camp sink me in the river // heathermoon's vigil

[cottonsprig]

[ this takes place shortly after his body is found <3 ]

Cottonpaw weaves one of the peonies found around the tom's body into his fur, notching the petals in place so that when he is moved to his final resting site, they do not fall from him. This experience is not a new one for the she-cat - not only has she attended and helped in vigils before, but she's hosted a few on her own as well. However this is the first that she's hosted of someone near and dear to her. Heathermoon was more than a friend for Cottonpaw, and though she has stopped shedding tears, her chest still hurts.

She plucks the remaining of wayward fur from his claws, flicking it aside as if it means nothing to her (it means so much but she tries to not think about it.) More peonies sit off to the side for any other cat that may wish to leave some with his body, however beyond that, she decides that he's ready.

"Heathermoon -" she starts only after she takes a slow step back from him, but her gaze does not leave his peaceful expression, "- as we knew him, was a spiritual tom. I'm certain if he were here right now, he would reassure each of us that he's happy amongst the stars. Maybe our fallen kin know him better than we ever did..." she trails off with something of a laugh. She's going to miss him, and for a breath everything in her body hurts, but she presses on. "One day, we will avenge the life taken from us. However for today, we will celebrate the life he got to enjoy, and soon we will sleep soundly knowing that he will not hunger nor will he hurt any longer."

(She thinks of the fog. She thinks of her mother, who most certainly somehow had a paw in the mess. She thinks of how Shrikethorn, how StarClan, seemed scared. She hopes Heathermoon is not scared.)

"We will bury him at moonhigh," she decides, "take your time now - share tongues and share stories. Rest assured that he is listening, laughing, and sharing this moment with us, too."​

 

[BLUEFROST]

Another life stolen, through tenuous fibers, by Sootstar. Bluefrost sits away from her sister, away from Heathermoon—gazing upon him for too long fills her with strange, cloying guilt that rests on her tongue and burns. There is pain in Cottonpaw’s blue eyes as she prays over the tom’s body. Bluefrost closes her own eyes, wishing him safe travels to StarClan from this mortal coil.

“He saved me, once. From a tunnel collapsing.” Her voice is soft, edged with something akin to sorrow. “He was a brave and skilled tunneler. I worked alongside him since we were kits, and he gave everything he had to his Clan.” She tilts her face toward the sky, where the moon sits low, ascending.

At moonhigh, Cottonpaw mews, he will be buried. Until then, she invites the Clan to come forth and share tongues. Bluefrost feels awkward as she approaches Heathermoon’s body, but she forces herself to touch her nose to peony-sprinkled fur and murmur, “I wish you happiness in StarClan.”

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Bluekit . Bluepaw . Bluefrost, she/her w/ feminine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 14 moons old, ages realistically on the 14th.
  — mentored by Sootstar ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
  — windclan warrior. sootstar x weaselclaw, gen 2.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  lh blue and white she-cat with emerald eyes. aloof, dignified, poised, haughty, composed, distant.
  
  

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[CELANDINEPAW]

Death, to the young Celandinepaw, seemed like a distant sort of sadness to her, as though it were a mere tick in the ever-roiling cycle of life rather than an insurmountable wave of grief to surpass with only one's own claws to grip. After all, there were many things that passed and yet were never mourned. The flowers upon the fences, the mice in the barns, the ticks on the pelts. The molly had never had to grieve, either. In the kindled warmth of her encapsulated home, melancholy rarely settled in the cobweb-dusted corners or the plump bellies of her kind. But now, as the golden tabby came face to face with the lifeless body, she did not know how to parse it within the narrowness of her naivete. Heathermoon, of which their name had just been learned by listening to the elegy of the medicine cat apprentice, lie peaceful with their eyes lidded shut, like they had simply drifted off to sleep rather than had life wrested from their unassuming paws. Peonies lie to the side of the corpse, like they beckoned to cover the unsightliness of demise, quiet calls in the way they waved in gentle winds. Grief weighed heavy on the cats at the vigil, so much so that even she knew it would be inappropriate to ask anything of Cottonpaw and Bluefrost. He will not hunger nor hurt anymore. That's a good way of looking at it...

Celandinepaw dipped her head in a silenced show of respect, closing her eyes in a rushed facsimile of Bluefrost's unsung prayers. At the barn, there had never been any intricacies of this sort. Life simply went on, and any baggage of the heart would either have to be carried upon the twine-thin back or left at the gate. To revere the dead was a foreign concept, and her way of thinking of such an innumerable force was that of the blasé barncat, as if death was but another element to reckon with, much like the rippling tides and singing seasons. In many ways, she did not see much use in letting one's mind be consumed by the past. The past would not feed others and would not keep them comfortable in winter's wrath. Still, she respected this vigil for what it was. Windclan must care about their kin a lot. Enough to want a dead body around so badly. The thought peeked through her mind not as a caustic rebuttal to the unfamiliar ritual but a lovelorn, almost apologetic statement for the dead that she never knew. May you find happiness in the stars. At least you live on there. She wondered if she would head upwards, too. Was that a luxury for only those born upon wild lands?​

 

[dimmingsun]

His heart twists, and Dimmingsun has to wonder if this moment ever gets easier.

Of course not, he reminds himself with the kind of melancholy he feels often but rarely displays, there's nothing easy about this.

Heathermoon still largely feels like a 'paw to him. The past few moons have been quick as a rabbit bounding across the moor, there one moment, gone the next. Dimmingsun feels for all of his Clanmates- but especially the apprentices and newly graduated warriors, those whose achievements should have cultivated into a sense of victory. The tunneler's stills betrays innocent youth even in its unnatural stillness.

Cottonpaw promises them revenge — that's the only way he can view it right now. He's desperate to hold onto the idea that Granitepelt will pay for this, that justice will be served even if Heathermoon can't possibly be brought back to life to enjoy a warless WindClan.

"Rest well," is all he manages to say, meant for Heathermoon and StarClan only. Dimmingsun tucks a few more petals into his fur; unnecessary but somehow still meaningful. He had watched this cat grow from kitten to warrior- and now he's been taken from them. The act of decorating that tabby pelt just serves to give Dimmingsun some more time before it's time to shield his too-cold body from the rest of the world.

Big paws all but drag themselves away from Heathermoon's body to allow space for others, and on the way back to the outskirts of the gathered cats, he glances at Celandinepaw. Already she has to experience this- or maybe it's a good thing, because no matter how many bits of fortune finds them, death and grief are sure to follow. Dimmingsun retreats and sits close to her, willing her to save any questions for a later time — and his chest aches in the meantime.

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INTO THE NIGHT ✦ I DRINK AND DRIVE

• 
• DIMMINGSUN ✦ WINDCLAN WARRIOR
  ────── HE/HIM ✦ PENNED BY KARMEN ✦ 04/15
•  

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[SNAKEHISS]

He and Heathermoon had been friends once; or, more so, they shared a pact. Snakehiss had not allowed him to become a true friend, if only because he was only using the tunneler to gain social leverage. However, Heathermoon was a devout and loyal clanmate. Granitepelt had killed him. That crony of Sootstar's, one of whom he had once shared an allegiance with, had killed a good tom.

Snakehiss and Heathermoon had not spoken since before Sootstar drove the rebels out of WindClan. He had been a clanmate that Snakehiss should have listened to instead of turning his back on him completely. Snakehiss should have gone with him—with all the rebels. Things could have been different. Now, he never would have had the chance to say goodbye. Stars, an ugly guilt gnaws at his heart—he feels remorse.

Curse Granitepelt. Curse that no-good, scum of the earth, stinking marsh cat. He never should have been in WindClan in the first place. Sootstar should have left him to die in the outlands.

A gaze heavy with emotion falls upon Heathermoon's lifeless form, though he does not move when Cottonpaw invites the clan to share tongues with their clanmate one last time. Snakehiss does not feel he deserves to, not after he had treated Heathermoon. The midnight-colored tom averts his gaze when others share gentle words with the tunneler's spirit. StarClan, Heathermoon... forgive me.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙟𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨

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  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾
  snakehiss
  

  — he/him; moor runner of windclan
  — long-limbed black tom with green eyes, a small white chest patch, and multiple scars
  — father to violetkit, cricketkit, and privetkit (duskclan)
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

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