sensitive topics dear friend across the river ✘ shaken

[SMOKESTAR]

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He had been avoiding the looming willow tree at the heart of the camp, not once looking at the swaying trails of spindly branches and curled leaves as he set about assisting in the cleanup.
But finally he could ignore it no longer, like a ghost it haunted him - clung to his back weighted like the body he carried into the marshlands several days prior. Smokethroat swears he still feels the pressure, the weight of it upon his spine; chilling and damp.

The moment he steps in he can tell the rogues had been in here, but among their scents the more overpowering one is still him. It lingers, the scent of storms: the aftermath of light rain, the salt of the river, the heat of the sun-kissed stones along the shore. It’s nauseating, he feels lightheaded, a flood of copper smell rises, his pelt feels too tight on him; too hot.
Smokethroat steps back, shakes his head, the den is too much right now. He can’t go in, he can’t face it. Grief and something else, something more horrifying, builds in his chest and tightens.

It was time to stop lying to himself, the tom he loved-the cat he had been so devoted to…he’d been gone for a while hadn’t he? Well before this, well before the kits came. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when he lost him but it was quite some time, when had he noticed the changes? The argument in the river was but a small sample of the sudden shift in demeanor, temperament. He had gone from being so forcefully confident to flinching at every pawstep at one point. A man ruled by his paranoid delusions and no amount of his efforts would have saved him. Maybe that was he tried not to believe it, tried not to think about it. When the signs flashed before his eye he closed it and blocked it out, curled into the mottled and familiar pelt and waged the war inside his mind demanding he face it at last.
Smokethroat had no choice but to face it now, to realize that Cicadastar was gone. Had been gone. Lost to them. Every movement was as though he was pulled forward on pure will alone, every time he’d died he came back a little more on edge, a little more different. His final life brought an end to the cycle. As much as it hurt, he was free now wasn’t he…? The burden of it was the dark tom’s to carry now, the liberation stained his teeth red, but the wires were undone.
He didn’t cry when his mother died, too young to really grasp the finality of it. He had not wept for Moss, she would have scolded his show of weakness and called him pathetic for it. Inside his body were tears unshed for years, fossilized into slivers of ice and finally, finally the heat of his own heartbreak had melted them back down.

And he cries. Shoulders shaking, head bowed, partially crouched in the opening of the willow den he had slept in for so long with another right beside him - that he would now be left in alone. Part of him is aware of how ridiculous he must look, how much the clan must be worried for their future with their deputy and soon-to-be leader crumbling into pieces like this. He was supposed to be stalwart at all times, stone, unmoving and in control.

Who knew stone could crack so easily.

——✘ when does ripple become a tidal wave ———✘ when does a candle become a flame

•  
• 
  
  
  Smokethroat
  —⊰⋅ Deputy of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  —⊰⋅ penned by Rai
  

​

 

[willowroot]

( ☾ ) she wonders if there's even any of her heart left to break. her parents, her siblings, washed away by ocean storms, boarpaw and raccoonpaw, lost and forgotten somewhere far away. buckgait, trapped, stolen from her by evils beyond comprehension, clearsight, murdered by windclan, boneripple, lost, stalkingpaw, dead, steepsnout, dead... cicadastar, dead. and he really is dead, in the final sense of the word. nine lives seem to go by faster than one, and his had been no different, ripped from him like the wind rips leaves from their trees. cicadastar, the first cat to offer true protection, to put his trust in her to lead. she had never had that before. he had created this- her home, her community, a shell of safety powered by their faith in him. her friend, her comrade, someone she hasd been lucky enough to advise, to stand tall next to.

where had it all gone wrong? when had he changed? had it been his first death at the paws of the twoleg traps? or perhaps beesong's demise, which had so shaken the stalwart river king. he hadn't been himself for moons, or perhaps she never really knew him. she'll never know now. still she grieves.

the weather seems fitting, skeletal branches scraping a cold sky as riverclan readjusts to their camp. willowroot finds herself slightly hollow, eyes pale and lacking their spark. a shadow flits across the doorway of cicadastar's old den, and half of a heartbeat convinces the queen that the frosty tomcat will push his way out, just as he always had. instead, a shape hunches just inside of it, trembling gently. a sole ember eye gleams with a river's worth of sorrow and pain. willowroot's heart looses yet another piece.

soft paws carry the feline over to her friend, dark head bending slightly to press her nose into the shorter tom's fur. quietly, willowroot sits, wrapping her tail around both herself and smokethroat as she gently leans into his body. he is not one for open displays of emotion, and the tears that track down his cheeks erode his fur, leaving stains where sorrow has touched him. willowroot will not walk away from this man. he is her best friend, has been for moons. she presses into him now, sharing her warmth, sharing what little heart she has left to give. she will shoulder his pain tonight. ​

 

[Petalnose]

Grief. It was so familiar to her. It had always been. Once more she felt her paws become muddied by them. She hadn't had a strong and personal connection with Cicadastar, neither had she with Smokethroat. Although, it was still as traumatizing as it was with a dear friend. They were the rulers of Riverclan. They had picked her to help guide their warriors. Riverclan was her promise to die for and she'd die for the rulers too. She was a knight that guarded her people and protected her kings. Nothing she feared. Nothing she ran away from. She'd strike her claw for them. She'd even mourn for them.. cry for them.

A patrol report she had to tell. Petalnose supposed she didn't expect to be surprised when her eyes fell upon Smokethroat being flooded with his grief. Empathy wasn't something she easily felt but she felt it for him. Willowroot was already there as a shoulder to comfort, one she wasn't sure how he'd react to. She expected him to either lean against it or explode. So Petalnose gave space, deciding against speaking.. deciding against invading his space. She instead quietly turned to exit and sit outside his den as a way to protect his vulnerability. If someone had something to say she'd try her best to send them away or be of report. Surely, he didn't want to be seen like this. Stars knew Petalnose had loathed showing that piece of her to others. She had still not personally approached her grief in a healthy manner yet. She was glad Smokethroat had that opportunity now.

Tags​

 

[BEEFANG]

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳˚❥ It felt like a ghost lived within the willow den and Beepaw did not wish to seek it, if she ever passed it normally her eyes would be on her paws not wishing to remember that he isn't here anymore. Her cheery and safe kittenhood gone moons ago and torn away from her when the rogues stormed into their camp. She has mixed feelings, Beepaw hadn't been brave during the time they chased them out from their home or Skyclan and she didn't feel like she was brave during the fight to take back their home. The kingsblood had killed in cold blood alongside her brother yet she doesn't know if it's something to be proud about and now her bicolored gaze finally risks a glance over to the willow tree that had been her home for three moons and instead of finding a ghost, she sees Smokethroat crouched in front of the willow tree den and Willowroot having come to comfort him. Petalnose sitting by the entrance of the den and Beepaw feels her heart begin to ache.

With a hesitant step or two of her snowy paws, the molly makes her way forward with both of her ears pressing against her skull and it's not long until she finds herself in front of Smokethroat. Her mentor, her only living parent, and even if she doesn't know that Cicadastar had been lost to them before... Her papa would be staying or that's what she hoped for knowing that the rogues had torn every life out of her father's body. All her attention had been focused on Cicadastar when her papa had returned with his chilled, mottled corpse and she had been so blinded by the grief.

She was blind no more and attempted to press her forehead against Smokethroat's gently, she'd close her eyes letting out a soft breath. It was a silent I love you as she didn't wish to break the silence with shaky words that would tumble from her mouth, he was so much stronger than her in more ways than one.

𓆟. ° .• . WHEN DOES A RIPPLE BECOME A TIDAL WAVE?

• 
  ❥ 4 moons old
  ❥ riverclan apprentice
  ❥ sexuality unknown; single
  ❥ daughter of cicadastar and smokethroat
  ❥ sister of cicadapaw & starlightpaw
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ❥ easy; still learning how to fight
  ❥ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆

---

He didn't need the company of someone who had raised his spirits just to see them dashed so splendidly... She told herself this even as she watched his entire body stiffen outside of the willow's warm, coaxing embrace, even as she remembered wanting the touch of someone familiar if only to ease the loneliness by part. Her hesitation does nothing to teach her to act, to spare who she could consider a friend a miserable, isolated experience- she is not a good friend despite her wishes it might be different.

Words do not come easily and small physical affections are equally constrained- it is a relief to see Willowroot (the second time in the last week she had proved as a life line) approach, to see her slowly lean against Smokethroat in an understanding silence. He just... needed to let it out. Needed to not be made a spectacle more than his dead love already had been. Cicadastar had changed in the last several lives he'd lived but the memory of the Cicada that united them under the banner of RiverClan never went away for those who had been there. Those who were old enough to remember the chaos without him.

Frowning, her emotions do not mask today, a tail twitching the naggings of a guilty conscience. Maybe she shouldn't have encouraged his hopes... maybe she should've told Cicadapaw to take joy in the ways he was similar to his father, rather than bolster his yearning for individuality. If she'd know he'd be gone so soon... Beepaw slithers up to her father with wide eyes, just as directionless and lost with half the guidance she was promised at birth. Only one parent... Even she didn't know what that experience was like, even miles away from where-ever her parents were now the molly would never be made to suffer that same grief.

Petalnose stands as a sentinel to protect the grieving widow from further invaders, those that might say something stupid or be generally unwelcomed. She was the first to have sat down at Lichentail's side, brushing their tongues through blood-stained curls to clean their leader; to say their goodbyes. Sitting down beside the other lead warrior, the blue point gives a small, solemn nod. A mutual understanding.

Smokethroat was not weak to be here now... he had kept so strong for so long.

It was more than StarClan should ask of any one cat.

Of course he was bound to break eventually.​

 

[Redpath]

Redpath had felt cold and empty ever since the news hit her that Riverwhisker died. Even in the battle to take back their home where she fought with grief and rage, she felt as cold as a frozen over river. Cursed, is what she is. Her first lover, slain by rogues. Her second, withered away from sickness. Is she fated to lose everyone she falls for? Is she not meant to have anyone at her side?

Company feels like poison right now. She lays with paws tucked under her in a far corner of camp, ignoring anyone that calls to her. Better not get attached to anyone, or they'll die too. Everything hurts. She just wants it all to stop.

Riverwhisker isn't the only one she grieves for. She grieves for all her clanmates lost to this sickness. She grieves for Cicadastar, who should still be here. He should be here with Smokethroat and their kits. She tore open a rogue and spilled his blood in revenge, but she isn't sated. No, she wants more. She wants each and every one dead. Plenty were slaughtered, but it wasn't ENOUGH.

But even though she spilled so much blood, she still feels hollow. Cicadastar is still dead.

She supposes there is a lesson here to be learned, but shes too tired to learn it.

An ear twitches as she hears the unfamiliar sound of sobs coming from Smokethroat. Hearing it breaks her heart, and she doesn't even know what to say. There was nothing TO say. But Smokethroat is her friend, and she wants to be there for him. She slowly gets to her feet and joins the growing crowd around the leaders den. Unfortunately, it seems Petalnose has taken up guard in front of them. She understands, she supposes. She doesn't have the energy or will to argue, so she sits off to the side. Not too far, but close enough to be part of the group. Quiet tears roll down her cheeks, from dull, empty eyes.

How would they recover from this? Nothing seems more hopeless than whatever lies in the future right now.​