- Dec 17, 2022
- 675
- 351
- 63
✦ . ˚ . It is so terribly quiet here. The missing, the dead, and the unwell– each of them have carved a space from this moorland and taken it with them. Some of them would return it. Others...they had merely moved it. He stands above Weaselclaw's patch now. The graveyard where he had been buried, the sacred stones of StarClan tossed aside. He does not have eyes for the other graves now; does not check if their stones still remain. Instead he simply stares. Into the dirt the warrior has halfway tucked an owl's feather. A reminder of their hunt, and more pleasant times. If only he had an enemy's claw to bury alongside it. Smokethroat's, perhaps, but with the time they had spent together he can no longer hate the warrior as terribly as he once had. He was no clanmate, and not someone that he would trust, but a cat worthy of respect and understanding.
It is strange how far his horizons have expanded since Weaselclaw's death. All of the time that they had shared this place means nothing now. They are worlds apart. Did their leader speak true to say that he did not walk the stars? Had StarClan abandoned him? Had they abandoned all of them? Moons ago, this would not have bothered him. Those that guided the mountain cats would surely have welcomed his return. Now, so far from their protection and so estranged from their way of life, he does not know. It is terribly lonely, to look upon the stars and see nothing there. And even still, it is not his own fate that worries him.
Their camp reclaimed, he thinks of the five bundles of fur he had brought to this world. Would the stars allow them to suffer? Would they not see him among them, one day? When his time upon this moorland has come to an end? How would Weaselclaw cope with such a thing? Did it not haunt him, to think that his litter would never again see him? The claw he had laid upon his grave feels suddenly hollow. Far from a worthy gift, and not what he could ever need. Tired in a way that entirely cut his strings, Sunstride sinks to the cool earth. His head rests upon his paws. "Surely you would not stand for this, my friend," he murmurs, a great sigh finally leaving his lungs. It had been compressed there for far too long. Here, alone, he is....comfortable. Even in speaking to one now long gone. "To stand apart from the stars you had worshiped so. They guided WindClan. I had thought they would guide you." Treacherous words. He speaks them quietly.
"I recall the strength you drew from them, and cannot help but question it. Did she speak truly? Did they abandon you, a warrior who should stand among the best of them?" Seaglass eyes lift to the stars. Ashamed of his own aching throat, Sunstride sniffs. "They have never answered before. I had thought myself unworthy. If you are, I surely must be as well." Pale eyes close. Behind the lids, he still sees the glow of starlight and the shape of his father. His paw lifts to rub across them until the colors smear and prickle away. He hides himself within the grasses and groans lowly, as if it would keep his worries from StarClan and Sootstar both.
"If you have answers for me," he asks them both, pawing along the feather, "I am afraid I will need them."
It is strange how far his horizons have expanded since Weaselclaw's death. All of the time that they had shared this place means nothing now. They are worlds apart. Did their leader speak true to say that he did not walk the stars? Had StarClan abandoned him? Had they abandoned all of them? Moons ago, this would not have bothered him. Those that guided the mountain cats would surely have welcomed his return. Now, so far from their protection and so estranged from their way of life, he does not know. It is terribly lonely, to look upon the stars and see nothing there. And even still, it is not his own fate that worries him.
Their camp reclaimed, he thinks of the five bundles of fur he had brought to this world. Would the stars allow them to suffer? Would they not see him among them, one day? When his time upon this moorland has come to an end? How would Weaselclaw cope with such a thing? Did it not haunt him, to think that his litter would never again see him? The claw he had laid upon his grave feels suddenly hollow. Far from a worthy gift, and not what he could ever need. Tired in a way that entirely cut his strings, Sunstride sinks to the cool earth. His head rests upon his paws. "Surely you would not stand for this, my friend," he murmurs, a great sigh finally leaving his lungs. It had been compressed there for far too long. Here, alone, he is....comfortable. Even in speaking to one now long gone. "To stand apart from the stars you had worshiped so. They guided WindClan. I had thought they would guide you." Treacherous words. He speaks them quietly.
"I recall the strength you drew from them, and cannot help but question it. Did she speak truly? Did they abandon you, a warrior who should stand among the best of them?" Seaglass eyes lift to the stars. Ashamed of his own aching throat, Sunstride sniffs. "They have never answered before. I had thought myself unworthy. If you are, I surely must be as well." Pale eyes close. Behind the lids, he still sees the glow of starlight and the shape of his father. His paw lifts to rub across them until the colors smear and prickle away. He hides himself within the grasses and groans lowly, as if it would keep his worries from StarClan and Sootstar both.
"If you have answers for me," he asks them both, pawing along the feather, "I am afraid I will need them."
-
OOC. Strange whispers
and weeping noisescan be faintly heard inside the camp at night… It seems to be coming from the graveyard…? Is your character frightened? Do they feel the need to investigate or would they rather remain hidden in the grass? It turns out the noises are Sunstride himself. Took a bit of a twist with this one! -
✦ . ˚ . FORMERLY SUNNVAR. HE - HIM - HIS OR THEY - THEM. DEPUTY OF WINDCLAN. 4 YEARS OLD. PENNED BY REVELATIONS. —————————
—— a tall auburn tabby with thick fur and bright glacial eyes. sunstride is broad and bold– a creature standing above most of windclan, though not a beast beyond it, with fur that flames red and deepens to a burnt amber with every stripe. his eyes, in comparison, are a pale summer's blue, still as bold as the rest of them. he radiates confidence and self-assured authority.
- "speech"