been stupid enough to be scared of himself. ​

 

[FEATHERSPINE]

Bearpaw's cries rolled in with the stench of scorched flesh; Featherpaw's stomach lurched, and he was running before he could even think twice about it. It was a kittish cry Featherpaw had felt rip from within her, too- pain blinding, white-flashing, death careening behind tightly-squeezed eyes.

She had always been the protector- the wise one, weary and knowing, at the price of being unkind. Featherpaw had accepted that as her role among her siblings- fierce and bossy and not-as-loving, just to keep them alive. And he was mean, and he knew it, and had been alright with it- alright, so long as they were all alive. They had been, they had been- what had gone wrong?

Who was on this patrol? Everyone but him- not one of them noble enough to arch above Bearpaw and bear the flames. Later, Featherpaw might realise such an expectation would have rendered two Clanmates dead- but in the haze of this infernal moment, she could only think of her brother's singed, blackened body- she could only hear his cries. His soft hearted, flower-brained brother- hearts in his eyes, heart pulsing sympathetic. Balm where Featherpaw was bane.

And what was the point of it, now he was going?

For she was not as stupid as Downypaw to ask- not as foolish to deny that Bearpaw could see StarClan in the rolling whites of his eyes. Convulsing limbs twitched against twining spirits, and Featherpaw dared to look at his brother then, and dared to look with gleaming steel.

It did not take long to crumble. Featherpaw's tightened lip began to tremble. Blinking lashes began to blur and catch dewdrops upon them. "Buh... b-b-b-buh, B-Bearpaw," he mumbled, pointlessly. Wolfsong screamed, but Featherpaw kept her wails locked tight in a thickening, drying throat, bearing not to look as rended as she felt.

A flagging step took toward his rosetted littermate, toward the dying body, toward the light. Bearpaw wailed, still. "Stop, stop it," she begged, stupidly, unkindly. It was all she knew how to be.

He had fashioned himself into a blade, a lashing tongue and fiery claws, a mawful of fangs, to protect him. If she could not protect her softest, safest sibling- what worth did she have?

Tonight, Bearpaw's spirit would rise with the smoke that had killed him. But now, Featherpaw held his brother's eyes- he would offer Bearpaw that small petal of dignity. Their goodbye would be yellow and blue, dewy and pained, and wordless- but Bearpaw would see, she hoped, the love that boiled within agonised sunshine, aglimmer with tears.​

✦ penned by pin​

 

[PINKSHINE]

When Bearpaw comes home, he's not himself. His jaws are parted, and cries don't come from games of pretend; when Pink-kit would tumble over the other kits and wonder what was up with the stuffy bunch of five that lived couped up in the Medicine Cat's Den. He's hurt, really really hurt. And Wolfsong isn't doing what he always does— taking his job serious and being quick to set to work. He just... cries, and Pinkpaw doesn't think he should cry. Downypaw and the others shouldn't have to drag him home on their backs like this. Downypaw shouldn't have to cry.

" What... " She lets herself frown, cause she felt bad smiling when no one else was. She knows its serious, cause Wolfsong is upset. She knows its serious, because Featherpaw is something else besides angry, right now. She knows it's serious, because her sister is crying, and after standing still for a moment too long, she goes to them and sets her head on their shoulder, her striped tail trying to find her sister's.

This is what she thought would've happened to Sunstar. He would've come home on their shoulders, burnt to ashes, all parts of him either chewed up or spit out again. Dead, with no other lives to him. It's what she had thought, and yet it isn't at all... because Pinkpaw then, hadn't known how it would really look. Like this. And there shouldn't have been anyone instead. It just... shouldn't have been. Tears make her eyes glossy. She wonders if the fire made them red and weary as the sky.

She looks at Wolfsong, and she wants to ask, will he be okay? But it doesn't look like he knows any more than Pinkpaw does.​

 

[SUNNVAR]

He limps, ashen, to a place of murder. There is no need to tell him this– he can smell it on the air, pungent as blood and rot: the charred stench of flesh so strong it would have numbed him at any other time. The jittery nervousness of his limbs is not a welcome substitute. You can't help him? That his instinct is to shout that there is nothing left to help. . . a bitter thing. It has taken root where his son once had been. As he stumbles closer, the acrid stench and pained wails draw his heart into a noose. Past Featherpaw and Pinkpaw, the mourning Downypaw, past the cats that would be the future of this clan. A future without Bearpaw. Without the kind, gentle tom that had served as a warrior in ways that Sunstar could never understand. Too often were their lives wound together by violence. The wars that they fought and won and lost had made up WindClan.

But so too had Bearpaw. With patience and softness, and resolute kindness. He had embodied what Sunstar could not. A father's long-forgotten love for his son. Not in these moors, but the distant mountains. Urging to wait and take each day slowly. What use was it to charge towards the future, when there was so much of it lying in wait? Why urge it to pass when each limited second is a prize? The birth of his kittens had changed him. So too would their loss. For while it is Wolfsong the medicine cat who knows that Bearpaw will not be long for this world, it is Sunnvar, the distant rogue of times long past. A cat who saw the suffering of many and found himself uncaring of it all. For surely if they were to go, it was their time. Surely if they had fought and triumphed until the end, it was fate that called them away.

Mourning was a celebration. An honorable death was a warrior's return to where they were meant to be.

His sharp cry is not one of battle or rage. There is no celebration to fill his lungs. His tendons cut, Sunstar falls alongside Bearpaw's body. His muzzle is pressed to the too-hot fur where he no longer smells of beautiful flowers or pungent herbs. "Bearpaw," he murmurs before he ever intends to. "My son."

A warrior stands at the mouth of frosted water, his eyes resolutely on the horizon. "What is this?" The voice behind him seems filled with a rage he could not understand. Jealous, he thought. A sad old fool with every intention to see his son raised to be the same. A warrior who had lost all meaning in life and sought to take it from every other. Who spoke of diplomacy and the greater good, who forsake all that he had raised his hotheaded child to value.

"I am leaving. To start something anew. Do not think to change my mind."

Broken, he sobs. It is not the pitiful defeat that he had once seen, but the puncturing of an artery as he finds the place of his body not so burnt to ruin. "Quiet," he whispers, an echo of Featherpaw's plea that wavers with his heartbeat. His ears are filled with ocean-sound, blood-beat, the softening sounds of his eldest's wailing — "Shh," he soothes, "shhh."

"I'm– I'm s-sorry," the apprentice sobs, "I wasn't strong enough."

Strong. As if that is the only good thing to be. His eyes squeeze shut against the torrent though he bites back, "No," in wet protest. It is too much of a farewell. Selfishly, Sunstar wishes he could shut it from his ears. They might linger instead in this moment of grief and loss, but alive, the both of them alive. A greedy heart, but. . . he could not do this to his son. To prolong his suffering is the greatest of cruelties. This too would be a burden he must bear. "StarClan," he whispers. "I ask that you look down upon this apprentice. He has learned the warrior code, and has given his life in service to his clan." He staggers through his son's final breaths, each pained. Smaller. "Please. Receive him as a warrior. For a swift flight to your guiding paws, he shall be known as Bearflight. Let StarClan greet you by name."

There is no counting of breaths. No moment of existence between the last of his words and the last motion of Bearflight's frame. There is nothing until there is this — his face still pressed to curled fur, Sunstar screams his grief for the stars to hear.

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

• OOC. this post took far too long for me to write, but. bear deserved an ending. </3 rai gave me permission to powerplay his final moments. windclan will miss the both of them so much
• 

  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"

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