sensitive topics BODY RETURN ╱ RAGGED ´ˎ˗

[SUNSTAR]

[ cw: light description of a body + sun's own injuries, but nothing graphic, tldr sun has set vulturemask's body just outside of camp and asked one of the night guards to get @SOOTSTAR ]

This is not the first time that Sunstride has returned a body to WindClan, but it is the first that he has done it alone. He thinks of Juniperfrost as drying blood matts his shoulders and his spine. He thinks of Hyacinthbreath in battle, and Yewberry as he left– of Dandelionwish, and Mallowlark, and the Coyotepaw he had known. He thinks of traitors and betrayal, and the losses WindClan had faced. He thinks of everything but the blood on his shoulders.

It had been too late to save him. As he came limping back from his battle with Sharpeye, it had been to the two of them fleeing and the medicine cat's eyes shut with peace. Was it deserved? Was it nothing more than a facsimile, a hope? Vulturemask had died beneath StarClan's watchful gaze– something about that seems damning. Cruel. He had sat for a moment beside him and stared at the sky. Perahps he had only been meaning to rest. Perhaps he had sought a sign. Whatever it was, Sunstride had not received it. He stood, carefully, with a wince at the pain that radiates even still from his shoulders, and nosed his way beneath the still-warm body.

If StarClan would not speak to him of this injustice, his clan would. And they deserved to know.

The trek home was not a long one. They were far too close for comfort, in truth– yet with his wounds and a body weighing him down, it takes longer than he would have expected or hoped. By the time that the pair find themselves close enough to WindClan's camp, the moon is higher above its head. Over the crest of this dip, he can begin to see the shape of their nests and those that rest within them. "This should not be the way you find your grave, my friend," he murmurs to a spirit long-departed. A lie, most would think– Sunstride was no friend of the medic's, but death brings closeness. They are all to end the same.

Gently and carefully, he slides Vulturemask from his bloodied shoulders. The dark form falls limp to the earth. Strangely small, and uncomfortably contorted. He fixes his limbs to something akin to peacefulness. Like this, the worst of his wounds are hidden. He might be asleep. The smile still lingers on his face. They are still outside of camp with distance between them and their clanmates. But at least this way, when they come spilling out, they will not see him at his worst. To the night guards that had stirred from their posts, he calls a command: "One of you rouse Sootstar." The rest, he's certain, will follow.

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

​

 

[Spiderbloom]

Spiderbloom didn't like night guard duty. The night was quiet and left her to her thoughts, and they always drifted towards old wounds. Painful memories always resurfaced and made her heart ache.

She thought of Jasper, her first litter, her parents.... All of these were sore subjects and yet she couldn't stop thinking about them.

Blood on the wind causes her to snap out of it. She smells Vulturemask and Sunstride, and a sickness settles in her stomach. She sees them approach in no time, and her eyes widen in shock and as Sunstride sets the body down.

She is speechless for a moment, mouth open to speak but no words leaving.

Was she just fated to lose everyone she cares about?

She approaches shakily, pressing her head against Vulturemask's pelt. "What happened." She asks flatly. She isn't mad at Sunstride. She's mad at the world.

Was she born just to lose those she loves and suffer?

"I suppose I'll get Sootstar first...." She says with a sigh, turning to head into camp, weaving through sleeping bodies to the leaders den.

"Sootstar...." She calls, but not too loudly as to rudely startle her out of sleep. "Something has happened.... Vulturemask is ..... Dead." She continues.​

 

[Periwinklebreeze.]

❀​❀ I FEEL SCARED AND I'M STARTING TO SINK ❀❀​
periwinklebreeze | 11 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically medium (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff

---

Periwinklebreeze waits for his friends return with tired eyes, unable to sleep between the aching of his wounds and his usual bouts of sleeping sickness. His efforts are in vain however, for when clear blue gaze flits to the figures entering camp, there is only one, injured and bloody.

Slow hobbled steps draw him forwards, his injured leg held stiffly in the air so as to not reopen it, until he's face to face with what is left. For a moment, he thinks his eyes are deceiving him - vult must just be sleeping, must just be injured. But there is no raise and fall of the black furred felines chest, no soft sound of breath. He is dead - has joined the stars.

He doesn't even speak, only sinks down in silence, pressing his masked face into his fur. A silent goodbye, one he will not privilege others to hear, to witness. Vulturemask has always been there for him, even when his own mother was not. Had saved him time and time again - from the fox, from his wounds, from himself. And now he will never wake again.

Jaded blue gaze lets only a single tear free before he is hauling himself back to his paws, tuft of fur clasped tightly in his jaws. Black will join white in his nest, a memory of those long past - all that is left of his brother in all but blood.

Starclan is truly cruel.

// in n out <3

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[SUNFLOWERMASK]

————— ☀ —————
YOU ARE THE DAYLIGHT

Sunflowerpaw is patient in awaiting their half-brother's return.

Vulturemask has gone on such trips before and returned unharmed; though they feel the usual tension at his leaving, it is not a persistent worry. They have left behind the fear of a kit dependent on him, the betrayal felt at his having other duties to attend to. They're more mature now, more independent, they don't need him always hovering over their shoulder. Nor do they need to always keep their eye on him lest he vanish into the winds of the moor they call their home. The meeting will pass, they know, and Vulturemask will return as he always does, Sunstride by his side to protect him.

Still, they keep one eye to the entrance of camp, forego sleep in favor of waiting.

But something is wrong. Something is wrong. Only one figure returns: golden-pelted and bloodied.

Sunstride, not Vulturemask.

But they can still smell their brother, just outside camp, familiar scent drenched in blood. They move swiftly, lopsided gait half-running towards the mouth that funnels into camp, tunnel-vision focused only on reaching Vulturemask. How could Sunstride leave him? He's clearly injured, he's clearly —

Unconscious. Sleeping. Collapsed. They find him lying upon the ground, dark form looking ripped from the night sky above him. Sleeping, yes. He must have passed out. There's a lot of blood. The wounds only just peek out from the nightstolen fur. He looks calm, looks peaceful, in a way he's never seemed to. He is still, completely. No breaths.

He's not breathing. He's not breathing. He's not breathing.

He's...

They know, distantly, what this means. They have seen far too many deaths for one so young. Only one returned, and that was immediate. Any second now, they think. Vulturemask will rise again as they saw Sootstar do. He too is star-blessed, right? His sleep is brief. It must be. Periwinklebreeze comes and presses their face into Vulturemask's fur. Sunflowerpaw stands and watches. It's okay, they want to say. He won't be gone long. He won't be gone long. Any moment now. The heartbeats pass. Sunflowerpaw's vision is blurry. Periwinklebreeze pulls a clump of fur from the body. From Vulturemask. Who still will not move.

Wake up, they want to tell him. Wake up. He's taking too long. Paws move forward of their own volition. They're shaking. They keep staring, eyes wide and face blank. Why is their vision so fuzzy? Their face is wet, they register distantly. Their maw parts, to speak some reassurance, to coax their brother back to life — no, to waking — but all that comes out is a choked cry.

All at once, Sunflowerpaw's legs give out and they collapse on top of their brother's corpse, face buried in his fur, body wracked by wordless sobs.

YOU ARE THE NIGHT
————— ☀ —————

.°☀ info ; visual

• //
  ​
• SUNFLOWERPAW named by their half-brother vulturemask after his friend and mentor.
  — they/them, 7 moons.
  — windclan apprentice, mentored by wolfsong.
  — reserved yet loyal, distrusts most. rarely speaks.
  
  primary character, high activity. penned by saturnid.​
• "SPEECH"
  ​
• 

​

 

[SNAKEHISS]

❪ TAGS ❫ — // cw descriptions of death/bodies

Tragedy was nothing new to Snakepaw; he had witnessed it starting at a tender age, including the bloodied and lifeless images of Tigerfrost and Juniperfrost seared permanently into his mind. Such was the way of life of a clan cat; a WindClanner, no less. Most WindClanners were used to the stench of a clanmate's spilled ichor, the sight of flesh rotting away into the earth, emptiness in eyes that were once filled with life. Death was not uncommon in this clan, no. However, it was only the most prominent and impactful warriors who garnered such varied reactions to their demise.

Although night had fallen upon the moors and had ushered most cats into their nests by now, it did not take long for frantic murmurs to spring up from all corners of camp. Snakepaw had trekked out of the apprentice's den toward the area of camp where Sunstride had deposited the corpse of the medicine cat, eyes bright and widened with utter shock. "He's dead?"

Certain cats are more agonized by Vulturemask's untimely passing, even so much as sinking to the floor and burying their noses into his bloodstained form, but Snakepaw does not dare follow. He had been nothing more than the clan healer to him; an utter nuisance and just another tick on his behind. Vulturemask had never shied away from insulting Snakepaw or even threatening him; needless to say, Snakepaw would not miss him in the slightest. In fact, he finds this sight a bit relieving. However, this situation only begs the question — who would become medicine cat next?​

 

[Badgermoon]

Whether or not it was reasonable, the first emotion which spiked through the deputy's heart was that of irritation. The scent of blood, the pattering of roused paws, the voices flowing into noises of sorrow - they stirred Badgermoon from his light sleep and brought him swiftly to the very edge of camp, then a few pawsteps beyond, his yellow eyes sharpening with anger as understanding dawned over him. Another one lost. Their medicine cat, this time: an irreplaceable part of Clan life, as difficult as it was proving to be to keep one. Badgermoon thought of Dandelionwish, decorated like a kittypet and sitting among the SkyClanners beneath the moonlight. His stomach twisted unpleasantly at the realization that fleeing from WindClan had resulted in a better outcome than serving it. At least he died a loyal WindClanner. Dandelionwish will have to live and die with his cowardice.

The black-and-white tom pushed thoughts of their former healer away, and focused on the crumpled - though nicely posed - form of their most recent loss. Would it ever end, he wondered? Badgermoon watched as Perwinklebreeze and Sunflowerpaw discovered their loved one's death, impassive but for the deep furrow of his brows: his heart cracked a little as Wolfsong's apprentice fell to the ground, pressed up against their brother's body. Spiderbloom was in the process of fetching Sootstar, Snakepaw was staring in shock at the body, and Sunstride simply looked...weary. "Are you alright?" he inquired of the lead warrior, finally lifting his gaze from Vulturemask and studying his friend. Everything else had been asked: all he could do was wait. And wonder.​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

Gravelsnap watches. It feels, these days, as though all they can do is watch. They were not invited along to the attack on ShadowClan, didn’t have the chance to defend their mentor from the filthy claws of the swamp-rats. They lazed about in camp awaiting Periwinklebreeze’s return, and didn’t even know that the patrol had been attacked until they saw the bloodied forms of their clanmates and—they had thought their friend dead, for the briefest moment. And they could not do anything. Their paws have been tied for days now, for weeks, and they feel horribly useless as they look on.

Sunflowerpaw and Peri are both cats who they once despised, but now have made their peace with. And they are now both cats who mourn their friend, their relative. Gravelsnap has never cared enough to make a distinction between the two, to decide whether Vulturemask is a sibling in blood or only in title. As they look down upon the corpse of WindClan’s latest fallen, however, the young warrior feels nothing. Only icy dread curls in their chest, hazel gaze shifting down to their own paws.

Vulturemask means nothing. He was taught by a traitor, and had been no friend of theirs. His obvious care for Periwinklebreeze made him only the slightest bit tolerable, but still Gravelsnap is not sad to see him go. The other cats gathered around, though, clearly cannot say the same. They mourn a figure woven into their lives by a string of familiarity, while Gravelsnap only sees the cat who happened to take up a mantle that WindClan has never had a good history with. With a sigh, they turn to stalk away from the scene, eel-black tail lashing to mark their exit.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

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[Morningsong~]

Oh dear oh dear....Another death in the clan. Normally, Morningsong would show sadness. He would mourn with his clanmates over the body of the fallen.

Not this time, though.

There lie Vulturemask, a friend of his mother's, a cat who looked at him and his siblings as parasites.

He felt smug satisfaction upon seeing his body still and bleeding. Good. Yes, very fitting. After all, he had been Leech before Vulture, and everyone knows that those are blood sucking parasites.

And furthermore, a vulture was a scavenger, living off the successes of others. He couldn't help but chuckle in his mind.

Parasites deserve to be crushed, they only benefit themselves.... Morningsong would not shed a tear for the lost medicine cat.

"A shame." He said, mostly void of emotion.

A shame he didn't get to smack before he died for his insults.

((ALL IC OPINIONS I LOVED VULT AND U DID SO GOOD WITH HIM GJGCGJNFG ))​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── It is blood and Sunstride on the moor wind, and it was not so long ago that he'd smelled that before, when their patrol returned battered and haunted. Just as it was then, Sunstride had not left for battle— he had left to escort Vulturemask, a peaceful task that Wolfsong himself has fulfilled uneventfully. He is not so assured of fate and skill that his heart does not make of itself a desperate fish gasping on the shore, floundering in vain for the water's edge. His shoulders and chest bear the brunt of it; his paws, fortunately, do not, and carry him at a brisk pace without a single stumble.

He sees Sunstride first, wounded and stiff, lost in such a way that demands comfort. And Sunflowerpaw— his apprentice, his responsibility...they are not known for speaking aloud, for making much sound at all, but as they hide their grief in Vulturemask's body, each heaving sob tears him belly to throat. Wolfsong passes by his other clanmates to bow beside his apprentice, pressing his nose to the crown of their head. I am sorry and it is not enough. They may say such things but they will mean nothing to your heart's wound. He closes his eye briefly, and though he wishes to make a shelter with his body, he pulls away, drawn by Sunstride's physical injuries.

"You need tending," he rasps. "Who left you these wounds? Who—" Wolfsong stops, swallows. He leans in and rests his forehead against Sunstride's, shuddering. One day it will be him lying in rest, never to wake, and I will never be ready for all that I've lost already. He shames himself, wanting comfort when he is not the one bleeding, the one mourning.
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN ROGUE TURNED LEAD WARRIOR (MEDICINE CAT IN TRAINING). 35 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC PARENTS. BIO, 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: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ 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.

​

 

[Mintshade]

She does not see the body at first, a shadow on the ground, but she smells the blood and like a bolt of lightning Mintshade makes the distance from one end of the camp from a sitting position to the other on long and hectic strides forward; her wiry frame ambling into view with all the composure and grace as a spider scuttling into a shrouded corner. Acid green eyes are widened, pools of toxicity spill onto the scene and she holds her breath for a moment in silent horror; the dawning realization of what had happened finally hitting her the moment Sunflowerpaw begins to weep so openly. The dark form on the ground is Vulturemask. And he is dead.
Another medicine cat fallen, they were all useless and traitorous things as far as she cared and this was surely some kind of sign that StarClan deemed WindClan too good for such frivolties if you asked her. They didn't need a soft or foul-tongued healer, they needed more claws.
Mintshade finds she does not care even a sliver for the deceased medicine cat, she had never liked him and would not weep his passing though she was not going to begrudge others their grief so she held her tongue and her head snapped away from the sight of dark shadows spilled over the ground weeping red, eyes narrowing at the crumpled form of the spotted lead, his shoulders sagging and spiking in brittle red spires.
The tom has already been asked if he is alright, she watches cats come and go from the scene or linger at the edge of the gathered flock of cats.
"Sunstride-" She can offer only one thing: her anger, hot like the beat of newleaf sunshine, violent as a storm. "Who did this and WHERE did they go?" The second she got so much as a breath of a name, direction, any indication, she would go, she would find them, she would rend them into pieces where they stood, her claws would sing sanguine melodies of her triumphs; she would bring Sunstride back a pelt to strip fur from to line his nest.
​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR ♀​

Spiderbloom’s figure blocks the sunlight from trickling in her den. Sootstar turns her head to face the blue she-cat and observes she was shaky. Almost instantly Sootstar rises onto her tired paws, careful not to disturb her mate but he’s likely already woken. Something happened… Vulturemask is… dead. ”What?!” She demands in disbelief. Dead?! How?! He had been on his way to the moonstone with Sunstride, had the medicine cats attacked him…? It’s the only explanation she can think of in the heat of the moment, pushing past Spiderbloom she races to the gorse tunnel. Wails, yowls, and growls sound in every which direction. Periwinklebreeze and Sunflowerpaw are laying atop a mass of black fur that she can only assume is Vulturemask. Sunstride’s back is covered in dried blood, Badgermoon, Wolfsong, and Mintshade all collectively press on his state and who had caused this. StarClan. It’s always them! The leader thinks with a sour lash of her tail. Yet again they tried to punish her, she gives a sly defiant glance to the twinkle of stars that still remained in the sky. You’ll have to try a lot harder! ”Mintshade, Morningsong, eat and then travel to the moonstone to collect stones for the burial. If you need more cats to help, collect them.” She gives a look to her night-pelted sister and the newly promoted warrior. She sees no reason to delay the burial process. ”And tunnelers… get digging.”

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

Yet another cat has died, yet another member of the higher-ups fallen prey to some outside threat. At least, unlike Tigerfrost, there was a witness to this death. Though Scorchstreak would not pass judgment on Sunstride if the tom had killed Vulturemask himself—which is a likely story, no matter how sorry Sunstride seems for the dark-furred healer. Golden eyes watch, shaded with disinterest, as clanmates gather to mourn. She feels no sorrow, not for him.

Sootstar commands the tunnelers to begin digging Vulturemask’s grave, and Scorchstreak glances around to the other tunnelers present. She is not heartless enough to drag Sunflowerpaw away from the cooling body of their brother. With a stiff nod to their smoky leader, the calico warrior turns and sets off for their place of burial. The clan will need another grave.​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

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[SHADOWRUNNER]

\╱╲I SEE A RED DOOR & I WANT IT PAINTED BLACK╱╲/​

"Brother... no..." The words came as a choked sob as he made his approach on trembling limbs. He didn't know why but he had laid restless under the stars prior to the commotion, it was almost as though he had sensed the impending disaster that had now befallen WindClan and his family. It was like walking through the haze of a dream straight into the awaiting arms of a horrific nightmare. His world had once again grown smaller and darker, straying further from StarClan's warming light.

He held his breath as he meandered past the other felines who were gathering round, though he couldn't bring himself to process who any of them happened to be. The only ones he recognised were Periwinklebreeze, Sunflowerpaw, and of course that of Vulturemask's lifeless form. The sight was eerie and hard to stomach, but unlike with Snowfeather's passing which had seen him run, he only moved forth in order to be closer. The black furred tom sank down beside Sunflowerpaw and he draped a paw over Vulturemask's still form. The smell of death swirled in his nose and threatened to beckon forth the darkest of thoughts from the recesses of his mind.

"I... I want to help dig his grave... please." He was a tunneller apprentice, and of course Vulturemask's kin, so it felt as though it should be his primary duty. However, he also felt the hunger for revenge and justice bubble up within him. "Whoever did this deserves to die... I... I want them to die!"

NO COLOURS ANYMORE I WANT THEM TO TURN BLACK
╲╱╲╱╲╱​

​

 

[SUNSTAR]

Though many faces come to mourn and to question, Sunstride does not move for many long moments. He watches in silence as some of them mourn, and some of them gawk. The pain of most is muted– but in a select few, it is loud. Grief overwhelms, and bites. He cannot claim to know what their experiences had been with Vulturemask, but his own memories are not nearly as kind. At least they have the time now to heal. A burial, to seal it fully. He can only hope that it will be enough– in some corner of his heart, he knows that this is not the case.

The first cat to fully claim his attention is Wolfsong. The pressure of his forehead and the ticklish warmth of his breath against a sore cheek. He turns himself some, until the bloodied expanse rubs across the wheaten tom's fur, comfort sought and offered in equal measure. Pressed hard against his throat, he can feel the beating of his heart against the claw-wound. As if their souls might intertwine through touching veins. Sunstride breathes deeply there, and smells no blood but his own. It is a welcome realization. If they had been lying in wait for WindClan's chosen– Wolfsong is far too close to that than any other here.

Then Mintshade, rage and venom combined. He lifts his head from where it is tucked to find that there are indeed others here, staring and waiting. Badgermoon, resigned, and Sootstar approaches shortly thereafter. He is looking at her as the thoughts unravel across her face. Whatever it is that he sees, the warrior makes no sense of it. She stands at the helm of this clan as she always had before, yet there is something different in her reaction. Something not at all like what the rest of WindClan displays. It is not grief, or disbelief. Perhaps after so many moons of losing those she places her trust in, Sootstar is used to the losses. Who was he to blame her, when he feels nearly the same?

Disentangling himself some, from each of those close enough to speak to him, the lead warrior begins to pace. A few short steps one way, and then the other. The pain that lances through his shoulders is grounding. "It was Galeforce." The name takes him to a time moons before, said loudly enough that he hopes all of WindClan hears him. That StarClan itself hears him, as he spits out the name. The tom that had called them cruel for seeking medicine– it is no great surprise that such a delusional failure would take such measures. "Him and another that I did not recognize. I could not get close enough to save Vulturemask, but I heard some of what they spoke– of a curse, and ridding WindClan of it."

＞ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES REFERENCE 05.28.2023 〙ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. approx. 40 moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.

• "speech"

​

 

[cygnetstare]

♱—— With milk skin scalded by the sun, it is not uncommon for Cygnetstare to spend nights in staring wakefulness, and tonight is no exception. They are just preparing to slink out of the entrance and cross the moors beneath the loving gaze of the moon, to taste the sweetness of air not clogged by particles of drifting dirt without the risk of pained eyes, when a commotion begins. The chimera moves with swaying steps towards the small crowd that has gathered around a still form; a quick glance of pulp-pink eyes confirms it is their medicine cat. She has known him little, somehow never reaching battle where claws can tear thin skin and rain blood.

Cats weep over the body, perhaps; maybe some look with derision in their eyes—Cygnetstare cannot see the faces of the crowd from her position at its back and perhaps that is for the better. Their face is rendered blank of emotion; they do not know this cat, not really, and they have nothing to mourn. She does not curse StarClan or cry, nor does she scoff or lash her overlong tail. They have little opinion on this "tragedy"; StarClan would not strike down their healer without reason. Perhaps he has sinned against them, or perhaps this is part of a larger plan. A larger design, one that makes this death necessary to pave the way. Cats cannot die without the permission of the stars' paws, after all, and if they have done this it is to their will.

Sootstar commands the tunnelers to prepare the grave, and Scorchstreak heeds it. Cygnetstare trails after the calico; the graveyard is familiar to her, after all.

---

┏━⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ OOC ☽ ◯ ☾ INFORMATION₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆━━━━━┓ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ☄. *. ⋆♱･ﾟ:

• ooc: in & then out :)
  

• 

• ♱ cygnetstare — for their downy kitten-fur and perceptiveness (or uncanny gaze) she/they ; afab gender apathetic — windclan — tunneler — 16 ☾s —— cygnetstare is a corpselike chimera, split between long albino fur and a short black smoke pelt; their eyes are an unsettling pink. her creepy demeanour distracts from a strange fascination with death and an obsessive loyalty to windclan. —— smells like grave-dirt and blood ; sounds like vc tbd ; speech in #BF959C, thoughts in #000000 —— peaceful / healing powerplay permitted ; attacks/contact in underline ; will start fights ; won't flee unless ordered ; won't show mercy ; will kill or maim —— pansexual panromantic monogamist, single, not looking ; open to friendships, enemies, casual interactions, long-term romance, plotting ; not open to unplanned battles, flings penned by dejavu— desklamp9 on discord for plots

• CYGNETSTARE's BATTLE INFO ——♱
  

  ---

  YES: injuries, scarring
  ASK: maiming, permanent injuries
  NO: killing

  — Small and skinny, hiding sinewy muscle in forelegs and chest from digging. Skilled offensive fighter but limited by size, defense is basically nonexistent; snakelike agility fighter, faster than she looks and slippery. Will try to climb on and move around larger opponents to inflict damage. Extremely brutal despite her size and will always aim to inflict maximum damage; lacks honor and will fight dirty. Battle moves often damage herself as much as her opponent.
  

  ---

  — Will fight to kill and maim. Will start fights. Will not run unless ordered to. Will aim to kill and maim cats regardless of age or rank, including young cats.
  

  ---

  — Her battles will be written very aggressively and she will always aim to kill or seriously injure opponents; this does not mean her hits have to land! I don't mind your character dodging hits; feel free to contact me on-site or on Discord to work out specifics if needed. Will have a harder time against larger cats but keep in mind she is written as a good offensive fighter who aims to kill and/or seriously hurt. I'm not open to her being killed but am willing to discuss maimings (please ask me first though).
  

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  — Their defensive fighting skills are borderline nonexistent. All hits will land except attempts at killing or maiming that haven't been prediscussed. I don't roll for attacks or defense but try to write battles realistically.
  

  current health info:
  physical health:

  95%

  ↳ current injuries: none

​

 

[HOUNDTHISTLE]

"BECAUSE COWBOY DAN'S A MAJOR PLAYER IN THE COWBOY SCENE"​

---

Despite the fact Vulturemask actually proved to be somewhat a decent healer, Houndthistle seeing his body could only look disappointed. Whether from the fact he himself couldn't have sank his claws into the mad, cowardly healer's neck himself or by the fact loss seems to pad at Windclan's heels more then it did his own, who was to say? His single amber eye reflected a rich red from the pale light above, ultimately disinterested in whatever had caused the tom's passing as he was. His large imposing shape lingered at the back of the crowd, his eyes flicking up to watch Sunstride as the lead explained what happened. Galeforce. A traitor who decided to play a rat, huh? Houndthistle's tongue dragged across his teeth, wondering if Galeforce was the one to land the killing blow on the medicine cat or had it been that unknown one the amber tabby spoke of. Whichever, Houndthistle made a mental note to offer his thanks before he ripped their throats out if he ever came across them.

---

"speech"

---

OOC CURRENT STATS INTERACTION RULES

• text
• Physical Health
  
  68%
  ⤷ left eye is blinded, deep bite wound and claw marks in chest, stomach, face, and shoulders. Currently offscreen healing thanks to Wolfsong and Vulturemask
  Mental Health
  
  98%
• 
  Single | Bicurious | Not actively looking | Interested in Wolfsong, Scorchstreak, Sootspritespark
  
  Houndthistle is both an easy one to gain the trust of and impossible to gain the trust of. He'll rarely reveal personal information or be vulnerable-if he's even capable of such things-but he will show trust in his willingness to lay his life down. To gain it, he needs evidence that you're loyal and strong, same as him, otherwise he understands he may one day have to come head to head with you.
  
  — will start fights / will not flee / will not show mercy
  — excels at Fighting, Tracking, Following Orders, Intimidation
  — poor at climbing, swimming, stealth, talking, strategy, politics
  — sounds like: deep, gravelled and thick with a sort of country accent / Arthur Morgan
  — smells of iron, leather, and wood
  — speech is #435E75

​

 

[PEONYBREEZE]

✿ — It keeps happening.

The fact is as natural as the sun's cycle around the horizon, as natural as a kit's cry right after being born. WindClan has been plagued by loss, one after another, with seemingly nothing stopping it.

Scent of blood - iron, strong, unsettling - has hit his nose and stirred him from his sleep just in time to witness Sunstride returning with none other than their medicine cat. Peonypaw's stomach twists. It's not easy when a warrior is taken from them, but to have their strongest connection to StarClan be severed? That can mean no good.

His jaw is clenched tight enough to hurt as he watches the scene unfold, but the sensation doesn't stop him from continuing. If he let himself get loose, he'd definitely let the panic flooding his chest get to his brain too, and override any composure left. Sunflowerpaw's grief hits him as if it's his own, and- he cannot take it.

Sootstar orders the tunnelers to get digging, and Peonypaw swears he's going to be ill. The shadows keep him out of immediate vision and he embraces them, unable to move an inch even as his leader's voice hits him.​

❝ I DON'T WANT TO RUN — JUST OVERWHELM ME ❞​

​

 

[Goldenstrike]

i'm no good man, you won't forget◎—————————————————
He had been asleep, dreaming of stars and the endless sky. Unlike his siblings he didn't feel the need to stay up waiting for their brother. He was a full grown cat and these were his duties. Why would Vulturemask stay up worrying if they were back from training? So he slept peacefully. His wiry fur rising and falling with each soft breath, until he heard stirring around him. His fiery golden eyes flitted open to try and locate the disturbance to his sleep. What he saw was a group of cats all circled around something, Sunflowerpaw and Shadowpaw were right next to it. He felt a sinking anxiety strike into his core as the smell of blood hit his nose.

He was next to his siblings in a second, all three of them, pushing past all the other cats that were now staring at the body. His eyes lost their sharpness as he gazed upon the bloodied corpse of his oldest brother. There was a disconnect first, this couldn't be Vulturemask. Vulturemask was a living creature, someone he loved, Vulturemask breathed. This, this did not breath. Unlike Shadowpaw and Sunflowerpaw there were no sounds of sobs or words from Goldenpaw. Only stunned and horrified silence. He wanted to touch noses to the corpse, but he wouldn't. He couldn't tell you why, but he didn't want to touch the body, or even look at it any more. He felt disgusted and sick. But at what? His eyes moved to the tears of Sunflower, only to realize his own eyes were dry. Maybe he was disgusted with himself? Why wasn't he crying, why wouldn't he touch the dead?

He ran. Maybe if he was braver or something he would have stayed and acted as a support for his siblings. But, no. He was too scared, and now he ran from the body. That wasn't Vulturemask, it couldn't be. He ran out past the nests he had been so peaceful in only moments before. He found the sky, filled with stars. He stared up at them and finally tears streamed down his cheeks.
rude words i said, i'm still a mess◎————————◎penned by WriteAboutRadish
​

 

[WEASELCLAW]

Dawn blossoms a dim rose against a bleary horizon. Stars scatter across the dark patches still visible through morning’s arrival—and shadowed against this hazy backdrop is Sunstride, a corpse upon his shoulders. Weaselclaw stirs alongside Sootstar—Spiderbloom’s deadpan alert has brought them both out of their dreams. “Vulturemask is dead.”

Disbelief clouds his gaze. Is he still dreaming? He stands, staggering in the litter of moss and feathers, watching Sootstar stalk toward the crowd gathering in camp. Low murmurs circulate among the WindClanners, but at its heart, there are two young apprentices crowded close to the former medicine cat’s body. Weaselclaw just barely catches a glimpse of Goldenpaw fleeing from the carnage, and he sighs, bowing his head. My first memory of you is spitting at me and calling me a kittypet. And despite it all, all these moons serving alongside one another, nothing had changed. You died as you lived—bitter.

This thought brings him no comfort. Vulturemask has left a few close friends and kin behind, but the majority of his Clanmates stare with cold, unfeeling eyes. The black-pelted warrior had been unfeeling at best and callous at worst. He directs his blue gaze to Sunstride, the bearer of the body, the cat who’d been sent to guard Vulturemask at Highstones. “Galeforce,” he says, and Weaselclaw feels his claws unsheathe to scrape at the earth.

“So the traitors are all coming out of the woods together now!” His lip curls into a sneer. “We should be patrolling our borders more carefully, it seems, if traitors are comfortable getting so close.” Highstones is well-outside WindClan’s territory, but how long before they draw nearer, like flies to rotted flesh? Once Galeforce and his comrades realized solo WindClanners were easy pickings, what stood in their way if a cat was on the border?

He swings his head to look at Vulturemask again. They were not close, and to pretend otherwise now would be a mockery, an obvious façade. He will not push his nose into cold, blood-clotted fur. He will not say a prayer for him—wherever he is. Weaselclaw only thinks, The one good thing you did in this life was save Cottonpaw’s life. It’s the only thing he can think of.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — weasel . weaselclaw
  — he/him ; lead warrior of windclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Sootstar
  — short-haired chocolate tabby with white and blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Oliver

​

 

[RATTLEHEART]

It's late, and yet camp seems alight with activity - never a good sign, at least not in Rattleheart's opinion.

The frantic chatter from outside is what first alerts her to something going on, soon followed up by the sharp stench of blood hitting her nose. Not just the metallic smell all on its own - something she was quite familiar with when it came to prey - but intermingling with something else familiar, and far more worrying. Vulturemask. That, along with the wailing that soon followed, was enough to finally rouse Rattleheart from her nest and towards the camp entrance, even as her heart sank with every step. The sight of Sunstride with blood drenching his shoulders made her freeze, her voice soft when she finally spoke. "Starclan. What a thing to wake up to..." Traitors, chaos, wailing and death. It all left her chest aching.

While she had never been particularly close with Vulturemask, she couldn't deny how vital he had been for Windclan as a whole. It was easy for them all to think that the medicine cat position was cursed - and not for bad reasons, mind you - but that didn't make having one any less necessary. Vulturemask had been the one to treat those that had come back from Riverclan's attack, and had helped Cottonpaw after the trauma that she had gone through. There had been plenty in Windclan that had disliked him, or hated him even, but Rattleheart didn't find herself amongst their ranks. She didn't love him, but she didn't feel the need to hate him either. She could feel sympathy for his family, the ones truly suffering the most as they gazed upon his limp body.

A pawstep forward left her nose pressing lightly against his cooling shoulder, eyes closed as she sent a silent prayer off to the stars above. Thank you for all the work you've done, Vulturemask. May Starclan welcome you among their ranks. Then she stepped back, allowing those closer to him to tend to his body as they wished. For now she just followed after Scorchstreak and her fellow tunnelers, ready to get to work and give him a proper burial place. It was the least she could do, considering she had no reassuring words to soothe the pain of the apprentices mourning him. Rattleheart doubted she would be in any better state if she lost Scorchstreak, or Lizardbounce.
​

[ PENNED BY EO ]​