sensitive topics como una ola | death

[sheepcurl]

Everything hurts. Why did everything hurt still? And right under her skin is there something nasty brewing, her lungs ache and cry at every breath. She’s been in and out of consciousness lately, drifting in to hear snippets of worried conversation. She wishes she could recall if there had been cream and red fur pressed around her, if Redstorm had come to visit. She does not remember. She… doesn’t remember his face. She doesn’t remember anyones face. Greeneyes is a blur of ginger and white in her mind. Blazestar- she cannot remember his face, either. Is this how it ends? To die without comfort?

She’s briefly aware that shes in Dawnglares den when she stirs once more. It smells like him. It smells like… Some of her friends. Her head is pounding, hurts too bad to lift it and look around; she forces herself anyways despite the fresh burst of pain it brings, but colors don’t immediately register within her mind. Bodies sleep around her, it seems there are more than when she had last been fully awake. Briefly she looks for Blazestar, Bobbie, Sparrow, Dusk- the ones who had been there when she had gotten sick. She does not see their pelts. She realizes that they’re not in here and Sheep feels a sort of relief that she had not transferred whatever she had. They’re safe. They’re okay. She's not sure where Blazestars son is, but she hopes he is okay too.

She remembers what she had said. I'm so scared. She still is, but she knows her time is drawing to a close. I don't want to die. She hangs on a little bit longer, for her sake, for their sake.

The herb-scent is soothing, familiar, it reminds her of Dawnglare, it is the very essence of Dawnglare- of a friend. It’s kind, and it wraps around her like her Twolegs blankets. It lulls her to sleep once more as she feels herself slipping, everything is getting quiet, quieter, until it goes silent. I’m not ready, I... Don't want to... Her breath comes shallower now as her thoughts begin to go from a river to a trickling stream. She hears Greeneyes speak and shes only just briefly aware that its all in her head, it's okay. It's going to be okay. She trusts him, she always had; she had faith in him. It’s comforting enough to finally let go, to not struggle to keep herself from leaving. She takes one last breath in, savoring the flowery scent, committing it to memory. Her mind finally comes to rest, her flank stills for the last time. Sheepcurl has succumbed to the sickness that had taken Tallulah, another victim claimed.

---

I haven’t earned this rest, are her thoughts as a starry body climbs from its mortal vessel, clawing out as if it took effort to do so. Yellow eyes turn downwards towards her once lively body and she begins to feel the urge to cry. I’m not ready, comes the thought again. What would Greeneyes say? To leave him behind so fast… She feels sick once more, but this time its dread gnawing at her stomach. Guilt gathers in her chest, shes not ready to leave all shes known behind. She picks up a paw, brushes her own cheek. Had she been a good warrior? Had she fulfilled her duties, her role- had she been a good lead? She can't say for certain. But I did what I was supposed to, mist gathers at the edges of her eyes. So why do I still feel like this? At least the thought of going to Starclan itself was oddly comforting. She could at least still watch over them.

Theres a noise. Eyes flick upwards, away from the furry cheek she holds. They land upon a familiar calico pelt, one that Sheep had not seen in her brief time in the shelter. One that creates a deep ache in her chest- "Daisyflight?" she breathes out, eyes wide. The calico she-cat only nods, a small smile. Sheepcurl looks back down, looks up again and solemnly nods back, hesitant at first, finishing strong. Things are going to be okay, is her final thought as she ascend the skies with her starry companion, sharing quiet chatter between them. She would not be alone, no, not when she has a friend by her side; never would she be or feel alone again.​

"speech"​

 

[BLAZESTAR]

He had only come to check on her and the others curled into slumping crescents in their nests. In his jaws is a tempting bit of fresh-kill, a vole freshly snatched from the riverbank. He’d wanted to tempt Sheepcurl into eating, though part of him worries it will be a fruitless endeavor—Fireflypaw had recounted how he’d done the same for Tallulahwing and the late she-cat had not even tried to take a mouthful of meat.

Blazestar hangs outside Dawnglare’s den. It’s near-silent in there, but for raspy breathing, strange coughing, the occasional nonsensical murmur from the ill. He does not want to go in. Something compels him to anyway—the vole hanging from his jaws, perhaps, the desire to help his Clan inch toward recovery.

He stops before her nest, the vole hitting the ground with a sick, wet thud. Sheepcurl’s flanks are mercifully still. The rattle of death has died away—and her spirit is gone, departed for starry skies. Blazestar stands over her, his grief welling up from the warmth of his paws to the tips of his ears. “Sheepcurl.” He studies her, the serenity that has replaced the fear she’d worn when she’d collapsed, and his teeth gnash together with a click. He stifles a sob, his eyes burning with unspent tears. “I just—I just got you back—StarClan, how can you keep taking them from me?” His shoulders are tense as he tries to contain grief that threatens to swallow him like a massive dark storm.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — blaise . blazestar
  — he/him ; leader of skyclan
  — pansexual ; divorced ; single
  — longhaired flame point Ragdoll with blue eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Mercibun

​

 

[falcongaze]

❝ CALLIN' IT QUITS NOW ✧°.☀ ————————————
Falconpaw didn't know either of them that well- well, that's a lie. He knew Blazestar. He knew that the leader was an awkward cat when it came to young kits in unusual situations, like Falcon's and his siblings own. He had guided them home, and checked in on them every now and again. Falconpaw didn't like leaving debts open ended. He wasn't sure that this counted as repaying a debt, but it never hurt to be kind. Upon hearing Blazestar ask her name- Sheepcurl's name- Falconpaw's ears flattened and lowered. He lowered himself down from what he was working on- repairing a den, it seemed- and padded closer to the den.

He knew Sheepcurl and his mentor were friends, as well. Greeneyes, someone who carried his heart on his shoulder, nervous but prideful. He was already getting used to knowing him, and.. if he knew how Tallulahwing's death went over, this was going to stack as well. Blazestar's words wipe that away from his mind. The tall apprentice- tall for his age, that is- turned his head towards the shadow of him standing inside of the den. He looked down towards Sheepcurl, and the lack of breath, the lack of movement, makes Falconpaw loose a choked noise.

He didn't know her personally, but so many cat in Skyclan did. Quietly, he steps in, ducking his head to press it against Blazestar's leg. Comfort, all that he can offer to their leader right now. "Do... do you want me to get someone? Anyone?" He asked quietly, keeping his eyes on his paws. He can't look up. He shouldn't.

"SPEECH"

[penned by dallas - ☀]

———————————— ☀.°✧ BABY, I'M A WRECK ❞ ​

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[Howlfire]

For the most part, Howlfire has kept her distance from the sick members of the clan. A part of her wished she could do more for them - even if that was just to offer comfort in these times - but she had heard rumours of what Blazestar had spoken of at the gathering. That this sickness would kill every cat it touched. It was a grim statement, but with the amount of cats falling sick, and Tallulahwing's still recent death weighing on their minds Howlfire was more than a little concerned.

Still, when she sees her father walk into the den, she is more than a little curious. As far as she was aware, he had kept his distance from the medicine den, much like herself. It is curiosity that compels her to follow, deciding that if Blazestar is risking going inside, perhaps she can too. She's hardly inside when she hears the strained voice of her father speaking Sheepcurl's name. A brow raises silently and then she hears the rest of his words, feeling a pang in her chest when she hears him condemn StarClan for taking from him. It takes her a moment to realise what she means but the pieces fall into place when she hears Falconpaw ask if he can fetch anyone. Sheepcurl was gone. Sheepcurl was dead, like Tallulahwing was dead, and at the rate this sickness spread, more would soon follow.

Howlfire chooses not to stay, turning swiftly on her paws and exiting the den, fighting the urge to cry. She did not know Sheepcurl as well as she liked but she had always been fond of the fawn she-cat. She had been a good warrior, well-loved in the clan. Howlfire could still fondly remember her first adventure to SkyClan alongside the rest of her littermates. How exciting and fascinating the trip had been, getting to meet so many new cats and experience so many new scents. It was the first time Howlfire had seen kittypets and she had been fascinated by a collar that one of the daylight warriors was wearing. Howlfire had asked what it was and Sheepcurl - then still Churrodream - had informed her it was a collar and had playfully remarked that they only wore them because they were pretty. Still a kit then, Howlfire had not really understood but had pretended as if she had, telling Sheepcurl that the bow she used to wear on her collar was the far prettier of the two.

Safely away from the medicine den, Howlfire sits down and feels her shoulders sag, a few tears falling down her cheeks. "Rest easy, Sheepcurl," She mews softly, speaking the words to the wind.​

 

[TWITCHBOLT]

The word moved in whispers. Twitchbolt was not far from the medicine den, stuck in a purgatory of being afraid of the illness and wanting to check on those trapped inside. No doubt they were writhing in delirium, prisoners to the horrors of their own mind and now- now, the knowledge that they were going to die. The bicolour tom was one to describe many things as terrifying, but this? This situation was the most terrifying thing he could possibly think of. This sickness, waiting in the sidelines to strike and take another life that seemed impossible to lose.

Twitchbolt wondered whether he would ever learn to anticipate death. It seemed a miserable way to life, but would surely make this moment easier. Among the growing crowd and peering into the medicine den he caught the sandy pelt of Sheepcurl, snow-freckled and still, Blazestar rested above her. A member of his council since Twitchbolt's own apprenticeship, torn away and returned only for the stars to really take her, this time.

I said hello again, but I didn't get to say goodbye. Twitchbolt closed his eyes, brows furrowing as tears threatened to close in. His breath was jittery as he took it in, emotions teetering and unstable. Sheepcurl being gone seemed unfathomable even now it was true, but... it had been the same for Daisyflight. When would death ever feel like closure? Every time it just felt like too soon, the stars raking in souls for their ranks. He knew it wasn't of their doing, and that... that all who departed were up there. But oddly, it made it hurt no less.

"Goodbye, Sheepcurl." It was too late for her to hear him, but he glanced at the sky as he said it, hoping... somehow, star-glimmer ears would hear. ​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Sheepcurl is one of the first sick few that he finds himself hunched over. Dilirium he has hardly ever seen – he is left to instead pick apart scraps of body language that are left. The stuttering breaths, a dry nose, the few words they could mumble sounding dredged across their very throat, rough in a way they should not be. With the little time there had been between the realization – and the sinking in; corpse strewn across his den, tortoiseshell fur left in disarray, there was a moment where he’d thought the sickness truly did act so quickly.

It had been terrifying. At the same time, it had been hopeful. For if Sheepcurl could live so long with mind and body able, that must mean he was doing something right.

That was all a lie, of course.

His face is blank, as he sees the slowing of her breath. And see it he does, for what Medicine Cat would he be, to take her eyes off of her for even a moment. Not as if it had mattered, in the end. He is staring blankly, when the sun comes to blind his eyes. The rise and fall of her flank has ceased, and such a thing would be impossible in all worlds but one. With his stillness, he may be close to a corpse himself, save from the blustery sigh that blows past his nose. His eyes keep unwaveringly to her, despite the presence that stood so closely nearby. She never should have come here.

The quiet stretches – far from an easy one. How could it be, when the scent of sickness never abides? He’d like to claw out his own eyes, he’d like to…

Silence is broken by a blue - eyed apprentice, and that is when Dawnglare would turn his head. " It is too crowded. " he says lowly; pointedly, though he would not meet either of them with hostility, for some reason. " Tell your friends. " She, perhaps, had been one of the last to his name.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 7.18.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

• 

• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 54 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  Currently in an era of questioning; upset and uncomfortable by things he should not be.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

​

 

[GREENEYES]

The camp sits in an eerie silence, whispers made between clanmate to clanmate unsettling to ginger ears, a verdant gaze flickering from face to face. He meets the eyes of some as he does this - a flash of concern, of sorrow, being bestowed upon him at each line of sight he crosses.

And if any of that isn’t the cause of the twisting trepidation tightening around him, it most certainly is that of what his gaze lands on next. The medicine den - a crowd at its mouth. An abnormality in sickness-bearing days; no one wants to get too close to the medicine den, not right now.

The sight sends a chill through him, leaves icebound paws surging forward with little guidance. Greeneyes has a feeling he knows what this crowd means, but he doesn’t know what for. There’s a brief, cruel thought that swirls through his mind, one selfish enough to beg that it's a clanmate he isn’t close to - that he will not mourn another, even if he would still mourn a fallen clanmate, through and through. A thought that begs for everything to be okay, when he knows the truth is mere pawsteps away, a promise ready to be shattered once more.

A story told once again, brought to the same ending that shouldn’t bear much surprise to him anymore.

And yet, he still holds hope, as he pushes through the crowd at the mouth of the medicine den, just enough to for his breath to catch in his throat, just as his gaze catches that of a cooling form - fawn-spotted, snow-freckled. A daylight warrior turned lead warrior, only just making her return to the pine forest just to fall to the stars. A familiar face returning, a loved one gone too soon.

His mentor.

Sheepcurl is gone.

“No,” he croaks out, a sob threatening to shake his form, just as it had Figfeather not so long ago. Left without her mentor, just as he is now. He didn't even get to say goodbye. “No… Sheepcurl —” Tears blur his vision, say their farewells for him as they shield his vision from looking at her unmoving body for any longer, a snow-splashed face pulling itself downward, away.

“I… I’m sorry —” he lets out, a cry finally breaking him. An apology unneeded, but an apology he gives - a broken promise to her. It isn't okay. He’d only just celebrated his mentor’s return. And now… And now…

And now he has another to mourn. Another to watch over him in the night’s sky. It isn’t fair - merely unlucky, this curse he holds.
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