sensitive topics EVERY BIRD GONE UNHEARD | birth + death

[FERNDANCE]

Trust was the sap that bound the clans together, but no one had ever told Ferndance how easy it was for that bond to become messied. She had felt it since the day she had announced her pregnancy, needle-claws pricking the back of her mind, telling her she would not be safe should she give birth within the walls of the camp: Granitepelt’s exile had only proved her right. There would be no care for her young except the care she provided, no shelter except for the fur upon her tail and no food except for what she could afford to hunt. Everyone was a distant memory, paws felt as if they were floating upon the air and could not find grip even if they wanted to. The journey to an abandoned hollow north of the camp was one she had made frequently in her final days before labour, but since the gathering, she had stayed permanently, idling, waiting for the moment to finally arrive. She played her mama’s words in her head, imitating the singsongy voice like a mockingbird under her laborious breath.

She felt the first pang and her teeth sunk into the stick she had prepared, bark coiling off of it like a shedding snake. The taste was inconsequential, she would strip the skin off of a million trees if it meant being able to hide. Pain was not something she knew how to express, and she was not keen on learning it even when all that was watching her was the snow dripping from the withered branches. The wind picked up outside, spirals of snow swirling, threatening to make her eyes water (It was not pain, she told herself. It was not pain). Claws writhed at the crinkled foliage, and when the second pang came, Ferndance realised she would be in for a long night.

And a long night it was. The moon had awoken and rested once more beneath the horizon, the sky alight with the reds and purples of a new dawn. But she was not met with the chortle of birds that day, rather, the singing of mewling kittens.

She looked over her newborns weakly; a she-kit with fur like fire, a tabby that reminded her of dark oak, Pikesplash with russet stripes instead of black, and a she-kitten that looked like Ferndance’s father, with snow flecked upon her cheeks. Four... her heart fluttered with excitement, just as she had hoped - two to be named by her, two to be named by Needledrift. Fern craned her head to the horizon, eyes blinking softly. She wished she had let her mate know where she was going, the forest that empty and bitter despite the quadruplets that lay nestled by her belly, but it had felt necessary. ’They’ll kill them… or kidnap them… my babies, my beautiful babies.’ No one could know where they were apart from them, it would be the only way to keep them safe from ShadowClan. The cinnamon tabby leaned over and licked individual stripes across the top of the kittens’ heads, resting her chin atop the last one, kissed by frost. She could sleep for moons, in spite of the mewls beneath her. The marsh around her began to flutter as she blinked in and out of consciousness. In her head, she went over the names of her little ones as family tradition dictated: Snowkit… Dark-kit… Oakkit… Foxkit…

Foxkit.

Foxkit.

Fox.

Her eyes snapped open to a set of white stalactites coming crashing down towards her kin, her blood. With what strength she had, the cinnamon tabby extended her paw to the sky and struck it upon a russet beast’s open maw, the taste of copper in her mouth as her claws found flesh. The creature recoiled in pain with a yip, its primitive eyes filled with a hatred that set her blood ablaze. She hadn’t noticed anything wrong with the horizon, where had it come from? Guilt wrenched her heart as she realised that it’d likely been attracted by the smell of blood. It was going to kill them because the frozen ground had taken the rest of its food, and when it had its fill, it was going to kill them because it could. Unsheathed claws gripped onto the mulch for dear life as she pulled herself to a crouch, limbs shaking like autumn leaves. ”You will not take them." There was no medicine cat to tell her to rest, there was no leader to command the clan to kill this threat, there was only a mother, the strongest being of all, with a conviction that could make the very mountains rattle.

And it didn’t work, because hunger did not care for the power of the Gods. Its very nature defied them.

The bile rose in her throat as she stepped over her children, their mews desperately filling her thumping ears, as if their voices would pull her back to the relative safety of the hollow. Ferndance had made up her mind a long time ago, she would die to keep her family safe. Mama and Papa never had many rules, but there was one that had stuck with her beyond borders: ‘you don’t fuck with family’. Nature had broken its peace with her and she would fight back against it with all that she had left. A yowl escaped her as she threatened the canine once more with a swipe of an alabaster paw, the creature lurching back before she could score claws down its legs and it retaliated with a snap of teeth that sounded like thunder clapping in her ears. She shuffled back again, almost kicking the newborns further down the den.

The forest had taken more strength than she could offer, even to save her sons and daughters. Her hind legs buckled underneath her and it seemed to be only the vehement hisses and wild swings of forepaws that kept the fox from advancing past her. It was only a matter of time before they stopped too, and Ferndance’s stomach writhed as she prepared for the beast’s coup de grace.

​

 

[sprucepaw ✰]

[ tw typical wc gore! ]

She's sent to travel on her own. We'll cover more ground if we split up, says her mother, more than willing to hoist this whole 'mentoring' thing off of her shoulders. Sprucepaw believes the other to be saintly, wishing the best for her black pelted daughter, though as she wanders the marshlands alone she cannot help but feel... off. Wisteriapaw comes to mind, the tom's unsteady and fearful words whispered to her on a night like this one. Sprucepaw wonders if rats have gotten to Ferndance, or Granitepelt snuck back into the territory just to rough up a pregnant she-cat (would he be so cruel?)

The slush beneath her paws is so cold, but she presses forward.

The air begins to tinge differently. Iron - blood, as Mapleberry would remind her. It would taste like prey's blood if it were in her mouth. A fearful shock ruffles her fur but she continues. Ferndance is missing and the scent of blood in the air should only worry the apprentice more, not ward her away. Her calico mother instilled her with bravery - idiotic, mindless bravery, but bravery nonetheless.

She heaves her shoulder into a low hanging bush, nudging the undergrowth out of the way, and that's when she sees it. It's a scene, a fox advancing towards a fatigued, freshly made mother. Ferndance nearly trips over her own youth, who seem to shiver in the snow. Her voice is lost in her throat - but is it better that way? If she was to scream, to shout, wouldn't that alert the fox to her position? No, no, she's a ShadowClan cat. She's dark pelted and stocky, her paws are lighter than feathers, she -

She, Sprucepaw, can do it.

She drops low, holding her breath as she stalks forward, just out of view of the fox. The breeze works in her favor as she treads lightly. Sprucepaw makes no move to alert Ferndance to her position - instead she moves quickly, stealthily, upon the hind end of the fox. And as soon as she's close enough, she leaps. Needle sharp claws, dulled only by the snow clumped beneath them, score into the haunch of the attacker. She holds on tight as the fox yelps and screeches and bucks - yet its the shake that tosses her away.

And it's the teeth in her throat that cause her to stagger.

It's seconds, seconds. Sprucepaw had felt her body collide with the tree trunk behind her. The world spun and she couldn't breathe, but she pushed herself to her paws regardless. She saw the eyes of the fox as it careened towards her, expertly grasping her in its jaws. It clenched and shook, and there was blood spilling into her throat. It doesn't taste like prey, it tastes like... her. The fox tosses her up again, as if playing with her body, and she swallows what she can of the ichor in her mouth. Adrenaline sparks on her tongue and as she falls to the ground, she twists. Claws reach out and score down the fox's face, scraping eyes and likely causing the loss of at least one. She weakly clasps her own jaw on the bridge of the fox's nose, however the seconds - seconds - don't last. The fox shakes again, and her body cracks against the forest floor.

The fox whimpers. It cannot see, and the scent of blood is too much, too... everywhere, it cannot discern where its initial meal once lay. And more scents, more cats like these, gain on the area. The fox leaves without its prey, and Sprucepaw lies in a pool of her own blood, eyes already glazed over by the time the fox disappears into the underbrush. It's so cold.​

 

[splashdance]

It's... so cold.

She's so quiet. The commotion that happens outside of her means nothing to the kitten. The snow becomes slush beneath her and the moisture soaks her down to her bone, sinking quickly through her already damp pelt. There's hissing, screaming, yelping, but she does nothing but meagerly push her face into a snow mound beside her. The black furred kitten stays quiet, only until the air falls still. Only then, in the silence, does she let out her own cry. Muffled by the snow, the child wails too loudly, as if in pain. It tapers off, exhaustion wearing at her limbs and throat, and she opts that pressing into her littermates to be the better option.​

 

[Frostbite]

Frostbite searches on his own, his nerves worn thin and his worst fears yet to be realized. What he smells as he nears the scene sickens him and he dreads what he might find. Terrified he'll find Ferndance and her kittens mauled by a fox. He has to steel himself for this possible reality as he rushes forth before its too late.

But unfortunately for him, he IS too late. What he sees is not Ferndance mauled and bloody, but Sprucepaw. Despite the ice in his veins he carries himself forward, the fox seeming to have left.....For now.

"Sprucepaw, oh no..." The words fall from his mouth as he checks on her, eyes closing as he realizes she's already gone. The pain in his chest threatens to overwhelm him. To see a cat so young, mangled and bloody- All because of one cat's irresponsible actions-

He opens his eyes and looks to Ferndance. "What were you THINKING, LEAVING CAMP SO CLOSE TO KITTING!?" He shouts, voice nearly shrill. His fur on end and his teeth bared. "HOW COULD YOU BE SO IRRESPONSIBLE!? LOOK AT-" What you've done. He catches himself before he finishes his sentence. His jaw shuts and he takes a deep breath, but his nerves don't settle.

"We need to get you and your kits back to camp. It's not safe out here." He says, forcing his tone to be less angry. Ferndance didn't MEAN for this to happen. He knows this.

"And where is Sprucepaw's mentor." He says, but not to anyone in particular. He wanted to strangle her too.

He keeps his ears pointed, watching the area for any signs of danger. That fox could still be around and he will not be letting it take any more lives today.​

 

[Needledrift]

Blood. It washes over her tongue in a red haze, the sort of in-your-face smog that usually one would describe smoke with - cloying, choking. Needledrift had never been the type to take to violence or death well, but this bloodscent tinged with fear, it has her moving through the sparse snow with a determination only seen in worried mothers which, consequently, she was.

She passes Sprucepaw's body without a glance, fearing that if she turns to look, to stare at the mangled corpse, she will not stop staring. Little Wolf flashes in her mind, her small body ravaged by eagle claws. She thinks of the cats wounded by the dogs on the last leg of the journey, of Ghostpaw, of Poppypaw, of -

Frostbite's yowl startles her out of her spiral, and an uncharacteristic snarl colors her misaligned jaw. "Are you trying to draw more attention to this? She hisses. It's an aggressive sound coming out of such a soft face, but with her pupils blown wide and her tail puffed out, it is evident that fear has more to do with her outburst than anger.

She peers into the hollow, into the makeshift den that smelled of blood and fear and milk, her ears pinning back so as not to scrape against wood. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, when she sees them. Four perfect, squirming little kits huddled under Ferndance - completely blind to the world around them with their folded ears and shut-tight eyes. Four kits.... her kits.... their kits. Her fear melts faced with them. Her tail relaxes and his eyes soften as she moves to nuzzle them gently, her tongue gracing each of their little foreheads.

She imagines, briefly, on a different day, that she would never want to leave this sort of claustrophobia, the kind that left her squished between her mate and children. But today was not that day, and so Needledrift moves again to pick up one of her children, her green eyes narrowed into a glare at any protest from her mate.

Small paws shuffle quickly out and away from the hollow and then those green eyes are turned towards Frostbite, expectant. Your turn. Is her obvious implicity to her friend. speech is in #B9D0F5​

​

 

[WISTERIAPAW]

[tw for wc gore]
✝ ── Why is it so red? He's never seen a death of their clanmate before. Not someone who he was, had been training with in order to become warriors. They talked not too long ago too. There was no way that the Sprucepaw who tried to comfort him was now dead. Maybe he should've averted his gaze just like his mother Needledrift, but his eyes are unable to leave the mangled body of his friend. Frostbite is yelling, but he can't discern his words. Even his mother's voice is vaguely acknowledgesd as his white paws slowly move towards Sprucepaw.

When he steps into the puddle of her own blood, he notes how sticky it feels and warm. The smell is almost overpowering, he can feel bile rise in his throat. It burns when he swallows it back down. His paws are stained red when he nudges her. Nothing. Her eyes don't even show a flicker of life. This time he starts shaking her harder and harder as if doing so would bring her back to life, "S-sprucepaw this isn't funny." Her mangled corpse doesn't provide anything. Tears are spilling and yet he still refuses to believe that she's gone.

"Maybe they'll come when the snow's all dyed red with blood."

Her words echo in his ears. They had been talking about foxes then. She told him that it was unlikely that a fox would even dare come to Shadowclan. They even laughed and joked about it. Even hoped that Granitepelt met his demise by one. Rage. His body trembles before he stands on his hind legs and brings his paws down with so much force (as much as he can muster anyway) that blood splatters. He can feel it on his face but that's not important. I hate you! The tom would face the sky with a snarl, hoping their ancestors could see his rage. Wasn't it their job to protect them?

Unfortunately, no answer would come. It was pointless now. After a few moments he would look down at the remains of a friend.

"...if we worked together. Nothing could beat us!"

The rage has subsided and all he can feel is emptiness. "You liar." While it can be taken as him being angry at Sprucepaw that was only partly correct. Then, Wisteriapaw would lean over so he was near her lifeless eyes. It was strange to stare into them. "Why didn't you wait for me?" At this point he knew she wasn't here anymore. Nevertheless he would stare a bit longer before nuzzling her.

 

[SHADEPAW]

What an entrance to the world.

Shadekit was mewling in protest of the cold within moments of her birth. Then she found warmth, in the bodies of her siblings, in the curve of her mother's belly, in Ferndance's tongue brushing over her forehead. Shadekit pressed herself into the other forms around her. The pine-littered ground of the hollow, that matched her earthy fur so well, felt almost soft. Mewls softened to squeaks. She could have gotten used to it: the coziness, the comfort, the love.

But it was ripped away. The body that had warmed her vanished. Shadekit's tiny voice rose to a squeal, a desperate plea for her mother to return to keep her warm, keep her safe. The cold was back, but without Ferndance, it was cold in a stinging way. It was like jaws biting down. It was going after her bones. She wriggled, fresh paws trying to find purchase to drag herself closer to her littermates as she was moved. They couldn't hear the struggle, couldn't see the red staining the earth, could only faintly smell milk, with something harsh and coppery overloading their nose instead. They had no idea that a life had been given up for theirs- that of a good, light-footed, dark-pelted ShadowClanner, something that Shadekit would one day now have the chance to be.

Another tongue rasped over their head, and they squealed again. Whether they were the kit picked up by Needledrift, or they were lifted by someone else, it mattered little then to Shadekit, as long as someone got them.
​

 

[Skunktail]

—————————————————————⊰☆⊱————————————————————
He was not on the patrol Frostbite lead to find Ferndance, had no idea what was happening when the white warrior bolts past him but he is quick to follow at the sound of agonized yowls, panicked voices, the sharp scent of fox. His paws move swiftly as his fear rises to a broiling point but they arrive too late. What greets them is the soft mewling of kits in a hollow and the ruined remains of what once was Sprucepaw; the snow is too white for such a scene, it makes the crimson pop with such startling intensity he has to look away before it burns into his mind forever; before the only thing he can see is the apprentice's bloodied form. It brings to mind the memory of his brother battered by the Thunderpath, of Poppypaw broken upon the ground surrounded by bear tracks, of his mother pulped along black tarmac.
Skunktail's rage builds into a knot in his throat, choking him, if she did not lay with newborns at her side he would have torn that fool molly's ears off for this - for what she'd done, for what she caused, she has done nothing but harm ShadowClan since the day she was given even a pinch of authority and subsequently had it stripped away. But he grits his teeth instead, there are crying kittens to tend to first and foremost, a body to bring back to camp for a vigil that should not be happening. He hopes Ferndance lives every day knowing Sprucepaw died because of her.
"Get the kits, we have to go." Back to his sister, back to the warm nursery they should have been born in to begin with. Needledrift was already doing so, moving into the makeshift nest to grab a kit before looking at him and Frostbite expectantly and he dips his head to get a grip on a tiny scruff as well to join them in returning; despite his rage at the cinnamon she-cat his efforts are gently awkward, he never really carried a kit before but he makes an effort to be as careful as he can.

☆ ———— promise me she's not your world ☆ ———————— 'Cause Andy, you're a star

• Apprentice Tag - @Briarpaw.
• 
  
  
  Skunktail
  —⊰⋅ Warrior of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ SH Black & white tom w/spearmint green eyes
  

​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

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

---

this doesn't make any logical sense. how in the name of the stars was an overly pregnant cat able to just wonder out of camp without the night guards seeing? without anyone seeing? this was getting old fast, and there was time for change when it came to the nursery. the scent of the fox is overwhelmingly nauseating and they can't help but agree with frostbite. no matter how ferndance felt, this was absolutely stupidly irresponsible of her. at least in camp, there was not foxes. and the dead body of yet another apprentice makes their gut twist. this... was... if ferndance had just stayed in camp, would this have still happened? would sprucepaw still be alive? they growled with a shake of their head.

"we have to go now. ferndance. queen or not, you are in a lot of trouble. how you were able to get out of camp in the first place is beyond me, but believe me. it's not happening again."

they turn to frostbite.

"grab a kit or help me with sprucepaw."
​

 

[DEERPAW -]

When they arrive, Deerpaw finds themself among chaos once again. ShadowClan truly does have a habit of it, don't they? They and @ROOSTERSTRUT catch up to the group a touch belatedly, their search taking them elsewhere before familiar yowls bring them to the scene, and the apprentice chokes on the scent of blood and of fox. They nearly stop breathing at the sight of Sprucepaw, limp and lifeless. Wisteriapaw stands over her, nuzzles bloodied fur, and Deerpaw looks away from the view before their mind has the chance to latch on. No, no, no ...

Frostbite's yowl makes them jump, an uncharacteristic reaction from the usually well contained apprentice, but his meow restrains itself before they can do much more than make a squeak of surprise. If he looks towards them Deerpaw shakes their head mutely. Unimportant. Feline brow furrows over wide eyes, however, at the words Chilledstar spits towards Ferndance. They'd been so cruel to her ever since they'd gotten sick. This moment should celebrate Sprucepaw's bravery and ensure the living are still alright, shouldn't it? But emotions run high in a time such as this. Frostbite wouldn't have released his anger like that if not. Maybe Chilledstar would apologise later too.

Still avoiding the sight of Sprucepaw entirely, Deerpaw crosses the scene to weave their way in next to Ferndance.

"Up you get." They nudge the queen, hoping that she has the strength to stand. Deerpaw knows full well they aren't strong enough to carry her themself. Needledrift and Skunktail have already reached for the newborns, gentle and varying degrees of awkward, and Deerpaw knows they'll be safe with the two warriors. Ferndance, however, is bloodied and exhausted and looks like she might be trembling. Is she present enough to hear them, quiet as they are? "Do you want to carry one of your kits?"​

 

[POPPYGLOW]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Poppypaw arrives alongside her mentor, though they are as silent as Frostbite is enraged. They would like to offer a word of comfort, of encouragement to any of the aching parties involved, but finds that words escape them in the way that they did when she was still a wee one. Poppypaw stands statuesque as her mortal friends rush about, as if a cherub bearing witness to the horrors of earthly existence.

Is this what happens? Must some die so that others can be born?

'Yup, it happened to you, too. You couldn't have lived without Poppypaw getting all broken and dying for you!'

Oh, alright, I understand.

They would fix a frost-kissed gaze upon the mangled body before them, thankful that it indicated that Sprucepaw was safe and warmly welcomed into Starclan, but with a vague sense of disappointment in Death that he treated her with such ungentleness. It seemed unnecessary...

Sprucepaw, I hope Death did not scare you too badly, he means well.

Their answer would come in the form of a curling wind chilling their unhearing ear, and she would flick it in acknowledgement.

Everyone began to move out, and Poppypaw padded toward Chilledstar without hesitation, brushing up against them comfortingly as they held their eyes on the blood and gore of the vacated body. She would commit it to memory, as she felt that her witnessing helped usher her denmate unto her next path more comfortably. Poppypaw found that she was still unable to speak at this time, but hoped her lingering was enough indication to Chilledstar that they wished to help bring Sprucepaw to her body's resting place at home.

PRESENT DAY... ⭑☾༺♰༻☽⭒ ...PRESENT TIME! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

• OOC: mobile post !
• 
• 
  — poppykit - poppypaw
  — agender they/she. 6mo apprentice of shadowclan
  — a tiny, fluffy white and dark red tabby cat with pale, wraithlike blue eyes
  — smells like mushrooms, dust, and foggy night air
  — deaf in left ear
  — sounds like lain iwakura, with a flat yet childlike high-pitched tone
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack, 'poppypaw'
  — icon by mercurial, fullbody and pixel headshot by dejavu
  — penned by eezy
• disclaimer: poppypaw is not always operating completely within reality! they are affected by some delusions and may see, hear, react to, and interact with things that are not actually there. most notably, she will believe herself to have interactions with starclan as a whole and specifically, the deceased shadowclan apprentice Poppypaw. these are not reflective of ic reality and are not real interactions with starclan or deceased characters! this is not an attempt at powerplaying, godmodding, or metagaming.

​

 

[scalejaw]

—————————————————【 she/her | menacing 】————————————————

【◈】 Shadowclan was greeted with blood and death as their eyes landed on the scene. It wasn't unlike much of their time spent in the swamps. Death, abuse, murder, betrayal. It was like ash in her mouth as Scalejaw stared upon the scene, her ears lowered. A breath left her mouth, curling white in the air. Frostbite's sharp words, and Chilledstar's warning, did not go over her head. She did not give Frostbite a choice, stepped into the fray.

Blood touched her paws, and it weighed like a familiar notion, an old friend of ghosted times. Orange burning eyes twitched briefly in response to the feeling, but it was lost moments later. She felt for the apprentices, she really did, but she did not have the space or time to give thought to it. The most important thing was preservation of life that stayed. "I'll help with Sprucepaw, Chilledstar." Scalejaw stated aloud.

"yuh"

[penned by dallas].

​

 

[Frostbite]

Frostbite gives Needledrift a flat look. Draw attention to this? There's blood everywhere. An apprentice is dead, and there's fox stink everywhere. He couldn't draw more attention to it if he tried. Maybe if he had yelled as loud as he could, but he would not. He's bristling from the unnerving scene as well as anger. This should not have happened and he does not want to hear any excuses. But these kits need to be taken back to camp safely and Sprucepaw's body needed to be prepared for a vigil that should not be happening.

Frostbite looks at the kits nestled in their nest, oblivious to all that has happened. Perhaps that's a good thing. Their first memories shouldn't be full of bloodshed. They should be full of warmth and love, nestled between Ferndance and Needledrift in the nursery.

He looks to Chilledstar as they speak, doing his best to soften his gaze. Deerpaw and Poppypaw aren't far behind and he wishes they didn't have to see this, though, he does think rather morbidly.....That seeing a cat killed by a fox would happen eventually. Every clan deals with them and he's sure they've all suffered loss at their jaws.

"I'll help bring the kits back and come back to help if you still need it." He says to Chilledstar.

He glances to his kits again and realizes with the chill of his blood that this could have been them. It could be Poppypaw or Deerpaw lying broken on the ground, their blood soaking the snow. The thought is near dizzying and he almost feels sick to his stomach. He doesn't know what he'd do in that situation. He does not want to. Scalejaw arrives and offers to help with Sprucepaw in his stead, so he nods.

"Then I'll focus on the kits." He says, gently picking one of them up to bring back to camp.​

 

[FERNDANCE]

The coup de grace never came. Eyes squeezed shut when she prepared to feel teeth squeeze her fragile neck, deep breath held as if the fox would somehow suffocate her instead of tear right through her windpipe. Ferndance opened her eyes to the sight of an apprentice pulling at the fox's back, its yips drowning the air as it wrestled with her. She recognised the blur as Sprucepaw, battling the fox like a bat out of hell, fighting the uphill battle that the former Lead Warrior herself had almost lost. It seemed to be going well, the tabby about to rejoin the fray, when, the canine's jaws gripped upon Sprucepaw's spine like a vice. She swore she could hear the bones crack, her heart feeling as if it had been wrenched from its ribcage. "Drop her." The command fell on deaf ears, it was only when Sprucepaw blinded the fox did it seem to heed her existence.

The blood was flicked upon her face, coating her fallow muzzle a grizzly crimson. She couldn't move. "Sprucepaw?" Silence. "Sprucepaw," she repeated desperately. "Sprucepaw wake up." Ferndance crawled forwards, prodding the little one with a scarlet forepaw. "Why won't you wake?"

'Beregost? Beregost? Wake up! Why won't you wake up?'
'Berry's dead Ferny... I'm sorry'
'No... that can't be right, she was alive last sunrise.'
'And now she is not...oh baby, please don't cry'.

Ferndance's eyes moistened, staring at the viscera. "Spruceheart..." she offered the only thing she could, glory in death. No sorries would bring the apprentice back, she could not pick a safer hollow or fight more aggressively, the opportunity to change fate had been forever sealed. "Your name is Spruceheart. StarClan honours your bravery and sacrifice." She nestled her muzzle into Sprucepaw's fur, doing her best to hide what had killed the apprentice. It wasn't long until she heard pawsteps, her bloodshot eyes flickered upwards.

It should have been a relief to see others, but when Ferndance saw their eyes, she only felt hatred. She would never understand what happened to her friends, why they had turned on her so quickly when Chilledstar had done, what she had done wrong. Their words were venom, numbed by the roaring blood in her ears. Blood... she stared at the cinnamon kitten first, whose cry seemed the strongest. Bone... she stared next at the pale kitten that did not seem to cry at all. Fox... was the black kitten's name in her skull. Carrion... finally came the black tabby, all reminders of Sprucepaw's sacrifice, the excitement of telling Needledrift her choice lost. She didn't even seem to recognise her mate. Ferndance was in another plane of existence, ready to sleep for a moon, ready to forget about everything that had happened that day, despite the protests from the outside. They grew like flames in an arid forest, reaching a point where she could not ignore them, even when her body had given up on anything other than rest. A hiss came as someone took a kitten, a warning of death she could not act upon when everything hurt.

"They'd have been killed in ShadowClan's camp," she breathed a hitched breath, feeling a weight sloop upon her rugged shoulders as others began to carry her little ones back to that dreaded place. She wanted to rest with them, why was that too much to ask? With what little strength remained, she staggered to her paws with Deerpaw's help, determined not to be left behind by the very clan that seemed happy with the idea. "It's not safe, it's never been safe, a Queen's duty is to her kittens first, and my duty was to make sure they were not kitnapped by the monsters that freely walk our home." She would justify it no further, not when she felt anger burning in their veins, in her veins. She would do what she could to keep her kittens safe in ShadowClan, give them to courage to kill and the skill to survive a land that would not care for them. 'Just like mama...' Head spinning around and around and around, she attempted to shove past Skunktail to grab the kitten before he could, stomach churning as she leaned over. When she lifted her head again, the world did not seem to settle, instead moving past her in unrecognisable shapes and figures.

She would not fall again.

[ edit for clarification: fern trying to name sprucepaw is unofficial && will not be recognised in starclan! ]

​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

Sprucepaw didn't need to die.

How easy would it have been to stay where she was? Beasts lurked within camp's walls, yes, but outside, they teemed. Had they not been bunched together as one, hiding from great beasts that prowled through the wood? Had Chilledstar not come to them all about the rats that now leapt past their own camp that was Carrionplace? A Carrionplace that flooded their lands with twoleg trash. So far, harmless, but who's to say that one day, you would not accidentally tread on a blade, or cut your jaw on something not meant to be even. When Siltcloud had prowled their territory only with the intend of being threatening— and nothing, nothing else, had she not smelled that? Had her patrol not shared the whisperings with the rest of ShadowClan's camp.

The whole of their territory was a beast's den, sure, but their walls were a bastion in that no one would be put down or dismembered. Murderous urge was quieted into shitty attitudes in the like. Something bad slipped through the cracks. Unimaginably so, but that only slipped in from the outside world. It festered, because they were all too busy being miserable to notice. Only willingly could Ferndance have walked into her own demise. And that demise was pawned to someone else.

Frostbite's words roar in his ears alongside the blood. A prickling feeling; disdain, disdain that sends silver quills rising along her spine. Her lack of goodbye never meant she wanted anyone to die. No one wanted to die, and she wishes for no one to die. How easy would it have been? Frostbite's anger is explosive in the way he wishes that his could be, but when he stumbles upon the scene, Sprucepaw already limp, she has nothing to say. She can only feel. Feel angry.

Ferndance is already gone by the time he is muttering, voice a dry rasp, " Why would it be you...? " Why would it be her that names her, when she could've simply not done what she did?

Of all the things Granitepelt did, killing kits was never one of them. If ShadowClan was the terrible place she believed it was, wouldn't they be safer in WindClan, anyways? How come she walks in camp's direction so easily now? Is it Sprucepaw's death, that made ShadowClan safe to her?

The thoughts are dry, tongue held behind gritted teeth. In the end, he trails toward Chilledstar, willing to help them and Scalejaw if they so needed it.

with myself i must play in this game of charades ( ♱ ) cause there's no one to speak to

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• 

• ( OF THE THINGS I'VE GOT IN MY BRAIN ) SHARPSHADOW: Formerly mentored by Smogmaw Mentoring Halfpaw
  ♱ he / she , no pref , dislikes gender neutral language ; fine with gendered terms
  ♱ currently 18 moons old as of 12.19.23 / ages every 8th
  
  

  dark smoke feline that stands at an above average height. Easily identifiable by her namesake – an unruly mat of fur, destined to be cluttered by inconsistencies between chimera halves. Burdened with a broken tail, often lying dead behind her in the dirt.

  
  Anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharpshadow has not known peace for a single time in his life, and lives anticipating inevitable dangers to the detriment of herself and others. —scraping together some higher purpose— making somewhat of an effort to be " likeable "
  heavy ic opinions! he's irrational and mean </3

​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

[ cw for descriptions of gore/death and a panic attack ]

Truthfully, Roosterstrut had not thought Ferndance to be in any trouble. Maybe she had wanted to take a walk and get out of the bustling camp, maybe she needed to take care of her business, but nothing would have ever prepared him for what he would stumble upon today. "Fern—" While Deerpaw breaks off to help, the red tabby tom feels shock ripple through his form like a monstrous wave as his gaze fixes onto Sprucepaw.

There are voices, though he can barely register what they're saying. Something about Ferndance being irresponsible, something about her being in big trouble, only to be met with justifications that Roosterstrut could not even think to comprehend right now. There is hardly a justification for leaving the safety of camp, especially with dangerous exiles and bears and foxes lurking around. Now... now look at what's happened.

It's happened again.

When he finally manages to peel his eyes away from the gory scene, he staggers toward a nearby tree away from the commotion surrounding Ferndance. He faces away and, as he catches a glimpse of pale fur out of the corner of his eye, ducks his head. He fights the tears that threaten to spill. "I'm okay.... go with the others, I just- I..." He doesn't need the attention, he doesn't want the attention. The safety of Ferndance and her newborns should be prioritized. Ratdung, Roosterstrut should be helping the others right now, but he cannot help the way his paws shiver in the snow. Ice begins to freeze over his veins, his breathing quickening uncontrollably, only making him feel lightheaded and dizzier by the second. The more he breathes, the more blood and fox scent flood into his nostrils. It's too much. It's too much.

Not even the thought of the fox lingering nearby is enough to shake the images that haunt his sight — blood upon snow, a cream-colored throat split nearly in two, lifeless eyes, Smogmaw, Heavybranch... It's all too familiar. Roosterstrut had never wanted to relive such a hellish day, but he had been a fool to think that he would never have to face a situation like this again.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙧

• interacting with @lilacfur

• 

• 

  ✰ ROOSTERSTRUT
  —— he/him; warrior of shadowclan
  —— heteroflexible; single
  —— red tabby tom with long hair and pale green eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[lilacfur]

Frostbite's explosive anger has Lilacfur's ears pointed forward and paws hurriedly rushing to the source. The scent of blood and fox was like a clouded warning over the northern part of the marshes but one sticks out among the rest- Ferndance. Assuming the worst, that the queen had been victimized to the forests predators before or right after kitting (why would she come out this far from camp anyway), she found herself still heartbrokenly surprised. Sprucepaw had defended the mothers life.

"What would we do to you?" The rosette spoke defensively. She didn't feel safe in their nursery, after they had weeded out the ilk in their ranks? Granitepelt had sought for those who would have been at his side, or at least who he thought. All of them but his apprentice being his own kin and, what would Applepaw gain from the deranged mollys kits?

Her gaze flickered to Roosterstrut as he dismissed Deerpaw, dark eyes softening from her earlier frustration. Her Clanmates are already working to bring these kittens home and Chilledstar gets help for Sprucepaw's body, with nothing else to do other than comfort her friend she does just that. A gentle brush against his side, she took to blocking the sight of the fox's carnage.

"Let's go somewhere else, somewhere quieter." She turned her head to address Deerpaw and her own apprentice. "You go with them, we'll be back for Sprucepaw's vigil."

-- @/CATERPILLARPAW. ​

[ i need the clouds to cover me ]​

 

[Bonechill.]

*+:｡.｡ Bone, for the child whose silence made the snap of a young girl's spine all the more deafening.

Born amidst so much chaos, Bonekit seemed the only steady rock against it. Quiet and unaffected, folded ears twitching as the noise was felt rather than heard, aware as much as a consciousness child fresh to the universe could be. The world was so loud. So cold. So uncomfortable. His little nose was assaulted by the harsh scents of nameless concepts so unlike the joy of new life ought to bring - blood, stress, grief, death. His little nose would scrunch up, and he longed to return to the warmth of his little circle. His siblings, his mother; the warmth and security they all provided.

His tiny limbs were stiff from lack of use and even less ability to coordinate, but tiny claws, needle-sharp and thinner than blades of grass, would still aim to swipe harshly at the nose of whoever picked him up. There was no awareness behind the action besides an ingrained instinct to stay safe, right by his family— a growing, stronger instinct to keep that family safe.

*+:｡.｡ Updated 12/15/23

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  GENERAL:
  ☠ Shadowclan — Kit
  ☠ DMAB— He/Him — Unsure
  ☠ 3 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
  ☠ Son to Ferndance x Needledrift
  ☠ Brother to Bloodkit, Shadekit, Snowkit
  
  
  
  
  
  
  COMBAT:
  ☠Physically easy | mentally hard
  ☠ Attack in bold #738171
  injuries: None currently

​