sensitive topics tomorrow we fight — death

[JAGGEDSTORM]

you're like snow , beautiful but cold .
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

/ mentions of gore, nothing descriptive but enough to give you some direction of what happened. there will be a summary below for anyone who isn't comfortable ^^

The willowy male realized his mistake the second he laid eyes on the thieving rogues taking prey that his clan ( his mate ) needed to stay alive which spurred his actions. He realized the risks. He had calculated them to the littlest of details. He was alone. He had no backup to rely on. No one but his determination to prove to them that this was his home and he would lie down his life to protect it.

It hadn’t been a fair fight, but Jaggedstorm expected no less as teeth sunk into soft flesh, yowls rippling through the year like a knife, dirt and leaves kicking up in the fray. He fought and fought until his limbs grew tired, weakened by starvation and stress for his mate that he hadn’t seen coming.

He realized it then as teeth rained down, sending the rogues scattering with prey that Jaggedstorm dragged himself to camp, hoping he could see Lostmoon one last time, but even the stars denied his wish, laying in a pool of his own blood just lengths away from the camp’s entrance with ragged breaths.

It was where he was now with gasping breaths, eyelids fluttering. I’m sorry. He willed his apology to meet Lostmoon’s feverish ears. It seemed fate did not want them together because he was leaving his mate again, but it seemed real this time.

He would die. That was the simple truth. He would die just breaths away from camp. He grunted, willing tired paws to push away from camp, no longer wanting someone to stumble on his body just moments after his death. That would be cruel and Jaggedstorm did not wish that trauma on anyone, barely hiding within the crackling leaves that brushed against open wounds.

I love you. He did.

Jaggedstorm fell limp.

/ jaggedstorm caught rogues trying to hunt within skyclan border where a fight broke out over prey until jaggedstorm was seriously injured, dragging himself back to camp where he died just a few lengths away from the camp's entrance ​

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thought speech​

 

[DAWNGLARE]

Death has been everywhere, as of late. At the very least, it had been predictable. A dry nose, sudden heat. Their withering away was at least confined to his den. Death was wreathed in sickness. Swept up in feverfew and honey, he has nearly forgotten what it was like to sustain fatal wounds. The smell of blood catches him unexpectedly, as he passes by the bramble entrance to camp. He considers ignoring it, for a moment.

He does not. He dredges himself from camps walls, and there lies Jaggedstorm, dead. The medicine cat blinks, unable to be anything but surprised, in the moment. A soft utterance of an oh, is spoken, lips part in the realization. He had gotten here, too late. An unfamiliar stench clings to his pelt. Poor lostmoon, distantly, he thinks, and it’s a strange feeling to.

He turns tail in search of lavender, so that such a thing would not continue to rot outside camp. In passing, just before disappearing into the maw of his burrow, he would say. " ...Jaggedstorm is dead, " and perhaps, more alarmingly, " I cannot tell… who did it. " His frown is deep, before he is gone to forage for lavender.

OOC 𓆩♡𓆪 9.16.2023 𝘚𝘠𝘕𝘖𝘋𝘐𝘊 𝘚𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘖 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘏𝘐𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎

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• ( 𝙒𝙃𝙔'𝘿 𝙄𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙎𝙊 𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂? ) DAWNGLARE Medicine Cat of SkyClan. Mentoring Fireflypaw
  —— He / him , deeply confused by the use of other pronouns
  —— Currently 56 moons old. Mated to Mallowlark
  
  Unsettling and strange, Dawnglare bears a unique perception to the world and stars above on top of a generally unpleasant disposition. Holds others to uniquely impossible standards and himself undeniably above the rest.
  

  You may find him kinder to others than is typical, exhausted from the yellowcough blight and heart heavy in a way he has never felt.​

  Mood is decided by dice - rolls per thread, with the exception of some important threads

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[TWITCHBOLT]

It wouldn't stop. Was it stupid to expect mercy from relentless time, from this relentless world? Twitchbolt could never say he'd been feeling optimistic, but... deep down, part of him had thought that maybe some benign force would thing... that's enough, now. That's enough, for the moment. How stupid it was to even temporarily wander down that road. Of course it would not end.

The look on Dawnglare's face was odd- a frown he'd seen painted upon the baffling tom's face more than once, though there was a deep twist to it. An underlying strangeness, something disturbed, as he uttered not only that Jaggedstorm is dead but also I cannot tell who did it. Shock painted itself plainly upon his mahogany features, olivine eyes shooting wide with shock and terrible nerves. Ever-quivering, he took a shuffled step forward- before pulling himself away. No, it'd be... stupid to burst through the mouth of that den, demanding more information, knowing what was in there. The dizzying weight of yet another dead Clanmate struck him, then.

Twitchbolt sunk to a seat, frantic pupils darting around to search the surroundings for his apprentice. "It- it... we- we..." Stupid stuttering- he wanted to hit himself over the head with pain tree, had he the strength for it. A shivering gaze glanced toward a growing crowd. "We- we should bring him... bring him home," Twitchbolt said, glancing toward where Dawnglare had hailed from before heaving himself to his paws. Tangled with the pine scent was the muted metal of blood.​

penned by pin ✧​

 

[edenberry ?!]

Standing behind Twitchbolt, the apprentice stood completely still. Normally loud, rambunctious, overly excitable and lost to the tone of the beating drum of war that had been playing in growing volume, now there was only silence. It felt like their tongue had fallen out of their mouth and left them completely lost to communicate without it. The leaf-strewn pelt of someone they would've called a friend... someone who had taken the time to teach them something new, something special. Their stomach felt sour... thinking of those blackberries. About the ruddy hue of the juices that had been dotted upon the deputy's nose by a loving, if not mischievous sister.

It was the same red.

How could it be the same red...

Awkward legs stumble stiffly closer, barely able to feel where they touch the earth, hardly aware of the way their lips were quivering. "He can't...." A sniffle, a stubborn foreleg lifted to wipe at blurry eyes, clenching their jaw to keep the warbling at bay. "Jaggedstorm....?" Who gave a shit what Dawnglare said... there was no way Jaggedstorm was dead! They couldn't believe it. They refused to. Pressing a paw insistently at the unmoving tom's side, they insisted in a whining voice, "Pleeassse get up... Tell Dawnglare..." The longer their prodding goes ignored, the quieter their voice gets, "please.... tell him you're..."

"...... still here.... "

It wasn't FAIR. They'd hardly had any time to get to know him... hardly had a chance to pester him for more information on berry bushes.

Suddenly, the sweet treat they'd been so eager to obtain with his help... didn't taste so sweet anymore.​

 

[APPLEFROST]

Death did not often disturb the pointed molly. She had seen enough for an entire Clans worth, StarClans worth four seasons ago. Even before then, when Alice had brought her and her littermates out to the forest they had lived through hunger, dehydration, attacks from both cats and non-cats alike. It had become a sad trend that no Clan, no season, was safe from.

Leaf-fall was typically a season of harvest. The last 'hurrah' from the forest as it dropped an abundance of resources of their prey to feed on, indirectly (or purposefully?) providing a final bounty of plump prey. This particular season, though, they were not met with that kindness. Thieves made sure of that, and the lack of numbers from their journeying Clanmates caused a struggle tenfold. Applefrost hadn't known hunger since the days after the Great Battle, and now it was the first thing to greet her after returning home.

Death did not disturb her, but the sight of Jaggedstorm's twisted form did. The trail of carnage left in his wake, agony expressed in every mouse-length of blood behind him. This was not peaceful, this was not even a merciful death. It was painful, it was tragic, it was suffering.

"Edenpaw." Her voice is gentle, but there was little use coating reality with false belief in anything else but the truth. "Our Lead Warrior says we should bring him home." They must come back to what's present, and Twitchbolt's authority (though when did he ever use it?) was gentler than her sisters. Perhaps the apprentice would be more willing to listen.

She moved to stand over the silvery patched form of their Clanmates and grasped cold fur between her jaws.​