sensitive topics GRIEF ╱ EACH HORIZON ´ˎ˗

[SUNNVAR]

Grief was a lonely and terrible sensation. He wishes nothing more than amputation– to cut out the part of him that yearns and aches for something long gone. The wound is fresh and even still he cannot allow it the time to heal. The others have taken Tigerfrost's death just as poorly. How could they do anything other than this? He was one of WindClan's finest warriors, his pedigree alongside Sootstar something to envy. It was a connection that Sunstride could never have reached, but he could not be jealous of it. Not when the tom himself had been so deserving. Pain would have been far easier to deal with if hatred came just as swiftly.

At least he went well. To die in battle was all one could ask for. Looking upon his wounds, the extension of them– that is well, he went well. He can only hope that the rogues were forever marred by their match with him. Perhaps one day they will try their return, and Sunstride will do unto them what they had done to another. He would tear them apart slowly, and painfully, and it would be deserved. Violence and rage both fit him well. He wears war like a second skin. One day it will overcome him, and he will know nothing else. That day cannot be this one.

The sight of his body had sent the burnished warrior out of camp. It was not fear of his wounds, or disgust at the sight of him. Had he been any less angered than he was, he might have allowed himself to curl around the bloodied corpse, to press himself to the death-marks and allow them to seep into his pelt so that he might never forget what had happened. They were not the closest of friends. In truth, he does not think either of them entirely capable of such things. But they had worked well together, and Sunstride would miss him more than he had ever put to words.

Sitting here was meant to calm him. Amidst the stones that marked WindClan's other graves, he hopes to find his peace. His paw swipes slowly over each one, wiping dirt from their surface. He tidies the grass above where each body might lie, and ensures that each marker is visible in full. So many of them do not have names. So many of them would be forgotten in a pawful of moons. And Tigerfrost, for all that he did not deserve it, would soon count himself among them. Soon they would begin to dig. Soon, they would lose sight of a brave and capable tom, who had their leader's back in all things. He closes his eyes tightly to the pattering of rain, to the dull and mournful clouds.

If only he could close his eyes to the fact that some day far too soon, each of them would find themselves here as well.

﹥ˏˋ〘  OOC NOTES INFORMATION 〙ˊˎ﹤

• ooc: this is set before tigerfrost's vigil and burial. sun needed to get out of camp and process for a while, so he wound up here.
• SUNSTRIDE. named for his coloration and his bold chasing of fate.
  —— cis male, he - him. thirty-eight moons old. lead warrior of windclan + former rogue.
  —— gay, but somewhat closeted. will not be open about his interests.  single, will be so.
  —— seems comparatively stranger than who he was some moons ago, serious and cool.
  
  sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond its borders, with fur that flames red at its base and deepens to a burnt amber with every whorl and stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of him.
• "speech"

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[Badgermoon]

Up til this point, Badgermoon had not feared the graveyard. Certainly, any place which commemorated the fallen was bound to stir feeling in one's heart, and he had seen far too many cats given to the soil in recent moons: Sunsetbreeze, Juniperfrost, Dazzlepaw...but no one with whom he'd felt close, no one who he'd lived and worked directly alongside. Until now, it seemed. In retrospect, perhaps it had been naive for him to think that he could get through life unscathed by grief, by loss - perhaps more naive than he thought possible for anyone older than a kit. But in truth, he had been both lucky and stingy with his care for others, miserly with his personal affections, which had protected him from the slow, crushing sorrow now felt by many of his Clanmates. But the loss of Tigerfrost was hitting him hard, twisting in his gut like an enemy warrior's claws, both for the practical consequences and for the disappearance of someone who had felt like a fixture of WindClan life.

Stone-faced, the broad-shouldered moor-runner slowly padded near to stand next to Sunstride, drawn to the familiar figure of his friend and colleague. Wordlessly, Badgermoon attempted to lean against the lead warrior, offering and seeking comfort, ignoring the rain which saturated his short pelt. He, too, shut his eyes, in an effort to escape the image of Tigerfrost's shredded throat and limp, bloodied body. He died with honor. Badgermoon thought but did not say, throat tightening. May StarClan welcome him.​

 

[>Twigwhisper]

(=〃ﻌ〃=)ﾉ — Twigwhisper was as silent as ever. One of few words as always but after all the bloodshed, his tongue felt cut from his maw. The earth of neutral hues was bathed in unruly reds. Screams. The panic he had felt when he couldn't find his brother amongst the bodies that were dropping. All he could feel at that moment was fear, even now just thinking about it would freeze his heart and lungs.

His thin limbs would carry him to the gravesite, stone after stone with felines beneath them. Soon they'd be reopening the earth for another. Tigerfrost. While he never had the chance to work alongside the tom, he made himself known. That was a cat to look up to, one to admire. All too soon he was gone now. Some may say he died in the best way possible but Twigwhisper would disagree. Any death like this was senseless. He could hear Jaggedoak lecturing him about the honor one receives from such a death. If stars allowed it, his brother would probably die in a blaze of glory as well. It was frustrating. Staring at each one of these lost lives, staring at a damned fate of bloodshed. The tabby could feel the scarring on his hindquarters itching in a reminder, with a frown working its way onto his face. His amber gaze lifting from the deceased to be met with living figures sitting with one another. He recognized them as lead warrior Sunstride and deputy Badgermoon, two that he again didn't speak much but the grief that hung in the air like a dense fog in the morning was shared. Choosing not to butt into places where he didn't belong, he'd settle back with a stone of a familiar friend instead. — tags​