sweet lullabies // death

[CORVIDTONGUE]

// cw for cat death. summary is, he died in his sleep from old age.

He'd been renamed Corvidtongue, and it was a fitting name- one he took intense pride in, cherished it more than any other name he could have been given. But just a few days after the meeting, Corvidtongue had felt a lot more sluggish than he normally did. He'd taken to retiring quite well, resting in the river here and there when he had the energy to walk with help from thw apprentices of the clan. Though, today seemed to be a bit more rough on his joints.

"Are your joints hurting again, Corvidtongue?" An apprentice, no younger than six moons, had asked him. The flat-faced tom shakily lifted his head from his paws and smiled a toothy, yellow smile. Nodding his head, his wheezing voice left his throat soon after. "You can go fetch me one, youngin'. I'm gonna.. Gonna take a quick nap." He watched as the apprentice eagerly nodded her head, scurrying away to go catch a fish from the fresh-kill pile or the river, or.. Wherever she decided to get it. As he laid his head down, he felt ragged breaths leave him.

..And then he stilled. Silent, no breaths leaving him further.

Corvidtongue had passed in his sleep, and when he opened his eyes, his daughter, his beautiful Daisy, was standing before him with a sad smile.

"Pops.. Welcome home." She spoke calmly, and Corvid felt tears slip from his eyes; happiness, regret. "I could have saved you, my little flower." He croaked out sadly, standing from his corpse to gently push his head against her own. She laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, you let me become my own cat. I will never regret dying in that battle. For my group." He sighs as she says this, and as he watches from a distance as the little apprentice returned, dropping the fish at his paws, he feels a twinge of guilt.

"Corvidtongue? Corv- Oh, Stars.. Some- someone help! Corvidtongue's not waking up!"

And yet, the corpse of Corvidtongue had died with a satisfied smile. There had been no pain. He was free of aching joints and wheezing lungs.

"It's time to go, pops." Daisy states, and Corvid turns away to join her. With one last look at the little apprentice and gathering RiverClanners, he dissolves- becoming one with the stars.​

 

[willowroot]

( ♬ ) willowroot has known corvidtongue for many moons more than she's been apart of riverclan. a frequent wanderer, she often found herself out by the moors, sharing tongues with the elderly gentleman and sharing gossip about the various inhabitants of the territories. all this to say, her heart sinks into her stomach at the desperate cry. she's sitting in a quiet corner of camp, having just finished grooming, and the yowl for help spikes her fur up again. he won't wake up! the words ring through her head for a moment before she's on her paws, dashing towards the source. the small apprentice stands over the motionless body of the old tom, and horror lifts the fur on willowroot's spine.

"oh corvid, no." she whispers, grief resting heavy in her throat as she comes closer. she fights the cry that builds, knowing that sobbing can wait until later. she'll cry to herself in the dark but right now, a clanmate needs her. the slender muzzle bends down to nudge the man, and she feels the cold beginning to set in, though his body is still as relaxed as it had been in life. it's as if he's sleeping, she notes. the old warrior lived a long life, wil knows. they can tell themself in the back of their head that he deserves to rest, but those words hardly will penetrate the shuttering breaths that now come from her throat. "rest easy, my friend. may you meet daisy in the stars. thank you for everything, old man." as memories flood her head, the smoke warrior stands. "we must clean him up. he needs to be honored." they attempt to touch their tail lightly to the apprentice's side. ​

( THE LIGHT YOU GAVE ME )

 

[CICADASTAR]

− ♱ ABOUT : cicadastar is ever familiar with death and it’s looming shadow, always present. always waiting. the screech draws him to his paws before he could feel it, muscles feeling too light, too electric, burning like hot coal beneath toughened pawpads. the leader bursts from where he’d been letting his muscles rest deep within the willow tree, eyes wild and alarmed and — there was a body on the ground. unmoving, ragged. terror grips him and each step forward feels as if he were knee deep in mud, ears slowly slicking back to the curve of his skull, “ oh . . oh, no. “ he breaths, tone quiet and scratchy with a sudden, piercing grief. the elder wasn’t close to him, not really ; but the loss. he was so tired of loss. cicadastar inhales until his chest aches, pivoting his head to the side and squeezing thin eyelids until his brow scrunched — slowly, he releases it, deflating visibly, shoulders slouching and drooping to the ground behind him, “ he walks amongst stars now. “ it’s soft, to no one in particular. frigid eyes find willowroot and he searches their smokey features, then to the one who had shouted to begin with. bless them, “ starclan will welcome him with open arms, im sure of it. “ he will be amongst the fallen, the loved. the man had seen it, and it was beautiful.

slowly, he settles aside the elder. willowroot was right, he should be cleaned up, “ we should . . honor him until morning. spend a last night with them before he passes on. “ after that . . he would ask a warrior to assist him in burial. cicadastar sighs, lowering his head to press his nose respectfully into the thin fur of the elders shoulder, closing his eyes.

out of character information translations

• − CICADA ; he / him, roughly thirty seven months old, riverclan leader
  − tall black smoke tortie chimera with icecap eyes and curly fur, homosexual
  − speaks with a german accent, former marshlander, penned by antlers
  
  
• none.

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[BEESONG]

Beesong had not known Corvidtongue, had only spoken to him in passing. Regardless, a cat was lost tonight. Another death to add to the tally.

The screech is what brings the medicine cat from his den, swaying as the world spins. There, in the center of the clearing... Corvidtongue lays, motionless. The breath of life does not inflate his flanks. Even when faced with the corpse, Beesong he does not feel the way that he should. The strong waves of emotion that's crashed over everyone he sees, he does not experience... The wailing, the tears, the sorrow. There is only a numb ache of the familiar.

Numbness to death. What a funny thing. He could only be grateful that it was an elder who'd lived his life to the fullest, rather than a child who'd barely begun theirs.

With half-lidded eyes glazed over, Beesong retreats into their den once more. Rosemary and mint. The only thing that they could offer the deceased... It would disguise the stench of death. They'd hoped that they wouldn't have to use these so soon, but they'd collected them anyways. Always plan for the worst.

They gather up the aromatic herbs and shuffled out of their den.

Silently, Beesong stops at Cicadastar's side, glancing at the leader with a blank expression. There is nothing he could say that would help, no herbs that he could offer that would ease the sting. So he does not offer any words of hollow sympathy. He drops the herbs at Corvidtongue's side and begins his work, spreading the scent of the rosemary and mint over that sickly sweet smell.

Instead, Beesong puffs. "At least he had the chance to grow old and wrinkly, yeah?" Maybe his voice lilts too high, maybe his nonchalance is too abrasive for loss.​

 

[SMOKESTAR]

Apprentices were chatty little things, it was often times annoying but he mostly ignored it up until something of interest reached his ears. 'Corvidtongue wasn't moving', was the jist of the hushed and alarmed little voices that kept a distance from the scene where he could see Willowroot and Cicadastar in the distance, only noticing Beesong's smaller form by the leader when he had started to approach in cautious steps. The large black tom had no trouble peering just around Cara-er-Willowroot's smaller form to see the motional old cat looking for all the world like he was asleep, but a sharp eye could tell there was no movement otherwise; not even the faint twitch of a whisker caught by an exhaling breath. He wasn't moving, he was gone. Smokethroat didn't know the elderly tom-cat well, but he liked his sharp attitude and penchant for speaking up when others might not have; it was the sort of bold personality to be admired. Though given his obvious lack of closeness he tilted his head to the side and stepped back to allow others who were more familiar with the tom approach without crowding the area but not before giving a polite dip of his head and doing what he did best-offering his one beneficial trait: his strength. "I'll see to it we have a proper spot for him dug out in advance..." Somewhere the river could see but not touch, shady and hidden but available for visits. They could probably line it with pebbles from the river to make it more obvious, he thought, recalling Clayfur's seashell collecting and how he considered it nonsensical but perhaps there was a point to be made for the personal touch of something lighthearted to such things. He'd ask if the other tom had ideas, he hardly did outside the bare minimum...
But that all aside he was quick to move away, give them all space and perhaps-admittedly-the smell of death had his fur rising into prickling points along his spine as he thought back to cats who didn't get the comfort of dying in their homes near their loved ones.

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riverclan --- warrior--- tags