sensitive topics FLESH AND BLOOD ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ SKULL

[Swansong]

⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ // cw for light descriptions of rot

There is beauty to be found in death. Swansong knows this well, clings to it like a lifeline. It is a survival tactic in the marshes, to twist horror into comfort. She is well practiced in the art now; it comes as second nature. The rush of delight at the sight of a decarying corpse is a feeling she has crafted with careful paws. "Ah, Carrionpaw...!" trills the warrior, ears swiveling towards their patrolmate. She will understand, they know. Not all are so well-suited to the rot of the swamplands. "I think... You shall appreciate this..."

They creep closer to observe. A skull lies amidst the weeds. Snake, she believes. Bits of meat still cling, slowly withering away to reveal the pristine ivory beneath. "Gorgeous, is it not...? Nothing but bone, before long..." The ants are making quick work of it, swarming in dance-like motions. It reminds her of her own rat's skull. How long had it taken, she wonders, for all the rot to slough away? She crouches down, admires the insects' careful work.

IF NO ONE❜S REALLY THERE ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ DOES THAT MEAN IT❜S DONE IN VAIN?

• pls wait for @Carrionpaw
• 
  
  

  "SPEECH"

• 
  SWANSONG ⋆⁺₊ ☾ ⁺₊⋆ she / they, warrior of shadowclan, seventeen moons.
  ★ a pale, silky-furred cream tabby with droopy blue eyes.
  ★ dreamy and detached, known for her perpetual sleepiness.
  ★ halfshade x smogstar, littermate to applejaw, garlicheart, & ashenfall.
  ★ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ★ penned by SATURNID ↛ saturnids on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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[Carrionpaw]

❝ SHE HAS GOT TO MOVE THE WORLD ☠ ⋆ ₊˚ ————————————
A dark head contrasting Swansong's pale head poked into investigate the snake skull. The sweet smell of rot tinged at her nose, and her eyes shone with excitement at the sight. Carrionpaw scooted closer to the tiny head and watched the maggots dancing on the white surface with an amused grin.

"It's pretty! We should come back for it after the insects have their way." She found Swansong a comforting presence. Someone weirder than her. She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, but knew that Swansong would probably agree if she voiced it.

The apprentice popped her head up from the weeds and scanned the ground further beyond. "We should find the rest of the skeleton. Maybe even the skin!" Carrionpaw was mostly gloomy and quiet, and stuck to the back of every patrol. When it came to her favorite thing in the world - dead stuff - she became like her denmates: excitable and chipper. Once they had collected what they could find she would surely slip back into her usual self until another dead thing came along.

[penned by muddly - ☠]

———————————— ˚₊ ⋆ ☠ GOT TO MOVE THE WORLD ❞ ​

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[Wormwatcher]

Wormwatcher's drawn to grotesqueness like his two companions ahead, without a doubt there are many within the clan who seek to rationalize death and find loveliness within decay. It seems to be inherent for the marsh dwellers to do so when so much of their history revolves around death. He believes turning a morbid hobby of admiring bones into a coping mechanism is arguably a healthier coping mechanism than wasting away in one's nest as Needledrift attempted. He scavenges for bones as often as time permits, though he does not usually keep them for himself, instead they become gifts for his few loved ones. Wormwatcher rushes to claim the life of the frog he had trapped beneath a paw as soon as he overhears the mention of a skeleton by Carrionpaw.

He sets the corpse down softly beside Swansong and hunches down to stare at the rotting snake skull. "Very delicate," Wormwatcher grumbles, he lifts a claw and flicks a maggot away from the rotting thing. "I don't think it would be best to leave it here... something will come and step on it, or it'll degrade far too much to admire it fully." He clacks his tongue and straightens, swiveling his ears. There is nothing but to the comforting cry of frogs and toads. He hears no danger and so he crouches back down as Swansong and Carrionpaw are.

"It may be better to take it back to camp, if you two would like to admire it longer," he murmurs, but selfishly he wishes he could keep it for himself and maybe even gift it to either Ternfrost or Ferndance. His angular head turns towards the ever sleepy molly at his side. He's never thought much of the molly, negatively that is, and now that he is aware of her affinity for the morbid he makes a mental note of it. "What do you say, Swansong?" Perhaps she'd want to take a look at his hidden bounty of strange knick knacks someday. To what could be Carrionpaw's disappointment, Wormwatcher does not share with apprentices.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ shapes and colors are all i see

• 

  WORMWATCHER —— black/blue chimera with low white
  —— shadowclan warrior
  —— he/him ⋆ homosexual (closeted)
  —— 31 moons ⋆ ages every 10th

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[Snowlark.]

[ ༻❄༺ ] Snowlark was no stranger to the morbid sense of thoughts some of his clanmates have come to bare in arms. Swansong was like a ghost when she moved to show Carrionpaw the snake's skull still in a delicate form while Wormwatcher suggested to bring back the still rotting thing in an attempt to preserve the skull in its entirety. "I do not believe anyone in camp would want something thats still in dexay within camp" he expressed gently. Moving to get a better look at the ivory figure with a gentle hum.

He wondered what had killed the creature or if it had been old age that grasped the snake. Either way, it laid on the barren marsh floor covered in ants as well as maggots, nothing more than its own skeleton. A reminder to even those around him that, this too would be them eventually. Just another thing for the earthern ground to swallow whole while Starclan welcomed them open pawed when their time arrives. "Perhaps we should bury it instead. Preserve it for another time to come and collect it. That way it'll still be intact but also cleaned of any... bugs" the warrior expressed with an amused twotch of his whiskers.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎┌── Where I am going is right where I am ──┐‎

• "speak""Thoughts"
• 
  Snowlark ❄ He/Him, warrior of Shadowclan, 14 moons.
  ⭃ Lithe long hair blue lynx sepia with high white, and yellow eyes. Stubby tail, permanent resting bitch face
  ⭃ Hailfreckle x Mudsplash
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted (ask first) / / underline and tag when attacking
  ↛ see battle info here
  ⭃ penned by Ryn ↛ @/Rynnaro on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

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[MAPLETUFT]

"The kits'll surely turn their nose up... If you bring it to camp...." comes Mapletufts light voice as she stumbles across the scene of her clanmates staring at a dead, decaying snake. Snowlark has a point about burying it, letting nature have its way and she blinks kindly towards him, then they turn their attention back unto the snake.

What had ailed it, in its final moments? Did it die happy? Did it die fulfilled? Should she even feel sorry for such a creature, does it live like them? The shredded remains of decay and rot suddenly fester within her brain and theres something hazy beneath the surface, of orange splashed with red, too much of it.

Suddenly uncomfortable faced with the all-too real reality of death, of her daughter decayed beneath the earth, she takes a step back with a dry mouth. "You should put it in a good spot... And come back for it... later..." she half-agrees with Carrionpaw, contradicts Wormwatcher, and stands there as she tries to recollect her thoughts.

𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖭 𝖳𝖧𝖠𝖳 𝖬𝖮𝖮𝖭 𝖨𝖲 𝖡𝖨𝖦 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖡𝖱𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳 *•.🍁.•* 𝖨𝖳𝖲 𝖠 𝖲𝖴𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖭𝖠𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖠𝖫 𝖣𝖤𝖫𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳

• ❥ mapletuft ʚ♡ɞ cider
  ❥ cis female ʚ♡ɞ she/her ʚ♡ɞ 52 months
  ❥ shadowclan warrior ʚ♡ɞ mentoring n/a
  ❥ long-furred chocolate torbie/cinnamon tabby chimera ʚ♡ɞ elegant & flowy
  ❥ "speech, F17E23" ʚ♡ɞ thoughts
  ❥ widowed ʚ♡ɞ bisexual
  ❥ smells like spice & cool night air ʚ♡ɞ warm & crisp
  ❥ penned by chuff