sensitive topics LISTEN TO THE WIND BLOW | body disposal

[SILVERSMOKE]

Silversmoke hadn't known what to expect when he'd come across the body in the woods, how it would look, how it would feel to look. Bobbie had not offered him the mercy of a killing blow, yet... as they took it in turns carrying the WindClanner to the easternmost border, the Lead Warrior selfishly wished that the chimera was still alive, if only to agonise over every deep bite from his teeth and each bump of rough terrain on bloodied skin. The walk was silent. Left with his thoughts, the spotted tabby let his grief become anger towards his enemy, let his mind mull about the many ways that the moor-rats could pay them back. Blazestar's life, as put before, had been worth more than their whole territory. Penance wasn't his decision to shoulder in the end, Orangebloss- Orangestar, would be left to decide what would be done with their enemy, but it was nice to imagine a strong SkyClan victory; unhelpful, but nice all the same. A clearing ahead shook him to his senses, odd eyes blinking firmly at the rays of sun that pierced through the pines. Stepping through them revealed the loner lands, the journey's end for many SkyClan patrols.

Not this one, WindClan bones did not belong on SkyClan soil.

A gesture with a tail came from Silversmoke, a polite order for his clanmate to rest while he carried it the rest of the way. In one motion, the spotted tabby heaved the WindClanner up. 'What did they ever feed this one?' He was bigger than most WindClanners, but still smaller than Blazestar. Ears flattened at the thought. 'You soft, lovely fool. I'll miss you.' Silver turned to the other SkyClanners, the fur in his maw the perfect excuse to not break the awkward silence he'd found himself committed to. The Lead Warrior nodded, then stepped forward into the open, trusting his clanmates to have his back against whatever lay ahead. Paws tangled against paws as he carried Harrierstripe forwards, each wave of frustration at the staggered journey resulting in his teeth sinking further into the cold scruff. A tail length, two tail lengths, three tail lengths, another fox length on top of that. Far enough away to where he was certain that no vultures or coyotes would accidentally drag the WindClanner back to their territory. Jaws slackened, and he let the body fall unceremoniously to the ground.

Blood darkened the fur on Silversmoke's neck, moments later, he realised he could taste the copper on his fangs. "We can take him further, if need be," he looked to his patrolmates for their opinions, tongue swiping over his maw. "I, for one, am ready to forget about this foxheart." If only it were that simple, to turn ones back on an enemy and forget all the harm they'd ever done. The conviction didn't leave Silver's unyielding tone, even as he realised he was lying to himself.

@FIGFEATHER , @DUSKPOOL , @TWITCHBOLT
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[FIGFEATHER]

Figfeather on the other paw does not wish for further suffering upon the WindClan foe.
She hates him, she hates WindClan, she had expected to want to see his body burn upon laying eyes on him.

But she doesn’t.

He’s still, a strange serene look on his face despite being bloody and battered. Up close Figfeather sees he is just a cat like her, with four paws and whiskers, a heart that once beat. He was just old enough to have been a warrior, but the marmalade she-cat knew him as Harrierstripe from gatherings.

Figfeather is angry for him for what he has done, confused on why he’s done it. The hurt he’s caused SkyClan will never fade but even in this dark hour Figfeather doesn’t wish for anymore suffering. Not on anyone, not even WindClan.

It almost feels fox-hearted not to bury him, actually. Un-catlike. Unholy. Figfeather feels barbaric as they toss him to the snow for the foxes and crows to pick at his body. Was this really what StarClan wanted of them? She can’t imagine they smile at the SkyClan warriors now, though understanding of their pain, for snooping so low.

Figfeather’s whiskers twitch uncomfortably as dread sinks into her heart. What a fool she had been to think this patrol would’ve made her feel better. ”We best go further or we’ll be eating our own tails when foxes make their way over our border.” She settles for.

♡ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Figfeather
  » SkyClan Warrior
  » She/her . AMAB
  » Mentoring Wolfpaw
  » Mate to Fantastream
  » Sire to Sangriakit & Coffeekit
  » A red tabby she-cat with a mangled leg.
  » ”Speech”․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A foe in battle whose ability to strategize can shift tides.
  » Excels in strategizing and pre-planning her battles.
  » Fights defensively and aid to her clan to victory.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

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[TWITCHBOLT]

Twitchbolt and Figfeather had a kinship, there. Dumping a body for the crows to eat, it felt like somethin that Kuiper would have done- felt like he was repeating the crime that had been committed against Centipedepaw, all those moons ago. Sickness clung to his throat, his eyes aswim with discomfort, at he gazed down at the raggedy body. The Windclanner, torn to shreds by vengeful claws.

He couldn't blame Bobbie, of course. And the anger that swarmed beneath the skin of every living Skyclanner, that could not be faulted either. But something felt wrong, twisted, about leaving him here. As if- as if he was still alive, and they were depriving him help to bleed out in the snow. Twitchbolt's jaw tightened.

He nodded vaguely at Figfeather's suggestion, gaze noticeably empty, looking but seeing nothing at all. "Bit- bit further. Should... should we cover him up?" Who were they to give a burial? They weren't his family, his twisted kin who'd somehow turned him to killing Blazestar, for ripping a new family apart. And who was he to think they should? This was an enemy, as plain as one could ever be. Twitchbolt jittered, eyelids spasming in discomfort, independent of each other. An odd, growling sigh crackled in the back of his throat. "Just with some snow, or something..." It wouldn't be wise to linger digging a hole really, but... something had to be done, right? Something to make it feel... a bit more right, in this terrible squall of wrongness. "Not much, just... might keep the foxes busy..." Oh, he felt sick.

But what mercy had they been offered? Twitchbolt's voice trailed off into nothing. Whatever they did, it wasn't going to fix anything- it would just force them onward, as ever.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[DUSKPOOL]

anger makes you stupid . stupid gets you killed .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

A lumbering presence, Duskpool gazed at the bloodied body with a familiar numbness, born out of grief and regret, but anger did not come. Maybe it made him a fool, but he’d grown tired of the fiery rage that once filled his heart, younger and naïve, the smokey warrior had survived out of spite during his darker days battling morbid beasts that sought nothing but the blood of his allies and friends, those he had sworn to protect, if not for his peace of mind, but to wage vengeance on everything that had been taken from him.

He’d long grown out of that stage, but sometimes it bled into his everyday life like a ghost, not always seen, but never truly gone. His lips nearly drew upward in a bitter smirk, burning molten glazing over at the long-forgotten memory.

With a grunt, burning molten grazed past Twitchbolt and Figfeather’s frames, mangled ear flickering in thought. “Best we cover it up, ain’t much, but with the snow and leaves, it’ll keep it from attrachin’ a fox.” He rumbled in agreement, gaze shifting to Silversmoke. “I can carry him the rest of the way if ya prefer that, ain’t much further.” He rumbled, tone monotone. “Tuck ‘em near some foliage, out of sight from anythin’ wanderin’ by with a nose for corpses.” His tail brushed the ground, numb to the all-encompassing hurt and grief that struck him far too many times to count, Duskpool’s tone remained fluid, steady-sounding despite the deadpan tinge in his voice. ​

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thought speech​

 

[SILVERSMOKE]

Eyes shifted between each member of the patrol, mirroring their uncertainty the longer he did not budge nor blink. He thought it might have been the corpse itself, few SkyClanners had been cursed to spend this long around one, but then they mentioned going a bit further. Nostrils flared and Silversmoke did not complain further, he had no room to when he had asked for their views to begin with. Slowly, he swiveled his head towards Twitchbolt, ears gently flicking at his words.... his justifications. 'Keep the foxes busy?' He wanted to question, but his cranium did the work for him, twisting like an owl in an exploration of the phrasing that came from his peer. Duskpool chimed in next, offering suggestions of how to cover the corpse, offering further reasoning as for why they needed to do that. "Soil or snow, Orangeblossom didn't want a burial," he pointed out, tone etched with confusion. He stared for moments longer, then, as a pale nose pointed towards the corpse, the penny dropped. "Ah," he muttered instinctively, face warm despite the cold that bit at his scars. Hurriedly, he licked the blood away from his chest. They were better cats than him.

"We'll go a little further," he cleared his throat. He would not offer the WindClan dignity for their own sake, but for his clanmates, who saw the it ill-befitting of a SkyClanner to be so callous. A muddied paw rose off of the ground, black claws flexing within. 'You would have never given us such respect, had we swapped places.' Silversmoke snorted at the thought; any corpse of SkyClan would have been pelted with insults, picked at by WindClan kittens and then crows, he would not be surprised if it'd remained in the moor-rat's camp as a trophy far past being skeletonised. 'Perhaps it is for the best we never gave you an excuse to do that.' "Go on," he nodded sternly at Duskpool's offer to carry Harrier the rest of the way. As for the issue of covering him up... "I suppose giving anything a taste of cat blood right now would be squirrelbrained. Hide him with snow and leaves until you feel comfortable, I...." He shook his head, heart racing. "He'll stop looking like a cat and more like mousedust if I have to touch him again." The sodden fur below his mouth proved as such, though, admitting it felt shameful.
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