i can't see clearly .. death

[heathermoon !!]

// tw for parental death. descriptions of self inflicted neglect and depression. this takes place the morning after the gathering

Pawsteps followed the Moorland Queen to the towering oaks and like clockwork those that remained returned to their duties. Heatherpaw had used his free time from responsibility as he usually did, joining his mother's side to rest in the moonlights shine and murmur their good wishes to those they had lost. The red tabby padded into the old dusty set, greeting his mother with a nuzzle through her dull fur. Her coat had long since come disheveled and ragged from lack of care. Heatherpaw was careful to hold back the urge to help clean her pelt, but he learned early on such help wss unwelcomed.

"It's the full moon tonight." He reminded her carefully, wondering for a moment if she had forgotten. Her gaze was glassy and distant, but her rickety purr comforted him. Slowly did she rise, and Heatherpaw supported her side against his own.

'I knew I raised a good tom.' She rasped her praise, but Heatherpaw felt the fur along his spine tingle. As she leaned against him, he could feel her ribs poking against his flesh. She felt dangerous fragile, like a single breath could knock her down. He held his tongue from saying anything, though. It was rare he could even get her out of her nest. He would make the most of their time together.

The pair shuffled out of camp and soon his mother had gained her own footing. Her gait was slow and careful, and Heatherpaw was patient as they traveled a few tail-lengths away from the clearing. Not too far, of course, as his mother often complained of being too out of breath when she had to walk for very long.

"Here, I snuck some out of Peonypaw's nest." The red tabby had already prepared their own little nest that he lined with wool. He giggled at his mother's stern look before they climbed in together. It was quiet, mostly, between them. An equal understanding in the silence
but the she-cats raspy purr kept Heatherpaw warm. The warm summer breeze and chime of crickets, it was nearly serene.

Her voice suddenly broke the quiet. Her prayer. 'StarClan, lend your light and grace to my boy. Let him not know hunger. Protect him in battle. Bless him to grow into the warrior his father deserved to see.' A tight knot lodged in his throat as she continued. 'He is strong, loyal and brave. His heart is pure though his mind is still a child's. I know he will protect WindClan to his last breath.' She rested her head against his cheek, a tired sigh exhaling from her maw.

Heatherpaw leaned back into his mother as the quiet returned. Soon sleep dragged the apprentice underneath.

- - -​

Something cold and bitter had woken him. Heatherpaw stirred, shifting against the stiffness in his legs, but his heart had begun to race. Something was wrong. He mumbled for his mother to wake so he could search for what concerned him, but no sound came from her. He hoisted himself up and blinked away lingering drowsiness from his eyes. Paws stumbled out of the nest and he turned to look at his mother. His fur was on end as his waking mind pieced it all together the moment his sights landed on her.

"N-No. No, no, no!" Chest heaving for air, Heatherpaw pressed his forehead against thin, cold fur.

Sedgebreeze was dead. Not a hint of life beneath her coat.

Heatherpaw reeled back and screamed. A wail that could be heard within the stars, surely.

His knees buckled and his chin met the edge of the nest, face wet with tears and nose stuck with sniffles as he tried to control his sobs. "This-This isn't... This isn't fair." Heatherpaw choked in a whisper. If his body had allowed it, he would have rushed to drag Robinfang from his nest and cry, but he felt stuck. Frozen. Everything in hin weighed down and rooted to the ground.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ RED MACKEREL TABBY ✦ 9 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[WOLFSONG]

── .∘°°∘. ── Some time ago, Wolfsong left Sunstride in their nest with a murmured apology for disturbing him, driven awake by an odd restlessness. He thought perhaps the anticipation of memorializing his mother in a new territory weighted his mind, but now, sitting near the place he buried his offerings in preparation, he does not think that is the case. It is his body, not his heart nor spirit, which seeks open air away from the medicine cat den. The miasma of herb-scents had seemed more bothersome than usual, yet Wolfsong doesn't believe that is the cause either.

He frowns at the sky. Could StarClan influence him in such a way? Do they express their displeasure with his new position through sleeplessness? Wolfsong does not get to puzzle it further, the relative quiet snapped between the teeth of a resounding cry.

His paws kick up soil and grass in his haste to the source, not far from the camp's exterior. It's Heatherpaw, he realizes. Sedgebreeze does not respond to his tears, and there— that is death. Circling around, he presses his paw against her ribs. There is no motion of breaths taken or thump of a heart, and when he hovers it over her nose, he feels nothing there, either. Was she sick? If so, why did she not come to me? I have not known an illness to take so quickly.

"Heatherpaw," he rasps, reaching to touch the apprentice's shoulder. "You are not alone." There is nothing to be said to heal this wound, Wolfsong knows, and he shifts closer to press gently against his side. "I will find your mentor." He touches his nose to the apprentice's head and pulls away to make with haste for the camp, knowing the necessity of familiarity and comfort. He resolutely shoulders through the memories so eager to breach the surface.

//@Robinfang
​

WOLFSONG of WINDCLAN FORMER ROGUE TURNED MEDICINE CAT. 36 MOONS, HE/HIM, NPC X NPC. MATES WITH SUNSTRIDE (07/05/2023). BIOGRAPHY, PINTEREST, & PLAYLIST.

medicinal expertise med. part ii med. part iii med. part iv

• — ★★★☆☆ WOUNDS: You're (mostly) in safe paws. You'll know if he's less experienced if he asks for your permission to try a treatment. No wound can scare him away from knowledge. — ★★★☆☆ INFECTION: He can prevent most infections. If you feel feverish, let him know— he'll hum thoughtfully over herbs and sniff your wound before saying, "With your blessing..."
• — ★☆☆☆☆ ACHES & PAINS: If you complain to him of pain, he'll ask where. If it's a headache, you'll likely feel a bit better. For anything else, "Try this, if you'd like, and tell me how you feel." — ★☆☆☆☆ BROKEN BONES: At best. he can ask you to remain lying down in the den. He may try to distract you with conversation while he considers what herb to feed you.
• — ★★★★★ TRAVELING HERBS: Going somewhere? No worries; Wolfsong knows just what you need to stay hale and healthy during your journey. The rest is up to you. — ☆☆☆☆☆ KITTING: He doesn't remember what it was like to be born. Coincidentally, that is the extent of his familiarity with kitting. At least he won't leave you without moral support.
• — ★☆☆☆☆ POISONS: It's best if you avoid eating anything unfamiliar to you— it's probably just as unfamiliar to Wolfsong. The best he can do is offer you yarrow and sit with you. — ★★☆☆☆ ILLNESS: If it's white or greencough, you'll likely recover. Otherwise, prepare for odd concoctions and the usual request that you consent to a little trial-and-error.

​

 

[sanguinerush.]

Sanguinerush had been in the tunnels late that night. She couldn't rest for whichever reason, some level of dread playing around in her stomach. She had decided slipping into the tight comfort of the tunnels would ease her mind and soothe her nerves. It wasn't long after she had started to doze that the utter wail piercing the night caused her to shoot up- and whack her head against the tunnel. She cursed quietly, dragging herself out of the most immediately nearby entrance. Wind buffeted her for a moment, normal occurrence for the moor.

It came from near camp, she realized for a moment. Scurrying back into the tunnels and through it's winding exterior, she burst from the entrance, her breathing haggard as she approached. After all, she had been running rather quickly. Happening upon the scene, her ears flattened. Wolfsong had just departed, watching the tom go to fetch the younger's mentor. Her optics slid towards Heatherpaw, the smell of death already beginning to claim the apprentice's mother.

A frown touched her face, sorrow barely hinting in her eyes. She wasn't the best at this kind of thing, but she would try, right? Sanguinerush swallowed, then spoke, her breathing still a bit labored. "Hey, bud, it's.. gonna be okay. I'm right here if you need me." Sanguine and Heather had no connection, just clanmates who shared a space and ate similar prey, but that mattered for something, right? Sanguine shifted a bit closer, but just a tad. She wanted to give Heatherpaw space, but there was no way she was just going to leave him alone. Not right now.​

​

"speech"​

 

[heathermoon !!]

The sight of Wolfsong isn't... unwelcome. Normally there to douse wisdom over the flames of his teenage attitude, Heatherpaw knew he would be looking to the older tom for something. Anything that might make it hurt less. The pain was nothing shown aside from the streaks down his face and how shallow his breath had become through sobs. Inside it felt like a stampede of horses racing around behind his ribcage. Trampling, stomping down on his lungs and crashing his heart against his chest.

He's not alone. He felt worlds apart from the tom sitting next to him, yet it reminded him (perhaps a small comfort?) of the words he had shared with Sunflowerpaw. When Vulturemask had died and left his younger siblings behind.

"It feels really lonely sometimes..." Was what he had said.

An exhale escaped in a huff, finding comfort in Wolfsong's coat. Suddenly the Medicine Cat is retreating to camp, and the apprentice felt his heart sink again. Robinfang. He loved the spotted tom as closely as he would his own father, but the warrior's lack of faith scared him. Scared because Robinfang wouldn't believe his mother found peace with her starry kin. But that she was simply at rest... forever. Never to know anything again.

Sanguinerush sent Heatherpaw back from his internal struggling. He shifted his head to brush his muzzle against Sedgebreeze's. If it weren't for how frail and boney she appeared, he could pretend she was simply resting. Her face still peaceful as when she had rested against him. A hot flash of guilt seared him. He should have told someone she wasn't getting better. Maybe if he made her eat, hadn't simply let her say no and be done with it. Maybe's and what-if's were a plague on his mind.

"I think it's-it's my fault." He confessed to the tunneler. While it was true, the pair weren't close, Heatherpaw felt a kinship with all the tunnelers in WindClan. Having a shared duty and future shared expectation, they were as close as he could get to family like Sedgebreeze. "She always told me she was full or... she already ate. I-I knew she was lying but... I didn't think it would get this... this bad." And now StarClan had punished him for his negligence. ​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ RED MACKEREL TABBY ✦ 9 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[Bluepool]

Bluepool did not have a mother, not one that she remembered anyways. Her own had passed away when her and her siblings were only minutes old. They had never known her touch, her smell, what it was like with anything but a surrogate mother, a stand in for the real thing that did not go past the milk that was required for their survival. She does not understand what it is to lose such a person in your life so when she happens upon the scene with the others she stands a little bit away, golden eyes passing over the body with a non-descript look plastered onto her face. Her thoughts unreadable. "I'll help bring her back to camp" she says, tone neutral. It was sad to lose a clanmate, always, but she had not known Sedgebreeze well enough to mourn the loss completely.

​

 

[SEDGEPOUNCE]

It's a terrible sound that draws them near—maybe the most terrible sound that Sedgepaw has ever heard, and he has weathered the snarling of a fox, his own blood falling to the moorgrass in sickening, heavy clumps. Heatherpaw wails and it's unlike anything else. Loud and broken and devastated. Sedgepaw is not the only one to rush after its echoes, and when he skids to a stop, the scene has already settled with a sickening clarity.

Sedgepaw loves his parents. He's—of course he does. But they are not close, and though the thought of them dying turns his stomach, it's not happened. He's never suffered the death of a clanmate any more than brief moments of grief or melancholy; to him, the deceased have always been distant near-strangers whose presence would only be missed in passing.

Sedgebreeze is right there, her scent dull and muted beneath the moor breeze. Heatherpaw lives and breathes despite her, a mess of tears, alive and—and right there.

"It's not your fault," Sedgepaw says hotly, baffled despite himself. He doesn't mean to snap at Heatherpaw, especially not here and now, but he can't help the writhing, tangled knot of emotions scraping through his chest, nor his sudden need to prove Heatherpaw wrong.

He steps forward, feeling clunky and off-kilter. Sedgebreeze's body lays perfectly still beside them—not carried into camp in a parade of mourning, nor tacked up in all the grievous proceedings to make death palatable to WindClan's younger audiences. Just laying there. Eyes closed and form still and starchy fur pushing this way and that in the wind.

He can't help but to glance at her haunting, gaunt face before placing a paw to Heatherpaw's trembling shoulder. "It's not your fault that she was—she was unwell. And...you tried. You tried to make sure she was well anyway. That's—it's not..." What is he even saying? Sedgepaw feels like his tongue has tied itself into knots, mind racing a mile a minute. He needs, needs Heatherpaw to understand that it's not his fault, for reasons he doesn't understand and can't begin to explain. It's just—

It's not fair.​