until we meet again | discovery

[Sablemist]

Sablepaw is unaware of just how long she remained curled at her sister's side, mourning the hollow shell Stalkingpaw left behind. An ebony paw carefully cradled her sibling's own for a few moments longer before. Her touch beginning to retract from the ivory splashed apprentice now that she'd slipped off into the stars. The salty brine of her tears had long since run dry, leaving behind nothing but the burning sensation of dry, irritated eyes. Time was an illusion, it's ticking minutes lost to her within the wake of her grief. She hardly noticed the shadow now looming over her frame. It failed to dawn on her that someone would have been searching for her to aid in the next round of hunting patrols. To which she barely turns a delicate head to acknowledge them. "She's...gone." She whispers, tone empty. Hollow. Her paws ceaselessly kneaded the ground as if by some miracle she could seep comfort from it. But she can't and it doesn't.

Her mind buzzes like a rattled wasps nest, churring both angry and sorrowful thoughts. With the loss of riverclan's proper home Stalkingpaw could not receive the proper burial she deserved. Her faith in the journeying group also suffers a blow. Leaving her to ponder if they would've even made it back in time to save her sister from yellowcough, if they come back at all. Sorrowful half-lidded eyes continue to gaze upon the bicolored body as she finally lifts her head from Stalkingpaw's back. "I don't want her buried here...she deserves to be home." She croaked, stifling another sob. They deserved that, at the very least.

✿ ≖≖ riverclan apprentice / twelve moons old / she/her ≖≖ ✿​

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[STUMPYSPOTS]

Stumpyspots didn’t mean to stumble upon this. She didn’t mean to get herself apart of this. She stands there, dumbfounded and unsure of what to do as Sablepaw expressed her grief. ’She’s… she’s gone.’ A phrase she’s heard to many times the past two moons. He’s gone. They’re gone. All of it.

For the longest time she is quiet.

’I don’t want her buried here… she deserves to be at home.’

Stumpyspots gulps, ”I… I’m sorry, kid.” is all she finds herself able to say as the black and white she-cat stifles a sob. The calico wishes there was something she could do to help, something she could do to comfort the RiverClanner and get her… friend? Sibling? Clan-mate? Back home.

RiverClan land would be far to dangerous and even so, they didn’t have enough warriors to risk the task for. She looks around helplessly, not sure who she should go to or what she should do next. What a difficult season this has been for them all.

*.☽ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Half Maw . Stumpyspots
  » ShadowClan Warrior
  » She/her ․ Twice Widowed
  » Calico she-cat with rounded features.
  » ”speech”․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A heavy hitting foe capable of standing her ground
  » Excels in slow, but powerful blows and kicks.
  » Fights to defend and protect
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

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[WASPRATTLE.]

The universe has not been kind with all that it throws, as of late.

The sickness alone, is enough to drive him to queasiness— a deep - seeded discomfort he has been with for moons now. Every practiced notion of patience and stability is thrown to the wind, and he ashamed for it. Ashamed of what a mess it makes of him, after all this time. Golden eyes held with a passive glaze, two - toned paws held together... It was a poor attempt at hiding the sorry state of himself. Unkempt curls and whiskers bent out of place. Were he anyone else, such a soul would be one he looks upon with kindness. That, and— careful consideration, thought put into the state of being, and of all beings.

For himself, it is unacceptable, a prickling feeling tucked beneath tight curls. He owes his clanmates his due diligence; and the capability to change. Silent apologies coat his tongue, but he is pitifully silent, a tall figure on the edge, finding himself beside Sablepaw by mere coincidence.

It would be a lie to say he knew her or her sister well, and such a thing is a fault all of his own.

He has seen this before, though. Heads lowered in grieving. Eyes that are rhumey and downcast. The death of ones kin— of a littermate, tended to be poignant. Perhaps he holds the right to empathize. This, too, is something he has experienced more than once, if only temporarily. Truthfully, he did not know how much longer it would be so. His stomach lurches, and he prays the instability in him is not as obvious to all others as it is to him.

( Of course it was not )

He hides his lack of word beneath an air of solemnity. How sad it is— he thinks— that a stranger ought to say something before him. A kind stranger this was, that he finds himself beside. She deserves to be home. Again, dear empathy.

Wasprattle would never quite live it down, were he to spoil things with a misplaced word, or strange tone. He resigns himself to silence; a dip of a long head and sloped muzzle.​