bury you in my favorite hole ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ chervilshade

[Swansong]

⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ 　Swansong had cheered Chervilshade's name with her raspy voice, weak though it may have been. The younger warrior is one of the only others to understand that choking grasp the illness left, and so it is only natural that the two should stick beside each other. She remembers - many moons ago - an apprentice who still bore a kit's name confiding that she felt she was never meant to graduate... And she smiles. Her paws are soft as she pads over to the other's new nest. An offering is placed at the rim of it. "You made it..." she breathes warmly, fluttering the edge of the gathered feathers.

A bundle of down to be woven into her nest. They are prepared to help with the task, of course. A wispy-furred paw nudges them towards Chervilshade carefully. She rises slowly and slightly, keeping her head dipped. "A welcoming gift... that your rests may be peaceful..." She certainly deserves it. She has worked harder than any, Swansong knows that well. The new warrior does have a tendency to collapse when the exhaustion of her duties overtake her; the least her friend can do is make such a thing more comforting.

‎‎┌── WE FOUND TWO DEAD SWANS ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ AND FILLED THEIR BODIES WITH FLOWERS ──┐‎

• @CHERVILSHADE
  
• 
  
  

  "SPEECH"

• 
  SWANSONG　⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆　she / they, warrior of shadowclan, fourteen moons.
  ➳ a pale, silky-furred cream tabby with droopy blue eyes.
  ➳ dreamy and detached, known for her perpetual sleepiness.
  ➳ halfshade x smogmaw, littermate to applejaw, garlicheart, & ashenfall.
  ➳ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ➳ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

​

 

[CHERVILSHADE]

Like a ghost of past misfortunes and sorrows, Chervilshade stood as a reminder of the scourge of sickness, a wraith relapsing upon its place on the cold earth. She had already been born with bird bones and paper-mache skin, so it seemed apt that such a cruel malediction would take root in her wilted garden. No matter what she did, she was a stark aide-memoire to those that could never forget their tragedies. Everyone around her looked at her with the same sickening pity, as though her ailment could never be cured, and her curse would surely spread from her breath. They wanted to help her, and she knew that much. The molly still prayed, every night to the starlit sky, that she could live a normal life (or what her perception of normality was, from tinted eyes)... Starclan did not return her piety, as much as she still turned her head upwards to meet them. Still, the molly had crawled her way to warriorhood, much to the qualms and worries of all.

You made it... Swansong's melodic quietude sent a warm wave of comfort through the dilute tortoiseshell's frame, as if a fellow shadow had rallied to her, kindred spirit of the affliction of their childhoods. With her as a friend, perhaps normality inched ever-closed to loose grip, or at least her life was a little more bearable. Ivory hues shimmered against the backdrop of the sun, a much more resplendent coat than her rangy and almost-matted coat that belied and draped over the skeleton of her being. I did, didn't I...? Dull gaze pooled downwards to the offering of down feathers, pallid like a cloud that floated down to the ground, and now weakly splayed at her feet. Where did Swansong get these...? Perhaps she would clump them into a pile in her messy nest, resting heavy head upon a cushion of baby's fluff. "T-Thank... Thank you... Swans-song..." Tired grin lined scraggly countenance, as if only the shade of her face had lined it, a specter of a smile. "W-We... We should talk... Catch.... Catch up..."​