sensitive topics LOST IN THE PLACES YOU LED ME TO [ ✦ ] vigil

[Starlingheart]

Even in death, her son wears a smile on his face.

When the patrol had first brought his body back to camp she had thrown herself upon it and wept until she had no more tears to give. A part of her, small and irrational, wants to go to the moonstone and beg StarClan to please just give him back. Surely at this point they would take some pity on her right? Or would they continue to strip her of everything she has ever loved until she has nothing left? She wants answers, wants to know if it was Granitepelt picking them all off one by one until there was nothing left of his former clan or was it a fluke? A freak accident that has happened not just once but twice. And why him? Why her son, who wanted nothing more than to be loved by those around him, who always tried his best to cheer her up whenever she was feeling down? Was it some slight against her or had StarClan suddenly decided he was too good for this world, that his purpose was better served there than here, with her, With them?

Either way, it's not fair.

She had labored for as long as she is able to. When finally she stands to her full height, her back is sore from the amount of time hunched over, grooming cinnamon fur with a gentle rasp that is reminiscent of the way she had cleaned him as a kit. Never in a million seasons did she ever think she would be laying one of her children to rest before her. She was supposed to die an elder, her kits strong warriors who had beaten the odds surrounding her as she closes her eyes for the final time. A mother was not meant to bury her own children. Especially not when they were this young.

Now, she had moved his body into the clearing with the help of clanmates who, once he is laid out for all to see, back up to give her space. For a long moment, she sits there with her nose pressed tto his cheek, her single eye shut tight. "I'm so sorry so so sorry" she whispers into his bright fur. She wishes so desperately that things could be different, that life here didn't have to be this hard. How is she expected to continue with so many holes she now carries in her chest?

Finally, she tears herself away from him but her gaze does not leave Nettlepaw's body. She does not look up as she finally addresses the clan. "may StarClan ligh-light your path" she says, her voice stuttering, her breath hitching. She wants nothing more than to curl up next to him and sleep, like he was a kit again. If she could just curl herself around him again she could protect him from all the bad things in this world and the next. But she has another kit to think about and for him, for her clan, she has to be strong.

​

 

[pipitclaw !!]

It is a failing that could not be rectified... and stars how it made him boil underneath his skin with a sun-fire heat that demanded release. Blood for blood. Flesh for flesh. He thinks of aggravating comments made against his kin, about how this boy and his siblings, that they were no-good, that they had poison veins inherited from a cold-hearted, selfish father. A tom Starlingheart had loved, had poured her soul into and gotten only frigid ice in return. Had her little slice of heaven picked apart and shredded like one might pick meat from bone. She needed to stop crying... if not for her sake than for the aching of Pipitclaw's own heart.

She looks so small, looming behind her son like she might crumble into dust and disappear into the breeze with him, so he might not have to walk to StarClan all alone. He has family there, waiting... the chimera knows this in theory, but it does not ease the volcanic thirst for vengeance that burns his throat, sears it closed so not even a single kind word could be summoned.

Another life to carry on his back... He would live in all the ways that Nettlepaw couldn't. Would give his cousin the chance to experience the good... the freedoms... if only vicariously. If only through a red tether of blood and slightly better luck. As if a reminder of his own mortality, his scar-littered body aches where flesh-pink scars have long since closed and healed. How many lives had he been spared... could he have given one of them up willingly to prevent this?

Searching the silent stars with his questions, the night-rusted tom hears nothing. What cold comfort are they... watching on high.

Afraid she might break apart but driven to comfort her, the smoke-dusted warrior does not shy from his aunt like others do... he walks with intention, with a confidence and sturdiness he is sure she will need to sit at her side, to reach a paw towards hers, to lean gently against her shoulder and offer his warmth where she might feel she has none left.

All of her life... all of her love had been poured into this one, lonely act... to see her boy cared for one last time. To see him as well-groomed as he would've been to receive his warrior name.

Nettleshine maybe, he thinks to himself, staring at the easy smile resting on a sleeping face. He is no creative savant, not one capable of giving a name such as this... but if he were to ride on Pipitclaw's shoulders now, maybe they could both pretend he'd made it that far.​

 

[ONYXPAW]

I WISH YOU COULD SEE THE WICKED TRUTH — So many unfortunate others had been around to bear witness to the finding of Nettlepaw's body, but Onyxpaw had not been among them. Instead she had only see him as his body had been carried into camp, knocking the air from her lungs in one horrible, relentless swoop. Seeing his body - his corpse - had filled her with a cold fear, a frigid terror that was far harsher than any anxiety she had felt in the past. Death was always a possibility for anyone in the clan, but Nettlepaw? He had just been an apprentice, just like her. He hadn't deserved such a fate - not that any of us do - when he had still been so young. Not even a warrior yet, torn away from his friends and his family and all of his clanmates. Torn away from Starlingheart, and for what? What was the meaning of it all?

What plan does Starclan have for him? Why did they take him away?

As horribly selfish as it was to think, Onyxpaw found herself hoping that they didn't have a similar plan for her. Although her parents had tried so hard to instill faith in Starclan in her, that didn't make her any more eager to follow in their glimmering pawsteps. Regardless of what Starclan could see, she just didn't want to die. Not when there was so much life ahead of her. Not when there were so many things to do. Not when she didn't even have a warrior name yet. The same future luxuries that Nettlepaw had been deprived of.

There was no grand plan on her mind as she approached her fallen peer's vigil, tears glimmering in her eyes and a lump in her throat threatening to strangle her and bring her to her belly. No special or comforting words swirled around in her mind, Onyxpaw feeling rather lost at sea as she looked towards the grieving and hunched over form of Starlingheart nearby. What were you supposed to say to a mother who had lost her son? Who had lost someone you so desperately didn't want to end up like? She decided that silence was the better option, especially considering Pipitclaw had already pressed himself comfortingly against her side. There was nothing she could offer that he couldn't, especially considering she hadn't been close to Nettlepaw in life.

A fact that she heavily regretted now, considering she would never have the chance to get to know him better.

Instead of heading for Starlingheart's side, she made her way over to where Nettlepaw laid, looking deceptively peaceful with his pelt meticulously groomed. She touched her nose lightly to his shoulder, trying hard not to shiver at the cold that greeted her beneath his fur. "M'sorry they decided to take you so soon... I don't think you deserved that. You should... you should still be here, with us." The words felt blasphemous as soon as they left her muzzle, yet she knew that she believed them. Regardless of what plan Starclan had for Nettlepaw, she earnestly felt like he would be happier still in Shadowclan, alongside his already long-suffering mother. "I at least hope that they treat you kindly. Please." It was the only other thing that she could think of to say, stepping back from Nettlepaw's body and scrubbing frantically at her own face with her paws - trying to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall.

CAUGHT UP IN A RUSH ✦ IT IS KILLING YOU

• 
  ✧ shorthaired tortoiseshell point and chocolate point chimera with blue eyes
  ✧ 5 moons old; ages the 1st every month
  ✧ bisexual; crushing on yellowpaw
  ✧ daughter of monarchroot and sleetjaw
  ✧ shadowclan born; silently loyal to her home
  ✧ difficult to befriend; shy to most except yellowpaw
  ✧ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ✧ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[SERPENTSPINE]

its.. difficult, to be around starlingheart these days. with each loss and tragedy she faces, the im sorrys and im here seemed to fade into the background, leaving only whispers and guilty side - eyes in its wake. it wasn’t her fault — his heart lurches at the thought that she may think it was, but serpentspine knows better. from his ducked head and through a heavy curtain of onyx lashes do sunrise eyes watch as she whispers into the fur of her slain son and all he can do is ache. there were no words of pity or solace that could comfort the shattered she - cat any more.

soon, pipitclaw approaches her anyway, and the tom wonders briefly if he would have too, if he'd known the role of an aunt. of kin outside his older sibling. perhaps he wouldn’t be so selfish, so protective of the fragile heart inside him that keeps his eyes trained away from the medicine cat’s face. the only place to look otherwise, of course — a smile nears up at him, blood lodged in the gaps of needlepoint milk teeth. onyxpaw creeps forward, says her goodbyes in a way that makes his throat tighten ; tears stain the mottled fur of her face. they threaten to well at his, despite how rotten he was with kids and despite his insistence on being anywhere other than where nettlepaw ( and any other youth ) happened to be.

it wasn’t fair, but life rarely was.

𝐌𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 . ⊹ . ࣪ ˖ 𓄒 ࣪ 𝙄𝙎 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒

• i.
  
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  SERPENTSPINE ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𓆦 HE / HIM, WARRIOR OF SHADOWCLAN. JAGGED xx SHADOW, YOUNGER BROTHER TO CHILLEDSTAR. EIGHTEEN MOONS OLD, SMELLS LIKE BRACKISH WATER & COPPER. PENNED BY ANTLERS ---—-----
  plush black tom with ghost rosettes and blood orange eyes. serpentspine makes for a sickening, alluring figure ; like filth - ridden flora sprouting from the putrid wetlands, he forges himself into a disgusting, enchanting thing with age. born the color of old, clotted blood ; feathered black and kissed russet by the sun, oil - slick and sheening. compact, shorter than average ; broad at the shoulders down to the forearms from a life of crouching in the undergrowth. forged like the writhing reptiles that permeate his homelands, long and spiked ; jutting the thinner parts of his coat along a jutting spine, splintering fur cast in spikes up a slim, vertebrae - bumped neck. pretty and strangely soft featured amidst his sullen clanmates, framed by heavy lashes and a smoldering orange gaze. he holds himself with a draping posture, dramatics built into his very form.
  

  a tom haunted by his past and known to do anything he can think of to outrun it. coping with hedonism ; flamboyant and flirtatious, but known to run at the slightest hint of emotion.

  
  

​

 

[lilacfur]

An awkward bulk of fur and limbs stand across a cold, grinning form of what she once called nephew. She knew in a dull sense of comfort that his smiles had reached the stars and his laughter had become the moonlight. That his wild games and silly jokes would still be heard by his fallen kin and he would finally be able to meet his grandmother and grandfather, waiting for the rest of them to join his side. He is still happy, he still felt loved in their family's embrace, but Lilacfur felt selfish. It wasn't good enough.

She wondered who greeted him from silverpelt. Had Pitchstar come to collect him, easing the pain with his signature smile? Or had it been Amber who could have wrapped his wooly self around the tom and comforted him in the last fleeting moments. It made her wonder who would come to collect her, who would embrace her as they crossed into the stars.

With only half the confidence Pipitclaw had she rest on the other side of Starlingheart and sit tall. She could be strong enough for the both of them, if she had to be.​

[ i need the clouds to cover me ]​

 

[CHILLEDSTAR.]

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

---

the cats of the marshes are no stranger to loss. they can't be. constantly hunted within their own home, even by those who used to call this place their home. targeted at their weakest. but no more would they settle for it. they were raking action. they were taking control. just... not right now. right now, they sat in silence, right beside their brother, and their gaze lingers ahead but ultimately at nothing. they said it before, and they will say it again. this shouldn't have happened. it hurts that it happened, and the pain his loss left behind? grief was a funny thing. and not funny in a way that leaves a stitch in one's side. but funny in a way that wasn't funny at all. grief sucked. literally sucked ones life from them, overwhelmed by pain of losing a loved one that you'd never see again. it's hard to move on from something like that. but, much like every death, they have no choice. they must keep going. but they'd wish that it would just stop for a while.

rest peacefully, kiddo. you truly knew how to smile over everything.
​

 

[smogstar]

Death has a solemn duty in the progression of the natural order. Those who live seek to create and preserve life, while death collects what lives and gives way for a new start. Albeit terribly dire whenever a young and up-and-coming apprentice dies, the clan doesn't go off-balance because of it. Life is for the living, who will continue to flourish so long as death allows for it. It was a lack of good sense and judgement that claimed Nettlepaw's life—neither ShadowClan or death accomodate those qualities, and such an early end to him came.

Powerless against the grief saddling Starlingheart and her kin, Smogmaw is left frustrated by this undiluted display of emotion. Her son's corpse lies before her, before them all, a cold, defunct heap. Just another lost among the many in her bloodline's catalogue of misfortune.

It isn't until he hears the lament in the medicine cat's wail does a seed take root within the tom. Tragedy fractured her immediate family many times over, solely for circumstance. The arrival of a litter shone as a beacon following her brother's untimely departure; tragedy smothered that light some seasons later, and it hasn't let up since.

This is her first and only litter by law, and seeing her children waste away one by one without the agency to change it tears at a parent's very being. Hers is a life lost in itself, broken down so far beneath ShadowClan's weight, her sorrow a festering sore never to heal.

Dulcet eyes acknowledge the single eulogy given. It hails from Onyxpaw's weeping maw, voice choked and broken, beset by sentiment a fledgling apprentice like her does not deserve to know yet. Others grieve in a wordless hush, heads lowered and eyes glossed. His tail curls with uncertainty at the show before him.

Their reaction was unbefitting. He cannot recall a vigil wherein silence dominated. Not once. It gnaws at him, makes it difficult to settle. His pads itch and his pelt bristles, the stillness, so foreign and despondent, is jarring. He'd rather they wailed their pain than endure this eerie quiet.

Smogmaw trains his frown into neutrality before formulating a decision. "This didn't have to happen," he mouthes lowly on his approach; the deputy refrains from stepping as close as family members and blood-kin, just near enough to fully glimpse the dead tom's resting expression. Seeing it brings his own to a similar contortion. "I'm certain Nettlepaw has been welcomed into StarClan with open paws," he speaks louder. "He'll shine bright among our ancestors, as he did alongside us; and he'll continue to do so, so long as we remember him."

He withdraws, then. A respectful bow of his head concludes the deputy's attendance to Nettlepaw's vigil. Smogmaw endeavours to push past mourning muzzles as he departs for his nest in hopes of finding reprieve of a mental sort.​