sensitive topics GOODBYE, NOBODY'S HOME — death

[COMFREYPAW]

[ cw – mild descriptions of injuries, death ]

Through ferns and fronds of bracken, Comfreypaw staggers. The ground sways with her pawsteps, and the mud sucks at her bloodstained feet. She nears camp, but in her heart she knows she will not make it. Every movement is agony—there are clawmarks shorn across the pale underside of her belly, now rippling and crusted with running blood, and one ear has nearly been taken off. Her eye is sealed shut, but squints uselessly at the hellish red glare of the setting sun.

She collapses. She’d been a fool to leave camp alone after seeing the warning signs—the scattered remains of prey, the message to Lilacfur and Siltcloud’s former Clanmates. But she’d nearly been a warrior—and she wants to cry, but the pain will not let her do more than heave, her body weak and battered. She’d almost been a warrior, and a foolish mistake had cost her that, so close to Sprucepaw’s untimely death.

Blood burbles unseemingly at the corner of her mouth. She looks up—cats are silhouetted against the blazing backdrop of the sunset. She cannot recognize them—everything is red, or black. “S…iltcloud,” she wheezes. It hurts to talk. It hurts to breathe, like it had when she’d had yellowcough, when she’d spent moons huddled into the medicine cat’s den with only her ghosts for company. It hurts to know she’d survived the worst, only to die in a pool of her own blood, letting the marsh drink its fill from her young body.

She wants Roosterstrut. She wants Rosemire. She wants Betonyfrost, wants her mother so bad, but she does not have the strength to call for anyone. She looks faintly at the cats who come to her aid, and she whispers, “I’m… sorry.” Her foolishness, it had cost her everything.

It hurts. It hurts, and she wants it to stop hurting, so, mercifully, she lets it.

, ”​

​

 

[hitch]

He believed Comfreypaw would remain in camp during these recent upheavals. ShadowClan is, as always, messy and fraught and Comfreypaw has become one of the few faces that Rosemire wants to see. Withdrawing from everything is not so unusual for him; he's done it several times, and he will again, but he didn't have an apprentice before. And he'd thought she would remain in camp, or at least in the company of other warriors. Not because Rosemire believes her to be so timid that she couldn't possibly venture out alone, but because she is alone. She's always been eager to please in their training sessions, and Rosemire assumed that would mean she would do her utmost to stay within the lines.

He hadn't considered the opposite could be true, that she would step outside of the lines in her determination to improve as an apprentice. He should have. A good teacher is prepared for any possibility. A good teacher is there when their apprentice needs them, and even when they don't. They do not shuffle away to the background when the noise is overwhelming and flinch at shadows. They would know exactly when she left camp and follow to keep her safe.

Her blood chokes him. It's thick in his nostrils and coils down his tongue like barbed vines to catch on his throat, and it feels like he must be bleeding, that some fresh wound burns in his neck. "Comfreypaw," he croaks, and he doesn't know how but his paws are more red than white and she's stuttering out a name. "Starlingheart. Starlingheart, someone just— Starlingheart!" His tongue's numb and there are so many gashes, too many for him to cover, but he tries. It's a ground swell under his toes, blood seeping out despite the pressure, and he's— he's pinning her here, willing her to stay as though sheer strength alone can keep her alive.

"No, don't be sorry. I'm sorry, but we'll fix it when Starlingheart's here and then I'll teach you how to keep yourself safe, and you'll learn—" It spills out of him and he keeps rambling nonsense about her hunting stance, how she's gotten better and she remembers to keep her tail still. It's still now. All of her is, like she's never been before. His vision blurs until he closes his eyes and hides his face in her stiff neck.
​

​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

The smell of blood is nauseating as he pads along with the rest of the patrol. Roosterstrut can detect it from lengths away, his ears instinctively pinning back as he suspects something is horribly wrong.

And horribly wrong this was.

A form soaked in red and shredded like a raggedy clump of moss emerges into sight, and even with the nightmarish wounds the warrior can pick up almost instantly that it was Comfreypaw. His heart sinks to the very depths of his stomach. "Comfreypaw, oh stars... no, no nonono..." Roosterstrut's jaw drops open, hurrying over after Rosemire. His eyes begin assessing desperately over the gaping wounds raking across her belly, and then to the crimson leaking from her maw. His irises narrow in realization. There is so much blood.

He glances over his shoulder to his trainee, @DEERPAW , who had been in tow. "Deerpaw, get Starlingheart. Quickly." He doesn't even think about fetching for Betonyfrost. Comfreypaw needed a medicine cat as soon as possible if her bleeding was to stop.

It only just begins to register in the mackerel warrior's mind what Comfreypaw had uttered just after she collapsed to the floor. Siltcloud. She had done this, more than likely wanting to retaliate against ShadowClan. To think that the apprentice had faced the rogue all alone, unable to fight off the bloodlust and vengeance-fueled fury that Siltcloud would inflict upon her. His heart feels as heavy as a stone. "No..." Roosterstrut breathes, crawling closer toward the broken body of Comfreypaw no matter how red his paws grew. "Everything's gonna be okay. We're here now...." He watches helplessly, horrified, as life begins to seep from the she-cat. Rooster can't help but see the little kit he played with in the nursery, the apprentice he had comforted and taken under his wing like the younger sibling he never had. Oh StarClan, what had she done to deserve this? Like Sprucepaw, she had been taken far too soon... She was almost a warrior! This was cruel!

His claws curl into the ground as grief overtakes him, teeth clenched so tightly that his jaw might crack. No longer able to choke it back, a sob escapes his maw. She's gone. Take care of her... Silently he prays to StarClan, to his parents, who would care for her now. Siltcloud would never be able to hurt her again, a revelation that offered him a shred of solace.

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

• 

• 

  ✰ 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

​

 

[SERPENTSPINE]

he doesn't know what evils lurks in these marshes, luring their clanmates to its depths to their horrible fates. its as if a red string pulls them by the throat outward, tugs until their throats open and bleed down their chests like the prey animals they'd found. it's the scent that wafts over him first, heady and copper - lined, blowing the round blackness of his eyes where they flit ghost - like towards the bramble entrance. he expects a fight -- coils his body in a taut semi - circle, alabaster - streaked mane blowing along his back bristling upward at the impending rustle. a prayer is sent towards the rusted heavens but it does not reach, for the rustle continues until he can hear the soft, wet breath of an injured apprentice. blood bubbles at her mouth and it is the first thing he sees, nosing into the clearing like a horse after a fermented apple, staggering feverishly into the throng of quickly - gathering shadowclan cats.

for a moment, he can only watch. dream - like, hazy where a glow of red halos out around the apprentice's twitching body. this couldn't be happening, not really ; starclan had deserted them long ago, left them festering in a pit of , writhing like snakes with their skulls severed. wild, desperate, flailing like comfreypaw's limbs where they scrabble uselessly at the ground. rosemire, so often phantom - face, crumples at the girl's side and wails their medics name. comfreypaw bleeds and bleeds into the ground, ” who.. “ he gasps a rasping, low - rumbled bark, half - finished. he staggers closer to where rosemire crouches but does not dare enter his circle, but he manages to hear her ; a gargled whisper, a croak, not unlike the sound of the bullfrogs he crushes hard and easy beneath a bony forepaw. she says siltcloud, and through the pulsing haze of grief, anger simmers.

its quick. he pretends it is mercy.

breath falters from him, lungs shuddering inverted ribs further inward. rosemire's face sinks into her fur and she is still, still, too still. all the warrior can do is watch, is mutter beneath his breath a quick, violent - paced i commend thee to starclan in your turn, and entrust you to the glory of the stars above. may you return to where you were formed, granted mercy and peace in the great forest. repeat, repeat, repeat. shock, he thinks, vaguely. shock, so soon after sprucepaw. when he gathers his wits enough, it is only to crane his arching neck upward, drooping eyes finding warriors nearby -- someone of authority, someone to bestow an order upon him. his teeth grit, ” she may still be on shadowclan territory, “ he speaks, but it is the tremble, the tremulous warble of a spatting growl that betrays him. siltcloud. she may be out there, and she, too, will bleed into the snow.

𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 . ⊹ . ࣪ ˖ 𓄒 ࣪ 𝙄𝙎 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒

• i.
  
• 
  
  
• 
  
  SERPENTSPINE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𓆦 HE / HIM, YOUNG WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. JAGGED xx SHADOW, YOUNGER BROTHER TO CHILLEDSTAR. FIFTEEN MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE BRACKISH WATER & COPPER. PENNED BY ANTLERS ---------
  skeletal black tom with ghost rosettes and blood orange eyes. oil - slick rot & buzz of hungry horseflies crowding sloughing meat, he is born of his surroundings, forged black like the writhing insects that permeate his homelands. shaped in strands of shadow, long and bony ; a coat of scruffy, rosette - splotched obsidian feathering messily over his gaunt form. maned like a viper in shades of salt and pepper, splintering fur cast in a mock hood along a slim, vertebrae - bumped neck. his name has suited him since birth, eased into the world a long, writhing thing, with limbs of stretching shadow pawing blind at the shadowclan muck. his ears and eyelids are thin - membraned, thick - veined and stark against the darkness of his face. a strange, spidering thing ; broad - shouldered and tall in his maturing age, poor posture bringing his serpentine muzzle to a low, drooping hang.

​

 

[Willowburn]

THE GODS CAN KNEEL ⋆⁺₊⋆
Death of an apprentice, it would always be a hard thing to swallow. Willowburn couldn't help but feel his claws itch with the burning desire to tear through the territory in search of the youth's killer, and if the whispered name was anything to go by then he knew exactly who he needed to direct his rage towards. Bitterly they would have to accept that Starlingheart could do nothing here, none of them could do anything to change the fact that one of their own had come to pass.

He snapped his head towards Serpentspine as he locked onto the final comment about the possibility of the murderous wretch still being in the territory. Every second wasted was another second that would bring them further from revenge. "Then there is no time to waste, we need to sweep the territory and find her." A growl edged his usually elegant tone as he stepped past the others at a respectful distance so he could begin what would be a futile hunt through the swamp and pine forest.

- ⋆ -​

​

 

[Frostbite]

Seeing Comfreypaw walk in beaten and bloody shook him. He raced over with the rest of them. The situation is as in control as it could be, with her mentor and Roosterstrut there to support her and Deerpaw sent to get Starlingheart. He felt tears prick at his eyes when he saw her stop moving, and he felt part of him break. Comfreypaw didn't deserve this. Why wasn't Rosemire with her? That's possibly two apprentices gone because of someone else's irresponsibility.

"Why was she out alone..?" He asked, throat tight. Had she sneaked away? That was most likely. Rosemire wasn't a negligent trainer, he didn't think. he couldn't get angry with him.

But the fire that was being fed inside needed a direction. Comfreypaw uttered the name Siltcloud, and that was all the fuel he needed. He would make sure this sweet soul was avenged. He can't shake the thoughts form his head telling him that this could have been one of his own. They haunted him when Sprucepaw died, and they haunt him now with renewed fervor.

The others are right. Siltcloud could still be here. He digs claws into the ground and his pained, grief stricken gaze turns cold and hard. "I want Siltcloud's head." He hisses harshly. "She wants to send messages, does she? Thinks she can kill our apprentices and not suffer any punishment?" He growls. "I want everyone here who's able to join me on a hunt." His voice raises.

"If we find our prey, we will teach her a lesson she will NOT. FORGET." The words are spoken with such malice and hatred it surprises even him.

He carefully steps by those grieving and heads for the camp entrance. "We go now. If we don't find her, we track which direction she went." He says. He wonders if what he's feeling can be described as the rage of an angry wasp nest. It certainly feels like it. "We'll give her the painful death she's asking for." He adds. For justice, for Shadowclan, and for the safety of his children.​

 

[APPLEJAW]

Her friend. Her only friend is bleeding out before her eyes.

" Comfreypaw...? " her voice is just one of many in the cacophony that makes up their grief. She's still speaking, when they find her, red at the lips body torn. They speak and speak, but she does not hear a word. A name is all she gives them before she's dead. An apology is all she gives them, rasped with her final breath. An apology she owed no one here except for her. Because she'd promised that she would be okay. She'd promised her that she'd live.

" Comfreypaw, " click of the jaw. The apprentice's eyes burn with some great betrayal, unreceptive to dull, dull amber hues. Ones that had sparkled with life; that had laughed, as they talked over their plans of ruling ShadowClan. " Comfreypaw! " she yells as if there were not other cats calling out for her already. Because if there was anyone Comfreypaw would get up for, it would be her, wouldn't it? Her best friend. No one else here could say the same as she could, that she was her best friend.

She didn't want any of these other cats here, who would all hiss and spit their curses in Comfreypaws name; who would sully her with tears. Applepaw should get to grieve. Applepaw should get to cry, but she couldn't with all these faces here. Faces that would remember her as a sniveling kit rather than a warrior of ShadowClan— the one that would save them from all of this. The one that would pull them up from the mud, and let them feast on something that isn't carrion, or handed over by the rats across their border. How was she meant to be that cat, when she just wanted to cry and cry and cry?

" Nothing is okay, " she whispers, because no one could catch the undignified tremble of her voice. Tears bead at her eyes, and she would blink them away before she could see droplets hitting the cold ground. Nothing would ever be okay. No matter how much they talked and insisted and promised, ShadowClan would never be okay, because Halfshade was already gone. Because Comfreypaw was gone. Because her mentor...

He had been evil, but he had not been wrong.

Here, she says goodbye to Comfreypaw, not by her side, with her nose deep in her fur, but a ways away, surrounded by cats that would never understand.

When Frostbite speaks, she raises her head. And if anyone spoke about the wetness of her eyes, she would deny them swiftly. " I'll go. " Because it's more productive than this— crying over something that has already happened. Someone needed to pick up the scraps, and it would have to be her.

( one track mind, one track heart ) ༊ ( if i fail i'll fall apart )

• 
  

• 

• ( CAUSE I FEEL LIKE I'M THE WORST, SO I ALWAYS ACT LIKE I'M THE BEST ) APPLEPAW. apprentice of shadowclan. eldest sister to swanpaw, ashenpaw, and garlicpaw. ( + thornpaw, halfpaw & laurelpaw )
  —— she / her; confused by the use of others.
  —— currently 9 moons old as of 12.20.23. ages every 17th.
  
  longhaired blue torbie with a white chest, paws, and underbelly. A young cat you would describe as " bossy, " Applepaw is quick to take charge of any situation she sees herself as the probable head of. Naturally talented, and a rule - follower to a T, she thinks herself better than the majority of her peers. Not ignorant enough to think herself above a warrior, but seeks to gain that status as quickly as possible. Intensely self - motivated to be the best in a mixture of blind, childish desire, and never wanting to be afraid of anything ever again.

​

 

[lilacfur]

Her fur cannot even be forced to lie flat, bristling in quills along her spine and down her tail. While the marshes had been plagued with death for far too long, it's driven her further into anger seeing so much that could have been avoided. So much murder. Sprucepaw had given her life for the safety and security of kits that should have been safely arrived in the nursery. And now Comfreypaw had been cut down only one more moon before becoming a warrior. Ashenpaw's attack. How long would this go on?

Siltcloud. Of course, because who else would it be? Granitepelt had ridden himself of their lands with ease, but his sister, the vile-

"I HATE HER!" Lilacfur shouted with a strained sob, clenching her teeth in anger as she looked down at the bloodied molly. A lash of her tail, she turned to @CATERPILLARPAW. and curled her tail around the calicos and rest her chin over her head.

"I will not see you dressed in rosemary, not because of her." Rosemire has buried his face into cold tabby fur, and her chest tightens at the thought of doing the same for Caterpillarpaw. Suspicion that Siltcloud may still linger, ready to strike again, Frostbite called for a sweep.

"You don't have to come with me." There's tension in her voice. She would join them with the same intent. "But it would be very brave of you if you did." She gave her apprentice a moment to make her decision before joining the lead warrior. ​

[ i need the clouds to cover me ]​

 

[JITTERBUG]

"Comfreypaw...?" Their voice is quieter than normal as they smell the metallic tang of blood in the air, hopelessly entangled with the body of their sister. Their jaw tightens as they lay eyes on her, on... on what's left of her. The empty husk that was once her body. Their jaw clenches tight as they stare listlessly at her, almost blank in expression. As they stare, it's as if any emotion has left them locked away in a moment by the shock of seeing her dead. They hadn't been close to her, not as much as they could have been, and yet they find themself desperately wanting to go back, to fix this, to make everything better. You failed her, you failed her, you let her die, whispers on repeat in their mind as they remain there, still, unable to force themself to move, to react, to do anything at all.

"Comfrey?" they try again with a faint quiver in their voice, managing to take just one more step closer.​

​

"speech"​

 

[betonyfrost]

There isn't a force in the world that could Betonyfrost away. The crowd around Comfreypaw is thick and bristling—Betonyfrost shoulders her way through, her mouth twisted into a sneer and ready to snap closed around anyone who would dare to brush too close. Distantly, she thinks: of course. Of course there would be so many to come to Comfreypaw's side—she was never like Betonyfrost. She was always better than Betonyfrost; well-loved.

"Get out of my way!" Betonyfrost says—has been saying. Her reedy voice shapes the words until they have become meaningless to her ears. She doesn't realize she has been saying it until, abruptly, she stops.

Because there, there, is Comfreypaw.

It isn't like when Comfreypaw had yellowcough, as terrible as that had been. Betonyfrost freezes. It isn't like anything she has ever known. Her eyes flick to Jitterpaw, to Applepaw, and then back to Comfreypaw. She's grown so large from the squirming, wet little thing that Betonyfrost had met so many short moons ago. Impossibly, Comfreypaw looks small like that again. The anger leaves Betonyfrost. It takes everything with it.

"She's so bright," It sounds like a prayer, "She's always been so bright and, and, she's always been good." Betonyfrost eases closer as she speaks. She lays besides Comfreypaw with a surprising gentleness, her flank pressed to Jitterpaw's. She needs to be touching the both of them, "Be well again, Comfreypaw. I love you. From the moment I first felt you, remember?"

Her attention shifts. The world expands outside of Comfreypaw and to the crowd—proof of her goodness, proof of how loved she had been. When Betonyfrost's voice comes, it is plaintive, "I want to take her home, now. She should be home. She..." Betonyfrost trails off, her eyes back on Comfreypaw, and doesn't continue.​

shadowclan warrior | blue mackerel tabby | 27 moons | tags​

 

[Magpiepaw]

—————————————————————⊰♰⊱————————————————————
By the time he arrives it is already clear it is too late, Starlingheart was not far behind him as he rushes with his awkward hobble forward and shoves a nose into the side of the tabby's neck to check for a pulse; beneath his cold snout he feels nothing - not a flicker nor shift in movement, not a single sound of haggered breathing wheezing through a throat closed with pain. Comfreypaw was gone, the moment she hit the ground she was gone, or perhaps even further - the moment she left camp she was gone, the moment she was born she was gone, the moment Siltcloud was born she was gone - fate tangled around him, he wonders if they could have cut a cord and stopped this before it happened.
The medicine cat apprentice leans his head back, a heaviness in his expression - he suddenly felt aged, elderly, like he could fit right into the elder's den and no one would bat an eye at his presence; a weathered cat with a young body. His expression says more than his words ever could, but he does not let assumptions be made, he does not let the hope prolong - his words are mercifully curt, "She's gone."

He sits there in silence, cats who loved the apprentice approach one by one from her mentor, to the tom who could very well have been her surrogate father, to her closest friend in Applepaw, to every warrior who cried for blood and Lilacfur's horror rising among them - to know the cat she once loved had done this horrible crime.
Betonyfrost shoves her way forward and he steps back to let her, blue-violet eyes wide, lets the she-cat have her moment of grief. She had been surprisingly docile as of late, her screaming hysterics and vicious words dampened and now even moreso. While he had never truly looked upon the gray molly with a fondness there was no denying his heart ached for her now, he did not want her to become subdued because of this. It was not a pain he wished on any cat.
"...if you are not going with Frostbite on his patrol...please, help me bring her to camp."

————— ⸸ looks like the stars won't shine much longer ———— ⸸ so give me your hand

• OOC can go here.
• 
  
  
  Magpiepaw
  —⊰⋅ MCA of ShadowClan
  —⊰⋅ He/They
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/a white throat and blue-violet eyes.
  —⊰⋅ Has mild cerebellar hypoplasia (Wobbly cat syndrome)
  
  

​

 

[DEERPAW -]

With a nod of confirmation Deerpaw parts from the rapidly assembling group of ShadowClanners. They return in short order with Magpiepaw in tow, leading the black-and-white cat to the sound of yowls and the encroaching scent of death, with hope that @STARLINGHEART would be close behind and the wary wonder that one of them would be able to spare Comfreypw. Not again ... First Sprucepaw at the jaws of a fox, and now this ...

Comfreypaw is dead, Magpiepaw has announced with barely a muzzle press to the older apprentice's fur. Vengeance, maybe, would make ShadowClan feel better; but there's no cure for death. Betonyfrost's daughter had been a relatively friendly face within their den, not a cat Deerpaw had been close with but perhaps one they'd enjoyed the presence of. The fur on the back of their neck stands on end, an unusual sign of their disarray; Comfreypaw had been roughly a half season from earning her warrior name, quick and bright according to the warriors. What hope did Deerpaw themself have of achieving that if she couldn't? Would they suffer the same fate?

In the meantime, pale amber eyes rove around their Clanmates in an attempt to avoid the sight of bloodied, familiar, charcoal fur. Should they act the same as their Clanmates do? Like their mentor's heartache, or their father's fury? Frostbite turns to call together a patrol - a hunt - but Deerpaw looks to Roosterstrut. The ginger tom is shattered in place, sides heaving with his sobs, and Deerpaw tries to piece fragments of desperately lacking logic together. What would he do? Would he risk his own apprentice, weight of their own life against avenging Comfreypaw's worth it for the extra paws and nose they could provide. Deerpaw would answer the call if he did. But if he chose to let them join the hunt, would Frostbite let them?

And what of Betonyfrost, of Applepaw who has already volunteered, of ...

You're trying not to breathe, they realise dimly as their lungs lodge a protest, a small and choked noise escaping them. Trying to block out the overwhelming reek of their Clanmate's blood for the second time in a moon. They can taste it on their tongue as if they'd been the one to deliver the killing blow instead of Siltcloud.

"What do we do?" Deerpaw asks of their mentor, voice barely a breath on the breeze.
​