your coat weighs down the hanger ✘ DEATH

[SMOKESTAR]

—————————————————————⊰★⊱————————————————————
Lift paw, set down paw, repeat. In his head he counts to nine. One for each life, one for each added weight upon his back. One, step, two, step, three, step…

Never had a walk been such a demanding task than it was now. He carried not only the weight of his own aching heart but the burden of stars strewn across his back in mottled fur, the skeletal and still form of his life’s devotion and purpose, wreathed in red and smelling of old soil and rotting mulch. He couldn’t leave him, the stars knew he couldn’t stand the idea of it even if it put him further at risk; even if he left his own life on the line for a corpse. It wasn’t just a vessel, he knew the cat in it once, shared his nest, was comforted by his presence. Loved him. Wholeheartedly.
Now he didn’t really feel anything, paws muddy and each step an effort of labor that threatened to drag him down. He was exhausted, blood caked a black pelt - fresh wounds parted the fur on his side, near his face, his ear torn and his teeth stained red.
Lone orange eye dulled, faced forward. Flickers of something sprawling and unilluminated.
Smokethroat can smell the confusing mess of scents, clans intermingled together and overwhelming one another but in the depths of it the river drew him forward. He’d made it back, somehow…in one piece. The bloodied and motionless form of Cicadastar upon his back, still dripping wet from his crossing of the river itself. He knows he should call out, knows he should say something to get anyone’s attention but he finds himself sinking down beneath the weight finally, a turn tosses the limp form to his side - it's hard to tell who died and who didn’t with how heavily he lay upon the loamy and damp soil but he breathes in haggard breaths the make his entire body heave. The moon was so bright this night, you couldn’t see a single star.
In the distance he sees silhouette, looming shadow-y figures rising up to approach and he recoils inwardly, closes his eye tight to the flickering shades he can just barely focus on - the world is spinning and he's terrified of where he might fall.

——✘ when does ripple become a tidal wave ———✘ when does a candle become a flame

• 
  This thread takes place prior to the battle threads and after THIS ONE-SHOT ! Cicadastar is dead and Smoke looks as if he got into a fight.
  Tagging @Snakeblink who saw Smoke slip out and might be waiting around.
  
• 
  
  
  Smokethroat
  —⊰⋅ Deputy of RiverClan
  —⊰⋅ He/Him
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  —⊰⋅ Black tom w/vitiligo & one orange eye.
  —⊰⋅ penned by Rai
  

​

 

[Snakeblink]

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

Although he pretended to lie in repose as Smokethroat slipped out of the camp, Snakeblink did not truly sleep — how could he, with anticipatory grief and hope mingling in his heart like a ball of thorn? With fear for Smokethroat, for Cicadastar, for all of their river-bound family? To his credit, he manages to wait some time before he pulls himself from the sleeping pile of their clanmates to pace up and down the border of their improvised camp instead: thanks to the stark moonlight brightening the way, he has little trouble keeping his steps quiet, careful not to wake anyone else by sound or touch. He would not want to explain the source of his anxiety to anyone, lest they join him in it.

It would feel too much like a vigil.

Smokethroat makes no sound as he returns: one moment there is only the impenetrable night and the next he steps in sight, white patches like starlight in the distance. For a moment he seems monstrous: a two-headed, uneven form, too many legs dripping with water and something darker, rivulets of pure black running down patches of white fur.

Only when the deputy collapses, lying motionless save for the rise and fall of his breathing, does the chimeric hump over his back register as one particular chimera — and only then does Snakeblink realize what it means, that Cicadastar is there; that he had to be carried over the border; that Smokethroat cannot take a step further. Only then does he realize it is blood staining the white of their mingled pelts.

He doesn’t even have enough breath left to sigh in horror or grief. He slithers quickly up to the two bodies instead, his heart in his throat.

They both look dead, for an instant, and it is barely a comfort to know it is true of only one of the two cats. Slowing to a stop at a distance from Smokethroat, Snakeblink gazes at the terrible scene with… not surprise, not shock, but a grief that he cannot speak around. It strangles him, keeps him quiet; probably for the best. He can only muster a short, broken purr, both mourning and paltry attempt at comfort, as he inclines his head, his eyes dry but stinging.

Shifty, restless eyes are drawn again to the blood that he can see under the silver light. Though reluctant to break the heavy, holy silence, he chokes out a reedy whisper: ”Do you want me to go get Ravensong?”

Ill as their medicine cat is, he doubts Smokethroat would want any other to approach right now — be it for his injuries or funerary rites.​

——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 46 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

​

​

 

[SOOTSTAR]

Sootstar would have loved this scene, if it had played out any different. In the heat of battle with her claws against his throat, anyones claws, it didn’t even have to be her. One last battle between two long-time enemies who once upon-a-time had been soldiers under the same leader.

It was so strange seeing his skeletal figure fallen and lifeless.

Many would likely expect for Sootstar to yowl out with joy, to sigh with relief that Cicadastar of RiverClan was dead at last. Yet there is the strangest, sliver of grief that edges its way into her heart. Sootstar does not understand it, why does she mourn even in the slightest? Perhaps because even she knew that for Cicadastar to die to rogues had been a waste, she had been certain he had much more time ahead of him.

Sootstar does not get close, she is not RiverClan and she would reasonably not be welcomed. When the day comes that she dies, she prays her deputy doesn’t let any of these clans close to her still body. ”Cicadastar was righteous and firm in his beliefs, he was a good founder for RiverClan. The clan’s will not be quick to forget him.” Sootstar would meow, her voice carrying a surprising amount of gloom.

She of course, would not feel grief for Cicadastar long at all. It was already fickle the way it was, he had been her enemy, a threat to herself and WindClan, it was still good he was gone, yet a shame it was nontheless. Sootstar wasn’t sure if she was grateful he’d no longer be there to bicker with her at the gatherings, or if she would miss it.

☾ INFO BATTLE

• 
  » Soot ․ Sootstar
  » WindClan Leader
  » She/her ․ Mate to Weaselclaw
  » Tiny blue smoke she-cat with green eyes.
  » "Speech" ․ thoughts ․ attack
  
• 
  » A high-stamina foe who can be difficult to hit.
  » Excels in quick, short moves.
  » Fights to kill and maim
  » Fatal attack of choice is an underbelly dive.
  » May powerplay minor harm. Can powerplay healing

​

 

[DARKWHISKER]

ੈ♡˳ . ° ✦ Darkwhisker is not asleep when Smokethroat returns.

When others begin to stir around him, his head rises from his makeshift nest. Whispers and horrified gasps echo in his perked ears. They are the foretelling of something terrible, and his heart is already sinking before he realizes why.

He doesn't want to look, but he does. Dual-toned eyes follow the stares of his clanmates, reflecting their horror when he sees it. Smokethroat, sprawled across the muddy earth with flanks heaving. Blood coats him like a grisly painting, spattered across his dark fur where wounds have been torn into skin. And, next to him…

"Stars, help us…" Darkwhisker gasps. Cicadastar. Even stained with crimson, the limp form of his leader was instantly recognizable. Haunting memories resurface, despite his attempts to suppress them; Cicadastar bleeding out onto the sacred soil of his kingdom, rogues swarming him like buzzards as they rip life after life from him. Day and night, the young warrior had prayed for the river king's return. And now, his prayers have been answered in the worst way.

Cicadastar's flanks do not rise like Smokethroat's. He is eerily still. Though the intertwining scents of all five clans overshadow anything else, the metallic tang of blood suddenly clogs Darkwhisker's nose.

This isn't right. He stares, unblinking, at Cicadastar. Waiting for him to get up, to draw breath again. Because RiverClan is not RiverClan without Cicadastar. From the moment Darkwhisker had opened his eyes within the nursery, Cicadastar had been there. Endowed with nine lives by StarClan, blessed to rule over the riverside. To Darkwhisker, Cicadastar seemed immortal. A flame that would never be extinguished.

Even if Cicadastar had struck his father… Even if Cicadastar had always been quick to resort to violence… Even if Darkwhisker hadn't always agreed with or liked the smoky-furred tom, he could not imagine RiverClan without him.

"He'll be okay," Darkwhisker says, voice shaking, to no one in particular. It sounds like he's trying to convince even himself that it's true. "They'll both be okay. They just need to see a medicine cat… Where's a medicine cat…? Someone… They'll be okay."

He trails off when Sootstar speaks up. It is an immediate response for his fur to bristle and his ears to flatten, and the shock that disperses ice throughout his veins leaves him unable to keep his kind composure. A glare is sent Sootstar's direction, the unshed tears brimming in their depths diminishing the effect. How dare she talk about Cicadastar as if he's truly dead? How dare she speak with sympathy when she has sent her soldiers to spill RiverClan's blood over and over?

The scars across Darkwhisker's face prickle with a distant memory. How dare she?

✧　°　.　✶　.　°　✧​

ooc information

• —
• 

  DARKWHISKER — HE/HIM ･ 17 MOONS ･ RIVERCLAN WARRIOR ･ PENNED BY NICO

  tall, lithe dusky brown tom with splashes of white. a cheerful tom who tries to put a smile on the face of everyone he talks to, darkwhisker's life is devoted to spreading positivity in a world full of negativity. though his words may be fanciful— and coated in the sugar of white lies, at times— he is a well-intentioned, albeit overly idealistic, young warrior.

​

 

[CICADAFLIGHT]

sleep hides from cicadapaw in these unfamiliar marshes. he lies in a half-dozing haze, one eye cracked and glassy, the color of dirty ice. a flurry of voices and pawsteps stirs him, sitting up with tangled curls plastered to his face from long hours of stillness. the boy staggers to his paws, lurching towards a smattering of cats beginning togather on knobbily jointed limbs. he draws closer, sees sootstar and snakeblink and darkwhisker crowded around a pair of shapes.

later, he will remember this as the moment the world tipped over like a wounded deer. now, he's rubbing at his face with a paw, hobbling closer and wondering what had drawn the two over. is there some.....windclan problem? he asks inwardly, has there been a fight? it wouldn't surprise him—the other clans were strange at best, enemies at worst. he could name a few of them he'd like to have the chance to raise his claws against....but he won't. sleepy and serene (as serene as he can be, anyways), rage is a slumbering beast.

"snakeblink?" he murmurs drowsily, finally glancing to the limp forms. "what's going o—"

his fathers lie on the ground. blood is a black sheen on both their pelts, turned to oil-slick shine in the moonlight. "pa? father?" cicadapaw chokes out the words in a whisper, gaze skating over smokethroat's heaving sides. he's alive. two-toned eyes dance to cicadastar's ribs, hoping against hope to see the same haggard inhalations inflating his bony side. bloody, bruised, broken, down another eye even—his fathers are alive, his heart sings in that hopeful moment. that's all that matters.

still. horribly, horribly still is his father's mottled pelt. he pays no mind to smokethroat, to snakeblink, to darkwhisker's shaky assurances, to sootstar murmuring her supposed grief. cicadapaw runs, runs like the hounds of hell are at his back, until he reaches cicadastar. it's only a few paces, but his paws are numb and his throat lined with thorns, and it feels as though he's trying to swallow a briar-bush. "he has lives left, he has to, he has to he has to—" the boy chokes out, pressing his paws into the cold shape. deathly cold, grave-cold. his heart plummets into the deepest water of the river and he whispers, "he has to wake up, he's going to wake up, he's just—he's just recovering."

but snakeblink's asking to get ravensong, and sootstar's saying was and not is. "he is a good founder, and a good f-father—" he rasps, digging his paws into cicadastar's side in a bid to get him up. because he's not dead, he's not. he has lives, nine lives, he has to have them. "see? he's, he's just talking with starclan. come on, father, wake up—" unbidden, claws unsheathe from his numbed paws and dig into cold curls. cicadapaw mews hoarsely, "wake up. come on, cicadastar, father, please—please wake up."

his voice is cracking over into a sob, his words slurring and his nose running. he looks nothing like the put-together visage his father always envisions, always embodies. "father, please, you have to wake up. you have to—" hot tears run down his face, throat scraping raw and voice bubbling over into sobs, "you can't be dead, you have to stay. you have to stay, you can't be dead, i love you, please." he can hear his mew pitching unbecomingly high, approaching a scream. "please. wake up, please just wake up!"

cicadapaw's limbs lift in limp strikes, thudding into dead flesh and tangling furiously there. no reaction. there's no response but he pleads for something, anything—a roar of anger or a punishment. send him back to the nursery, exile him, anything but this horrible silence. the boy's paws finally crumple beneath him and he buries his face in death-chilled curls, ignorant of the mucus and tears clotting there alongside the blood. leans against his father like they were back in the willow den, and he was a kit, and nothing was wrong. he sobs, muffled into the mass of dead fur and flesh, "wake up."

if you keep swallowing the anger back ✦ ( it's going to choke you )

• tl;dr cicadapaw is clinging to cicadastar's corpse and will probably need to be pulled off :'(

• 

• 

  cicadapaw ; apprentice of riverclan
  x. he/him ; 4 moons ; tags
  x. unsightly black-and-white tom with heterochromatic amber and blue eyes
  x. played by dejavu
  cicadapaw is the wayward son of cicadastar and smokethroat, veritable riverclan royalty who fails to live up to his legacy. veiled in a perpertual miasma of internal conflict and rage, he finds solace in his anger when he can find it nowhere else.

​

 

[hitch]

Cicadastar and Distant Cicada have always been two separate people to him, even though Rosemire did not know either of them well enough to say whether the spiteful monologuer he watched at Gatherings was always there. Sootstar speaks well of him, already in the past tense, while a RiverClanner refuses to do the same, saying he will as though there is still a future for Cicadastar among them. Worst of all is Cicadastar's child, who paws at a gangly body like he might simply rouse him from a long slumber, and Rosemire— he should pity this boy, this younger reflection of a cold corpse. The violent expression of his terror and grief should tug on his chest, as sobbing children so often do, as Comfreypaw has, but he feels...apart from it all.

Rosemire mourned him once already, when so many seemed content to leave the marsh behind, Cicada included. He'd tried to follow, a pitiful attempt that stopped at the river, where he washed his paws of the mud and told himself he was not waiting for Cicada to explain. It didn't happen, and then the cat he took shelter with from summer rain and humidity was just a memory's shadow. He did not see him beside the other leaders; that was someone else, someone who did not have to work mud out of his curls or step on frogs, someone who built a new family and spat at WindClan whenever he could.

Someone who died many times, but only the once to Rose— and without blood, without teeth, without a body carried by his love. Just a turned back and pawprints long forgotten by the mire.

He leaves to inform Starlingheart, because Ravensong might be familiar to RiverClan but Starlingheart isn't sick, at least. As he goes, he wonders how Cicadastar would feel, if he can see from StarClan that he was delivered to ShadowClan soil, the place where everything began. Maybe the company there will be better for him than it was here, all those moons ago.

//@STARLINGHEART
​

​

 

[Cricketchirp]

( ✩ )　 Starlightpaw is roused quietly; there is not commotion yet. It is a soft and starless night, with its blinding moon hanging heavy in the hushed marshes. The crickets chirp soft melodies, the cicadas wail a mourning song. Starlightpaw draws from his nest in a bleary, blinking haze, trailing after her brother in a wooden-doll imitation of his jerky steps.

They come to a stop amongst gathered cats; he does not care to check their faces. There is a mass of tarry fur and tangled limbs lying upon the swampdirt, and for a few moments Starlightpaw just blinks at it, uncomprehending. "Ah --"

The insects scream in crescendo, harmonizing with the ringing rush of blood in their ears. The stars have all fallen from the sky, plucked by monstrous claws while the innocent slept.

Moonlight casts a sickly glow upon pools of blood, tangled forms seeping riverwater onto a land so far from home. One of the masses of oilslick pitch moves, jerky but rhythmically. Shallow breaths, in and out. Pa -- Smokethroat is alive. He moves closer in an abrupt motion, as though pulled forward unwittingly, as though their paws cannot bear to stay away. Those traitorous paws are warmed with freshspilling blood, and Starlightpaw feels sick.

There's a low keening coming from the apprentice's throat, building and building.

"No," rips its way from their closed throat. "No, no, no, no, no. It's, its okay, it's -- pa? Pa? Father? Please --" he chokes on a sob, turns his eyes to his brother. The same devastation, desperation, reflected back and the tides crash down around Starlightpaw. The sob builds to a wail, a warbling screech in time with the mourning chorus of insects. The stars are all gone and there is an emptiness in Starlightpaw and no, this isn't right, he can't be --

Cicadapaw hits father again and again, claws unsheathed, and their breath catches. "No," they repeat again, broken record scratching, mind gone blank. "Stop, you're, you're hurting him, please --" Starlightpaw stumbles like a newborn and crashes down beside her brother. "stop, please, please, it's okay, he's -- father -- da, he --"

He's coming back. He's okay. He's going to wake up. There's a lump in her throat that keeps the words from leaving.

Starlightpaw hiccups, keens, presses their eyes shut against the sight of their parents' in a bloody heap. Smokethroat is alive, they try to tell themself. Someone is getting Starlingheart. Cicadastar...

Starlightpaw feels very, very small. What she wants is to curl up surrounded by her fathers, but he fears the slick of blood, the cold of Cicadastar's pelt. Instead, Shaky, Starlightpaw pulls herself towards Cicadapaw, attempting to press her face into his side. Head turned away; he can't bear to look anymore.

LATELY I'M FEELING LIKE ✩ A BIG BANG ! 【 10.15.23 】

• //
  ​

• "SPEECH"

• ✩ 　⁺　₊ 　⋆　STARLIGHTPAW.　APPRENTICE OF RIVERCLAN.　HE / SHE / THEY.
  4 MOONS & AGES ON THE 12TH.　PENNED BY SATURNID.
  
  

  

  ✩ — A WIRY, CURLY-FURRED BLACK SMOKE WITH CLOUDED BLUE EYES.
  

  
  SMOKETHROAT xx CICADASTAR. LITTERMATE TO BEEPAW & CICADAPAW.
  
  MENTORED BY PETALNOSE​

​

 

[lichenstar]

⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆ ✧　 　 · 　 ✧ ⋆

---

When had RiverClan's warriors ever known peace long enough to sleep soundly...?

She lingers, like a scruffy haggard ghost at the edges of the measly space they had been provided, unwilling to close her eyes and unable to find sleep anyways with the way her belly aches. It shouldn't surprise her then... that Smokethroat would be just as restless... that Snakeblink would hover with scouring eyes listening to the whispers no one listened long enough to hear... Petalnose so on edge and uncertain even her boundless confidence was shaken. Lichentail knew it would come to this... eventually...

The hollow offer for hope she'd given Smokethroat in SkyClan had been something said in blind faith. But it was just that.. blind.... Cicadastar was just as mortal as the rest of them, even if he'd been given a heaven-sung gift. She'd wanted so desperately for her trust to manifest itself as the reality- that despite all odds those fog-toned curls would crawl from the shadows like a timeless water god and deliver them home. Home...

Could it even be called that anymore... after how much they'd lost. How much they continued to lose. No clan could understand their suffering... and with the last fragment of her rational thought she manages to stifle to growl that Sootstar was owed. Quiet... you deceitful plains-rat.... She did not grieve with them... She was pretending to know what honor was.

The king's mirror appears now, bleary eyed and confused, unaware that his dream that night would be the last chance he'd have for a comfortable rest again (how horrible was that... that at his small age he had endured so much...). And his anger is palpable... his raw-throated sobs for a voice that will not answer him stab like claws dug into the heart of the river-dwellers. And in quick steps behind him come the wispy figure of his star-kissed sibling (did her name now feel like a curse, knowing what StarClan and it's light had taken from them?) to weep alongside him.

She watches Snakeblink speak and it is as if time has slowed by half... He asks if Ravensong should be retrieved and Lichentail sorely wishes he wouldn't be-- he cannot do anything in his sickened state and poses only a threat to the rest of them by dragging his plague-ridden hide out here with the healthy... Smokethroat needs attention regardless-

I am so sorry... Guilt sits at her shoulders like an unwelcomed guest, she shouldn't have proposed Cicadastar might still be alive.. to give him false hope so he might fall even harder when proven wrong. I didn't want this for you... It felt lonely, under the starry sky where their ancestors watched from-- why had they not heeded their prayers for the river king's return? Was he with them now, furious for himself and what he'd lost? "Help... help me clean him up," she huffs, tears pricking at her eyes as she settles down to lick the ruddy stains from his fur. He didn't deserve to lay here like this, a spectacle of the way he had been disrespected and dishonored...

At least... at the very least, Smokethroat had found him. He would not be left to rot while rogues ran like rats through his home...​

 

[BEEFANG]

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳˚❥ The oldest had finally found sleep and it had been difficult to obtain but it seems exhaustion had won, she had been laying sound asleep with her littermates and feeling them stir is enough to make her blink sleepily at them. A part of her wanting to tell them to stay and rest alongside her but they're already stumbling away just like that had when they were little kittens allowed to step out from the willow den that they were born in. She rises to her paws with a sleepy fog gripping onto her mind, wincing at her sore limbs and injury on her leg, and stumbles forward with a shaky snowy paw. Perhaps they caught sight of fireflies, it's enough to make her feel relaxed but as she follows them further does it dawn on her.

It was, in fact, not fireflies. But a sight that she didn't ever want to see or expected to see at her age, no, she had imagined Cicadastar giving her a warrior name once she reached the right age. He would've been standing there calling upon all of their clanmates and the King would look down at all his children with pride, warmth, and love before giving them each their own name that they had earned. She'd never get her name from the fallen River king and it makes her heart hurt, a stinging in her gaze as tears threaten to spill yet she bites down on her tongue unwillingly to let herself wail in despair.

He couldn't be dead... Cicadastar is starblessed and he would rise once more to claim Riverclan back from the rogues, she feels herself stumbling forward and her legs wanting to give out. This isn't real, it's just a nightmare... Like those night terrors Cicadapaw had when he was a kitten and screamed into the night. She'd wake up and her father would return limping to camp, holding it together, and head lifted high like he always did. The metallic taste of her own blood within her mouth is enough to finally make it part and nothing comes out, she wants to speak, scream, and demand why Cicadastar refused to get up from her brother hitting him.

Get up... Get up. You're not... You're not supposed to die... Not yet. Get up. She thinks feeling her throat grow dry and constrict with emotion, her bicolored eyes shifting between Smokethroat and her father unable to rip her gaze away. "G-get up..." Beepaw croaks out finally with her ears laying flat against her skull as she stumbles close enough that she's by her littermates, tears blossoming at the corners of her eyes and they roll down her cheeks. Her vision growing blurry as more tears continue to slip down her face and drop onto her paws, she shakes her head hurting at Cicadapaw begging for father to wake up and Starlightpaw begging their brother to stop hitting Cicadastar that it was hurting him.

Memories of him showing her the fish scale pool, eating her first fish, and him being present for her first catch... How proud he had been of her, so nurturing of her, and loving of her even if he refused to say her name. Little Bug. Little Bug. Little Bug. He had spoken her true name only a few times and rarely but how she wanted him to wake now and call her Little Bug again. So, she could be a kitten again snuggled next to her littermates, listening to stories with owl sized eyes, and curled around protectively by her fathers. For him to crane his neck down to nuzzle into her head of curls and utter a soft little liebe.

It would never happen again, he had been silenced permanently by death itself and the realization of it is enough to make a broken wail tear from her throat. Her head ducking and pressing her head into the cold, curled mottled pelt of Cicadastar as her broken, shrill cry tore into the night. Her body shaking violently from the heavy sobs that left her and her breath quickening, it felt as if small claws were pricking into her heart and squeezing it as she sniffled, a few pathetic hiccups leaving her. "GET UP..." She cries loudly as if a demand that maybe if she ordered the king to rise he would, the river princess bringing her paws up to wipe away her tears messily from her eyes.

There was nothing graceful or regal about her right now, she was just a soft mewling and small kitten again. Her body keeps trembling and her breathing is more ragged, Beepaw presses closer as if hoping to find any lingering warmth from the chilled corpse. "Get up please... My liebe... Please..." A shaky whisper that slips from her maw and she wishes that she could hear him call her Little Bug once more, that they could be at Riverclan and a happy family that rested within the willow den back at home. A childish, foolish wish that would never be granted.

Her claws unsheathe and dig into the earth underneath her, tearing at the cool soil, and she pulls away from Cicadastar before pressing herself into his saddened mirror of a son and attempts to pull Starlightpaw closer into her own embrace that would be warmer of that than their fallen father. She hides her face into her brother's fur not uttering a single word and letting out a shaky breath, wide pupils narrowing as grief turns to rage and raw anger.

They were going to pay... The rogues would pay... This she swore.

𓆟. ° .• . WHEN DOES A RIPPLE BECOME A TIDAL WAVE?

• 
  ❥ 4 moons old
  ❥ riverclan apprentice
  ❥ sexuality unknown; single
  ❥ daughter of cicadastar and smokethroat
  ❥ sister of cicadapaw & starlightpaw
  ❥ "speech", thoughts, attacking
  ❥ easy; still learning how to fight
  ❥ peaceful powerplay allowed

​

 

[Petalnose]

The crys and screams were silenced as her eyes fell upon her leader's body. They all sounded drowned out.. far away. For a moment she believed she was underwater. Everyone seemed distorted and blurry but the riverclan leader's body was clear. She had seen it before.. she was not even one to be conflicted wether he had died or not. She believed wholeheartedly that he died there. Right there at home... Their home which had become a battle field.

Signs shown and flagged that he gripped onto life for only the stars knew how long. Her yell of disbelief.. her yell of helplessness. Maybe if it could have been listened to. Maybe they could have taken stealth to recover him as soon as the others settled. She would have gone.. with no hesitation.. no fear.

The courage she possesed.. her attitude of spitting in the face of fear and laughing was not very present.. the regular stoic expression pinned upon her features was all shellshock. Tears welled up in her eyes and it felt as if rocks sat in her lungs as she heaved a shaky breath. She still tried to mask it.. she still wanted to run off and hide as she did with Beesong. She still tried to look brave for the others. She still tried to look strong even if it felt as if a piece of her was chipped away.

Her eyes didn't lift from the chimera pelted body but she worried for Smokethroat. She couldn't imagine the pain he felt.. the trauma. His children.. her apprentice.. they all suffered. If she felt so broken, she couldn't imagine how the family felt. Lost. She was sure they felt lost. Just like she did.. no, even more than she did. She felt so lost before her position gained and now even though she still felt like she had a purpose.. she felt lost again. It was as if the rapids pulled her under and took the air from her lungs. For once she had to mask her emotions... Her pain. She masked it for them.

Show courage. But stars am I terrified.

Her eyes closed to mask her solemn emotions and shellshock. Slowly she bent down to rasp her tongue over the river kings body at Lichentails plea. One last time she would serve him.

Tags​

 

[Aspenhaze]

Cicadastar had so much more of his life to live, surely? But, it was not meant to be. Life is not always that kind. Aspenhaze has seen tragedy after tragedy befall them and those in RiverClan, but they never could have imagined Cicadastar’s light snuffed out so suddenly. They held onto hope that he was fine, he was just licking his wounds and would be back, and look where it got them. A washed up corpse taken from its rightful home.

They allow their mask to falter, no hesitation. Cicadastar might not have been close to them, but that did not mean they didn’t see him as an exceptional leader. No one here would deny that. For him, they would have done anything. He deserves to see the real Aspenhaze, even if it too late to show their real appreciation. Their ears and smirk fall as they sadly watch the grieving parties, letting them have their moment.

Lichentail sniffles for help cleaning up the body, and Petalnose does not hesitate in joining them. They do not, either. They sit right next to their mate as they take laps against the waterlogged fur, twisting their tail around hers. “Safe travels,” Aspenhaze says in a hushed tone, hoping he swam his way to the stars peacefully. ​

 

[Hazewish]

TRAVELER, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED (AND NOW YOU MUST GO) ⋆⁺₊⋆

When stars fall from the sky they leave a bright trail of silver fire behind, burning for a second in the night before fading away; Hazepaw has seen it before, once or twice. She’s always wondered where they go -- where that plummeting descent ends.

Today they wonder the opposite. Looking at the still body of their leader, their mentor, star-chosen and mortally felled, they glance up -- search for a star rising rapidly through the night sky. Some sort of proof that he has already taken his place in the glittering river of Starclan. They must have missed him up there, Haze thinks dimly, blinking tears out of their eyes. They must have wanted him to join them soon. Why else would they have taken him away so suddenly, his remaining lives stripped away as easily as they were originally gifted? They cannot believe it was only a matter of misfortune, rogue claws shedding his blood until he was no more. It must have been something else; something more.

She tries to convince herself of it; some part of her believes it. But most of her just feels very, very lost.

[⋆]​

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