FADE WITH YOU [✦] pre-digging graves

[SOOTSTAR]

SOOTSTAR​

It was grim digging graves for cats yet dead. Sootstar watched as cat after cat was sent off to the Badgerset den. She knew for many of them she would not see them again until their limp bodies were drug back to camp. With a majority of her healthy warriors leaving to the mountains just a day ahead, she knew she needed to consider some hard to swallow facts. Many would die before- if they returned with lungwort. Perhaps by the time they made it back the entire clan would be ill, slowly killed by the hidden enemy. A moon from now and there just might not be anyone healthy enough to dig graves, or use what little strength they have to dig rather than to hunt. Sootstar has recruited @BLUEPAW and no one else, those who wished to volunteer could. Her pawpads are both sweaty and numb by the time the first grave is holed out. It’s nestled right beside Snailstride’s who she gives a tired acknowledging glance to. ”This one… is done.” She pants, leaping out of the shallow hole and positoning herself a few paw-steps away. Her paws immediately resume digging, another grave must be dug, and another after this one. To think she may just be digging Weaselclaw and Moorpaw’s graves… the thought sickens her.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » WindClan Leader
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[REDHEART]

It seemed as though his apprenticeship had barely begun, but time marched forward, leaving in its wake the unfortunate bodies of many clan cats. Victims of the relentless plague, the unforgiving cold, and dwindling resources.

In this relentless march of time, Redpaw's once-vibrant spirit felt tarnished by the weight of exhaustion. He had been given fair warning about the demands of clan structure, but the reality of it was far more grueling than he could have imagined. Fortunately, his mentor was a sturdy and patient soul, granting him enough time to rest but also ensuring that the ruddy-furred tom stayed occupied with work.

Every weary step he took, irritated his sore pads. Sending shock waves of pain up his leg. Soon his half-hearted shuffle came to an abrupt halt from the peculiar echoing voice of Sootstar. Redpaw's ears pricked forward as he tried to pinpoint the leader's location, only to be startled by her sudden emergence from the ground.

His fatigued mind struggled to process the unexpected sight for a few moments, and slowly, awareness draped over him like a thin veil. "Oh," he mumbled sheepishly, moving to join the opposite side of the she-cat.

Glancing down at his aching paws, the apprentice willed away the pain and pushed aside the unsettling images lurking at the back of his mind. Instead, he concentrated on the task ahead, counting a fox-length between them and digging his claws into the dirt below.

Clearing out his throat, the smaller tom politely addressed the gray feline. "Mind if I help?"

It was a question that almost seemed redundant, given that he had already started, but there was a part of him that felt compelled to ask. Perhaps it was an attempt to lighten the somber atmosphere and create an opening for a more casual conversation amidst their grim duties.​

 

[SUNSTAR]

✦　　. 　 ˚　.   He had not intended to come upon such a scene, and it is hardly a welcome one. To stand and see the graves of their soon-to-be dead; to look at those empty places, and know the names that would be upon them– a grim and terrible thing. He had not named himself among those who would journey into the mountains. Should they be so unlucky, he will be among those that carry bodies to these graves. Sunstride's glacial eyes cannot leave them for several long moments as he witnesses the leader and her daughter dig. Then he cannot return his attention to them. Redpaw pulls him away. His eyes instead watch the young form. His own kittens were not far behind. They too would be named apprentices in the coming moon or so.

Would they be part of this? Would they grow to learn that the den they were raised in was not always one of healing and respite? Would they have to see with their own fresh eyes that the dead will linger in this place? How many more? he briefly thinks. How many more must die in this lifetime? He is not unused to dying. It hardly bothers it to think of it for himself. The grief comes in knowing he will not die before those he cares about.

Of their own volition, the lead warrior's paws carry him towards the graves. Like the apprentice, he begins to dig without asking for permission. It is silent solidarity, an act that the leader herself could only pull him from if told directly. Part of him hopes that she would, if only to selfishly spare himself from the pain that begins to gnaw upon him. Each pawful of dirt is a moment left with their clanmates, and he scoops it away piece after piece, with his head down and a deep, quiet frown upon his face.

𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘐𝘚𝘖𝘕; 𝘚𝘜𝘕-𝘉𝘓𝘖𝘖𝘋 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘖𝘔𝘌  ╱╱ 9.13.2023 ˊˎ＜

• OOC. —
• ✦　　. 　 ˚　.  SUNSTRIDE. FORMERLY SUNNVAR. HE - HIM - HIS OR THEY - THEM. LEAD WARRIOR OF WINDCLAN. 4 YEARS OLD. PENNED BY REVELATIONS.  ——————
  
  
  ——  a tall auburn tabby with thick fur and bright glacial eyes. sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond it, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of them. he radiates confidence and self-assured authority.
  
  

  ✦ NPC x NPC. DECEASED MOTHER, ESTRANGED FATHER. NO LITTERMATES. MATE TO WOLFSONG. FATHER TO BEARKIT, SINGEDKIT, RIVEKIT, SUNLITKIT, AND FEATHERKIT ——

• "speech"

​

 

[SCORCHSTREAK]

Everything that she is, everything that she has ever been, will always be stained with dirt. The tunnels, this home, they both crust her pelt with dirt. She fears, sometimes, that it can never be washed away entirely. And now, as she digs a grave alongside her leader and a number of clanmates, Scorchstreak can feel the dirt sinking in once again. Every so often, her gaze unconsciously flickers to that grave where Tigerfrost’s body lies. He should be here. He should still be here. It has been months, and yet—and yet here she is, digging another cat’s grave but still thinking of him.

She shakes her head fiercely, blazing eyes squeezing shut for a moment to calm her racing thoughts. Her paws dig into the dirt with more force, tail lashing behind her as she fights back the feeling that bubbles up in her chest. Will there ever come a time when they have no need to dig graves? Will there ever be an end to this all? Sootstar has made a difficult decision to protect them all, but the calico still cannot see a way out. She takes a step back as she hears Sootstar speak, another grave finished. "Who will this one be for, I wonder," she muses, but her casual tone cannot hide the ice in her veins. This plague may consume their clan; their dead may outpace the rate at which they can dig graves.​

[ LIKE A RATTLESNAKE ]​

​

 

[breezerunner]

It's with guilt that Breezerunner realizes that he isn't as adept at digging as some of his other clanmates. The tunnelers have grown used to scoring the hard ground; their paws are calloused and skillful when they turn over marl and dirt, picking carefully through harder pieces and buried rocks with impressive speed and precision. It's that same guilt that plagues him when he thinks of his siblings, and even moreso when he tries to avoid thinking of all the ways he doesn't do his best to serve WindClan. It had not been that long ago that he'd been apprenticed as a moor runner- a soul-crushing turning point that had served to drive a rift between he, Wormwing, and Mossdust.

He joins the small group of gravediggers in silence. When Breezerunner gazes quietly at the row of holes that are filled, freshly dug, or begun, he tries not to imagine himself inside of them. Better yet, he tries not to imagine his family inside of them; his few friends or those he respects. All too fast it has become a reality that nobody lives forever. Breezerunner had never had that kind of naïveté, but there's something particularly real about seeing his clanmates- those he'd slept next to and trained with and shared tongues with for many moons- fall ill and die as if it had been their fate all along.

Breezerunner grimaces where Scorchstreak muses about deaths and corpses and burials. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to think about it anymore. The moor runner puts his head down and continues to dig another of the many shallow graves. Hope no longer fills his heart.
​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Digging tunnels is noble work, all for the betterment of WindClan and with StarClan’s approval. Though her claws ache and her pads are sore at the end of a long day, Bluepaw knows she has done her Clan proud. This, though—with every upheaval of soil, Bluepaw begins to think morbid thoughts. As Scorchstreak verbalizes them, the young tunneler apprentice begins to imagine her father’s tabby pelt covered up with clods of soil, then the slim dark body of her littermate. Her eyes flare with indignation—StarClan would not dare steal them from Sootstar, from WindClan, when they are most needed… would they?

Sootspot’s doubts echo in her mind, even now. Bluepaw’s flanks heave with strain as she finishes a small grave, one for a kit or a tunneler apprentice, most likely. Who would it be? One of Scorchstreak’s kits, one of Spiderbloom’s? Would she fit in this detestable grave herself?

Bluepaw’s breath begins to steady. She pauses for a moment, looking up from her work to see Redpaw, Sunstride, and Breezerunner aiding them. She only gazes upon each of their faces before resuming her work. “It is only a precaution.” Still, silently, she has to agree with the others—WindClan’s sick are not likely to last long enough for the journeying cats to return with the lungwort, if they return. Bluepaw still has her doubts about that.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — bluekit . bluepaw
  — she/her, apprentice of windclan
  — bisexual ; single
  — long-haired blue she-cat with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — art by Meg

​

 

[SEDGEPOUNCE]

There are graves being dug.

It's a nice day—warm and golden. Sedgepounce is heading back to camp after a hunt. He's not really thinking about the journey, or the sick, or dying. He's wondering if that one elder still wanted him to fix a draft in their den. He's thinking about what to eat for dinner.

He passes outside of camp, and there are graves being dug.

It's a cold feeling that fills him as he stands there, a ghastly figure in the background. He knows the weight of what's happening. Cats have died, and they will continue to die. It's why he volunteered to go to the mountains in the first place—to find a cure.

Well. Not a cure from dying. But...from the illness. So there'd be no more isolation and fear and confusion, and things could go back to the way they were.

Cats gather in a somber procession, scooping pawfuls of earth from the ground. He's too far to catch the words they share between one another, heads bowed with the weight of their work, but he sees their battered frames and harsh expressions and decides that it's better that way. There are only a few graves so far. How many more will they make?

Of course, Sedgepounce can't help to cure anyone of dying. The last cat he can remember dying, from before all of this, was Heatherpaw's mom. Now it's all happening in droves.

He's never really thought about it. How...inevitable death is, by illness or otherwise. Maybe they can find enough lungwort for everyone, but won't they all die eventually anyway?

It's a harrowing thought. One that Sedgepounce tries, and fails, to abandon as he turns away, retreating to camp until tomorrow.

// out​