sensitive topics bed of roses ❀ death

[Petalpaw ★]

In the tunnels he hid his grief, sorrowful and quiet as always. With Lambcurl's death he had been given to another tunneler to be trained and Petalpaw offered no complaint. He never complained. He never spoke. That was just how he was. He could neither voice protest or cry his despair - forever locked into his eternally silent prison. He wished Lambcurl was still here, odd as the tom was he had felt safe and comfortable with him and now he felt lost. Lost in the winding tunnels that he rarely left unless he had to, snuck out for food and a drink and returned swiftly without so much as a greeting to any cat. Once he had been afraid of them, now he embraced the dark solitude of their depths.
But something had changed. Since his mentor's death he felt sluggish, chilled to the bone. It had always been hard to breath underground with the debris and dirt clogging ones nose if they weren't careful in their digging, but he had felt is more acutely than before now. Now it felt overwhelming. Petalpaw was struggling, struggling to keep up, hearing Lambcurl's voice and high laugh echoing around him and he realized with some uncertainty that maybe he should see their medicine cat.
Maybe he should be worried that he could barely breathe, that illusions of death had begun to dance in his vision. Petalpaw clambers from the tunnel with heavy paws, he can't remember how long he'd been in there. Most days he slept in a nest tucked into a hollow to the side where no one disturbed him in his grief. But it was not his grief now that weighted him down.
A rattling cough rose him his throat, he felt bile press against the insides of his lungs and burn him; each cough now stung like scorching fire. He bursts from the tunnel, wobbling and disoriented into the middle of the camp, swaying steps taking him to the medicine cat den but he does not make it. The lilac apprentice topples over, on his side, breathing in frantic hitched gasps. While he lay motionless the world continued to convulse around him, spinning to push him upright but his flailing paws could find no traction.
Petalpaw's mouth opens to call for help, a shaky and torn whine of a sound escaping him when even in the throes of sickness he can find no voice. Was he floating now? It felt like it, maybe if he floated more he would reach the place his parents went when Greencough took them long ago, that he met the same fate at crueler hands was an irony not lost to him but not focused on.
With a shuddering, tearful wheeze, the apprentice breathed his last and fell still...
​

 

[sunlitpaw]

shadow of the moon
—————— ( ☼ ) ——————

Death was a concept Sunlitkit was growing increasingly familiar with. She'd yet to see any still body herself, but she had learned quickly that some of her sick Clanmates simply wouldn't be returning. She hardly knew Weaselclaw, but she knew the impact it had on Cottonpaw most of all when the young kit spent so much time around the medicinal duo. It had been a strange thing to consider but altogether something that had been easy to accept when she had no real connection to the other cats. They wouldn't come home and that was okay, right? They would be with StarClan. Most cats slept underneath StarClan every night, anyways, so surely that would help the sting of loss? Sunlitkit wasn't sure how she'd take to losing one of her own parents. Whether to the illness sweeping the Clan or otherwise, Sunlitkit wondered if they too would simply not come home one day. She would be so greatly upset if that were to happen. But it would be better to see them dead? Sunlitkit couldn't even begin to fathom what that might be like, the topic had been spoken of only lightly around her young ears. What happened when you died? You went to StarClan. But what happened to your body? She'd never the courage to ask. Some of her Clanmates much older than her barely respected death - if at all - so surely it wasn't too bad.

Sunlitkit had no experience with death, even if the concept was growing ever familiar. It was an unfortunate day for Sunlitkit.

Without someone to immediately stand in the shade of, Sunlitkit often loitered around her ðir's den. The sun had risen and begun to warm the increasingly chilly air, stirring the girl from her den to sunbathe in the light. Her kitten fluff glowed a freckled amber in the sunlight, eyes closed with front paws tucked carefully atop her tail to keep her paw pads warm. Freshkill dwindled, as did faces pouring in and out of camp at any time. Meanwhile, faces coming in and out of the medicine den was on the rise. Sunlitkit kept to herself to her absolute best ability, dodging around the unfamiliar feet of Clanmates to cower in the fur of Sunstride or the shade of Wolfsong. She enjoyed being alone, especially with Scorchpaw gone and Cottonpaw busy most times. She loved her family, so deeply and truly, but sometimes even her siblings were too much for her - or, well, Rivekit could tire her out quickly. She liked time with Featherkit. Soil scuffles across camp and Sunlitkit's eyes peek open, spring green slivers surveying her surroundings as an unfamiliar face emerges from a tunnel. With the quietness of the Clan, she was quicker to notice things out of place. It was harder to be more out of place than the visage of Petalpaw, dragging themselves closer to her. Sunlitkit's expression sours in worry, shimmying herself to the side to stay out of the apprentice's path as they made a clear attempt to move to the medicine den in search of her ðir.

Her eyes stay cracked, worried of having to shy further away from this stranger lest she be pulled into a conversation, but Petalpaw had made no advancement. Her hawk feather fur bristled sharply along her spine in alarm as the apprentice collapsed onto his side. Surely that was... that was nothing to worry about, right? Tunneling was just... hard work. He was fine... surely... he had to be. Sunlitkit shifts nervously, her paws feeling as though they were submerged in ice water as anxiety drained the sensation from them. Petalpaw did not rise. The apprentice instead started to gasp, and a weight settled on the child that something was terribly wrong. What was she supposed to do!? The kitten rises to her paws, finding them to be trembling beneath her. Petalpaw's mouth hangs open, like a newborn kit might when crying for food, but instead a raspy whine rattles out. "Ð-ÐIR!" Sunlitkit screeched, terror beginning to pound against her chest as she watched a glaze settle over Petalpaw's gaze swiftly. She stumbles her way into the den on her shaking limbs, shrieking as she moves. "ÐIR, SOMEONE'S HURT, I THINK - I DON'T - HE'S... COTTONPAW!" Sunlitkit begins crying for anyone who might pay her mind.

Sunlitkit had experience with death, now. She knew what it was, and what it looked like. It was not valiant. It was not something to admire. It was swift and quiet and impossible to run from, as it had dragged Petalpaw off of his paws and into the stars. She watched the life leave his eyes and his last gasp leave his lips.

She was horrified by what she had seen. She was terrified by the idea of it being one of her siblings, one of her fathers.

/summoning tags </3 @cottonpaw @WOLFSONG
​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Yellowcough has taken more cats than any enemy Bluepaw has ever known. Her father lies beneath the earth, though he’d been terrified of being underground and trapped in a small place. Lambcurl, a cat she’d known since her kithood days, lies somewhere beside him. Snailstride. She is hardly surprised when she hears one of Wolfsong’s kits shrieking for her parent, for Cottonpaw, and she feels only a vague, sick wave of nausea roil inside of her stomach when she sees who is collapsed in the middle of camp.

“Petalpaw,” she murmurs quietly, her face a mask and her voice as dull. His pale tabby fur is unmistakable, and she’d known him—they’d played in the nursery together. She remembers not minding that he did not speak, for the other kits spoke and yelled too much.

She stands over him, staring blankly at his limp, cooling body. The scent of sickness is cloying. “May you find peace in StarClan,” she whispers, tilting her face to the sky and letting the wind batter her face. It’s almost as if he had replied—as if now, within the stars, he had found his voice.

ooc ✧ 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝑒𝒶𝓃'𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓈

•  

• 

• 

  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

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[WOLFSONG]

──ᨒ↟↟ᨒ↟ᨒ↟↟ᨒ── He rubs at his forehead with a paw, staring at the empty place where lungwort once rested, as though it might manifest with enough willpower. It will not, of course, and he glances over at Cottonpaw with a wry, tired smile. His heart hurts for her still, just as he still aches for his former apprentice and their loss of Vulturemask. "You may take a rest now, Cottonpaw," he says. "You—" His voice dies in his throat as his Sunlitkit cries, panicked and distressed, and he tears through the medicine den to reach her as she stumbles inside.

Someone, she said, not one of her siblings, not her father. Still his heart clamors against his ribcage, and he draws his kit close to soothe her, licking over her ears. "Sh, sh, my Sunbeam. It will be all right. Wait for me in our nest— I will be back for you, I swear it." He touches his nose gently to her head and slides his larger cheek across hers, before slowly pulling away to emerge into camp. It is immediately clear what sent his kit into a frenzy: Petalpaw is dead, flanked by Bluepaw, whose head is tilted against the breeze.

He will need more lavender. His eye closes a moment, before reopening to look her way. Yet another death, another blow he could not remedy. "I must move him, and prepare his body for a vigil. Bluepaw." He pauses, but the request is necessary, even though she has recently lost her own father. "A grave must be made. If there are any other tunnelers free to do so." ​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 38 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (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, 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.

​

 

[rivewhisper]

"BABY, DON'T YOU KNOW I SUFFER?"​

Death was not something Rivekit had the pleasure of encountering yet. Even prey to her wasn't considered death, or what she had heard of the concept, anyways. It was like the prey was sleeping, and they wouldn't wake up, right? They were going to feeding her body, nourishing her. Making her big, and strong. But that didn't explain what was happening with the cats in camp. After all, they weren't eating them, they weren't prey. Also, they weren't just sleeping. They stayed asleep, and never returned, their bodies were taken somewhere.

Rivekit had been up after hours, of course. Watching warriors keep vigil now and again from the shadows of camp. Seeing people leave camp and return stricken with.. what looked like grief. She had hardly seen this emotion before. Being up early this morning caused her to witness something a bit new- panic, and panic like she had never seen from her siblings. Sunlitkit's words split the air, and Rivekit looked over from where she was playing. Her ears flattened, and she came scampering, blue eyes wide and focused on the situation.

Vision snapped between the corpse, and Sunlitkit, who their ðir was already tending to. But she did not want to approach the body- to approach Petalpaw, who wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. She blinked owishly for a hesitated second, then turned, padding towards Sunlitkit. In a rare moment of silence, she pressed her side against her sister. "Let's do what ðir says, okay? Let's go sit in our nest. Take a breather." Rivekit murmured, then padded into the den, expecting her sibling to follow.​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[SUNSTAR]

✦　　. 　 ˚　.   There is so little that he can do for his kittens. They will grow to be the best of WindClan. Already he sees the way that they grow. Thicker fur, longer legs. Their tails no longer seem desperate little thorns, and they eat and eat. Even in times such as these, he makes certain of that. Pieces of rabbit and bird; together they practice plucking feathers or pulling fur from hide to better line the nest that they share. It is peaceful. In the midst of all this struggle, all this change– he finds peace with his family, and it is shattered so readily despite how desperately he clings to it.

With a plover held carefully between his jaws, he surveys the scene with muscle and bone terribly frozen. He seems ready to snap or burst, to send shards of himself throughout camp. Lambcurl had passed not so long ago, and Weaselclaw even sooner. Petalpaw. Younger than the others. How long until it claimed more of them? Sunlitkit? Too close to the youth, who was far too still. The bird is unceremoniously dropped, its wing crushed at a wide angle, and he sweeps between the kitten and the corpse (Petalpaw, a familiar face, not one that he can remove from his mind). Rivekit has already urged her away and gone on her own, something he is desperately grateful for, but he can offer no chance for another course of action. "Go," he urges the kitten, voice soft yet allowing no argument. "We will gather these feathers for your nest until he comes. You do not need to be part of this yet."

𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘕; 𝘚𝘜𝘕-𝘉𝘓𝘖𝘖𝘋 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌  ╱╱ 9.16.2023 ˊˎ＜

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.   FORMERLY SUNNVAR. HE - HIM - HIS OR THEY - THEM. DEPUTY OF WINDCLAN. 4 YEARS OLD. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  —————————
  
  
  ——  a tall auburn tabby with thick fur and bright glacial eyes. sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond it, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of them. he radiates confidence and self-assured authority.
  
  

  ✦ NPC x NPC. DECEASED MOTHER, ESTRANGED FATHER. NO LITTERMATES. MATE TO WOLFSONG. FATHER TO BEARKIT, SINGEDKIT, RIVEKIT, SUNLITKIT, AND FEATHERKIT ——

• "speech"

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR​

Sootstar stares coldly at the freshly deceased body of Petalpaw. Perhaps they should’ve known, should have predicted this… Petalpaw’s parents had died last year due to greencough, why would he be able to survive a much stronger disease? One even her own mate couldn’t? Her ice cold heart must’ve finally shattered, instead of showing any sorrow she sighs as she would for an inconvinence. ”I will lead a ghost clan by the time they return from the mountains… They should’ve stayed put, here where they belong and are needed.” She rambles her regrets to no one in particular, by the looks of it she may have intended to voice this outloud sheerly for herself.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » WindClan Leader
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

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[VENOMSTRIKE]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Venomstrike hadn't expected to see a young apprentice dead and it made his insides twist wondering how many more yellowcough would take away from them. Those kittypets ruined us. He thinks bitterly to himself as his ears lay flat against his skull, he hadn't had a distaste for Skyclan before but now it was growing and growing. Perhaps it was unfair to blame the twoleg loving clan but who else was for blame? Nobody but them. His claws dig into the ground underneath his paws and can't help but wince when he sees that two of Wolfsong's kittens discover death for the first time and it makes his throat tighten in the slightest. When he looks to Petalpaw once more... He imagines someone else he cares dearly for and his heart aches terribly. No... He must remain hopeful.

His eyes turning to Sootstar as she speaks about how the cats who had gone on the journey should've stayed and he bites down on his tongue for a few heartbeats before finally mustering the courage to speak even if she seemed to be rambling to herself "And you would lead a ghost clan regardless... If the cats that had gone stayed they would only find the same f-fate..." And they'd have no cure. Windclan would be obsolete. Gone. They'd only be a mere memory in the wind and he wonders if the other clans would feel safer without them or Sootstar. Probably.

➷ HELL AND HIGH WATER, TO LAY HERE TOGETHER

• 
  ⁀➷ 44 moons old
  ⁀➷ windclan moor runner
  ⁀➷ bisexual homoromantic; single; padding after rattleheart
  ⁀➷ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ⁀➷ med difficultly in combat; relies on brute strength and his ability to quickly strike
  ⁀➷ peaceful powerplay allowed
  ⁀➷ penned by bosstaurus

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