- Jun 20, 2022
- 93
- 14
- 8
// for anyone reading, this thread is backwritten to take place during the final rogue clear-out battle in SkyClan's camp
mentions of death and willingness to die/giving up on life
@brookpaw @OXBOWPAW
He has known grief before. He knew it when his sister had been discovered slain at the border, a rogue's stench clinging to her bloodied form. Buckgait had helped him through it then, her support unyielding and ever necessary. But then she had gone, too, plucked from him as easily as a worm by a bird. That grief had been different. He'd been hollow, and heavy, and numb. His kits and younger brother had been the only reason he had kept going. It was them who needed him more than anything, he knew. And even if he hardly showed it, he loved them more than anything in this world.
This grief...with Meadowheart's corpse at the forefront of his mind...this grief is furious and violent and bloody. He sees red as he charges into the final camp, his claws already sticky with blood but he wets them easily with a few slashes to a rogue here, and rogue there. He is blind with rage. He would kill every rogue in this damned forest to make sure his remaining two kits aren't harmed and taken from him like his son had been. So when he sees them cornered, with two rogues far larger than they are looming over them with fangs bared and fur bristled, he does not hesitate. Lightningstone ducks his head with lifeless eyes trained on his enemies, lips pulled back to reveal fangs poised to tear. He pushes towards them with the speed of LeopardClan and collides hard with their bodies, bones clattering and knocking and bruising. He skids across the grass when he lands, now finding their attention on him. And he pauses, his mind growing quieter.
It's okay. This is okay. It always should have been me, not him. Now it will be me instead of them.
Chest heaving with heavy breaths, he lets his eyes fall shut, awaiting the fangs to tear into his throat and mangle him like they had done to his son. Better him than his daughters. He would gladly die so they may live.
mentions of death and willingness to die/giving up on life
@brookpaw @OXBOWPAW
He has known grief before. He knew it when his sister had been discovered slain at the border, a rogue's stench clinging to her bloodied form. Buckgait had helped him through it then, her support unyielding and ever necessary. But then she had gone, too, plucked from him as easily as a worm by a bird. That grief had been different. He'd been hollow, and heavy, and numb. His kits and younger brother had been the only reason he had kept going. It was them who needed him more than anything, he knew. And even if he hardly showed it, he loved them more than anything in this world.
This grief...with Meadowheart's corpse at the forefront of his mind...this grief is furious and violent and bloody. He sees red as he charges into the final camp, his claws already sticky with blood but he wets them easily with a few slashes to a rogue here, and rogue there. He is blind with rage. He would kill every rogue in this damned forest to make sure his remaining two kits aren't harmed and taken from him like his son had been. So when he sees them cornered, with two rogues far larger than they are looming over them with fangs bared and fur bristled, he does not hesitate. Lightningstone ducks his head with lifeless eyes trained on his enemies, lips pulled back to reveal fangs poised to tear. He pushes towards them with the speed of LeopardClan and collides hard with their bodies, bones clattering and knocking and bruising. He skids across the grass when he lands, now finding their attention on him. And he pauses, his mind growing quieter.
It's okay. This is okay. It always should have been me, not him. Now it will be me instead of them.
Chest heaving with heavy breaths, he lets his eyes fall shut, awaiting the fangs to tear into his throat and mangle him like they had done to his son. Better him than his daughters. He would gladly die so they may live.
