sensitive topics CORN STALKER [ ✦ ] carcass

[Bluepool]

TW for some mild descriptions of a dead creature

Finally, they are back in their homes, back where they belong. It is strange to no longer feel mud between her toes, to no longer feel as if the trees are pressing in on her. The wide open spaces of the moors are as inviting as they are freeing and as she walks along with the rest of the patrol, she finds herself tilting her head skyward, enjoying the feeling of the crisp leaf-fall wind ruffling her fur. "Now this is where we're meant to be" she says to one of her patrol members. Whether or not they felt the same she is unsure but to her there is no place better than WindClans territory. She could almost forget about all the hard work they had ahead of them, could almost forget about the way her sister had snapped at her when she had urged her to run, she could forget all of her troubles as long as she had the wide open hills to race across.

Something in the distance catches her attention and golden eyes affix on crows that circle in the sky. "Hey is it just me or are those crows circling over outlook rock?" curiosity is already dragging her feet forwards, and she is headed in the direction of the birds, flicking her cropped tail in an indication for the rest of the patrol to follow. Hopefully they wondered just the same as she did because she was not leaving them much of a choice.

When she draws closer she can see the form of an animal laying in the grass. It looks like a dog but its fur is dusty and its pelt is mangey. its eyes are rolled into the back of its head, its tongue lolls out of its mouth and it is clear by the looks of it that it has gone to whatever the equivalent of StarClan was for canines. "Oh... It's a coyote" she says and she almost sounds disappointed, as if she were hoping for something else. "I wonder how it died" and she wondered if it would be safe to eat perhaps.

// prompt thread! 'Crows circle and gather at Outlook Rock. It's suspected something must've died there… but what could it be that's drawing this much attention? Cats find themselves weary to investigate'

​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

After the battle to retake their own home, the black-patched warrior has thrown themself into their regular duties—or at least, as regular as any duties could be with a significant number of clanmates still missing, possibly lost or dead in the mountains. The season has moved on without them, and Gravelsnap cannot help but to pray that they will all return home safely. Or at the very least, they need Periwinklebreeze to come back unharmed. They had expected for their feelings toward the other warrior to fade with distance, but they haven’t yet, and their worry only grows with each day that passes. And so despite the injury that occasionally tugs at their stomach, Gravelsnap trails behind Bluepool as they bask in the joy of returning to their own moorland.

They don’t care to check out the source of the crowd’ focus, but the lead warrior leaves them little choice but to follow after her as she moves to inspect it. The thing that the birds are circling comes into view soon enough, and the dead creature is disgusting. The warrior says so easily, with a narrowing of their eyes. "Oh. Gross." They wrinkle their nose at the sight, gruesome as it is. A coyote, apparently victim to some unknown cause of death.

"Do you think something killed it?" He grimaces. "We should probably leave. Anything big enough to kill that is big enough to kill us." Bluepool is one of the only moor runner warriors who Gravelsnap can confidently say they are larger than—and not by much. Any creature larger than the dead coyote could easily eat either of them. They glance around to the rest of the patrol. Should they be concerned? Should they be running? But no, they can’t just leave this disgusting corpse here, can they?

// @Thriftpaw​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Thriftpaw slips into old routine as if he is stepping into his old skin. Patrol, hunt, train; kick at the sandy ground of camp until the bloodstains are too scattered to be noticed, and ignore the fear that nips doggedly at his heels. He can settle back into himself, or settle back into pretending that he is himself, and everything will be as okay as it ever was again. It's easy to walk besides Gravelsnap, Thriftpaw purposefully on the side that forces them to take the brunt of the wind.

Bluepool spots something, and Gravelsnap follows, and so Thriftpaw follows. Crows — the discussion doesn't hold Thriftpaw's attention, not enough to avoid his mind slipping from its place in his head. His body continues up until the point that the familiar scent of a fresh death hits his nose. He recoils and turns on instinct, but he has already seen enough. He still sees the coyote laid out like the sun's afterimage each time he blinks.

"I'm — I don't want to see anymore death," He tells Gravelsnap, still angled away from the coyote. His head turns, despite himself. It couldn't be mistaken for sleeping, still as it is, and not with the crows preparing to descend upon it. "Maybe it wasn't violent," Thriftpaw says, hopes, "Maybe it was sick or it was old and it just — it just laid down."​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 8 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[BLUEFROST]

“If it was sick, we certainly want to leave it be,” a grave voice comes from beneath the earth. Bluepaw worms her way out of the narrow opening of a tunnel sprouting up near Outlook Rock. The stench of death settles on her tongue, curling into her scent glands like the foulest woodsmoke. She makes a face, turning away from the rotting corpse with disgust. She’d been called here by the squawking of crows, wings beating the air like they’d wanted to bruise the sky. Crow’s song is death’s song, she knows this well.

“I don’t want to see anymore death,” Thriftpaw tells Gravelsnap and Bluepool. Bluepaw’s ears flick forward. Could he be referring to the rogue they’d killed together? She looks at him with blatant curiosity before shrugging and turning to her friend and aunt. “We should let the crows have this. Hopefully they eat it soon and stop making this racket while we’re trying to hunt underground.”

, ”​

​

 

[hollowcreek]

Burning gold looked into sweet honey as they were led across the drying grasslands. "It is." Hollowcreek agreed with the Lead as they took the moment of peace to feel the winds back over their pelt. While Bluepool kept her gaze focused on the sky, his lingered over silvery fur and for not even a second, a flash of something wistful reflected in his gaze.

Whatever she had been looking at held her attention enough for cause of concern. Crows circled above only a short distance away and her curiosity would lead them to the source. He wasn't sure what they would gain from looking at what he expected would be carrion on their arrival. Circling crows often meant the same in the marshes.

His expression tugged down into a grimace at the greeting of the dead coyote. The scent of decay is harsh against the more pleasant aroma's of the moors. His ears perked forward as the others on the patrol voiced their ideas on what had happened. It must have died while the rogues were occupying their home. No one to properly patrol and defend borders to dissuade it from getting close.

'I don't smell blood." He answered Gravelsnap's question, nodding in agreement to the two apprentices. "Let's hope it wasn't sick from something it ate. Our prey stocks are low even when healthy right now." He found himself glancing toward the small cavern Bluepaw came out of, expecting Sootstar to appear after. "Let the crows feast, but if anyone brings one back home I wouldn't eat it." His tone turned upward in just jest, his tail flicking away a pesky fly.​

​

"speech"​

 

[Bearflight]

—————————————————————⊰◈⊱————————————————————

Bearpaw's nose scrunches up at the scent but he does not balk nor recoil away, it was a little too fascinating to pull his attention from entirely. He'd never seen a coyote and he can't imagine they look much different in death than they did alive - perhaps with a little less show of teeth and tongue. Its death becomes a series of questions and guesses from Gravelsnap pondering if there was something bigger that had done it, to the idea of sickness taking it and finally the more natural option of it dying of old age. Was it old? Hard to tell with how much of it had already been picked at by scavengers.
"...should we not bury it?" He asks, wondering if maybe he was missing something and it was he who was foolish. They didn't eat coyote, but burying your dead was a means of solace; did a coyote not deserve a vigil as well? Were cats the only ones who mourned and dug graves? The world was so new and jarring but he found this especialy interesting. "Burying it would hide it from the carrion pickers too." He mused, blue gaze lifted to the circle of dark shapes above, cutting through the air in sharp slivers of black feathers. Until those birds left this area would be noisy and ward off any prey that might wander nearby, the corpse had become both a source of nourishment and a deterrent to the other creaures on their moorlands.

◈ ——— it's easy to explain ◈ ——— 'cause this world's not tame (little fang, little fang)

• Mentor Tag: @BRIGHTSHINE!
• 
  
  
  Bearpaw
  —⊰⋅ Apprentice of WindClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Chocolate Rosette Tabby w/blue eyes.
  

​