- Jun 9, 2022
- 551
- 276
- 63
Long overdue, this certainly was.
Tallulahwing’s body has not been in his den for some time; mauve ribbon striped from her and deposited where it ought to be. Sheepcurl’s corpse has not been in his den for some time, caressed in lavender and brought where she may be burried amongst her other fallen friends. It is as Mountainheart’s form grows cold, and the lavender lain across him no longer seems so alien, that he acknowledges that something should be said.
How fast does sickness leave a body? This, he does not know, but he would think: not fast enough. He is reluctant to bring him forward for that reason. And which was more selfish? He thinks it is impossible to know. A decision is forced upon himself as night falls. With it comes darkness, and the subtleness of dull, melancholic air is gone when fireflies flicker to life, and the bustle of cats is hushed into naught but the quiet droning of bugs. Perhaps they too, can feel what is wrong within the forest; and they chirp their mourning as Dawnglare drags a petaled corpse into the clearing alongside his apprentice.
" We mourn Mountainheart, " he says. Some of them more than others. But perhaps only for Sweetybee’s sadness does his heart twist much at all. " And... Sheepcurl. " he nearly slips on her name, muttering one she has long ago forgone. And then… " Tallulahwing. "
A flare of breath. Whiskers twitch, discontentedly. He is otherwise at a loss for what is to be done, and what is to be said, save for the pained pinch of his brows and frown that bores into the dirt. With the other bodies that lay curled up in his den, it may even be a risk to step outside for such a thing. No, he could not leave them for long. " This sickness has taken more than it ever should have. " And he feels a twinge of something, with that acknowledgement. His ruff is high alight his spine, bristling in the worry that perhaps, nothing may ever be done.
Tallulahwing’s body has not been in his den for some time; mauve ribbon striped from her and deposited where it ought to be. Sheepcurl’s corpse has not been in his den for some time, caressed in lavender and brought where she may be burried amongst her other fallen friends. It is as Mountainheart’s form grows cold, and the lavender lain across him no longer seems so alien, that he acknowledges that something should be said.
How fast does sickness leave a body? This, he does not know, but he would think: not fast enough. He is reluctant to bring him forward for that reason. And which was more selfish? He thinks it is impossible to know. A decision is forced upon himself as night falls. With it comes darkness, and the subtleness of dull, melancholic air is gone when fireflies flicker to life, and the bustle of cats is hushed into naught but the quiet droning of bugs. Perhaps they too, can feel what is wrong within the forest; and they chirp their mourning as Dawnglare drags a petaled corpse into the clearing alongside his apprentice.
" We mourn Mountainheart, " he says. Some of them more than others. But perhaps only for Sweetybee’s sadness does his heart twist much at all. " And... Sheepcurl. " he nearly slips on her name, muttering one she has long ago forgone. And then… " Tallulahwing. "
A flare of breath. Whiskers twitch, discontentedly. He is otherwise at a loss for what is to be done, and what is to be said, save for the pained pinch of his brows and frown that bores into the dirt. With the other bodies that lay curled up in his den, it may even be a risk to step outside for such a thing. No, he could not leave them for long. " This sickness has taken more than it ever should have. " And he feels a twinge of something, with that acknowledgement. His ruff is high alight his spine, bristling in the worry that perhaps, nothing may ever be done.
- OOC: optional tag for help with Mountainheart; @Fireflypaw
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( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
—— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
—— Currently 55 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
Currently in an era of questioning; upset and uncomfortable by things he should not be.Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads