sensitive topics In the End || Poppypaw's Vigil

[Frostbite]

Poppypaw's body was decorated in flowers that he did not know the name of to mask the smell of death. She lay as if she were sleeping, copper eyes closed and never to open again. Frostbite wanted to believe she would wake up, still. That this is all just a cruel joke. But staring down at her unmoving body, he couldn't let himself think that anymore. Denying reality wasn't going to fix anything. It wasn't going to help him heal. It would only tear the wound further. A wound that was already torn so wide. Looking at her, he can still feel her blood on his paws. He can still so vividly remember holding her, pleading for her to get up.

"You would have made a brilliant warrior." He said. His gaze was sullen, and it wasn't lost on him that this was the last time that he would ever see her. But he'd always remember her as she lived, loud, obnoxious, and full of energy. He looked forward to seeing her become a warrior, and it crushed him that it will never happen now. "You were like a little sister to me," He continued. "I swore I'd protect you, and I failed." He said with a shaky voice, with finality and acceptance of failure. He couldn't protect the only cat he viewed as family.

It's his fault.

He stopped to help someone who probably didn't even need it. Who probably won't even think twice about what it cost. The thought made his blood boil briefly.

"And I'm sorry."

He couldn't apologize enough to her. He could beg for forgiveness until his breath ran out and it wouldn't be enough.

"I hope you're able to rest peacefully among the stars." He finished, staring at Poppypaw's body with a near hollow expression. What hurt most was that he couldn't even avenge her. He had no one to hunt down, to rip apart. He was left with nothing but his sorrows. She deserved better, and it was robbed from her in the blink of an eye.​

 

[Yarrowpaw]

What did Yarrowpaw know of death? Almost nothing, truthfully: his youth meant that no great tragedy had struck ShadowClan while he had been present enough among the Clan to register it. This, then, would be his first instruction in those grim lessons: anyone could die, at any time. Even if they were young, boisterous, and positioned to lead a great life, as Poppypaw had been. No one was immune. The lesson throbbed in his chest as Yarrowpaw stood in silence staring down at the flower-dotted, carefully-groomed corpse. She was an apprentice, like me. thought the chocolate tabby uneasily. She died. I could die, too. Comfreypaw could die, Jitterpaw could die, Mom could die...Roosterstrut...everyone around him would die, someday: a reality he had known in the objective sense, but never truly felt. Never understood. Now, perhaps, he understood.

Yarrowpaw's blue eyes were round and solemn as he bowed his head, feeling a choking sensation rise in his throat - one he could not name, but which was grief. He waited for Frostbite - who had a much more personal stake in this loss - to fall silent before speaking himself, in a quiet, hesitant voice. "Poppypaw, um. I don't know why you died, and I didn't know you very well when you were alive, but..." he stared down at his oversized paws, and forced himself to speak past the lump in his throat. "But I'm sorry, and I hope...I hope it's like sleeping. And I hope you sleep good." with that, the boy stepped back. He wasn't sure if he'd said or done the right things, but he'd​

 

[clearheart]

━━ι═══════﹥Her loss has doubtlessly spurred all to consider what life means to them. It is not Clearheart's first vigil, and he knows well there will be many before it is his own turn to depart this world for the next in the stars. Such knowledge does not ease the burden of grief; there are devout believers of StarClan here, but their tears well and throats choke all the same. He does not scorn them for it, and only listens patiently through Frostbite's trembling farewell and Yarrowpaw's youthful sincerity. It is only after the apprentice has fallen back that Clearheart rises, approaching Frostbite and resting a paw on his paler shoulder.

"You did not fail her, Frostbite," he says gently yet firmly. "She knew a life at your side. Mourn her and remember her, but do not wield her memory to damage yourself." A broad, dark paw shifts to briefly brush against Frostbite's cheek, a gesture he means comfortingly. He seeks his sorrowful gaze with his own, holding it steadily, unflinching. "You loved her most dearly. Do not allow regret to eclipse the relationship you had, lest you lose her to your torment." His paw drops and he steps away smoothly, and now he looks upon the would-be warrior with fathomless eyes.

He did not know her, and recognizes his own shard of regret, but he buries it gently. They will meet one day, and perhaps when she and Frostbite have filled their hearts again, he may come to know her. He does not reach for her face as he had Frostbite; she is beyond his comfort now, but he does bend slightly to murmur to her prone silhouette. "I do not know if my voice will reach your ears, but I pray you understand what love lingers for you here. May we meet in the stars, where I am certain you wait to greet Frostbite once more and where you need never bid each other farewell." ​

══════⊹⊱≼ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɪʀ ʜᴀɴɢꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴄᴇɴꜱᴇ / ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ≽⊰⊹══════

• — CLEARHEART / / 40 moons old / / amab and uses masculine pronouns but will also accept the use of neutral terms.
  — a warrior of shadowclan / / currently mentoring dragonflypaw / / excels greatly in combat above most all other skills.
  — former loner who wandered great distances & rarely remained in one place for long / / arrived after the great battle.
  — devoted to starclan above all else (aside from his idea of the common good) / / not prone to enter battle mindlessly.
  
  — of a height slightly above average / / trim and athletic with a sense of immovability about his posture/stance & size.
  — chocolate sepia w/ low white / / fur is quite short for the most part / / tail is naturally bobbed // full-body reference.
  — fairly warm demeanor much of the time; there is a "softness" about his features so that neutrality doesn't seem surly.
  
  — lawful good, in the sense that he likes to maintain order and work toward bettering lives around him without cruelty.
  — often misunderstands figures of speech and may interpret them literally. as such, can seem to lack a sense of humor.
  — deeply genuine; dislikes lying immensely, and so (most of the time) he is wholly earnest, especially with compliments.
  
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[CHILLEDSTAR.]

DON'T YOU GIVE ME UP, PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP​

---

chilledstar didn't actually have anything to say. they didn't want to. they simply sat down, away from most, staring at the ground. the thoughts in their brain went haywire. why poppypaw? why had any shadowclanner need to suffer, and why so commonly needed to be their apprentices? how come they couldn't... get to their warrior ceremony? why did starclan want them to go home so early? why... they didn't want to ask anymore questions. it wasn't as if they were gonna get any answers that satisfied them. they simply tapped their tail on the ground, huffing as their eyes closed. they wouldn't cry anymore... at least not tonight. not when everyone else had plenty of emotion to go around.
​

 

[brackenlight]

She'd hardly known Poppypaw, but she hadn't liked her. The apprentice had been a loud-mouthed pain in the tail, never the most pleasant to be around. Nonetheless, her death weighs on Brackenlight -- a harsh reminder of the world's cruelty. Observing Frostbite's palpable grief makes it far worse. Just the thought of mourning Ferndance or Oakbone's loss ties her stomach in a knot. She sits quietly, with nothing to say to Poppypaw's lifeless frame but content to pay her respects, until her flaxen gaze drifts to the forlorn Yarrowpaw. "StarClan will treat her well," she assures him with a soft voice. "A comfortable nest, endless prey, nothing to hurt her."
​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

He’s impressed with what the medicine cats have managed to do with the mangled mess that’d been Poppypaw. Shredded by claw and fang four times the size of a badger’s, but she looks feline again—herself. The only red splotching her fur now are tabby markings, and the flowers they’ve laid over her are like offerings to some cruel god. The god in question watches with shadowed eyes, his head tilted in the barest hint of a bow. He’s not far from Chilledstar, who does not approach the body as others do.

But he will. Granitepelt walks steadily, his features carved from stone and snow. He lowers his nose to her fur, blinking as the rot of flowers fills his nostrils. “What a shame, to have lost you so early. You had plenty more to give ShadowClan, I’m sure.” He lifts his head, unblinking green eyes scoring across her body. “You will be missed.” Not by him, of course, but he’s sure Frostbite will take a few moons to cry over Poppypaw, at least. She hadn’t made herself a lot of friends in ShadowClan or anywhere else, so he’d better cry a little extra, just for her.

He whips his tail across the camp floor before turning to pad away.

✧ INFO.

•  
• 
  — granitekit . granitepaw . granitepelt
  — he/him ; warrior of shadowclan
  — heterosexual ; taken by Starlingheart
  — short-haired gray tom with white and green eyes
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — penned by Marquette
  — chibi by Meg

​

 

[ROOSTERSTRUT]

❪ TAGS ❫ — It seemed, for a brief period of time, as if though ShadowClan would be spared from an onslaught of deaths bringing grief and murky sadness onto camp. He knows far too well about mortality and how everyone is eventually subjected to death's beckoning call, but it's always shocking when a clanmate is welcomed into StarClan far earlier than their time.

Roosterstrut chooses to say nothing, as he wasn't as close to Poppypaw and he can't think of anything to add that hasn't already been uttered by other grieving clanmates. He still chooses to be present, however, and support his friends in this difficult time. His big heart weighs in his chest, a lump lingering in his throat and causing it to ache dully. Poppypaw had nearly been a warrior; she had been so close to earning her name. Roosterstrut couldn't even fathom how Frostbite must be feeling right now. He'd certainly be feeling all sorts of emotions if it had been his own apprentice instead.

He frowns, watching Yarrowpaw in particular say his goodbyes. Poor kid; he had been around his age when his father had been slain by a fox. It wasn't right for cats this young to be exposed directly to the harsh reality of death, but then again, nobody could ever prepare a youth for such an experience.

Wordlessly, Roosterstrut came up beside Yarrowpaw, lifting his tail to comfortingly touch it to his shoulder. I'll do my best. As long as I'm still breathing, I'll try. Try to protect them, try to keep them from harm's way. Betonyfrost's brood had grown on him in a way that no prior litter had, almost as if they were his own kin. It wouldn't be fair of Roosterstrut to prevent them from going off to battles and living the experience of a warrior, but he'd be damned if they died a young and untimely death like Poppypaw had.​

 

[HONEYJAW]

Death had stopped being the end of things a while ago. From his first brush with StarClan, at the ever-benign Clearheart's paws, he might clarify, he'd allowed himself to see it in a new light. Though it was still something to be feared and mourned, no longer was it his enemy. It wasn't death that he struggled against, but time. The killer of all things. Of memory. He wouldn't say it to Poppypaw, nor to those that mourn her, but he's afraid of one day forgetting. He's afraid of it being someone else on this bed of wilting flowers. His daughter is there, out there, all the time. Her mentor is good and kind and strong, but Frostbite wasn't weak or cruel. If anything, it was his empathy that had doomed him here. His kindness. In his chest, Honeyjaw's heart is swooping low.

Like some of the others, he doesn't feel fit to approach. Maybe it's because he didn't know her well enough in life. Maybe it's because when he looks at her, still in this uncanny sleep, he sees his daughter. The way the others speak to her rings bells in his head. He feels overfull. Prepared to burst with the sheer horror of it. Goodbye, Poppypaw, he thinks to her, able to offer nothing else. Your memory will not fade.

﹥ˏˋ  OOC NOTES ╱ REFERENCE ╱ 07.02.2023  𝘙𝘌𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘔𝘌 𝘏𝘖𝘞 𝘓𝘐𝘛𝘛𝘓𝘌 𝘐 𝘏𝘈𝘝𝘌 ˊˎ＜

• ooc: —

• 

• honeyjaw ╱╱ 36 moons old ╱╱ he - him - his ╱╱ warrior of shadowclan.
  ──── a former loner who joined the clan approximately six months ago (give or take).
  ──── named for the deep honey-brown of his pelt as well as his too natural charisma.
  ──── has an apprentice-aged kid he joined with, def scared of watching 'em grow up.
  ──── bisexual- kinda flirtatious yet never seems to really pursue a relationship. single.
  
  a short-furred dark chocolate point tom with the smallest splashes of white on his forehead, front paws, and tail tip. well-built, but overall average in size and unremarkable aside from his lightly curled ears and the magnetism of his smile. seems to show signs of aging earlier than expected, with a salt-and-pepper dusting around his jaw and muzzle.

• "speech"

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[RATTLESTRIDE]

જ➶ Runny eyes are closed as he takes in a deep breath. Scenting with startling ease the smell of decomposition underneath what is sweet and calming herbs. It's such a contrast but he refuses to scrunch up his nose. Instead he lowers himself to the ground and tilts his head to the body. It seems everyone has something moderately nice to say but he is not sure of what he can say himself. Poppypaw was an interesting apprentice. Full of fight and purpose. Easily the most trouble making and loud. Oh so loud. But she did not deserve to die in the way that she had. She was too young and that in itself is startling. Shaking his head a bit the warrior merely takes in a breath and eases it out again. Maybe one day they will get to see Poppypaw again. Hopefully. And others that once belonged to the colony. For now he is merely there. A stagnant figure just laying there and listening to the sobering words. Death is just the beginning now with Starclan's involvement and he wonders what she is doing now. Probably bugging the other dead ones into a second death.

Amusement pulls his lips and he sighs. Yeah. He will miss that little scrap of fur.​

 

[SHARPSHADOW]

† They are all lying.

Poppypaw didn't have plenty more to give rather than unnecessary fights, migranes, and screaming matches. She would not have been a great warrior. Too loud, too everything. She doesn't think there is a single soul in ShadowClan that she had not earned the ire of, at least in some capacity. Those who pretended they had something to say were all liars. Perhaps Frostbite was the most truthful among them, but even he... well, maybe he was just delusional.

Sharppaw would still miss her though, he thinks. And he's not sure why. Maybe because she was the one who annoyed everyone who deserved to be annoyed, rather than keeping their heads down so that they would not be that cat.

She was remarkable for no good reason. And she didn't care. At least, Sharppaw didn't think she did. Poppypaw didn't play the game, and it's a game Sharppaw hates because he doesn't understand. Sharppaw thinks he gets Poppypaw, though. Got her, sorry.

That probably wasn't true, but it was nice to think about. Sharppaw looks dully upon her corpse, and he dips his head.

OOC † IN THE MIRROR 07.07.2023

• OOC: —
  
•  

• SHARPPAW: brother to Rookpaw. Mentored by Smogmaw
  —— he / she , no pref , icked by they prns ; fine with gendered terms ( tom, molly, etc... )
  —— currently 13 moons old. warrior ceremony delayed due to lackluster progress.
  
  anxious, antisocial, paranoid. Sharppaw is a creature living in constant fear. Most thoughts are irrational, but consistent in that they are borne from pessimism and generalized anxieties.
  — In an era of assessing what has set him back and figuring out what he wants.

​

 

[smogstar]

A rabid rat the size of a badger would have made for better company than an adult-aged Poppypaw. Never again will he hear her head-splitting cries or incomprehensible blabbering—it's a blessing if he's ever seen one, and the most that StarClan has done for his clan in ages. Is it enough to rekindle his faith in the heavens above? No, far from it.

Feigning sorrow is an effortless feat. A coaxed frown rests comfortably on his jaws, and partly veiled eyes would flit to whomever's speaking, before languidly returning to the soil between his front paws. Internally, he roams through the recollections he held of the departed apprentice. How he remembers the day he cuffed her across the face as a punishment, only for the then-medicine cat to bring her claws down his muzzle in return. It's a memory he resents thoroughly: Poppypaw's audacity, and Bonejaw undermining his legitimacy. Both are long gone, and he can relish in the fact, at the very least.​