DEEP IN THE FOG [ ✦ ] vigil

[Starlingheart]

Heavy Branch was gone. He was gone and it was her fault. She had been given a choice. Three leaves of lungwort, three cures, and she had been selfish. Heavy Branch had looked stronger only a couple of days ago though, he had looked like maybe he could have held on until the cats from the journey had returned. She had thought wrong. Now she stares down at his body with green eyes filled with sadness and misery. Did he blame her for his death? Would she see his apparition in StarClan and would he tell her that she was a murderer? His blood is on her paws and she knows it.

Regardless of how she feels about the body before her, the clan still deserved the chance to say their goodbyes. She cannot hide the smell of sickness and death from the elders pelt, ShadowClan had no such herbs that could help unless she wanted to drag the body to a patch of garlic and mask his scent that way. She can, however, gr.oom his fur so that it lays flat, so that it is clean, and she can weave flowers into his fur. It does not mask the putrid scents clinging to his body completely but at least it is something.

When she is finished, the body is moved to the center of camp so that everyone can say goodbye. Starlingheart stands at the entrance to the medicine cats den, not wanting to interfere with anyone who wished to share tongues with the elder one last time.

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

It is not the old tom’s death who concerns him. Granitepelt sees the misery in Starlingheart’s expression, the tremulous way her paws weave the blossoms into his stinking pelt, and he goes to her, pressing his muzzle against hers. “You are only one cat, beloved. You cannot save everyone.” He looks to Heavybranch’s cold, stiff body with a relatively blank expression. “He was old, unnaturally so. It was his time.”

He had nothing against the elder. He’d never done anything wrong to Granitepelt, really, except offend his nose when he’d go to press bile-soaked moss to his ticks. He’d been here since Granitepelt’s birth, and to have him gone from camp would be strange, but… it wasn’t like the old fool had contributed anything, anyway. He was one less mouth to feed.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[NETTLEPAW ♡]

Nettlepaw, so focused on the benefits of positivity, had noticed the absence of happiness in his mother. Had noticed a change in demeanour, something that could only be visible grief. He was glad, at least, that Flintkit was not dead- he did not imagine Starlingheart would ever rise from her sobbing-fit if he was, and Nettlepaw only knew the death of his brother could feel nothing but bad. Heavy Branch's death was not nice, either. The sight of his heartbroken mother, and the dead body still in the centre of camp, sickened him to the point of hurt. The pain terrified him. How bad would it have been if he'd lost Flintkit? If- if it had happened to anyone he'd loved?

Nettlepaw swallowed. He'd spoken very little with the elder, but knew that he'd done great service to ShadowClan in his life. The white-tipped tom dipped his snowy head in silent honour before slipping over to his mother's other side. He knocked his forehead against her shoulder, a wordless show of support- for once, he wouldn't talk. Wouldn't ask a question or crack a joke. All he wanted to do was make sure she knew he was here... and make sure she was tangible and alive. That she wasn't gone, too.

That would hurt.​

penned by pin ♡​

 

[STUMPYSPOTS]

STUMPYSPOTS​

Stumpyspots approached the body of the fallen elder. Her head is held low as pain and grief washes over her. While never friends, they had been two cats of a nearby generation, naturally despite their interactions being brief she had felt a connection. They had been living proof of a time now passed, but now it was time to put the older tom to rest. Stumpyspots licks the elder’s shoulder, his fur cold to the touch. ”’Spose… our time is long past.” She says to him, her look sympathetic as her eyes train on his face. ”May you find youth and pleasant hunting in StarClan.” The calico pulls away, leaving room for the next cat to say their goodbyes.

*.☽ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Halfmaw . Stumpyspots
  » ShadowClan Warrior
  » She/her ․ Twice Widowed
  » Calico she-cat with rounded features.
  » "speech"․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A heavy hitting foe capable of standing her ground
  » Excels in slow, but powerful blows and kicks.
  » Fights to defend and protect
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

even the way he comforts is cold. how starlingheart deals with that, they don't know. of course he was old, but that does not make this loss any less devastating. not at all. he died after a horrible sickness took him, and she was defenseless in the way she watched. that guilt would eat at her like a fox, and chilledstar hurts with her. they squeezed their eyes shut, offering a quiet and kind prayer. he would watch over them, yes. he would keep too many from crossing to the stars, and guide those he did with him. a terrible end. they're sorry. they'd gladly have given him one of their lives if it meant he would still be here. they didn't need so many. why did they get so many?
​

 

[Skunktail]

Heavybranch was old, in a few more seasons he might have gone to StarClan anyways but being sent before then from this wretched sickness was a cruelty he couldn't imagine. It was unfair, the old tom who told tales to the kits and kept several apprentices on their toes was gone and all they had left was the knowledge that anyone could go next. Several cats, even his own nephew, even one of Frostbite's little kits, were all in the medicine cat den languishing and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it. The black and white tom hated the feeling of not having power, the weakness of lacking what was necessary to combat something. It was infuriating in a way he had't felt since he'd witnessed his mother battered into pulp upon the thunderpath. Taken, like Heavybranch, before her time. Life was a game and it felt like ShadowClan kept losing...

"Hope you catch a few stars up there, old fella." Skunktail murmurs, head dipping in a respectful nod before he turns to go, only pausing to give Starlingheart a friendly nudge with his shoulder; stepping over Nettlekit in the process who gets a slightly more playful tail flick on his way out of the camp. Time to hunt and bury their grief elsewhere.
​