- Jan 27, 2023
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Under Sootstar's orders, Bluefrost and a patrol of warriors carry the dead toward their final resting place. While Hummingbirdheart and Lynxtooth would be laid to rest properly, with lavender woven through their fur, the traitorous she-cats would be hauled out of camp and over the lip of the gorge. Bluefrost clutches Larkfeather’s lilac-dappled scruff in her jaws—in her wake is a bludgeoned trail of snow. The blood has long congealed in the cold, but she can still taste where her mother’s claws had pierced the young she-cat’s spine. It makes her stomach roll, but she does not retch. It would be unbecoming, after all.
She’s a small she-cat, and she is not able to carry the burden alone. Both of the rebels would be laid to rest under a bleak and snowy sky, their sightless eyes taking in the vultures that already begin to circle above before surging waves close in over their faces. In her head, she remembers the word traitor on her tongue, remembers whispering to Snakehiss that a traitor’s blood could never be good enough, remembers Larkfeather’s quiet indignation. Why could you not prove me wrong, you fool? Why did you have to prove me right? It had been a remark made with purposeful cruelty, but it had also prophesized Larkfeather’s demise.
She drops the she-cat’s scruff and overlooks the edge of the gorge. Even from this high above, she can hear the water crashing violently into the rocky shore below. It's a violent burial, cruel and cold. Bluefrost wonders if they will be able to make their ways to StarClan from beneath the waves—or, if they have already, if they are watching. Once the other cat drops their portion of Larkfeather, the body will crumple in the snow, ready to be pushed into the hungry mouth of the gorge below them, but Bluefrost lingers, licking her lips to clear the taste of death from her mouth. She waits for the cats who carry Lilacstem, heavy green gaze on the body of the she-cat who she’d once called traitor, but also who she’d once called Clanmate.
[ edited to reflect Sootstar's directive to push Larkfeather and Lilacstem into the gorge! ]
She’s a small she-cat, and she is not able to carry the burden alone. Both of the rebels would be laid to rest under a bleak and snowy sky, their sightless eyes taking in the vultures that already begin to circle above before surging waves close in over their faces. In her head, she remembers the word traitor on her tongue, remembers whispering to Snakehiss that a traitor’s blood could never be good enough, remembers Larkfeather’s quiet indignation. Why could you not prove me wrong, you fool? Why did you have to prove me right? It had been a remark made with purposeful cruelty, but it had also prophesized Larkfeather’s demise.
She drops the she-cat’s scruff and overlooks the edge of the gorge. Even from this high above, she can hear the water crashing violently into the rocky shore below. It's a violent burial, cruel and cold. Bluefrost wonders if they will be able to make their ways to StarClan from beneath the waves—or, if they have already, if they are watching. Once the other cat drops their portion of Larkfeather, the body will crumple in the snow, ready to be pushed into the hungry mouth of the gorge below them, but Bluefrost lingers, licking her lips to clear the taste of death from her mouth. She waits for the cats who carry Lilacstem, heavy green gaze on the body of the she-cat who she’d once called traitor, but also who she’d once called Clanmate.
[ edited to reflect Sootstar's directive to push Larkfeather and Lilacstem into the gorge! ]
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