But I was late for this, late for that || crushed flowers

[Feathergaze]

"Oh..."

The silver molly had ducked out of camp after completing her assigned patrol. It was growing near the time she liked to stop by Icebloom's grave; maintenance, a little reflection, some tears, of course. Last time she'd stopped by, Feathergaze had held a small, smoothed pebble. She'd had it tucked away in her nest for exactly a moon, as was RiverClan's culture when one wanted to imbue an item with love. While not conventionally left upon resting places, the young warrior had wanted to do so anyways. Icebloom had been an ever-present figure throughout her childhood, always supporting her, always cheering her up, always letting her tag along when the old molly went on strolls beyond camp. Feathergaze had loved her grandmother more than anyone or anything else. She'd prayed to StarClan that the stone find her well.

She now stood beneath the willows that neared the beech copse. Her tail drooped and her head fell. You're being silly. She'd come with hopes to pluck the last flowers from a small patch that grew wild even into the first weeks of leafbare. Icebloom had once told her so, flicking her tail to point out the small yet vibrant flowers. In the first moon after her passing, Feathergaze had brought her flowers from this very patch, deep purple petals settling on the tousled dirt like sunset rays had fallen to the earth. They were never going to last forever. She stared now with hollow eyes at the remains of her patch. Velvet flora had grown weak and withered, gnawed on and bitten by a particularly harsh frost the night before. Given how brightly the sun now shone, the silver molly had hoped they would flourish anyway.

But the patch was not merely frosted. Mud was pressed into every leaf and stem, flower heads twisted and torn, fading petals strewn about. The whole mess laid soggy in a pool of melted snow. Perhaps an overexcited apprentice hadn't paid attention to where they put their paws. Maybe a pair of animals had had a scrap here during the night. Whatever had happened, Feathergaze's beloved flowers were utterly ruined. Will they even grow back come newleaf in such a state?
"They were... They were so beautiful," Feathergaze murmured, as though convincing some invisible onlooker that the jagged cracks splintering her heart were justified. Tears filled her eyes just as they had the last time she'd visited Icebloom's grave, but today she tried desperately not to let them fall. She forced a laugh, though it was empty of any meaning. "They're just flowers. flowers." But how wonderful they had been.​

 

[Silverbreath]

*+:｡.｡ Silverbreath had lost his parents long ago, and thus his grief for them had come and gone as quickly as they had. In the little moments, however, he did find himself missing the ghost of them. When his little Carp-paw opened her eyes for the first time, when he stressed about his relationship with Shadepool, when he watched other parents still guide their kits, whether young or old, he found himself wondering what his parents would have said or done if they were here for him, now. But even then, he did not grieve them. There was nothing to grieve.

So he couldn't say he understood when he came upon the sight of Feathergaze barely holding herself together. All he knew was that his heart twisted for the young woman, and before he knew it he was making his way over.

It doesn't take a genius to know what Feathergaze is grieving about. He hadn't been particularly close to Icebloom when she'd been alive, but he knew of her. Rarely had he ever seen te old biddy without her tiny shadow stuck like a barnacle to her hip, so to know Feathergaze was to know Icebloom just as well. Sometimes, he half expected to see Icebloom pop out of the bushes after Feathergaze. Many times, he was sad to remember that would never happen again. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like for the young molly herself.

Twinning his tail around hers comfortingly, Silverbreath muses, "y'know, I've heard of flowers being called many things in my time. Roses, daisies, I've even heard of some called baby's breath, can you imagine that?" he angles his head so his soft smile could be seen by the girl, "I think when you know it's named, it becomes so much more than just a flower. And when you give that flower a purpose, like taking care of your grandmother...well, if I were you, I'd feel like I lost a friend" He hopes she understands what he means by this. That a flower isn't always just a flower. And grieving over one doesn't make your grief any less real. Stars - and denying that grief won't make it any less painful.

"I'm sorry." he tells her sincerely, turning his attention to the poor scraps of leaf and petals trampled and buried. He doesn't understand her grief, not for the flowers, not for her grandmother, but he understands that she is grieving, and that's all that really matters. "Can I ask you something?" he says after a beat, "Are these Icebloom's favorite flowers? [/color" talking about the dead, he'd learned, was a nice way to bring them back, even for just a moment.

*+:｡.｡ Updated 11/22/23

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  GENERAL:
  ☆ Silverbreath
  ☆ DMAB— He/Him — Bisexual
  ☆ 35 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
  ☆ Father to Carp-paw
  ☆ Riverclan — Warrior
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ☆Physically hard | mentally hard
  ☆ Attack in bold #7d7d7d
  injuries: None currently

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[Feathergaze]

Feathergaze often went for the comforting touch when she saw her clan mates in distress, and it worked on her just as well. As Silverbreath laced his tail with hers she exhaled a trembling breath. She closed her eyes as he spoke, burning tears falling only to be whisked away by a chilling breeze.
“Baby’s breath,” she sniffed quietly. She blinked her eyes open and another jagged laugh clawed it’s way out of her throat. “I… I’d never heard of that one before. It sounds beautiful.” The first glimmers of a new beginning condensed into something as fragile as life itself. Did you know of them, Icebloom? Did you ever see them out there, in your time before RiverClan?

She shakes her head, uncomfortable warmth simmering her brain like a fish tossed onto the thunder path. He must think you’re ridiculous. Crying over flowers. He pities you, everyone in RiverClan does. But when Feathergaze glimpsed his face, she saw no mockery. His soft expression, his gentle words; it was almost like he understood, in his own way. His words all but confirmed it as they brought her thoughts to life. Losing these flowers… it’s like losing her all over again. It was her own fault. It was just as Silverbreath said. She knew these flowers so well. She’d given them a purpose. She’d cared for them so, so much. Of course it hurt, now that they were gone. Idiot. The thought pressed against her skull, a dark shadow poking the walls of its prison, searching for a crack to seep through. What the little shadows wouldn’t give to escape her head, poison her blood, and swallow her whole. But again, Silverbreath’s words hold no blame. He is sharing with her, relating to her. Feathergaze nods quietly, and the little shadow fades away.

He wants to ask a question, and who is she to deny him? The silver molly’s tears have dried, and her heart pounds a steadier rhythm. Though his question stirs her grief, pokes at it, somehow it also settles it.
“They- They w-were. Yes, she loved them. She loved the colours. She loved that they stuck around, even after the first frost. She thought… she thought they were strong.” ‘Strong, like my Featherpaw.’ Icebloom’s affectionate mew rang in her ears. “She um… Violas. She called them violas. And she used to send me to pick one or two, when I was an apprentice and had some time to spare. ”​

 

[Shadestone]

Shadestone was not a cat that made sense of flowers and gifts. Cats talked alot about the colors that donned the delicate silken feel of the petals, but never did they explain the colors in a way that made sense to him. They were words, nothing more and nothing less. White, blue, gold, violet, all words with definitions that Shadestone could not ascribe to anything. He knew that Reedflower liked the budding blooms of tea-roses (whatever those were) though. She had said once that she discovered them in a garden after a kindly Twoleg gave her fresh salmon and a warm bath of milk and rose petals.

He had always found that story a bit fanciful, but it was her story, the same one that she would coo over her belly when their unborn kits were too hyper for her to sleep. He found himself recounting the story once to her grave. It was the reason he was present for the flower conversation in the first place, his paws shuffling awkwardly over the frozen earth.

"Violas." He mimicked the word, memorizing how it shaped itself in his mouth. "Would Ravensong have any to spare? Is it medicinal in any way?"speech is in #b4bcb4​

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[iciclefang]

“It was rude of whoever it was to trample over them,” Iciclefang says, padding closer to her Clanmates. Shadestone and Silverbreath are both there, comforting a tearful Feathergaze in their own way. She has no comfort to offer—and, selfishly, she thinks of her sister’s grave, untended to, overgrown with weeds and overrun with swamp insects. There would be no flowers in ShadowClan—why would they decorate another Clan’s gravesites, after all? She pauses, flicking an ear in Shadestone’s direction. He proposes Ravensong might know of the flowers Feathergaze speaks of. Violas. Iciclefang is the first to admit she’s not adept at remembering the names of herbs, but it does not sound even vaguely familiar to her.

“Maybe Moonpaw will know,” she murmurs, remembering the fervor with which the white-pelted molly had twined blossoms into their Clanmates’ pelts. “Moonpaw likes flowers.” She shrugs, having offered her sliver of wisdom.

, ”​

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[DEACON]

Flowers had always been synonymous with romantic love to the ticked tabby - quick to blossom, quick to wither, only the best ones could last longer than a season. Listening to his clanmates speak, it became clear that their views were very different from his own, a running pattern the longer he resided in the place that swallowed up his old home. Grief seemed to strike their voices and words and Thornmask scoffed as they walked closer. "If they didn't want to get trampled, then they should've grown taller," they stated matter-of-factly with a flick of their tail. The cat's voice did not seem to mock or deride, but try and help in their special way - by taking meaning away from the thing that was causing such hassle. Grief, love without a place to go, was only reserved for the living in Thornmask's life nowadays. They could say they understood what it was like to lose someone forever, but their bereavement had been a unique thing, mixed with so much guilt and despair that they had lost more than just a loved one that day. At least Feathergaze hadn't been the cause of her grandmother's death, that gave a closure that he could've yearned for.

'Rat King's flaming grace, there is no way I'm jealous of some wimp.' The feeling caused them to grimace as they listened to solutions offered up by the RiverClanners. "Giving 'em to Crowvoice and Not-Ratpaw won't make the sight of 'em any less ugly. The flowers are knackered, no matter which of your healers wants to make somethin' good out of 'em." They turned towards Feathergaze, fatigue creeping at the corner of their copper eyes. It was unreasonably cold in the Warrior's den without clanmates to snuggle up to, and he'd convinced the majority of them that his fur was made of the very thorns of his namesake. A problem of their own making, but they'd still blame the others for being so gullible as to believe a word that came out of their throat. If being a kittypet didn't sound so boring, they may have turned tail a long time ago to get more comfortable. "Best leave 'em and move on. Living in this clan gives you enough reasons to be sad without digging yourself a bigger sorrow hole with flowers."




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