private YOU'RE THE GHOST IN MY HOME — starlingheart

[GRANITEPELT]

Every movement is labored. His breath comes too-fast, sour and hot, as he stumbles through the scrubland through to the Carrionplace. He does not notice the way the territory changes, the way the pines begin to shoot toward the sky, the way they drape their shadows over cool, marshy ground. He shivers, then sweats; he pants, then gags on what tastes like berry pulp in his throat. Everything hurts. Every movement is agony. He has had to stagger so far to find help, and he does not know if he will find it, but—Thriftfeather had been right. They have no herbs. They have no healer's paws.

She will help me if it's the last thing she does. I will bring her back. I will... The thought dissolves into a red muck. He ceases his stunted walk, his tail flicking irrationally behind him. Slender forest-shadow eyes are fever-bright, shiny with sickness.

And then the marsh grass rustles, and he finds her. He shudders against another wave of pain, knowing how he looks, knowing he smells of rot and death. "You," he whispers. "You have to... you have to help me." He takes another step, then crumbles, until he is looking up at the she-cat he had loved, who had borne his kits, who had felt the wrath of his broken heart.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: @Starlingheart
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

​

 

[Starlingheart]

Even in the green-leaf heat, the mornings in her clans territory remain relatively cool. Especially on days like today where storm clouds hang heavy in the sky, blotting out the unrelenting sun and promising rain any minute. She had to get out of the camp before the downpour became too much, search for herbs while she still could today. In her mind, she makes a mental list of the things she is low on. Marigold was something she would never complain about gathering more of, her clan demanded a steady stream of it after all, with all the injuries that they managed to accrue. It would be especially needed now, with the threat of WindClan’s wrath hanging over their heads. Her whiskers twitch in apprehension when she thinks about it, but here, in the forest alone, she cannot help but let her thoughts wander.

Her paws lead her to carrionplace on today’s crusade and as she draws closer, images of her childhood flash in her mind. Glittering fangs and glowing red eyes in the shadows, her brother coming home stinking of rat and disease. There was nothing good that had ever come out of this place. evil is born here she thinks to herself with a soft hum. But it is also where a particular patch of herbs grow. Herbs that she needed. She would check on it and then leave swiftly, she decides.

The stars have other plans for her today.

The usual smell of rot and decay assaults her nostrils, but she chalks it up to nothing more than the usual scent that permeates the air around this star shunned place and she presses onwards, emerging from the tall grass and into the open, lonely green eye shining in the overcast light. Thats when she sees him.

Instantly, she freezes, heart hammering against her chest as she considers her options. Surely, he would finish her off this time. If he didn’t ensure she was dead then the wounds she sustained would do her in for sure. She had no apprentice to fall back upon, no careful steady paws to hold cobwebs against her wounds and tend to the rest of the clan while she healed. But she had been training, at least. This time, she could put up some semblance of a fight.

He looks to be in terrible shape though and she realizes with a start that there is a different smell mingling with the putrid scent of carrionplace, it rolls off him in waves and makes her stomach churn. Infection. The irony of it could make her laugh if she wasn’t so afraid. He has not come here to end her life but rather to beg her for his. He crumbles before her, venomous eyes turned upwards as a plea leaves his lips. She does not move, she barely even breathes, but she looks down upon him with scarred features "No." she says simply. The word feels powerful, emboldening. She could save him, the power to lays in her paws, after all. But then she thinks of her children, of her brother, her friends, all the cats whose lives he had either ruined or taken in her name and she knows. She cannot leave here without knowing whether he lived or died. He could not be allowed to haunt her or her clan any further.

So she does the unthinkable. She shakes her head softly, speaking in a quieter tone than before, she becomes the Starlingheart he might remember and in his fevered state she hopes it fools him. "But I’m-I’m here. Until you draw your final breaths I’m-I’m here." she says, coming to his side. It repulses her, the way she settles down next to him, the way she allows her fur to brush his. just like we’re mates again she thinks, and she could be sick at her own actions, but she leans over and she starts grooming him. Gentle rasps of her tongue that smooth ruffled gray fur, taking great care to avoid his wounds. "You can let go I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay. Just let-let go my love" she whispers softly in between licks, hoping to lull him into an eternal slumber.

Where he will be when he wakes, she is uncertain. Starclan would never have him, she knows.

( ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ) fly me up on a silver wing

• 
  
  
• 
  STARLINGHEART SHADOWCLAN MEDICINE CAT; SHE / HER ; SISTER TO PITCHSTAR, CHITTERTONGUE, NIGHTSWARM, SKUNKTAIL, AND LILACFUR. MOTHER TO NETTLEPAW, FLINTWISH AND GHOSTMASK.
  

  A skinny she cat with short black and white fur littered with scars and one singular green eye.

  ✦ Easy in battle + has little to no formal battle training
  

​

 

[GRANITEPELT]

She appears before him like a tarnished angel, one-eyed and scarred. There's little sweetness left to her, he thinks, and he almost mourns what he's stolen from her. That single newleaf-bud eye fixes itself on his sick green ones and she tells him "No." No, she will no take his pain away; no, she will not fix what is wrong with him. Broken angel, you once would have died for me. He crawls toward her, feeling a plea rising in his erupting throat. "Starl... Starlingheart... please."

There is no mercy.

Hadn't he given Pitchstar, choking on his own blood, festering wound, mercy? Hadn't he killed Ghostpaw quietly, Poppypaw swiftly, Tornadopaw charitably? His flanks heave with the effort it takes to draw breath into his lungs.

She lays beside him, though. The sweet tug of her black fur against his gray is achingly familiar. He exhales, lowering his throbbing head on stiffened paws, and he lets himself relax beside her. "Do you remember... the... possum..." His breath comes in wheezes. "Do you... remember... the thorn in your paw..." He'd gone to pull it out, had protected her for so long, and the emptiness inside of him begins to feel like a vacuum.

"Ghost...mask... lives with DuskClan," he tells her, and his eyes begin to glaze as he stutters. "Sh... she... killed Nettlepaw... I... always knew she w... was..." Bad. Evil. Your curse, mine. He cannot finish his sentence; his world is spinning too fast for him to grip onto.

"I... love you," he says, and tears slip from the corners of his eyes. He remembers curling himself into her nest. He remembers standing near her side, looking proudly upon the kits she'd brought into the world for him. He remembers inhaling the sweet spice of her pelt, the softness of her cheek against his, and he begins to weep tiredly, effortlessly. The tears just slip away.

And then he's remembering another sweetness, a darkness, warmth. He's remembering Sandra's dusty-hued flank, Siltcloud nestled against his body, Spark-kit. He's remembering everything he's lost, everything that's been torn from him, and like he came into this world, Granitepelt exits it with a cry upon his lips.

When Starlingheart looks at him next, he will be gone.

『 out of character. 』 ✧･ﾟ:* 『 about. 』

• ooc: —
• 
• Granitekit . Granitepaw . Granitepelt, he/him w/ masculine terms.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — 23 moons old, ages realistically on the 10th.
  — mentored by Pitchstar and Dogfur ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored Applepaw
  — "duskclan" leader. flint x sandra, gen 2.
  — formerly mated to Starlingheart, currently mated to n/a.
  — penned by Marquette.
  
  
  sh blue and white tom with dark green eyes. arrogant, stealthy, sneaky, observant, perceptive, cunning, spiteful, envious.
  
  

​

 

[Starlingheart]

His breathing is ragged beside her. The breath of a dying cat she thinks. And shouldn’t she be relieved? This had been what she wanted. But there is a small part of her cloying for attention that does remember him as he is begging her too. Fighting that opossum together, how he had stood by her side and believed in her when no one else had. He had once been her rock in the storm, a cat that she would have given everything for and her heart twists as she grieves for that Granitepelt.

But there is a bigger part of her that remembers hunching over her brother’s body and crying about the unfairness of his death, a piece of her that closes her eyes and can still conjure the image of preparing alabaster fur for burial, of throwing dirt with teary eyes over a smoky curled form while asking the stars if she was cursed. Now she knows she had been, but it had not been by their ancestors. It was him "I remember" she says softly. The good and the bad. She remembers it all.

His next words out of his lips surprise her. His voice drags on nearly every syllable, but there is no mistaking her daughter’s name upon her tongue. The accusation he levels is heartwrenching kin killer, he calls her and Starlingheart almost wants to spit in his face and tells him he is mistaken. But there is a genuineness in his voice that shakes her to her very core. "I-" she starts but there are no words that could be conjured from the depths of her mind. Anger, sadness, and disappointment all roar in equal ferocity in her hollowed out chest.

A shudder runs through her body and she turns her head towards the sky at the exact moment the rain starts. Heated by the green-leaf air, the rain is not a bother. She lets it wash through her pelt like a warm caress from the sky. I love you.. she hears from the cat next to her, but when she looks over at him again he is impossibly still.

Like this, he almost looks peaceful, asleep. And she stares at him for a long moment with that lonely eye filled with so much emotion. She stays like this for a long moment, just her the rain and him.

It’s over. She’s finally free.

( ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ) fly me up on a silver wing

• 
  
  
• 
  STARLINGHEART SHADOWCLAN MEDICINE CAT; SHE / HER ; SISTER TO PITCHSTAR, CHITTERTONGUE, NIGHTSWARM, SKUNKTAIL, AND LILACFUR. MOTHER TO NETTLEPAW, FLINTWISH AND GHOSTMASK.
  

  A skinny she cat with short black and white fur littered with scars and one singular green eye.

  ✦ Easy in battle + has little to no formal battle training
  

​