sensitive topics BEARER OF BAD NEWS ✦ RETURN

[MIREPURR]

Taking place directly after this thread. Wake up everyone; Smogmaw's orders!
No need to wait for;
@orchidbloom @SHARPSHADOW @Snowpaw. @Loomingpaw @sneezepaw @THORNPAW

✦

Following Smogmaw's command, Mirepurr arrives with Orchidbloom, Sharpshadow, and too many apprentices by their side.

Home does not offer its usual warm welcome; the well-concealed hollow amongst the pine forest remains dreary, almost anticipatory as the dark and gloom peers back at them. Never again will this space be the same. With each leader lost, the Clan must change, lest they get carried away by the shifting tides. The 'paws trailing after them should not have been there to witness this life-changing occurance, but the most Mirepurr can do now is obey, and above all else — hope. Hope that they will all find solace in this storm, one way or another.

Before everything erupts into chaos, Mirepurr turns to the two warriors accompanying them. "Could one of you check in on the nursery and make sure kits don't hear any of this?" I'm not strong enough for that one, they want to say, though it is obvious enough even in its absence.

"ShadowClan," Mirepurr calls then, too-soft voice forcing them to peer inside the dens to properly rouse their sleeping Clanmates from (hopefully) peaceful sleep. It feels wrong, but... it wouldn't be much better if they waited until their inner clocks and alarms woke them, knowledge hidden from them until dawn or even later on in the day. They have the right to know now. Chilledstar's body is still warm- and that's a different kind of morbid side to all this. "I'm afraid I have bad news."

Breath rattles within their throat. Already they must brace themself for the onslaught of questions, the pairs of eyes widening in disbelief, the gasps of horror.

StarClan, give me strength. "Chilledstar... Chilledstar is- they lost their last life."
​

 

[betonyfrost]

It is only a mild concern that finds Betonyfrost when a sizable patrol returns to camp. It is something in the way they all carry themselves—Betonyfrost knows what bad news looks like. She braces herself, sharp shoulders pointing up from her back and head loweres, as Mirepurr speaks in a weak voice. The news is far worse than Betonyfrost could have ever imagined.

It is about Chilledstar.

Their wounds will never again be healed by the miracle of StarClan. Questions bloom and wither in Betonyfrost’s mind. Understanding and then immediate denial follow close behind. Betonyfrost feels something in her break—for a terrible moment she thinks it is a bone. A rib to pierce her own heart on, something of the sort. The pain is enough to be mistaken as such. She makes a sound that would have been a wail had it been louder: shock or grief.

The world had off-centered itself while Betonyfrost hadn’t been watching; Chilledstar is dead and will remain forever dead.

She remembers a biting cold when she stands and almost immediately stumbles over her own limbs. This muddled confusion is different than the one she had known before, but the effects are the same. The distance between herself and the patrol closes slowly as Betonyfrost shakes too much to be anything but plodding. She stops abruptly before reaching two foxlengths of the patrol, as if halted by some invisible barrier.

Betonyfrost raises a paw and finds herself incapable of going closer.

Her last words to Chilledstar had been contentious. Why had she done that? Betonyfrost feels as though she should have had a warning of some kind. She should have felt through the air or in her bones or on her whiskers that her time with Chilledstar was limited. She should have known in some way that this was the eventuality. Betonyfrost doesn’t complete the step as intended. It morphs into an awkward side step, and then another.

Suddenly faint, she sits instead, eyes down to her gray and muddied paws.

“And you are certain of this?” Betonyfrost asks at last.​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 35 moons | tags​

 

[mockingbirdcry]

The night is dreary as ever under the pale - curving claw of the moon, a dome of stars peering down from the heavens . . . unbeknownst to the humidity - bathed camp's residents, a new one sparkles cold among them, armored in hoarfrost. Mockingbirdcry reclines under the ivory light of the glittering skies, slowly - swelling moon illuminating the shadow - pocketed hollow of the Clan camp, spreading tendrils of alabaster light to stretch long across the muck - slick earth until they stutter in stained - glass rotations over velvety white paws. Soft pink paw - pads trace mindless circles in the dirt, concentric alien shapes, dark doe eyes wide and alert . . . sleep is ever - evasive, now more than ever, when the greenleaf heat is at its most insufferable.

" Hm? " Her soft - voiced rumble accompanies an immediate slide to her paws, the queen moving forward before Mirepurr's messenger can even breathe a word. Between her fellow queens and the warrior, the kits will be well - minded in their angelic rest . . . and she'll swear in low tones later that she knew just from the look on the group of cats' faces. Mockingbirdcry has been the nursery's ghost since the day the hollow had been carved out beneath the thorn bush that tears free tufts of gilded lilac - and - white fur in her haste to join the gathering group in the camp's center.

She's just in time to hear the message delivered to those beckoned forth by Mirepurr's summons, sleepy and guided to their soft - voiced call as moths to the light ( ha, moths, she chuckles to herself ). Her feather - furred ears hardly twitch at the news . . . a third leader struck down, though perhaps not so brutally as their predecessors ( or perhaps so? ). " They're dead, then? " she echoes in low, matter - of - fact tones, the night stealing half of her politeness and leaving characteristic candor. No need to shy from the word, if you asked her . . . the confirmation is more an instinctive repitition than any measure of disbelief. Whatever pittance of sorrow she might pay Chilledstar is outranked in triplicate by her curiosity.

A dead leader is big news. How might this especially brutal development make its mark on the Clan's landscape? Or, rather, how might soon - to - be Smogstar make his mark? In terms of fascinating leadership style alone, he's got big paws to fill, given that one of Chilledstar's last major acts was slapping another leader right up on the Great Rock . . . somehow, she doubts Smogmaw is the type to usher in an era of peace and relaxation, though. Mockingbirdcry supposes only time will tell . . . but no point lingering on it all; to survive, one had to adapt, learn a new way to swim with the shift of the tides or drown, and this was certainly a sea change.

" Will the queens' help be needed in preparing the body? " she rasps to either of the lead warriors present, heavy muck - drenched tail twitching thoughtfully behind her. She gives little thought to a foggy - eyed Betonyfrost. Better to put the time to use than spend it milling about with the rest of the grieving herd . . . the traces of lavender and mint clinging to her pelt speak to her experience in vigil ministrations. In a Clan so oft marked by tragedy, how could one not be? Especially when the elders were scarce enough that they typically required help in their traditional duties . . . a dark - eyed glance at their barely inhabited den serves to confirm it. " I'm certainly willing to offer my paws, at least. "

OOC : —

♡

​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

A somber precession returns to ShadowClan, heads bowed and feet dragging... Sharpshadow doesn't utter a word. Mirepurr, he imagines, holds a dry tongue over whatever it was they planned to tell. Part of her thinks Chilledstar doesn't deserve such dreary feelings. They didn't cherish their own lives the way those under them had. Or maybe the swamp was just that deadly. That can't be the reality. Then, what hope could the rest of them ever have with their measly single life? Its easiest to blame Chilledstar. It's easiest for her to glower at someone that could no longer look back.

Mirepurr turns toward him and Orchidbloom. " Okay, " is dully replied, preceding his slink toward the nursery. Mockingbirdcry has already come to investigate, her pale face meeting him on his small trek. She reminds her of Smogmaw in the worst way, a pallid voice betraying no grief; no sadness. But then, her answering " Yeah, " is muted to the point where she no longer felt she had the right to judge. The warrior's paws shift. Preparing the body. It's clinical. " Probably, " he says.

Make sure the kits don't hear this, Mirepurr had said, but they'd hear it regardless, whether that was now or in a half - moon... Kits were not ignorant to the existence of their leader. They would notice that they're gone. They would notice that Smogmaw's voice would surely drone on tenfold in the coming moons, too.

" Make sure the kits are okay, " is what she settles for in the end... As if Mockingbirdcry needed to be told to do her job. Idly, he sits beside the queen, staring blankly toward camps entrance.​

 

[smogstar]

Life-warmth ebbs from their form. Moment by moment, weakening, felt in his jaws where they grip the scruff of their limp body. The body goes cold in real-time. Still-wet blood cakes their moonless fur, and his fur as well—between the bumpy voyage across the swampy terrain, and having to swap positions with Forestshade to carry their body—blood clings everywhere. It connects the two leaders, past and present.

Pinning down where exactly his thoughts lay outside possibility's reach. For one, the tom can't begin to rightly process their leader's sudden death. It hadn't set in quite yet. The instructions given to Mirepurr and the apprentices, how swiftly he'd assumed control over the situation so shortly after stumbling upon it; products of a practiced mind running solely on instinct. Sentimentality for their long-reigning leader was tucked aside for the time being. They'd have a vigil, a good vigil, yes. But the moment demands other priorities. His clan must know what has happened first.

Adrenaline, excitement, shock, fear. Processing each. Knowing he ought not show any outward, negative signs, no weakness or hesitance in such a monumental circumstance, Smogmaw refuses to lift his sightline from the ground facing his paws. Furtive thoughts bleed through uninhibited as he carries his late leader through ShadowClan's territory, into camp, heart thundering. Part from exertion. Part from stress, anticipation. It's his now. Total say, total control. Responsibility beyond comprehension, but he swears to it, a dark gleam in the tom's eyes. His to claim, as he'd waited so patiently to have. His to build, mold, hone as he saw fit.

Smogmaw pauses just at the cusp of the hollow in which camp resides. Blinking, letting his surroundings sink back in as if it'd all slipped from existence a heartbeat prior. His gaze finds Starlingheart then, and flits to Forestgaze. Neither had so much uttered a thing along the journey back home, save for when it was time to swap roles dragging the body along. He seeks out confidence, examining their expressions for hints and hoping to borrow some himself. They're all going to need it.

Mirepurr and their assigned assemblage are well returned by now, and the clan should have been lifted from its slumber. Ideally, the party would have gone light on the details, kept things vague, enough truth to relay urgency but ward off too much unneeded ruckus. Smogmaw assumes, hopes as such.

Pah. He can't loiter any longer. Squaring up as he enters camp with the body, vision instantly drifting ahead.

Eyes, feelingless, notice some who'd remained in camp, those who stand oblivious to what has unfolded. Betonyfrost. Mockingbirdcry. It is reasonable to assume they've noticed him in turn. Gasps, questions, exclamations of all sorts and volume—Smogmaw elects to tune them out, and focuses solely on depositing Chilledstar's corpse where all can see: the bottom of Clanrock.

He pivots to face them all. "Everyone, gather here." Assertive, firm. Cold, too, as expected. Attention navigates through the crowd, connecting briefly with curious and fretful gazes, waiting until they've amassed completely. Mirepurr lingers not far. Smogmaw breathes steadily; in and out, to abate nerves and solidify an image in everyone's heads. "Tonight," pausing here as to not fumble over the next bit. It's so sudden. It's not real. "Tonight, Chilledstar has died. A dog killed them. A dog which has since been killed by one of our own. I did not see it happen, but know they did not suffer for very long. They're up above now, in the great beyond where our forebears dwell. No doubt they'll receive StarClan's highest regards for their leadership."

Eyes start to waver. There's much to take in at once. Smogmaw scrutinizes them, keeps steady himself, to instill faith they can manage just the same. The tom breathes out again. "Chilledstar is due their greatest farewell, and they shall have it through a vigil at moonhigh." Voice low, levelled. "Until then, do what you will. Prepare your words, stories, or memories to share in their name. I will need volunteers to help clean their body and get it ready for ceremony."

For an extra moment he bores into Chilledstar's corpse there. Fixates on the life no more inside their dead form. Wondering distantly what Chilledstar would be thinking right now, if they were present to see this. In all truthfulness, they'd snap at him for his staring. Give him an earful or two over what the clan ought to be doing instead. He exhales sharply at the notion.

It went without saying, but the authoritative tone and blank delivery should instill a unanimous understanding among the clan: the previous leadership has concluded, and a new reign starts now.​

 

[Wormwatcher]

✧*:.｡. I’m afraid I have bad news. Wormwatcher had been comfortably within his nest, his long forelegs sprawled outwards over the sides of the moss. His nose and one forepaw twitched repeatedly as he slept, the first good sleep he had in quite a while– which would now be interrupted. He roused only slightly as he heard faint pawsteps at the entrance of the den. The tom refused to open his eyes, as it was probably just a warrior returning from relieving themselves, except; he did not hear the familiar staggered pawsteps of a feline making their wary procession to their nest.
"Chilledstar... Chilledstar is- they lost their last life." Wormwatcher is now standing in the clearing, a few lengths away from the warriors’ den, on the outskirts of the gathering which has formed around the returned patrol. He stands stiffly, his usual expressionless gaze focused on some point in front of his forepaws. He wonders morbidly what it would look like. Would there be a lot of blood? Would it looked like Chilledstar? How damaged? What happened? He is slack-jawed, anticipating the arrival of a body, scenarios flashing through his mind. He wishes he could occupy his mind somehow and not on the flow of nonsensical thoughts. He pursed his lip and his ears lowered towards his head slightly. Wormwatcher inhales shallowly. Lost was nothing new to this clan, but this was a more unexpected death than any other.

✧*:.｡. ~ aren’t i enough? ~

• ooc- repost... *winks*
  
• wormwatcher —— wormwatcher, he/him

​

 

[MIREPURR]

✦

"Yes," Mirepurr says, painfully aware that this confirmation would bring Betonyfrost pain beyond comprehension. They do not pretend to know what she feels; her apparent love-sickness when it comes to their (late) leader had crescendoed in a too-public quarrel, feeling like a life-time ago already. Perhaps she wishes she's never talked to them that way. Perhaps she wishes she could yell at them again, if they were to hear it properly, not as a wail sent skyward- where Chilledstar resides now.

They tear their gaze away from her and blinks at Mockingbirdcry with great gratitude — so quick to offer, while Mirepurr themself prays their own paws won't be needed. Tears are still drying on their cheek fur, burning in their wake; they cannot imagine themself combing through blood-stained fur, even if Chilledstar deserves that care and much more.

The ferns shudder as Smogmaw arrives. Everybody else pours in after him, and Mirepurr refuses to look at them properly, lest they take in the full view of Chilledstar's eerily still body. They've never been a too animated individual... especially in their last few moons, grief and pain taking over all other emotion. Still, still- it's not right. Mirepurr wishes Chilledstar would scold them all again, voice rising and booming atop the Clanrock, profanity spilling past their lips.

Never again would that happen.

Mirepurr listens to Smogmaw; clings to every word like it's another lifeline, haphazardly thrown in front of them all. His stoic exterior and confidence in leading them is all they need right now — and if anyone notices their refusal to volunteer for the cleanup, they'd be quick to find Mirepurr's jaw tight with tension, eyes boring into the deputy. Deputy for the last time tonight.
​

 

[Loomingpaw]

Paws felt heavy as Loomingpaw moved from the scene of death and towards the camp. She was relieved for the opportunity to move, to get away from the body of the only leader she'd known. She knew that eventually this would happen, that Chilledstar would die and Smogmaw would become the new leader with StarClan's approval but she had hoped that it would be when she was a warrior, when she had a couple moons under her of serving simply as a warrior instead of an apprentice. Time didn't wait for such pleasantries.

She stops alongside Mirepurr, ears pricked as they speak and address the clan, the apprentice's mouth stays shut tight afraid of somehow saying the wrong thing to anyone. There are questions. Are they sure, will the queens help, still the apprentice stays silent. The questions would be answered by more knowledgeable cats than herself she was sure of that, and they were. It's when Smogmaw enters camp with Chilledstar's body that a noise finally comes in a shuttering breath. She had seen the way Chilledstar had looked in death so it shouldn't have surprised her, but it took until this moment for it to feel real, for the full understanding of the situation to come crashing down on her.

He addresses the clan for the last time as deputy, for by the time he is done speaking the leadership role has shifted onto his shoulders - ones that for now carry one simple life instead of the nine that StarClan would bless him with - and though Loomingpaw had never dared to defy her deputies words, never thought them to be wrong or to question them, she especially does so now, drinking in every word that he speaks in the hope to find purpose within them. The clan is ordered to prepare, that there will be a vigil when the moon is at it's highest, and then asks for volunteers and the apprentice takes a small step forward. Whether it be to get prey for those that would be working so diligently to make sure that Chilledstar looked their best for one final goodbye or her working alongside them Loomingpaw would do her best to help with whatever was needed.

COYOTES TIPTOE ┆彡 IN THE SNOW AFTER DARK

• --

• 

• : ̗̀➛ sh lilac/blue smoke chimera w/low white & sectoral heterochromia
  : ̗̀➛ 10 moons old, ages realistically every 25th
  : ̗̀➛ bisexual biromantic; many puppy crushes; interested in none
  : ̗̀➛ stubborn and loyal to shadowclan
  : ̗̀➛ will start fights, will finish fights outside of clan
  : ̗̀➛ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  : ̗̀➛ peaceful powerplay and healing allowed

​

​

 

[MARBLEPAW]

The very air in camp seems to be sucked out when Mirepurr's patrol returns. Their gentle voice is strained, cracking under the weight of the news they bear. Marblepaw cranes her neck, searching for Starlingheart amongst the returning cats. She had gone with the patrol to find herbs, but had ordered her to remain behind. Perhaps the black-and-white she-cat had felt the foreboding in the heavy marsh air, had had an omen of ill-repute that had forced her to keep her young apprentice behind.

"Chilledstar... they lost their last life." Cold seeps up from the camp floor and into Marblepaw's feet, weighing them down, turning them to stone. "What?" Her lips feel frozen in place, too; forming words does not come naturally to her now. "Their... their last life?"

Little Pebble, the voice comes to her, unbidden, and tears begin to burst into yellow-green eyes. She'd never hear them say that again, would she? She wobbles as other Clanmates begin to question the news—tempestuous Betonyfrost, practical Mockingbirdcry. The patrol members are still, almost stoic in the face of this tragedy.

As water begins to slip down her face, Marblepaw puts her paw to her chest and begins to tremble, shaking with sobs. She can hear Smogmaw giving orders for Chilledstar's vigil and eventual burial, can feel the bustle of pelts swishing about her as ShadowClan moves to get to work, but she can't do anything but cry. Little Pebble, she thinks, and she puts a second paw on her abdomen and tries to hold herself together.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Marblekit . Marblepaw, she/they w/ feminine and non-gendered terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 6 moons old, ages realistically on the 1st.
  — mentored by Starlingheart ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a
  — shadowclan medicine cat apprentice, formerly a rogue. siltcloud x lilacfur, gen 3.
  — currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh fawn tabby with dull green eyes. courageous, curious, introspective, observant, judgmental, snarky.
  
  

​

 

[BATCHASER]

A somber air returns to the clan, turning his head from where it focused on the marshy ground below him. He laid on his side near the warrior's den, not yet tucking in for the night. Glancing to the side at his fellow warriors, walking entering the warriors den and tucking in for the night. Sleeping at night was never a strong suit to the tom, it's all about the grand adventure… Wanting to sneak away to have a stroll around the dark undergrowth, with no care. "Hm?" Snapping out of his thoughts, he swivels an ear towards the rustling entrance as he sees Mirepurr enter. Then call out to the clan in a soft voice.

Batchaser raises a brow from under his curled fringe, immediately raising on pale-splashed paws. Moving from his spot to glide forward to listen to the chimera's message, with slow pawsteps to join behind the gathering group in the camp's center. Hearing the message delivered news from Mirepurr's mouth didn't surprise him the least. Large ears hardly twitch, as he glanced at his clanmates with a bored stare. A… third leader beaten down, but not brutally nonetheless. "So. They're dead then, yes?" An uninterested tone leaves his maw. No politeness mixed in or disbelief. He cocks his head to the side, no need to shy from the world that deals with death on occasion. It's not a surprise that Chilledstar didn't revive, but stayed dead. He was not close to the leader, he just followed their orders like a loyal regular soldier. He would've gotten to know them a bit… but it doesn't matter now.

Dead leaders are a big news… right? He wonders if the soon-to-be Smogstar would make his mark? Rule the marshlands with an intriguing leadership style? Though… the last big thing that Chilledstar has done was slap another leader in the face on Great Rock no less. Heard it from the gossip in the clan. This is certainly a change in different waters.

The curled black smoke blinks as Smogmaw comes through the fern entrance carrying a body. As well as the rest of the patrol returning. Focusing on the limp corpse of the scarred leader, in between the jaws of the deputy he lets his nose scrunch up in distaste at the sight. All while gasps, questions and exclamations rose from his clanmates. Batchaser clicks his tongue at the noise, as he stepped back from the crowd of bodies with a lash of his tail. Snapping his hidden heterochromatic gaze at Smogmaw, the deputy deposited the corpse at the bottom of Clanrock. Ears twitching at the words the other spoke of how Chilledstar died, a dog killed them and took their life. The clan is ordered to prepare for a vigil, when the moon is at its highest. The bicolored warrior didn't take a step forward, when the deputy asked for some volunteers for the cleanup.

THE DARLING MOON ‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ HIDDEN EYES AND SHARP GRINS

•  

• 

• ( THAT'S ONE ENEMY DOWN! ) ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ BATCHASER. ╱ shadowclan warrior.
  ✦ cismale ; HE / HIM, fine with gendered terms. ; 32 MOONS & AGES EVERY 10TH.
  ✦ pansexual / not actively looking / open to crushes & romance
  ✦ a tall, shorthaired curly black smoke mix with gold/green heterochromatic eyes.
  ✦ battle notes — thoughts ; "Speech, 7077A1" ; attacks only
  ✦ may powerplay minor harm ╱ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted
  ✦ smells like rain-soaked pavement, mist & sweet leaf rot
  — all opinions are ic
  
  — biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by calzone
  

​

 

[Maggotfur.]

ABANDON ALL YOUR STUPID DREAMS
ABOUT THE GIRL I COULD HAVE BEEN, MY DEAR​

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

maggotfur ♛ 20 moons ♛ female ♛ she/her ♛ shadowclan warrior ​

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Chilledstar is- they lost their last life.

Two - that is the number of leaders that Maggotfur has now witnessed - the number that she has now outlived. Sure, both may have had more moons of life and experience then her, but she is certain she will never follow in their pawsteps - to be granted life nine time's over, and to fail and lose them so swiftly? Head shakes from where she keeps to herself, blue eyes cold.

She only makes her way from the sidelines once she's regained her composure, burning gaze landing upon Smogmaw - now leader, for all that he lacks the stars blessing just yet. He calls for attention, and for a moment she cannot help her wandering gaze, no matter how foolish it might be. Starblessed Smogmaw is not - not a single speck of white upon his pelt. She wonders, absently, what that will mean for Shadowclans future - but she is not Magpiepaw, has no knowledge of the stars and their wishes or what the future holds.

Instead, she listens only to his words, head dipping to the side, though the molly makes no move to volunteer herself for this task. She is not a kind cat - she is cold, uncaring. Perhaps she might offer respect for the.... tolerable leader who'd moved on to join the ancestors, but she hold no affection for the corpse cooling upon the ground. The task is one better left to someone more... suited.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━

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A N D - I F - Y O U ' R E - B L I N D - T O - T H A T ,━ I ' M - F I N E - W I T H - T H A T

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[FORESTSHADE]

Forestshade feels numb as she plods along between Smogmaw and Starlingheart, her broad shoulders aiding in hauling their leader’s fallen body back to camp. The journey there is silent as she merely focuses on picking her way there, face downcast, damp cheeks drying. Chilledstar told her not to cry, after all. Ears flat, she pauses alongside the deputy before descending into the hollow.

The shock and horror from all of their clanmates is almost too much to bear. She tries to shut it out, tries to focus on anything else while she gently lowers Chilledstar’s body on the ground. A shaky sigh leaves her and she steps back, just in time for Smogmaw to address the clan with all of the authority and firmness of a leader, like he’s been waiting his entire life for this moment. And she’s bitter about it. Why is this so easy for you? But her jaw is tensed, clamped shut. She remains silent. I did not see it happen, but know they did not suffer for very long. Blind eyes narrow in anger. I was there. They did suffer.

As soon as their deputy finishes speaking, the torbie is quick to depart, unable to stick around for much longer. Her mind feels like it is spinning faster than she can keep up. The forest is where she processes best, so it is there where she disappears into the shadows. The next time she is seen will be at the vigil later, after the queens prepare her mentor’s body. ​

 

[FLINTWISH]

It doesn't matter what Flintwish had been doing before Mirepurr entered camp. When the news is delivered, the insignificant task ceases; the insignificant warrior perks his head up, jaw hanging just slightly, bi-color eyes wide. Chilledstar had died. Their reign is over.

What emotion should he feel? Many of his clanmates respond with hearty grief, their sadness pouring out of their eyes, snot hitching in each breath. He does not. In fact, he feels a bit embarrassed of his non-response, his empty stare. Chilledstar is dead, and he isn't crying. Chilledstar is dead, and really, is he even sad about it? It should be sad when cats die. No such emotion claws its way up Flintwish's ribs. He thinks instead of Halfshade, and Heavybranch, and Comfreypaw, and Siltcloud, and Granitepelt — and he realizes that he wasn't really sad for any of them, either. Embarrassed. Guilty. Ashamed. That is what he'd felt for them, each one of them tied deeply to him in some way, but for Chilledstar he feels very little.

He tries to recall them, and he sees them sick and stumbling over his name at his belated apprentice ceremony; he sees them bleeding in their den while Granitepelt raves outside of it; he sees them swatting at WindClan at the gathering. They had given him a nice warrior name, he will concede. For that, a twinge of something reverberates, but otherwise he feels nothing. A new kind of shame sluices over him for it. Marblepaw is a wreck, and she had only known them for six moons — not even. He should be able to summon up something, shouldn't he?

He can't. Flintwish sits among this hysterical crowd, blank gaze fixed on Smogmaw, deputy to no cat. He would be leader soon.

Flintwish exits without a word.

used to be one of the rotten ones ( and i liked you for that ) //

• ooc.
  
• FLINTWISH —— warrior of shadowclan, mentored by forestshade & scalejaw . granitepelt x starlingheart . littermate to nettlepaw, ghostmask ✦ penned by meghan
  
  ✦ a small, slate-blue tom with mismatched blue and green eyes. hard to approach and harder to enjoy, but beneath his spines he seems to have a good heart, and cares for his clanmates
  ✦ unlabeled gender / he, she, they pronouns / 14 moons & ages every 12th
  ✦ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / underline & tag account when attacking
  —— will start fights / may flee / may show mercy. tends to fight dirty on account of granitepelt's teachings. will fight tooth and nail to win, as this is one of the few ways flintwish can probe his worth to himself
  
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, all opinions are in character
  ✦ full biography — msg on discord for plots — toyhouse
  

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