sensitive topics BEWARE THE IDES ✘ patrol return

[SMOKESTAR]

—————————————————————⊰★⊱————————————————————
TW - Death.

He knows its too late, he sees the glazed sheen across the tom's once vibrantly warm eyes and he knows what a fatal injury looks like but a small part of him still moves with a desperate urgency as if just getting the body to camp could make everything better. Clayfur is draped across his back limp as a leaf, it feels alarmingly familiar in a way he hates; his legs don't drag like Cicadastar's did - they were roughly the same size but he still feels solid and far too heavy for a cat who even had a chance at being alive. Smokestar knows he looks a fool, but when he bursts into camp it's Ravensong he calls for first, "Get him! Get Ravensong!"
His words were uttered in a frantic snap of teeth at any cat nearby whether they happened to be before him or were one of the two on patrol as well. Blood spilled like sunlight across his shoulders from a throat smiling wider than the brown tabby ever would again. He shrugs, shifts his weight to ease the limp tom onto the ground and the futility is apparent even as he pushes a paw into a striped shoulder with desperation burning in that single eye, "Clayfur, Clayfur! Get up!"
There's no answer, he didn't expect one, his tail lashes behind him like a serpent in its death throes - he wants to scream but he clenches his jaw so tight his teeth might shatter from the force. He hadn't deserved this, he hadn't deserved to die this way, if only he'd been faster, more observant, if only they had more on the patrol - but how many cats could he send out at a time before they run off all the prey, how little was too little for a safe group; his mind was a whirlwind, there was only one to blame. Fury lances like claws down his spine, he wants to go hunting deliberately for that wretched rogue he'd cast from their midsts, wants to corner him and shred him to pieces for what he'd done today. To kill a leader with nine lives was absurd, sacriligeous, but to take the life of a cat who had only the one was something never forgiven.
"Lichentail!" Patrols, patrols, a hunting party for flesh, for blood.

✘ I've got a reputation and a name to uphold. ✘ Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

• Patrol tag - @CLAYFUR (rip) & @Mosspool & @BEEPAW
  Calling for - @RAVENSONG & @lichentail
• 
  
  
  Smokestar
  —⊰⋅ Leader of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  

​

 

[Mosspool]

𓆝 . ° ✦ The logical response would be to tell him that there was nothing Ravensong could do for a dead body. Because she knew that was what it was. Even as she heard it the sound of him laying it on the ground, she could not bear to look at it. If she did she might remember that when they had all left for patrol earlier today it had been Clayfur, and then she would fall apart. It was not logic that drove her though, but duty. Duty was all she had right now. It was the only thing keeping her from lashing out like Smokestar was or - worse - crying.

If her leader wanted to fetch Ravensong, than she would fetch Ravensong.

"Yes sir." Her voice was hollow. She did not so much as flinch at his frantic snap of teeth. Duty compelled her to meet his gaze as she spoke, and when she did she caught sight of the body - of Clayfur, as it was impossible for it to not be him when she saw - and the bloody wound in his neck stared at her like an open eye.

Mosspool looked away. She padded toward the medicine den, not even noting any of the eyes her dull and defeated look drew. She did not think to step all the way inside so that she could not be overheard, instead simply sticking her head in. Though she was far enough away from Smokestar that he would not hear, any cats nearby would.

"Smokestar needs you." An explanation as to why she was summoning him to a tragedy that he could do nothing to fix. One that he would not understand until he knew what she did. "Clayfur is..." Mosspool hesitated, and that hesitation and the look in her eyes said what she did not. "...injured." Was what she decided on instead. Her leader would not call for a medicine cat's aid if there was none to be given. Clayfur was just injured, that was all it was.

For a moment she almost convinced herself of it.

✧　°　.　✶　.　°　✧​

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  MOSSPOOL — SHE/HER･ 12 MOONS ･ WARRIOR & RIVERCLAN ･ PENNED BY @empyrean !

  Longhair black tabby with deep green eyes. Mosspaw is a very tall molly, standing a head above most cats her age. She has a slim, willowy physique with subtle musculature built up from a lifetime of constant training that lends itself well to swimming and running. Long, thick brown fur falls over her form with tabby patterning across it. Her eyes are a vibrant green, and shine with a bright intelligence and confidence.

​

 

[Redpath]

Redpath's eyes light up with horror as Clayfur is dragged into camp, bloody and unmoving. Memories of finding Beesong's body flash in her mind and she wants to scream. She rushes over to Smokestar's patrol as Mosspool goes to retrieve Ravensong. How did this happen? Why?? Who did this? These were the questions in her head and yet all she could do was tremble, her tears staining Clayfur's pelt.

"CLAYFUR! CLAYFUR, SAY SOMETHING!" She cried as she put a paw on his side. It felt like a stab in the heart when she felt no movement, no rise and fall. Clayfur can't be dead. She refuses to accept this.

Clayfur was always such a nice cat, he was silly and even though he was always putting weird things in his mouth, she thought he wouldnt be the same cat if he didn't do that. He didn't deserve this. This wasn't fair. Who did this, who was responsible for snuffing out his light?

"Wh...What happened. Who did this." It sounded like a demand, the way she forced the words out through her sobs. Force was the only way she could get the words out though. She needed to know.

She needs to know who needs to die for this. Who's blood would turn the river red. It's what her paws are best at, after all.​

 

[SWIFTFIRE]

I'VE LEARNED LOVE IS LIKE A BRICK — Get him! Get Ravensong!

Smokestar's frantic snarled words caught Swiftfire off guard, gaze torn away from the small fish that she had been dining on before he and his patrol came charging back into camp. They were followed up quickly by the acrid scent of blood on the air, Clayfur's body coming into view and making her blood run cold. When the patrol had first left, she hadn't been expecting them to come back with any urgency - she figured they would, at the worst, find some signs of unpleasant activity at the border and come back. Not a single concern had stood out in her mind, instead focused on her meal and the prospect of a moment of relaxation. A rare thing in the middle of leafbare, now interrupted by blood and chaos and... death. He had to be dead, didn't he? She wasn't sure she had ever seen a cat so limp suddenly leap up back to their paws, or even stagger slowly to them.

Initially she was unsure of what to do, frozen in place even as she pushed herself up to her paws. After all, Mosspool had already gone padding in the direction of Ravensong's den. Though it didn't seem like the medicine cat's arrival would help much, Clayfur's prone form only seeming more and more still as she grew closer. There was no life gleaming in his eyes, just a distant stare that sent a shiver down her spine and drove her claws down into the ground. "What... how... how did this happen? What was at the border?" It's momentarily all she can think of to say, a desperate plea for information that echoed the questioning of Redpath before her. Swiftfire might not have known Clayfur well - certainly not been as close to him as Redpath - but now it seemed that she would never have the chance to know him better.

Her attention would only finally be yanked away from the warrior - from the corpse - whenever Lichentail approached. It would be then that she would finally tear her gaze away and towards the deputy, seeming almost desperate for guidance. "What can we... what can I do?" Smokestar had to be planning somehow, right? Had to be preparing to take on whatever had led Clayfur to his untimely end, she was sure of it.

YOU CAN BUILD A HOUSE ✿ OR SINK A DEAD BODY

• 
  ✧ shorthaired blue and red tabby chimera molly with green eyes
  ✧ 38 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ✧ bisexual; currently not looking
  ✧ daughter of lilou and germaine
  ✧ formerly of the ripple colony; loyal to riverclan
  ✧ easy to befriend; desperate to improve the former colonists' reputation
  ✧ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ✧ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ​

How many times would they suffer this... would star-dipped claws sink into their backs when they felt comfortable again? Safe? She had taken the reprieve to play with her children, to witness their first words, their first moments outside of the nursery. Had sent out patrols to make sure no one else stumbled and fell the way Petalnose had, to make sure that she wouldn't have a death on her paws. She could still feel the sticky astral ichor of her leader on her chest where it'd been splattered, like it couldn't be washed off so the sin of stepping out of the way wouldn't be forgotten.

Don't move away...

The acrid stench of blood overwhelmed her where she loomed near the fresh-kill pile, counting and recounting how many mouths had been fed and how many more yet needed prey. How long would she linger outside of their walls tonight to make up for the deficit... Would she eat? And then, a familiar hallowed voice shouting... screaming. It is guttural, full of fear, tight and licked in primal panic. "Clayfur!"

Her stomach drops... almost unwilling to turn around and face the scene unfolding in camp... If she just didn't look, she could pretend it wasn't happening. That she'd imagined Smokestar's voice shaking with the begging for response from an auburn tom that was not answering. Her pupils fixated on a random spot on the ground, ears swiveling to listen, to confirm it had been a hallucination. That she would not bury another clan-mate so soon... not Clayfur. Not now.

They weren't close like best friends... but so much time had been spent in pleasant company, she didn't have a single image of him in her mind that drew her frustration.

Lichentail!

Mournfully her heart begs her to ignore this call... just this once. Run. Avoid it. Hide amongst the sedge and reeds where milky scents might keep her from another drowning wave of grief. But her paws betray her out of meticulously trained habit... they turn, dragging her unwillingly towards her leader in rigid strides. Piercing blues stubbornly transfix themselves to flurry-dappled fur, to a lonesome flame that flickers in panicked embers. It is all she can will herself to see... does not try to decipher the shades of crimson, the too-still tabby fur at her periphery (she knows what it is, knows Clayfur lays there impossibly calmly given the blood bubbling from his throat)

"I'm here," is all she can manage to offer... Redpath howls his name in the same pained tone as Smokestar had- she wishes she were deaf. Wishes she didn't have to hear more mourning and sobbing and wailing and begging- she heard it in her nightmares enough. Heard the stifled crying of her mate in hollow reverie when she is alone. Please no more... please...

Her movements feel robotic, mechanical in nature. Ones practiced by a mind that is not her own, habits formed by someone who does not operate behind her eyes. "Swiftfire... Take a breath. Make sure the apprentices are all here and accounted for." If Clayfur is...

Dead. Say it. He's dead.

-The apprentices were vulnerable. They weren't ready for the sinister monsters that lingered in the shadows just out of reach. They needed to be kept safe. Kept here.

"Tell me where to go," she says to Smokestar then, and there is a thirst crawling down a quickly drying throat that begs for blood. It is a sensation so uncomfortably familiar, she wonders if she is more like a fox in her hunger than a cat. Remembers the way a throat in her mouth feels and yearns like she is starving for a bite that might make the loss feel less agonizing. Might fill her belly enough with flesh that it would make up for the fragments of heart. "Tell me.... who hurt my friend...."

She doesn't choose the words as much as they are chosen by a stubborn denial to acknowledge their reality. Just like Redpath does. Just like Smokestar does. They've seen death plenty to know better but some vain part of them wills it to be unreal. Pleads for once for experience to be wrong. Who hurt him... as if he is not dead. As if the question is not 'who murdered him' instead. He's just hurt....

He's more than hurt.

---

WELL IF YOU WANT MY BLOOD I'LL MAKE SO MUCH BLOOD

THAT YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING DROWN​

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[iciclefang]

Her entire body is taut as ice as Smokestar’s patrol returns. It’d been a small patrol—and it returns even smaller. Smokestar’s shoulders bear a familiar tabby shape, too-familiar, and as he sags to the earth, the fallen warrior tumbles rigidly to the camp floor. Iciclefang’s jaws part in a wordless yowl of dismay, even as her Clanmates surge around her like the rapids, borne forward in their grief and their desire for revenge. The tortoiseshell’s piercing blue eyes hang on his face, still and blood-splashed, and her heart clenches with anguish that threatens to shut her body down. Her kin—her uncle—is gone. There’s no mistaking it, despite the hope that colors Mosspool’s green gaze, the jagged edge of their leader’s mew as he cries for Ravensong.

She knows what dead looks like. It looks like theft. Those same blank, watery eyes had once shone with pride when they’d gazed upon her; that mouth, limp, hanging, had crooned to her from the mouth of the nursery, egging on her first steps, her first paddling attempts at splashing about in the puddles gathered throughout camp.

“Clayfur,” she murmurs, wretchedly. She inches closer, but the scent of his blood sets hers aflame, melts what had thickened and clotted with frost, with grief. She yearns to push her nose into his pelt, but something stops her, some scent that triggers a flash tumbling through her vision.

When she lifts her gaze to Smokestar again, it’s impenetrable, and her mew is fraught with frosted anger. “Those rogues. The ones who attacked you. Tell me it wasn’t them who killed my kin.” She unsheathes her claws. She can hardly bear to look at the cats who ripple around her, their own melancholy paling in the face of the hatred beginning to unfurl within her chest.

, ”​

​

 

[RAVENSONG]

Clayfur is injured.

Ravensong blinks up in alarm at Mosspool's presence at his den. "Thank you," He mews. At once his paws do not feel like they are his own as he scrambles to attention. "Moonpaw, bring some marigold, please." He instructs his apprentice. There is no time he can waste, he thinks, as his fangs sink into cobweb and he darts out of his den, pelts brushing against Mosspool as he does so.

Smokestar's patrol is weary and the overwhelming stench of blood fills the medicine cat's nose. But its the auditory input that first makes his heart fall, as Clanmates gather and wail. In a split second, Ravensong understands that Clayfur is not simply injured.

His eyes shift slowly toward the limp tabby body Smokestar has laid on the ground. Clayfur has been within the Clan for as long as Ravensong knew. He had always held a respectful admiration for the tom, who had shown more leniency to drypaws, and his views of the world were softer than most. It had been over a year since his mate was taken by WindClan claws. Ravensong tries to comfort himself that they are reunited now. There is some joy, he hopes in that, but that hope only flickers like a brief flame before it is snuffed out and Ravensong buckles under an overwhelming darkness.

He looks up at Smokestar. They both know he's gone. Ravensong gently uses his paw to close Clayfur's eyes and smooths the fur over his cheeks. To make him look peaceful despite the violent way he ended feels almost wrong and Ravensong's stomach lurches. He grasps for grounding. "May StarClan ..." He fumbles for the words. "Guide ... him..."

"Is anyone else hurt?" He swallows.

☾₊ ⊹ темная ночь — dark is the night

•  
• 
  RAVENSONG of RIVERCLAN — LH BLACK POLYDACTYL MALE (CARRYING CINNAMON, DILUTE) a tall, slender creature with pitch-black feathery fur, large ears, and a sharply angled skull held up in an aloof manner. smells of dried herb, speaks with a low and rumbly accent and walks with an elegant slinking gait.
  
  — born in twolegplace and orphaned at a young age, he joined riverclan at its inception and began training as a drypaw warrior known for a bitter temperment until beesong made him his medicine cat apprentice. after his mentor's untimely death, he had been named ravensong at the moonstone, young heart revitalized with anger and guilt. he is a somber and thorough medicine cat that guards every word spoken in the confines of his den.
  
  — secretly loves "the stars but not so much what inhabits them" — openly suffers from chronic migraines — single, but "it's complicated"

​

 

[FERNGILL]

Wailing, caterwauling, keening- he knew it wasn't someone in pain the moment he dared to near. And there was something reluctant about Ferngill's movement, somethins subconscious holding him back before he had even registered what had happened. Who- who had been lost, because hadn't there been four cats on that patrol? And Clayfur was one of them, and Clayfur was...

Get up, shouted Smokestar, but- but Ferngill met Clayfur's eyes and saw no flicker of recognition there. A horrified gasp caught in his throat, a silent and choking sound. He stilled beside his sister, looking to her for some sort of comfort as tears wavered in hs eyes and tightroped his lashes- but her tone was hard as Leafbare itself, frozen and enraged, by the rogues. And why, why did Ferngill yearn to be as angry as her? To narrow his eyes and swear revenge on those who had stolen Clayfur away? To sink claws into who did this, yet more kin stolen and shoved to the stars, wouldn't it feel good?

All he could rationalise was that the anger, and then the peace... all of it would come later. What he felt now was obvious, wrenching agony. His lip trembled, and the tears began to fall with every blink. "It's..." he whimpered, the word catching and dipping into a squeak. Ravensong murmured a prayer, and Ferngill looked to his friend, silently begging him to take it back. "It's not fair." Sniffling, the vibrant tom simply let himself be dulled- let himself cry, for it was all he could think to do in that moment, without anger and without peace. ​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[Moonbeam]

Clayfur is... injured.

Moonpaw's eyes flick over to Mosspool as she breaks through the moss barrier that protected the medicine den from the outside forces of camp, a saddened look and the news of someone returning back injured causing Moonpaw's face to turn to a frown, small ears flicking backwards as they pinned to her skull - there was too much of that happening recently and Moonpaw didn't know how to feel about it exactly. Was this something that had always been happening? Warriors coming home from patrols injured and needing help? Was it simply something she just hadn't noticed before due to not being one of the ones to help within the aftermath? She didn't have much time to think about it before Ravensong asked for her to grab marigold before exiting the den and quickly she did as she was told and followed close behind.

It was when moss broke as she moved throw and blood cut to her nose that Moonpaw paused, eyes widening slightly and jaws parted in surprise as some of the marigold fell from her mouth and onto the cold ground below her. She picked it up and moved towards the gathering group in silence as she moved alongside her mentor, watching as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as he moved Clayfur's eyes shut and smoothed out the other's fur, and if she had not known that he was dead and had not seen the wound that caused it she would have thought it possible he was sleeping, and oh how she wished that were the case. Eyes flicked back to the patrol before her before moving to Ravensong's side once more, marigold in jaws as she waited to hear the answer to his question. She knew it unlikely but she hoped there would be no one else in need of their help today.

I WISH PLANT LIFE ꕥ WOULD GROW ALL AROUND ME

• 
  MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING;
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ FLESH WOUNDS
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ INFECTIONS
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ ACHES & PAINS
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ ILLNESS
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ BREATHING ISSUES
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ TRAVELING HERBS
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ BROKEN BONES
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ KITTING
  — ꕥꕥꕥꕥꕥ POISONS
• 
  ꕥ SH white masking cinnamon torbie w/orange eyes & small ears
  ꕥ speaks softly & often found humming
  ꕥ 9 moons old; ages the 17th every month
  ꕥ homosexual homoromantic ; interested in beepaw & redacted
  ꕥ currently being mentored by ravensong
  ꕥ easy to befriend/interact with ; hard to anger/upset
  ꕥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ꕥ easy in combat unless in water, focuses on defensive tactics
  ꕥ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[hazecloud]

Another patrol returned with foul news only this time there would be no expectation their fallen would rise after a brief visit to the stars. Hazecloud could sense the apprehension in the air before Smokestar had made his splashing entrance into the island, already rising to her paws to recollect any kittens that wanted to play outside while Lichentail supervised the little ones inside.

Smokestar's younger kin had already seen more blood than she would have wanted. Had seen the damage claws and teeth could do before they were ready and she would try make the news of Clayfur's death something softer. Easier to digest than seeing flesh slashed and blood paint the sand again.

"Come, we'll go back outside later." She promised, carefully using her size to block them from seeing Smokestar deposit Clayfur's form toward Ravensong, glancing into pale blues as she passed her mate answering Smokestar's call. She recognized the strain in his voice from another. A King that also once sought the sight of blood.

"Be careful." She whispered before retreated into the depths of the sedge den. ​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) there’s a dark feeling in the bottom of her gut as she takes her time grooming. camp is quiet- too quiet. the rustling of playing kittens, the voices of gossiping warriors, even the yelping of apprentices training doesn’t ease the feeling in her stomach. unease curdles there, twisting into the small bites of fish she’s just choked down. when her world collapses yet again, she feels like she’s been forewarned.

smokestar bursts into camp, crimson darkening his coal black paws as he stumbles into the center of the clearing. for a moment, she sees tabby fur and it’s mosspool, limp across her leader’s back, life drained, blood staining the cream of her chest. willowroot blinks and her daughter is alive, shouldering her way across camp to fetch ravensong. there is a brief moment of stunned relief, something willowroot swallows back almost instantly as the reality of the situation occurs. if it’s not mosspool, then… she counts the other members of smokestar’s patrol, remembers the group of four slipping out of camp. beepaw, mosspool, smokestar, clayfur.

as camp erupts into snarls and cries, the smoke feline feels her healing heart shred once again. redpath yowls at the corpse, demanding to know what happened, and she is joined by iciclefang, ferngill, the man’s kin. swiftfire appears, sorrowful and questioning, lichentail requests blood, hazecloud shelters kittens from the scene. when ravensong and moonpaw murmur their prayers, willowroot is frozen.

it’s one of her worst qualities- her fight or flight seems to be broken in times of sorrow. she swears she’s working on it, has bettered herself since her days as a lead. when she freezes now, she knows her progress has gone to waste. “clayfur,” she whispers. it’s clearsight’s fallen body all over again, torn from the world by cruelty beyond imagination. this time, there’s no one to seek out. this isn’t clearsight, and she isn’t comforting clayfur, becoming closer with her friend’s mate through shared grief. clayfur is gone, has been swept up into clearsight’s starry embrace, and there is one more chip in the smoke feline’s heart.

she stands, eyes wide and jaw trembling as she moves, soft as a shadow, towards the scene. she slips in beside mosspool, pressing against her daughter with the intent to comfort, although it could be said she’s seeking comfort herself. as lichentail plots revenge, willowroot feels rage boil over in her gut. “tell me who to hunt and i will hunt them. they will not escape alive, i promise you.” she chokes the words out, jaw clenched as she stares down at the body of yet another friend, taken too soon.

THE ECHOING HYMN ☾ OF MY FELLOW PASSERINE

• // " speak "
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
• 
  WILLOWROOT ☼ SHE / THEY, WARRIOR OF RIVERCLAN. MENTORING ROBINPAW. PENNED BY LAVS
  
  
  a long-haired black smoke oriental with sage-green eyes. smokey long fur coats the length of willowroot's lithe body, with friendly sage green eyes that narrow in an almond shape. her muzzle and limbs are thin and long due to her oriental heritage.
  
  
  
  

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[PERCHBERRY]

Perchberry wished he hadn't been in camp right now to take witness of the patrol returning back with Clayfur's body. Just like that day he could barely breath, just staring helplessly down at the brown fur that shifted back and forth to silver. Perchberry still remember it like yesterday when the silver striped warrior had left him behind to charge into battle with the rogues like an angry hurricane with a vow to make them pay for daring to step into their land. Perchberry had always thought of them to be invincible that there was no cat out there that could ever defeat them. So it had struck him with shook when his clanmates had returned back with his fathers lifeless body. It had been too unreal to be true.

The mere thought of his father having lost his life to a rogue just didn't make sense. Never had his whole world turned upside down like it had that day and now he had to relive it all over again in the form of Clayfur's body, another clanmate being lost thanks to cats who only seemed to have destruction set in thier hearts.

With fear he took a step away, one paw held up in the air as he stared with horror at the sight with tears glistering in his eyes. Clayfur had been a good warrior, a noble cat. For his life to end as tragic like this didn't seemed fair at all. Perchberry tore his gaze away, and half turned himself away from the scene of death. "Sorry..." was the only word he had strength enough to mumble out. He was sorry he hadn't been there to do something to prevent a fate like this to happen to Clayfur...he was sorry for not being strong enough so he could have been there that day to fight the rogues alongside his father. I'm sorry for being too weak to protect anyone.

He truly wished he could be more heroic like the warrior his father always had wanted him to be so he could have saved cats like Clayfur or...his own father. Instead here he was breathing, taking air from those who deserved it more. If he could would have traded his life away so Clayfur could stand in his place. At least that warrior deserved to still be here to...breathe still.


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[LILYBLOOM.]

Most in RiverClan had felt some loss in their lives. Lilybloom herself was not immune to such losses. It was still on recently she had lost her younger sister, with Steepsnout being one of many cats across all the clans to succumb to greencough.

Lilybloom is now one of the later cats to approach the scene, drawn over by the cries and snarls of her clanmates. She does not know what is wrong other than that something must have happened with Clayfur. Based on the request for the medicine cats, Lilybloom assumed he is genuinely only injured, so she is taken aback when she sees his fallen corpse. "Oh, Clayfur..." Lilybloom's voice quivers but she remains strong. Her heart already aches to know he's gone. That the kind, oftentimes silly, uncle she had loved dearly was no longer with them. Lilybloom inches closer to her brother, pressing against him slightly in a comforting manner. "At least he walks with Clearsight again," She mews softly. She can take comfort in knowing that he would be reunited with the tom he had loved so much. As she remains to comfort her brother, she keeps an ear free, listening for news on what had happened to cause this tragedy.​

 

[bubbleburst]

"GOT A LITTLE CASH NOW SO THAT SKIRT IS DIOR"​

A commotion crashes into camp in the form of a patrol returning. Smokestar is yowling for Ravensong, calling for Lichentail, and Clayfur's name is uttered in ripples through the gathering crowd before Bubblepaw can even see what's happened. That unmistakable tang on blood reaches her nose first, and its combination with the doubt and sadness of the gathering cats tells her everything she needs to know. Bubblepaw is counted fortunate among those who have never felt the sting of a loss of kin, but watching her clanmates weep and writhe in agony hurts all the same.

A glance is all she needs to confirm what she hears: Clayfur is dead. His life has been stolen from him like so many before him: Cicadastar and Steepsnout amongst them. "I'm so sorry," Bubblepaw murmurs from where she stands back, giving space. Though her apology is mostly directed towards the nieces and nephews he leaves behind, her voice still curls into the air like hot smoke. It probably does not reach them, but rather dissipates in the river-swept winter breeze.​

✦ ★ ✦​

 

[GILLSIGHT]

Gillsight thought — hoped, wished, prayed — this leaf-bare would be different from the last. Part of him wanted the last to be a fluke, for the meaning of leaf-bare to not be one of grief, of loss of life and home. Part of him wanted its significance to be rewritten in to something better, greater.

He knows better. It’s a kit’s hope, foolish and naive. The warrior in him knows the struggle RiverClan faces, is aware of the hunger growing in his belly, the more common struggle to find sizable prey. Gillsight knows leaf-bare will never be a season of ease.

Still, he hopes. He hopes until he can’t no longer, until a normal day goes awry, turns into shouting clanmates and the scent of bloodshed. Gillsight moves at its suddenty, prepares for a fight with unsheathing claws.

Don’t jinx it, Lilacbird had told him. Maybe he had, for what comes next is all too familiar, all too reminiscent of the previous cold season.

“ N-No — “ A fallen form, one he knows well, murdered in cold blood. His heart drops, sunlit eyes blurring. History repeats itself. “ C-Clayfur…? “ The black and white tom isn’t his kin, isn’t Iciclefang or Ferngill, but he stands nearby still — for brown fur used to be inseparable from the gray tabby of his fallen mentor, his father-figure. Gillsight is not kin, but Clayfur is — was — a semblance of one to him in ways.

And now he is no more.

And now Gillsight is alone again.

There isn’t time for a goodbye, for foolish begging for the tom to stay alive. Clayfur is gone, the light in his eyes dimmed in its blank stare forward.

“ I-I’ll kill them — “ he starts saying. He’ll kill whoever did this, whoever ripped Clayfur away from his family, his home, “ I’ll — “ Gillsight thinks he might be sick, thinks he feels inky black bubbling within him as the chill in the air strikes his form.

Clayfur walks with Clearsight now, someone says. Clayfur is with Clearsight, and their reunion might be the only show of prosperity to come out of this snow-ridden season.​

✦ ABOUT

• 

  GILL ‣ GILLPAW ‣ GILLSIGHT
  ── Warrior of RiverClan
  
  ── ??? x ???
  ── AMAB; He/Him
  ── A scarred, black and white tom with yellow eyes.
  ── Mentored by Clearsight
  ── "Speech"; Attack​

​

 

[BEEFANG]

I HEARD, I HEARD ACROSS THE MOONLIT SEA — So many of their clanmates draw forward like flies to a carrion, her snout wrinkles when Mosspool says that Clayfur is injured and doesn't outright say that he's dead. It irritates her but she keeps her maw shut even as her jaw clenches, she casts her father a glance as he shouts for Lichentail and she arrives along with many others. A lot of them kin, demanding to know who did this, and that their would be death. The death of those rogues that dared tread on the same land they bled and thrived on, a frown present on her face though she does not bother speaking even when she sees the pelt of her best friend does she not make a motion or even spares her a glance. She thinks about Asphodelpaw and their argument, it makes her skin itch and her anger seethe lapping at her core like the fires that burned in her single fiery eye and the other shone like ice.

She stays ready for any command from her father if there was blood to spill then she'd make sure that it was those traitorous and filthy rogues that had taken yet again another clanmate, she would not allow it. She would not stand for it.

THE OLD VOICE WARNING ME ✦ BEWARE, BEWARE THE DAUGHTER OF THE SEA

• 

• 
  ✦ shorthaired black smoke molly w/low white and mismatched eyes
  ✦ oftentimes comes off as untrusting of those around her, closed off, and not the easiest to engage in conversation with, she's not easy to befriend. all her opinions are IC only.
  ✦ 7 moons old; ages the 10th every month
  ✦ sexuality unknown; currently interested in no one
  ✦ currently being mentored by smokestar
  ✦ firstborn daughter of cicadastar and smokestar
  ✦ sister of cicadapaw and starlightpaw
  ✦ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ✦ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[RATWHISKER]

power belongs to those who take it .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Ratwhisker wasn’t fond of death, not since the passing of his late wife, giving birth to that wretched creature that continued to survive when his older siblings perished. So promising, they’d been. His pride and joy. Taken from him at a moment’s notice, barely time to grieve before his wife slipped from between his paws like smoke.

He wasn’t familiar with Clayfur, and that was the only reason he stood away from the inner circle of grieving cats, responses all varying. Iciclefang had a point, one he couldn’t help but find his son nestled further back, staring at the sight of Clayfur’s bloodied body. His stomach curled in sick satisfaction at the horror displayed across his son’s face. Look, boy, look at what you did. He wanted to sneer, paw steps pulling him closer to the thing that called him father.

“This is your fault.” He hissed, words only for Dawnstorm to hear. “If only you did as you were told.” He rumbled, pulling away, body gravitating a tail length away from his son who shivered, gaze lowering, helm turning away to stare elsewhere. Good. He thought. Maybe this will finally teach him.

/ talking with @DAWNSTORM
​

​

thought speech​