camp where the shadow ends — wishing on dandelions

[CLAYFUR]

The days are too long. It’s unbearable, living without his favorite warrior at his side. He’s spent most of his days tucked away in his den—wallowing, as some would say. He says it’s normal. How is he supposed to act like everything is just fine, like it’s all okay, like he can do his regular tasks, when his mate is gone? His Clearsight, ripped away by some faceless WindClan scum. It’s not fair, and he can’t pretend the pain away.

Winter has shifted to spring, the snow has melted, but it doesn’t matter. Flowers are beginning to sprout, to bloom, but it doesn’t matter. The cheer that followed him into the changing seasons is broken, settling shattered in his chest.

He settles gracelessly onto the new grass, eyes barely blinking open as he does so. He’s been shooed from the den, from his nest, by a well-meaning clanmate. You need to get some sun, they’d said. But he doesn’t need sun. He needs his mate. Gillpaw needs his mentor. Willow and Cicada and everyone else need their friend, their clanmate. Now he’s just a memory, a body, another number in the dirt for WindClan to smugly hold over their heads. The gathering was a living nightmare.

It’s only when he opens his eyes to actually see what’s in front of him that he notices it. There, in front of his nose, is a dandelion, puffy and white. He recalls one of the old barn cats, telling a young Clay stories of blowing on dandelions and wishes coming true. It’s silly, really, a child’s hope to change the world. A wish. He takes a deep, steadying breath, tears prickling at his eyes, and then blows until the dandelion’s little puffs begin to trail away on the light breeze.

I wish he could return to me. I wish he wasn’t gone. I wish we had more time.

He flops his head back onto the grass, face-down, unmoving. He’s done now, for a little while.
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[BIRDMASK]

It's hard for him to be around anyone who made it through the recent Windclan raids, with their battered and bruised bodies and egos. If anyone asked, Bird would say it's the smell of blood and herbs that keeps him from the bloodied fighters, and he would laugh it off and all would be well. It would be a lie, but it would be well. Honestly the orange and white male just can't stand to see so many injured when he hadn't been in the fight. He can't stand the see the cost of his cowardice or bad timing or fate, whichever of the three it is that kept him from the fray. Though, you have to admire the ego in thinking Birdmask could've made a difference.

It's harder to be around Clayfur. Not for the tears, or the cloying sadness that follows him, on those rare occasions he moves enough to be followed, or the silence. Being near the widowed man is hard because it's like looking into the calm surface of the river and seeing himself younger, more despondent, with wounds more raw. Losing a loved one is impossible to conceive and even more difficult to survive, but here Birdmask stands. He hopes Clay will survive, too.

If he really puts his mind to it, he can pretend that Newleaf and all the flowers it brings are a sign that you can survive impossible things. No matter the harsh wind and snow, rain and decay, sun and drought, the flowers will bloom. But the bad things happen too, moon after moon, season after season, so he can't place too much stock in the flowers. It just seems like a little too much credit. (It's probably too much credit to the persistence of bad things, too, but misery is easier to buy in bulk, it seems.)

Birdmask can't, and doesn't bother to, fathom what Clayfur is thinking: blowing on a weird little weed, then collapsing on the ground. His den, even the makeshift one, would surely be comfier. Bird opens his mouth to snark something to that effect, but he can't quiet get the words out, entirely due to a sudden lack of wanting. Starclan damn him, but he relates a little too much to verbally kick Clay while he's down.
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[LILYBLOOM.]

Sometimes Lilybloom has heard cats speaking of feeling like they had lost a part of themselves when a mate or loved one died. Lilybloom had never really thought too much about it until recently. Looking at her uncle she thinks it is true. She thinks a part of him died when Clearsight did. She hopes in time he will recover and even just a glimmer of his old self will return, but looking at him now so despondent and quiet she thinks it will be many moons before any of them see that day.

Clayfur has mostly kept to his nest recently, but he is shooed about by a fellow warrior. He doesn't wander far though, eventually coming to lay beside a patch of dandelions. They were a small unassuming flower and found pretty easily in the territory if you wanted to find them. From where she is sat, Lilybloom watches as her uncle stares at one intently before taking a deep breath and sending little puffs into the air. Seeing him do this she recalls a story her parents told her once, likely the same Clayfur had also heard. A story of blowing on a dandelion and making a wish. Was that what her uncle was doing? Was he wishing for Clearsight? Her heart aches for him when thinking of his loss and his grief. She doesn't know if wishing on a dandelion actually works but she hopes for his sake it does. She wishes it brings him some form of comfort in these dark days.​

 

[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

Snakeblink came out of the fight better than most — he is a coward, and only got a few scratches and sprained paw for his troubles. He throws himself twice as hard into the aftermath as a result: bringing prey to the wounded, lurking around the medicine den in case Beesong needs anything. He tries not to look at Clearsight’s body.

While they sat vigil, he limped back and forth along the border, terrified that Windclan would return to finish the job. It feels wrong to join in the mourning of those who loved him: he only knew a little of the other tom. Only enough to mourn him privately.

He was a good person, a good warrior, by all accounts a good friend. He was well loved. He didn’t deserve to die.

But if it were about deserving, then Windclan would not have attacked, would not have caused so much damage,, and Clayfur would not be left behind brokenhearted. It’s painful to see the easy-going tom brought down by grief, curled in the dark empty nest left by Clearsight’s death or out in the open, only stirring to look wistfully at the dandelion seeds he blew into the air before his head droops once more. Snakeblink wonders what he wished for. For Clearsight to come back, or him to join his mate in the sky? He’s seen too many jumping in the graves of their dearly departed. The look on Birdmask and Lilybloom's face makes him think he's not alone in worrying about that eventuality. They've lost two warriors in this fight, one to his own broken heart, and only time will tell if they get Clayfur back

To be safe, Snakeblink locates a dandelion of his own and blows on it gently, having to try a few times before all the seeds detach. Please let him find peace, he thinks at the wind carrying them away. Don’t take him away. We’ve lost enough as it is.
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 37 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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[CLAYFUR]

The sound of movement around him prompts him to stir, to lift his head from the grass. A few blades of new grass come loose, stick to his cheek and forehead, but he doesn’t seem to notice them. Bird and Lily and Snakeblink all hover around him, probably concerned for his health, and he hates to worry his clanmates—and especially his family. "Oh, hi guys," he greets, voice rough. He doesn’t force a smile—can’t, he finds, with a twitch of his lips.

None of the clanmates surrounding him have said anything, and it sort of feels like pity. He doesn’t want them to feel bad for him, to avoid him for fear of upsetting him. So he decides for them; someone needs to speak up, and it seems like that will end up being him. He tilts his head in the direction of the dandelion Snakeblink blows on. "What’re you all wishing for?" Maybe the lead warrior is wishing for vengeance against WindClan. He should.
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[ YOU ARE THE STARS TO ME ]​

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[TIDEFROST]

RiverClan's territory is bright and warm these days, but it's hardly noticeable, over the darkness that presides over the clan recently. Dark days filled with battle and loss and rebuilding, warriors losing their mates, apprentices losing their mentors. It's sad, Tidefrost thinks, that the other clans just can't live in peace, just can't leave them alone to their own fragments of peace. It's sad, that the other clans just want to destroy everything in their path.

Clayfur is among those who have lost, and Tidefrost can't help but watch as the warrior sits in a patch of dandelions, blowing at the white puffs. Wishing, the black smoke realizes. He can only imagine with all that has happened, what the warrior is wishing for.

He too wishes, but not on the dandelions that Clayfur does. He wishes silently, that RiverClan's days get better soon, that broken hearts can mend. For the sake of Clayfur, for all of them.

It seems like others are wishing too, for when Clayfur finally realizes he has company, he asks about their own. Tidefrost shakes his head, a sad smile on his face.

"You're not supposed to share your wishes," he informs him, a tale he'd heard as a kit, a fact never actually confirmed, "They won't come true, then."

And, stars, does Tidefrost wish these wishes will come true. RiverClan deserves some happiness.
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