// any character, who wishes to, is allowed to have taken part in digging chilledstar's grave. also, every character present is welcome to assist in the burial process!

A corpse in a pit. Cold as its namesake. Alone, laid out and inspected, licked free from the blood which defined its final moments. Their body has moved places a great many times on this night. First, alive and breathing, dredging along the ShadowClan marshland. Second, as a limp, heavy mass, dragged back into camp and splayed before Clanrock for all to mourn over. Third, and forever lastly, residing in a shallow grave dug exclusively for them. To rot, decay, break down in isolation. Separate from the world they'd lived in, separate from those they'd ruled over. A lonely conclusion, as morose and fitting as Smogmaw could stand to arrange.

Eerie quiet envelops the territory's burial grounds. No wind rustles through grass blades nor rushes in reeds tonight. Pristine moonlight washes down on everything it touches like milk, uninterrupted by cloud or fog. The kindest lighting StarClan could grant upon its newest member.

This occasion lacks the formality, the ceremonial nature of the recent vigil. At least per Smogmaw's direction thus far. Were it daytime, it is likely Smogmaw would have seen attendance from every clanmate. It is possible he would have even made attendance compulsory, though with reluctance. With it so late in the night, he has allowed cats to excuse themselves over needing their rest. Or, having no desire to dwell on their deceased leader for a second longer. Perhaps both are the same in Smogmaw's eyes.

"A firm 'thank you' to the cats who've helped dig the grave and clean the body." Low and sincere. A smidgeon warm. It does them well to know their labour hasn't gone unseen or unappreciated, what with the overall dreariness dominating ShadowClan at this time. Smogmaw moves up beside the hole where their body awaits. It is hardly deep enough to warrant precaution tumbling in head-first, though the tom watches his step regardless. "Chilledstar will rest easy with the combined efforts. Already, we've repaid their lifetime with a few heartfelt words at their vigil; if there are any final thoughts you wish to share before them, now is your opportunity."

Smogmaw adopts a poise then, searching all present cats, present feelings. Forehead creased, thoughtful as he ponders Chilledstar's life, his leadership, and their sudden, unexpected departure. "Elsewise, I will proceed with burying them shortly. Wouldn't mind a couple extra pairs of paws here, to help fill in the dirt." The tom's head dips—mournful—but posture doesn't slacken as per an instinct he has to suppress.

*+:。.。 She thinks about the first time she heard them laugh.

Her claws are uncomfortably swollen with dirt and mud, no longer able to fully retract. She debates shaking them, hoping to at least loosen some of the grime from between and under her nails, but she ultimately decides against it. Instead, as Smogmaw drones through his sentimentalities, Duckshimmer's mind wanders. It's improper to stare at her paws, so she keeps her eyes carefully directed ahead while she flexes her digital muscles. The dirt within and beneath her touch is cold.

The cold makes you want to bundle with the ones you love.

Love is cultivated, somehow, during the season's coldest cycle. When snow threatens to steal your food and stiffen your nest, filling you with dread and grief for all the life that has since died and buried itself, the act of loving others somehow becomes just a little more noticeable. You feel the way they care for you, the cold itches beneath her paws, clawing higher, tendrils curling through her fur despite the breeze's silence and green-leaf's heavy blanket of warmth even beneath the night's lightless sky. She can hear their voice, whispering in her ear, loud only because their memory is still fresh. Loud...only for now. And how much more they love you in those moments.

Smogmaw invites the rag-tag group of gravediggers to speak their last words to the fallen. Your permission is greatly appreciated she wishes to snark. But proper ladies know to hold their tongue, especially when, despite the anger simmering beneath her ribcage, Smogmaw is doing as he's done in so many other burials and vigils. Stoic, robotic, patriotic. What a blessing - she keeps her mouth shut.

It's unladylike to avoid the subject at hand.
She knows that, so with a carefully even breath, she gently filters the clouds from her vision with a wave of her lashes. She observes the dirt, the frozen corpse, the miles, and miles, and miles between herself and that cat she...well...
I knew you were going to die - unladylike.
Asshole - worse.
Please, please, come back, please, the nest is too cold, the world too different, I want to know you, pad after you, be flustered and warmed by you! I want to laugh with you, come up with new puns with you, beg you to forgive my idiot children when they do idiot things and know you still, somehow, love them despite all that they do - love me despite all that I do! I wish to know you, I wish to fight with you, plan ahead with you, watch the sunset fall and the next day rise, count the stars, make wishes, and see the future! I want to tease you for growing grey hairs, whine to you when it's my turn, ask you about Geckoscreech, ask you if I could ever be good enough, tell you how much I admire you, how much I respect you, how much you've warmed my nights and made my days brighter - PLEASE! - what's the point?

And as you do... Their words were soft in her ears, a hum of breath that fogged the air, speaking of love in simple terms so an imbecile like Duckshimmer could understand. She'd thought them foolish as her heart itched with the planting of a seed. Envy, before she knew love was something more than a fever dream.
Was it not?

"I appreciate you" she says, her voice as cold as her claws, as the mud beneath and the corpse she'd helped bury.
Chilledstar had taken Duckshimmer's warmth with them, so they'll feel it there, in the stars, she's sure of it. They gave it to her in the first place, it was only fitting she gave it back. To borrow she thinks, letting her eyes close, until I see you again. So enjoy it while you have it, you self-sacrificing piece of fox-dung.

A feverish thought to finally smile at.

    DFAB— She/Her — Bisexual
    33 moons — Ages 1 moon every month real-time
    Mother to Singepaw, Swallowpaw and Sneezepaw
    Shadowclan — Warrior

    Physically medium | mentally hard
    Attack in bold #ffa98f
    injuries: None currently
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Reactions: willie

Chilledstar had been there from the very moment he took his first breath into this world. He had been born under their reign to follow and obey their commands. So it did felt a bit strange to think of them as gone and buried underneath the dirt. To know they were no longer going to be the cat to follow and take commands from. It for sure would be strange but not something difficult to adapt to. Accepting death were just a part of life. Chilledstar had served their purpose, their duty had come to an end and now starclan had come to take them back home to the stars. One day they would all reunite together.

There was not much else to say. Lividpaw was unable to feel any grief for their fallen leader who was known for self-sacrificing themselves. In the end that had been their downfall. To him, Chilledstar had always been one who made foolish decisions who so eagerly sacrificed their own life for the clan. Some would say it was noble and honorable, something all warriors were expected to do for their clan, especially the leader, and while Lividpaw agreed living obidently by this very words to him that was all Chilledstar had ever seem to be able to do. At least to him that had been a bit disappointing. Shadowclan had always been drifting but never...moving.

Lividpaw who was one with very little words left the speeches to his clanmates as he find comfort with his own silence. Instead he made sure to make himself useful as he walked up to Smogmaw soon to be Smogstar to help bury their leader's deceased body with dirt whenever the time was ready for it. He already felt a new breeze was coming to shadowclan after this loss.

Chilledstar's reign had come to an end, and soon a new one would begin.


swallowpaw 09 moons polygender any pronouns shadowclan apprentice

Death is such an odd thing. It leaves his clanmates tear strewn and grief ridden, and yet Swalloawpaw remains untouched. When he looks at the body laid out before him, he feels nothing - there is an absence, yes, of the life that once was, but it doesn't particularily botehr him. just as new kits are born, other cats die - isn't that just life? Still, he's learned by now to at least act like he is bothered - to be respectful. And so joining his mothers side, he blinks down at black and white form of the once-leader - " Goodbye, " he offers quietly. They're with starclan now.

actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes'

T E L L - M E - N O T H I N G - L A S T S ( - L I K E - I - D O N ' T - K N O W ?- )


It is not cold to her, despite the moonlit-tones the ground is washed in, despite how eerie her clanmates appeared standing over Chilledstar's grave. Glowering oranges stared at the body, as if she could sear her frustration deep into their side. As if Chilledstar would open their eyes and make some horrid joke, one that would make said oranges roll and turn away to simmer for a pawful of days. No, it was hot, her paws didn't want to touch the ground, her ears were weary of standing tall, half suffocated in the Star's bearing upon their shoulders.

The breeze that caught the area all but mussed her own fur, one that was unwashed and ungroomed from the stress of all of this. Scalejaw had not cried, not shed a tear for the body that laid in the grave, and perhaps she should have. The well had run dry when her mate died in the Great Battle- it did not spring now, despite how... how angry it made her to know she couldn't even shed a tear for them. Smogmaw was speaking- cold, calculated, everything she expected from him.

Everything she could expect from herself, if she stood in the same place. There was no better way to get through this conversation, this situation, this event, to be cold. Now is your opportunity. Duckshimmer is near-violent in her words, the way it breaks the night. She could almost see the moonlight curl back at the admittance, and weary ears did stand tall again. Swallowpaw gives a similar sentiment. She feels her ears burn, her paws hot with seared marks from standing so still, so stoic in the face of this.

And when Scalejaw finally speaks, her tone is quiet, words near-broken with grief, and yet, a cruel promise of an end all cats knew they'd face some day. "Be seeing you." Scalejaw inhaled slowly, vision lifting towards Smogmaw now. Glowering oranges stare for a long moment, the fresh scars on the side of her neck, her shoulder, burned with an awareness as she took his image and turned it to strength. Her shoulders drew back, head lifted, replacing the heat at her paws with the cold wash of unfeeling she needed.

Scalejaw stepped forward when all others have made their remarks, pushing pawful after pawful of dirt into the grave. The browns, turned gray in the intense moonlight, splatter and cover smoked fur. Emotion chokes her briefly, but it is swallowed, given away with each escaped breath as she works.
  • "speech"
  • SCALEJAW 🌧 she/her, warrior of shadowclan, sixty three moons.
    A SH black/LH blue smoke chimera with glowering orange eyes, tufts of fur that make her look dragon-akin, and scars that she wears with pride. motherly and stern attitude, with a warm streak for clanmates and a cruel streak for enemies.
    mentoring no one
    padding after no one / / mother to bonerattle, nightwhisper, and shadefall
    peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
    penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.