I AM YOUR REFLECTION STILL ✧ grave visit, prompt

[BLUEFROST]

She brings an offering to her father’s grave, a single limp moor flower that she’d haphazardly plucked from just outside one of the tunnel exits. Dust streams from her fur still—she gives herself a poignant shake and grit thickens the air before her. On Weaselclaw’s grave, Bluefrost delicately places the flower. It’s not him she mourns, really—her father had been a fierce and loyal lead warrior, her mother’s biggest supporter, even in her maddest moments, but he’d never paid much attention to her. His favorites had been the moor runner kits, the kits he’d shaped to be protectors of the moorland—and, of course, his precious Cottonpaw, his prize, his darling daughter.

His last moments had been violent in a different way than Sootstar’s. No cat had pinned him to the earth to flay him. He hadn’t died with a hiss gurgling like blood in his throat. His expiration had been languid, slow, the stench of death ground up into his pelt before he’d breathed his last. He’d been delirious, muttering about shadows, enemies who encroached on his deathbed.

The flower is tussled by the wind. She watches it, fascinated by the bend in its stem, the petals that tremble in the face of the moor’s powerful breath. She remembers the pride flaring in Weaselclaw’s blue eyes when he’d looked at Moorblossom, at Addervenom, at Harrierstripe, and especially at Cottonpaw.

She remembers the look Sootstar had given her upon her graduation.

Her heart aches.

“But there is no grave for you,” she murmurs into empty air. “There is no grave, but I mourn you all the same.” Her voice is quiet, and it trembles in the wind’s grasp, but anyone near her would have heard her simple eulogy.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: prompt — ⊱✿⊰ Even the dead still need some love! Your character decides to gather up some wildflowers to decorate the graves of those who have passed.
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 14 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue and white she-cat with emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​

 

[Firefang]

Firefang had once been envious of Sootstar’s children, they had the blood of leaders in their veins they had the imperial right in her mind to follow in their mothers paw steps. These recent moons following after those bloodied prints held a much different connotation. Still a deep part of her wishes she was Sootstar’s own but she’d settled being just a loyal warrior. Then a traitor living in the shadows of a clan that had changed before her eyes - Sootstar’s regime and madness would becoming a fading memory for most only left to be a tale of warning spoken in hushed voices from queens to their kits.

She wouldn’t forget, she wouldn’t forget the sacrifices Sootstar and Weaselclaw made before their demises. They were more then their deaths, Sootstar was more then her madness. Neither were here to watch their youngest children pick up the pieces they left behind. She doesn’t envy them not like she used to, if there were any victims in Windclan’s plight it was them - it’s unfair for her to judge them. She just wishes Harrierstripe was still here, that his glory didn’t have to end in death.

Her heart pangs occasionally when she looks at his littermates and feels his absence. She feels it as she approaches behind Bluefrost, sparingly did she come to give gifts and prayers where she could be seen. She didn’t need more of her clanmates distrusting her. Yet she tests her luck today… Three flowers hang from her jaws who they’re for seemingly obvious it didn’t matter to her some were not to be buried where they were supposed to. No dignity allowed to them. The murmured words of Bluefrost don’t go unnoticed. She steps besides the smaller she-cat dropping her bundle, a harsh look crosses her face.

"There should be one" bitterness crawls into her tone, there’s a warble to them. "I mourn her too" she says her voice lowered, she sits down staring forward not daring to pass a look Bluefrost’s way.

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  text
  

• "speech"

• 

  Firefang ✩ She/Her, Warrior of Windclan, 22 moons
  ⭃ Black tabby she-cat with amber eyes. former-loyalist of Sootstar, Moorunner.
  ⭃ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ⭃ penned by Kedamono ↛ @legmeatt on discord, feel free to dm for plots. ​

​

 

[Irispath]

Irispath does not intervene with Bluefrost or Firefangs mourning. He doesn't know Firefang, but he knows Bluefrost is Sootstars daughter and it would be....Cruel to tell her not to mourn her mother. Some connections and feelings cannot be broken, and often times familial love is one of those. This is a perfect example of it. He walks quietly by them with his own flowers in his maw, to a grave where no body is buried. He looks to Larkfeather's memorial, the daughter he never got to meet again. His heart aches as he sits in front of her grave, gently resting the flowers on it. He knows how Morningsong and Sparkspirit feel about him, but not knowing how Larkfeather felt hurts worse somehow. Did she hate him, like Sparkspirit? Is her ghost here now, glaring at him? Or does she forgive him?

"I'm so sorry. You deserved so much better.... It's all my fault." He says quietly, like a whisper in the wind. "Even if you never forgive me, I still love you. My wonderful daughter...."

His eyes begin to mist and he closes them. "May you and all those we lost find peace." He tentatively wonders if that should extend to his dead enemies, to Sootstar. Would it be wrong to curse them, to hope they're all suffering? No, he finds the answer quickly. He hopes the loyalists receive the punishment they deserve. This remains quiet out of respect for the two mourning cats here with him, though. A Graveyard is no place for fighting or arguing, it is a place for mourning and silence.​

 

[cottonsprig]

Cottonpaw does not think she visits the graves enough. She's seen enough death in her life to be able to name each headstone with some sort of fondness and recognition - yet there are so many more who sleep in graves unmarked or unmade. Her brother, who's body rots in the long nowhere. Those tossed over the gorge, lost to the river and her harsh whims. Her mother, who's body is lumped with those who fell in her battle. It feels wrong to visit, to greet her father with a smile knowing that many, like Irispath, may not have the same ability to with some of their family members.

She thinks of Downypaw, as she makes the commitment to approach, and how they sat in a snowstorm, threw some lavender over the edge, and made a promise together.

She doesn't think she's spoken to Downypaw since. She's unsure if she should.

Cottonpaw's gaze falls over her sister and Firefang, and then to Irispath not too far away. She feels as if she should say something enlightening, being a part of their medicine cat team, or something silly to lighten the mood - but any idea or thought falls flat and for a rare moment, she's silent. She stands to Bluefrost's opposite side with her head turned downwards in a silent prayer. One that she does not know will not reach their father or mother.

Be forgiving, she asks, When it is our turn, be kind. We were made in your image but forged our own paths. Please, do not hate us.​

 

[SOOTSPOT]

He had never visited Weaselclaw's grave. For all that he had brought to the family, the tom had never bothered to be a father to those that came before him, and even if Sootspot could acknowledge his loyalty to Sootstar, he also had to acknowledge how cruel the tabby had been to take away affections meant for himself and Shrikethorn. It was not him the mound of earth that housed him that Sootspot was intending to watch that day, but with two siblings leaning over it, it was where he found himself regardless. The air still felt sickly around it, but moons on, he imagined the weight was purely in his own head. He remembered conversations about his own constitution, how it must've been sickly for a cat to be born as small as he was, it almost felt good to know he'd been healthier than a moor-runner, that he'd managed to avoid an illness that'd almost brought the clans to their knees. Perhaps that should've been the time to rid suspicious characters from their home for good, no one would've cared about a mass disappearance had it been the result of 'yellowcough'. Eyes blinked back to the present, where two sisters remained in mourning.

Sootspot moved closer when Firefang joined them, pawsteps harsh against the sacred earth of the graveyard. "I am in agreement...." he dipped his head quickly, heart fluttering with feelings he'd spent too long honing to share. 'I can't miss her... I can't.' There was a hitch to his breath as he inhaled, charteuse gaze narrowing at it. "Shrikethorn should have had a grave." Eyes gestured to a spy amidst the graves, his ugly scarred face bringing back enough bad memories for the chimera to avoid staring at it for more than a second. Then, he looked sharply at his sisters and to Firefang, hoping they would understand. It was Sunstar who declared his mother's resting spot to be unmarked and unmourned, a secret that would be carried to his own place of eternal slumber. Sootstar'd have killed anyone for grieving over a banished cat, he could only imagine what a creature worse than her would do. The clan had suddenly become less safe for the kids who'd once had everything, it was only Cottonpaw who could escape the ire, because she'd done what the rest of them could not.... and Stars did he hate her for it.


​

 

[whitedawn]

Whitedawn didn't often visit the graves. While she mourned fallen clanmates as much as anyone else, she didn't have any direct kin buried here as Bluefrost, Cottonpaw, and Sootspot did. Her parental bonds were a complicated notion, a mother who wanted nothing to do with her and a father she didn't even know the name of. If her father was buried here, she couldn't know. She did mourn though, she gathered flowers for those fallen. Ambertail was her first mentor, and the closest thing to a parental figure she had. They weren't buried with other clanmates, his grave in the collapsed tunnels beneath the moors. And Harrierstripe, her friend who was denied a burial in his home by Skyclan. For her, these were graves unmarked, but she'd mourn them regardless for as long as she drew breathe.
Soft Pink hues looked up from the flowers she was picking, at the gathering of Sootstar's children with the exception of Moorblossom and Addervenom. She worried for them, but in this moment could do nothing but let them have their privacy to mourn.​

[I'M BREATHING]​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Bluefrost stiffens as the air changes, as another set of paws approaches. She turns, wondering who had heard her blasphemy, and is relieved to find herself staring into a pair of sunset-colored eyes. Firefang nears the grave, and when she speaks, there’s pain in her voice, pain that briefly, Bluefrost bathes in, relishes. She had known Firefang only as a loyal, unwavering soldier under her mother, but now there is kinship in the wreckage they’ve been left to flounder in. The gray she-cat levels the dark-pelted moor runner with a long look before murmuring, “Thank you.” It’s the camaraderie she thanks the other for—she thinks.

Her littermate approaches next, plush-furred and ash-gray, eyes like blue mist. Does she remember the pride in their father’s eyes when he’d looked upon her, hoisted from the tunnels into medicine cat apprenticeship, called forth by StarClan? Does she know the way Sootstar had cursed her name, had sent hounds scurrying after her into the cold night? “She’s dead to me,” their mother had snarled, curling her claws against the star-strewn sky. Bluefrost remembers the chill in her blood, the way she’d nursed the wound Cottonpaw had left, both the external and the internal.

More cats approach, both expected and not. Irispath had long-been forsaken by her mother, but he does not revile them for their mourning. A subtle appreciation blooms in her chest, though she cannot give it a voice. She had helped to throw his fictive kin over the lip of the gorge, lost to the back-breaking waters. Guilt pricks the bottom of her paws, but she does not let it linger for long.

She looks up as Sootspot and Whitedawn approach. Her brother’s eyes flicker with some unspent emotion, and he remarks that Shrikethorn should have a grave. Bluefrost dips her head—her sister had been courageous, like Cottonpaw, and had paid the ultimate price for her bravery. She feels, too, the littermate-shaped hole in her heart, left behind by Harrierstripe, whose body lies somewhere forgotten, baked in the sun and torn to shreds by lurking shadows.

“Harrierstripe, too,” she murmurs. Stars, they’ve all lost so much—it’s easy to forget the ravaged path her mother tore through their Clan—that is, when she lets herself forget.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 14 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue and white she-cat with emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

​