private KILL ME AFTER DINNER | ashenfall

[FLINTWISH]

He remembers feeling so cold when Nettlepaw had been found. He'd looked at the corpse without recognizing it as something that ever could have lived; ever could have breathed. Black blood had spilled from the heart in its throat, a deep gash gouging delicate life from him with absolutely no care. Flintpaw still speculates on the cause. Siltcloud is dead now, but Granitepelt is not; Nettlepaw is dead now, but... is Ghostpaw? He hasn't seen her in moons. A family of five has been easily whittled down to two. Flintpaw doesn't really understand why he should have been able to succeed his brother; his brother who made cats laugh, his brother with a red coat like warm cinnamon, his brother who smiled despite everything, his brother who he was never very close with.

He sits in the graveyard, unsure of which belongs to his littermate, feeling deeply ill. This time, at least, he knows his nausea is not a legitimate illness. Unless grief was some sort of pathogen, he was safe from that much. But it is certainly catching up to him now: hunched over, sweating through pale pink pads, scowl taut to keep down bile. Frogsong crescendos in the purple twilight. This feeling is not something Starlingheart can cure.

He is so wrapped in his grief and his fear that he doesn't hear Ashenfall approach. Dual-toned gaze squeezes shut; white-tipped tail constricts around his own body. It's only once the torbie is at his side that Flintpaw acknowledges him with a start. "You scared me," he rumbles, tufted ears flattening. There is a long beat of silence between them. "I'm here for... Nettlepaw." Help me find him is the unspoken command. Flintpaw turns his gaze to the warrior, still frowning deeply. Their relationship has been... strange. Are they even friends? He's not sure. But if there is one thing he knows Ashenfall can do, it would be showing him Nettlepaw's grave.

/ @ASHENFALL

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by sixbane, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[ASHENFALL]

˚₊‧ ⛧ There weren't many places Ashenfall could find peace in such a way as when he was in the graveyard. It seemed ironic, how terrified he was of death, yet he derived comfort in the company of gravestones and memories of lives passed. It was an oddity, surely, to some of the more judgmental glarers Shadowclan had in its midst, but Ashenfall enjoyed the small role he dug out for himself here, all the bits of cleanup and organizing he was allowed to task himself with.

Generally, he tried to steer clear of visitors when they trickled in and out of the hollow, in an attempt not to trip all over everyone's grief or whatever. So, he tried at first to not pay much mind to Flintpaw when he entered. He busied himself with dusting off Sabletuft's grave and prodding in a particularly smooth, dark pebble he'd come across in the bog as an addition to its decorations. There was something that kept tugging his attention back toward his former denmate, though, something like curiosity. Flintpaw, evidently gangly-limbed and sickness-prone in constitution, had survived yet another brush with illness. With their fellow apprentices dropping out of the realm of the living left and right, Ashenfall was strangely... very relieved to know that Flintpaw would not be added to his roster of regular grave visits.

Was it so strange?

Impulsively, he strode forward, an honest (if tactless) sentiment about to free itself from his maw, 'Glad to see you didn't die.' Instead, it was snatched from him as Flintpaw startles like a stalked mouse, leaving behind a very intelligent "Huh..?" He wasn't aware that his footfalls were so quiet, and perhaps he should have been happy to hear that he was oh-so-effortlessly stealthy, but he was left with a brief scare followed by a murky expanse of befuddlement. Oh, right, Nettlepaw.

Confusion is wiped from his face to be replaced by an awkward mask of ill-timed humor, a twitchily-delivered cough/laugh leaving his body, "Heh, uh yeah, I was going to ask why you were looming over Stumpyspot's grave like that..." It would be in the bloated silence that follows that the sorrow radiating off of the blue feline sunk into Ashenfall's pelt. It was something familiar, an emotion he recognized in Flintpaw that he.. wasn't immediately squirming to escape. Instead, meeting a gaze that was similar to his in its oddness, he thought he might understand her.

The new warrior collected himself into something more appropriately solemn, holding his self-avowed responsibility with a seriousness he not often had access to, and dipped his head in a nod. "Oh, sure. This way..." he murmured, turning to lead the other to his brother's resting place. The hollow wasn't so big that they had to walk more than a few foxlengths to find Nettlepaw, Ashenfall halted in front of the grave to give it a habitual once-over. It was tidy and well taken care of, as expected from Starlingheart.

He'd move away swiftly to allow Flintpaw his space, but he gracelessly hung around off to the side, unsure if he was supposed to dismiss himself, "... Do you want me to leave or..?"

YOULL ASK WHAT CAN I DO? ⭒☽⛧☾⭒ AND THERE WILL BE NO ANSWER

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — ashenkit . ashenpaw . ashenfall
  — ftm transmasc. he/him. 14mo warrior of shadowclan. formerly mentored by smogmaw
  — muted blue torbie w/ pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells of rainsoaked fern and swamp milkweed
  — all ic opinions!
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — pfp by meg, fullbody by antiigone, sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  

​

 

[FLINTWISH]

Whatever Ashenfall was going to say dies in his throat. Confusion darts over his mottled features, quickly replaced by awkward surprise, and then by a strained grimace. Flintpaw's ears twitch when he chokes on a laugh and delivers his line. So he'd chosen Stumpyspots's grave to wait over? The molly had died not long after they'd been rid of yellowcough — or so they'd thought. Flintpaw remembers her, but this is not the cat he wishes to mourn. Some sort of half-scoff, half-laugh vents through his own teeth. "Right," he murmurs, a rare glint of humor scraping through his tone.

Still, his sorrow is heavy; his grief is a world upon his granite shoulders. Ashenfall leads him to Nettlepaw's grave and Flintpaw follows his mottled form wordlessly, head hanging low, watching the bounce of the warrior's shoulders as he walked. It couldn't have been more than ten pawsteps, and yet as Flintpaw comes upon his littermate's final resting place, his limbs are grasped by fatigue. He sits gracelessly; as if his legs will give out. Maybe they would have. His companion moves away, subtle, perhaps trying to respect his space, but....

Do you want me to leave or...? "No," Flintpaw replies quickly. He'd been staring at the impromptu headstone — some tan rock flecked with sooty black and feldspar red — but his stony face lifts in that moment to meet Ashenfall's head-on. Glossy green and blue eyes implore him to stay even though his tongue remains dead behind his teeth. She pulls her tufted tail close to her so as to make room for Ashenfall to sit, then fixes her attention on the grave once more.

The last time she'd seen Nettlepaw, he'd not been Nettlepaw anymore. The last time she'd seen Ghostpaw, the other girl was running away with their father. It's just her now — just Flintpaw, just Starlingheart, just Lilacfur. Their family is huge, or so she is told, but it sure feels small now. It's just Flintpaw left to get her warrior name, now that Nettlepaw rots in the earth underneath her white-dipped paws.

"Did you like getting your warrior name?" he asks Ashenfall without looking at him. Her voice has lost its characteristic razor's edge; it is dull, now, softened into putty. Though she's listening for a reply, it is clear that she's also lost in thought — particularly, she is lost in the countless names Nettlepaw could have received but didn't. Nettlegrin would have been apt, along with Nettlesong, or Nettletongue, or... Nettleheart. Starlingheart would have loved that, wouldn't she have? But the idea only serves to make Flintpaw recall the slash through the heart in her brother's throat, the point at which his life had been untethered from his body.

𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐈 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

• 

• 
  
  — flintkit . flintpaw
  — he / they / she ; apprentice of shadowclan
  — short-haired solid blue tom with low white and blue/green heterochromatic eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — chibi by sixbane, signature by dreamydoggo
  — penned by meghan

​

 

[ASHENFALL]

˚₊‧ ⛧ "No." The word darts into Ashenfall's swiveling ears and he is stilled to a stop. He turns obediently and is met with a pair of imploring eyes, an unreadable emotion swimming behind them. They uh, stared at each other for a long second, dim sky and lamplight remaining in their places without twitching away like they so often did. His chin jerks downward in a nod and a soft, "Gotcha.." leaves his mouth. He sits in the spot they left beside themself, and they fall into silence once more.

He thinks he should say something, about Nettlepaw, or about Flintpaw, or something comforting about life and death and Starclan or something like that. This, he has never gotten the hang of—for the most part, he figured keeping his trap shut was enough of a display of respect for the departed more than anything he could think of saying out loud. Instead, he sweeps his tail to touch Flintpaw's, tapping it in an awkward 'there, there' gesture.

Ashenfall had plenty to regret in his own interactions with Nettlepaw—not to the same extent as a brother would, but regret all the same. He liked Nettlepaw, liked his jokes and his easygoing temperament. Which was why the last interaction he had with the cinnamon tom was colored with the dark, sludgy ink of guilt. There was not much to recall anymore besides the loud, choking amount of noise and the acid in his stomach pooling and burning at his insides—he remembered clearly that it was Nettlepaw that he ended up snapping at, how he bristled and hissed at his denmate for the crime of stumbling into his hair-trigger temper.

He didn't remember anything after that. Beside the mundane day-to-day blur of patrolling and sharing a den with him, he could not recall a Nettlepaw following that moment until the day he stared at blank, lifeless eyes above a torn-apart throat. Had he made the effort to apologize, would they have become friends, real ones? Could he have been there to be an extra set of ears to prevent his ambush-murder, or perhaps would he have been torn apart just as easily?

There was no way to know now. Now what remained was memory, emotion, guilt, and a well-tidied gravestone. '...Sorry.' was the only thought he could push toward the sky above.

The silence is broken by Flintpaw again, and he glances over to see that she isn't looking at him, instead keeping his eyes trained on the resting place before them, "Uh- yeah? I mean, kind of, not really, uhh- I cried?" He doesn't know why he's stressed about answering this question. Did Flintpaw know that he'd run out directly after the ceremony, that the weight of moving on was too overwhelming not to get weepy over? Ashenfall figured it might be a popular bit of malicious gossip, but he found himself not wanting to hide away his spillings of vulnerability as he did among others.

"It's a fine name, I like it. I just- uh, I'm not good with change," A candid answer, but odd to say out loud, however obvious it may have been to anyone who interacted with him. "... I'm sure yours will be fine, uh, as well... Something like Flintfeather or Flintpool maybe," They were just the names Ashenfall thought off the top of his head, but he hoped Chilledstar would give her something nice. He averted his gaze back to the graveyard, mostly looking for something to look at.

YOULL ASK WHAT CAN I DO? ⭒☽⛧☾⭒ AND THERE WILL BE NO ANSWER

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — ashenkit . ashenpaw . ashenfall
  — ftm transmasc. he/him. 15mo warrior of shadowclan. formerly mentored by smogmaw
  — muted blue torbie w/ pale blue and amber eyes
  — smells of rainsoaked fern and swamp milkweed
  — all ic opinions!
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — pfp by meg, fullbody by antiigone, sticker by saturnid
  — penned by eezy
  

​