TW: Death The Colony & always i will be with you | death

[Thornstar]

It is always quiet when he dips his head into his father's den to visit, but never moreso than it is now. The silence this time is overwhelming, suffocating, he knows before he even reaches the tom what he will find and it still does not soften the blow of it.
"Father?" He asks, head lowering near the battered and motionless brown tabby head resting atop his paws - he could almost be sleeping if not for the stillness of his chest and the lack of movement from long curled whiskers where breath once exhaled to make them sway like branches. Hawthorne expects no answer but his voice rises again, softer, almost childish in its tone, "Father?" More crushing than the sorrow, more agonizing than even the loss, was the wretched and horrid relief that flooded his system - that he should be happy the older tom was gone was not simply for his peace but for Hawthorne's own and it is a selfish knot that coils in his stomach like a snake rising to strike. The first sob is almost inaudible, the second a gasp for air he feels nothing but guilt for taking in. The brown tom allows himself to collapse alongside the still, cold form, nestled close like he was a kit again in the cold leafbare being regaled with tales of far away places he had always once hoped to see himself. For the time being he lets himself feel the unbearably crushing weight now descending on him, the heartbreak and the worry that has gnawed his gut for moons now. It was over and yet it had also only just begun.
He does not know how long he lays curled there alongside the body that once held such an indomitable spirit, but eventually he rises, a final nudge to the tom's face in farewell where he spots the dappling of red around his maw from his last meal - at the very least he died in what comfort could be given and it is all he can ask.
Hawthorne staggers from the den reeking of death, limbs stiff from his long period of time lying motionless and he sees Serpent looking at him immediately; the sight of his mate brings a fresh wave of emotions and he wanders over to tuck his head into the side of her neck. "He's gone." ,the lynx point whispers softly, as if trying to convince himself but he can not linger in his own grief for long, his weakness so prominently on display when he must now lead as he was meant to. He pulls away from the spotted tortie pelt to move to the flat rocks before the trees, scaling them in one swift bound, "My fellow colony cats, my father is gone. Passed at last peacefully in his sleep. I ask any able to help me in burying him within his den beneath the tree, we will say farewell tonight and begin anew tomorrow. Leafbare comes and with it more struggles but we will hold fast."

OOC: @serpent mention!

 

[Marbleshine]

MARBLE OF THE COLONY

Marble's eyes gazed up quietly at the sky above, a somewhat thoughtful look upon her face. She registered her brother grooming her fur, muttering something about lost twigs and she should have been more careful. It caused an ear to twitch to the side once as she peered next to her, a faint smile touching her maw. 'I wonder if he will fret this much over his mate once he's received one.' she thought to herself, gently swiping her tail to teasing brush against her brother's nose. " You worry too much, brother. I would have certainly groomed myself pristine clean before you decided to take that job. " she spoke, her voice soft and gentle. " You should stop worrying about me so much. " she added, gently bumping her nose against her brother as he rolled his eyes with a disgruntled mumble, which sounded much like 'someone should'.

There was a smile evident for a moment before a shudder ran through her, followed by a frown as she looked up at the sky above. Leafbare was upon them, the chill was apparent to every cat... Soon the nights would come to huddle together... Keep each other warm... Especially the young ones amongst them. She could remember still how that felt when she had been a young kit.. How harsh would this leafbare be to them? And how long would-- Shaking the thought away quickly, she let her blue eyes wander sideways, watching someone stumble out of the den of Fray. Hawthorne...

Almost immediately, she found herself pushed up into a sitting position, ears perked toward the direction of the tom that seemed to be seeking comfort-- Oh...

Using her tail to guide her brother, she mentioned toward the flat rocks. " Coming...? " she questioned, moving up completely and trotting closer to the flat rocks, her eyes fixated upon Hawthorne, ears pining down at the news given. So Fray was gone... It caused a wave of worry to swarm over her... He had been their leader for a long time, the loss would be felt... He had been fighting for so long, she was relieved at least that he no longer had to...

Dipping her head down respectfully, she closed her eyes for a moment before looking back up to Hawthorne. " He led with a good heart, may his hunts be bountiful in death. " she gently mewed, head held high. " I would certainly wish to help you with burying him. " It would be a hard job, the ground was getting harder due to the cold...

GO ON AND TRY TO TEAR ME DOWN ——･ﾟ✦​

･ﾟ✦ —— I WILL BE RISING FROM THE GROUND

 

[FLAMETONGUE]

Fray had led them well. That much was certain, but even though he never voiced it... It was obvious that their leader would not make it. After all, the sickness had plagued Fray. The red tom couldn't say that he was particularly close to the leader, but he could say that he respected the leader for guiding them. He wouldn't be here with his family, his nieces and nephews without Fray. Things had been fine at first, but with their numbers growing there was some strain. What little they had needed to be delegated. Now, Flame didn't mind going to bed without a meal if it meant his nieces and nephews were to sleep with rumbling bellies. Gotta have food. Makes no sense to be starvin' myself if no food comes in the future. My family needs me.

And so, when Hawthorne announces that their colony leader has passed away in his sleep... Restlessness churns in his gut. Perhaps, it is horrid of him not to grieve Fray. However, this meant that Hawthorne would lead them. As their former leader's son, it was his responsibility. What do you want? How are you going to take care of us? Green eyes gaze towards Hawthorne, unblinking. The tom was still green around the ears. Even if he did his best to quell the tensions, they weren't gone. Cats wanted results, not promises. Flame was one of those cats.

His attention shifts to to Marbleshine, who offers her aid. "I'll help too." No condolences would leave his maw, nor would there ever be. It was not done out of disrespect. No, he simply didn't see the point in it. How could a I'm sorry, but congrats on your promotion be of any use for Hawthorne? There were others who were better suited for comfort than he.

☀ LET IT ALL BURN

•  
• FLAME ☀ penned by velou
  — he/him, colony cat
  — a long haired high white red tabby tom with green eyes.
  — littermate to bracken, chanterelle ; uncle to magnolia, honeysuckle, hyacinth

 

[BRACKEN]

A wave of grief washes over Bracken as Hawthorne addresses them all, lapping at his soul like the river to the south does its banks. Fray has ruled with a gentle paw for seasons on end; it would be wrong to glance in the direction of his den and know that he is no longer there to speak with. He would still occupy it even in death, Hawthorne has decided. The thought stirs some discomfort within the patchwork tom, but he doesn't voice it aloud. The way this son grieves his father is not for Bracken to decide.

"May he rest peacefully." He rumbles, ducking his head for a few heartbeats. Bracken rises to his paws, lumbering steps carrying him to his littermate's side. He nudges Flame gently, a silent query in amber eyes: what is his brother thinking? Perhaps Flame would elucidate when their work is done.

To Hawthorne, Bracken offers a nod. "I will help with his burial."

​

☼ WATCH ME BURN

•  
• 
  
  BRACKEN ☼ penned by wren
  — — he/they, colony cat
  — — a broad, tufted blue-and-red tabby tom with white patches and amber eyes. often serious-looking, but kindly in demeanour.
  — — mate to hazel ; father to magnolia, honeysuckle, hyacinth
  
  

 

[Leopard]

SO LET GO, YEAH LET GO, JUST GET IN

OH, IT'S SO AMAZING HERE

...So this was it then. Fray had finally passed on. A small part of the tabby stupidly wished that the old cat would make a miraculous recovery to take up the reigns of leadership once more. That this was all some joke in poor taste from his son. But that was a moot point now: there was no cure for death.

"My condolences, Hawthorne," Leopard began, slowly rising from where she had been laying. "Your father was a good cat… I know I can't be the only one when I say that Fray may very well have saved my and my daughter's life had he not allowed us to stay."

And it was true, she believed. Her circumstances were far from unique when she was first found by a pawful of colony cats, but she had been welcomed all the same despite adding more mouths to feed to an already near bursting colony. She frowned, mind drifting to her conversation with Smoky just a few nights before as she turned to move towards her and Seal's den. A request given to the larger tabby, and his following answer…

"Excuse me, I need to check on my daughter. …Let her know what's happened." It was time to move on. Perhaps the barn cats would be kind…

IT'S ALRIGHT

❀─ ─────'CAUSE THERE'S BEAUTY IN THE BREAKDOWN───── ─❀

•  
• 
  
  
  Leopard
  — Colony Cat
  — She/Her
  "SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  — A dark grey rosetted tabby with yellow eyes
  #3a7b8e
  
• 
  

 

[shasta !]

○ ○ ○​

---

Shasta

---

A sad shake of her head, Shasta exhaled a sad sigh as Hawthorne emerged from his fathers den. Her nose wrinkled at the scent that followed him, telling of the words on his tongue before the even found voice. It hadn't come to her surprise, she hoped it hadn't been for anyone else, but the sadness that washed over her still found itself caped over her. Fray had been a kind tom through and through, always happy to see her return from her adventures beyond these trees. Always ready to welcome her back for the short time he had her.

Shasta joined the other colonists to approach the tom that had led them for countless moons. She feared for the burden of stress on Hawthorne's mind now. Having to grieve his father for so long, and now he was actually gone. She wondered if the recent spats had changed anything in his plans to approach the position Fray held. Would he still lead them?

"I'll miss'ya, ol' timer." Shashta murmured in a low drawl, tucking her tail neatly over her paws. "Hope y'find all the fat mice you want. Wherever you are."

---

"Speak" // "Thoughts"​

---

○ ○ ○​

 

[Flintberry]

FLINT OF THE COLONY

The brown tabby stepped forward, gazing up at Hawthorne with a look of worry upon his face, silent and mournful. Fray had helped them in their time of need... And sure, things were tense as they were now... Flint was not DENSE... He had heard the whispers, heard the rumours, he had seen the way his father often stepped aside too... Worry was evident upon the tabby's face as he gazed up at Hawthorne, tilting his head a bit to glance at the cats that spoke up. Enough that would offer their services in burying the tom that had fought so hard to remain alive. He wouldn't admit aloud, but there was a certain relief in the death too. The colony had been... Different since Fray had fallen ill, or perhaps longer even... Flint had not quite noticed, often remaining close to his brother. Whenever he could, that was.

Ear flicking to the side once, he let his golden eyes wander toward the other colony cats, wondering where his brother currently was... And when he would be back if he was gone. A frown as he looked back to Hawthorne, silent for a moment longer until finally he gave the lightest dip of the head. Perhaps now things could go back to the way they had been before... Perhaps this tenseness could... Dissipate.

" He was a fair leader, his death will be mourned." he meowed. Would Hawthorne stand up in the pawsteps of his father? Lead the lot of the colony into better times? With Leafbare nipping at their pawpads... One could only wonder.

and back when we were kids, we swore we knew the future ——･ﾟ✦​

･ﾟ✦ —— and our words would take us halfway around the world

 

[WOLFPACK]

AND I AM SORRY MY CONSCIENCE CALLED IN SICK AGAIN​

---

It was a shame that Wolf had arrived when Fray had already been on deaths door. He'd never gotten to know the tom that so many of the cats seemed to respect-- including several of Sables supporters. Perhaps the old man really had been someone worth respecting, a cat with the right stuff to keep a group of this size going.

Or maybe they all just had worms for brains.

Guess I'll find out once talk of whose leading this place starts up. he thought to himself with just the barest amusement.

He wasn't the only cat to have sensed the tensions, he was sure. There was a clear divide in the cats who respected Hawthorne, and those who didn't. And Wolf couldn't imagine any of the dissenters being keen on following their dead leaders son when he'd already proven himself to be so inadequate. The mottled chimera was tempted to speak up, to ask how long they'd have to wait for proper hunting patrols to be sorted while they put a corpse in the ground-- but he couldn't imagine the softer-skinned cats would appreciate such bluntness.

Wolf didn't offer to help, but he didn't speak out against those who wished to, either. If they saw enough worth in Fray to give him a proper burial than so be it, he wouldn't disrupt that. But if anyone expected the silence to stretch much farther, they should think again.

Now that Fray was dead, there was no excuse for Hawthornes shortcomings.
​

---

loner/future shadowclan - male - a large, monochrome chimera with mismatched eyes and several scars
​

​

 

[honeysucklecry]

Fray is dead. Hawthorne's voice rings through camp, the frigid whispers of commiseration and shock that follow rippling into every corner of the Colony, and Honeysuckle's hollow murmur - "Oh," - joins them. A wide-eyed glance, panicked enough to show the ring of white around yellow irises, is flung towards the burial party as they volunteer, but the news truly lodges its claws into Honeysuckle's being a heartbeat later. It renders her lightheaded. How can they all be so normal about this? Fray is the only leader she's known. He's been sick for so long, but he's always been there.

She swoons sideways, close to @RYUJI , just about colliding with his shoulder before she recovers with a stumble. She sucks in a sharp breath (don't think about it, don't think about it-) and turns the way of the tawny-furred tom, lucidity returning to her in fragments. Still, the look she regards him with is vacant, as if not quite registering his presence, and Honeysuckle nearly stumbles into him again as she hastens away from the other Colony cats.

"Excuse me."

​

☼ YOUR SUMS AND YOUR PIECES

• // in & out<3
  
• HONEYSUCKLE ☼ penned by wren
  — — she/her, colony cat
  — — a thick-furred dilute calico with soft yellow eyes.
  — — single ; no apprentice
  — — bracken x hazel ; littermate to magnolia, hyacinth
  
  

 

[juniperstar]

juniper

were they crafted from godly hands? steeped in prophecy and omen to so abruptly have been discussing his approaching last breaths and then see them realized in reality. her ears lift to listen, the anguished call of a friend. he who stands as the crier of his father's end... and can do nothing but swallow it, beg for help, and hope he won't be abandoned like she'd promised him. Don't fail him, she pleads, searching the faces of other onlookers, heart seizing with fear until the first volunteer pipes up, soon followed by many others.

there is comfort in that, at least... her eyes flit about the crowd, searching for Sable, unable to explain the pain in her chest. she'd known Hawthorne since their paws were still too big to fit them... and maybe somewhere along the way she'd found kinship in Fray too, never really realizing the role he took as a figure of guidance. he was more than her leader, a wise elder...

"Don't lose sight of us, old sun ray.... We still need you..."

the chocolate she-cat notes the figure of her niece fleeing quickly, the silence of Wolf, the hollow stare that's drawn on Serpent's face. those kits, the swell of her belly... they'd never get the chance to meet their grandsire. would never hear the stories he used to tell their sire too. blinking to clear the watery outline of her gaze, she presses past the crowing volunteers to see him for herself- to get just one second to say her own good-bye before there'd be witnesses to the rawness of overwhelming disappointment, suffocating grief.

// bailing to go see fray's body asap

 

[Mallow]

Mallow had been sitting silently, tail wrapped neatly over their paws and watching the goings-on in camp, when movement in their peripheral vision caught their attention. It was Hawthorne, leaping onto the rocks. Mallow continued watching, holding their breath with apprehension- the expression on his face spelled grim news. It could only be one thing.

Hawthorn's announcement confirmed Mallows fears. The colony cats had all known this was coming, and Mallow had already accepted that Fray would die, but the tabby still felt their heart seize up with a quiet grief at the loss. Mallow's ears flattened and they dipped their head, allowing the grief and sorrow to wash over them for a few moments. Fray had been a good leader, had accepted cats who'd needed help and a home countless times, had led them all expertly despite the many challenges that came with leading such a large group brought. Fray's death left a void in the colony that Hawthorn had proven he would never be able fill. What would happen to them all now? What would happen to Blue, Mallow's only surviving kit? He was so small and weak, even for a kit. He would starve or die of sickness if things kept going the way they had been. Mallow refused to let that happen.

Mallow lifted their head, gaze hard and determined. "I will help."
Mallow would help bury one of the only cats they'd ever truly respected. Then they would return to their nest and kit, and begin planning. Staying here was likely no longer an option.​

 

[GHOSTSTRIKE]

WE SLEEP SAFELY AT NIGHT BECAUSE ROUGH MEN STAND READY TO VISIT VIOLENCE ON THOSE WHO WOULD HARM US

​

---

From his place on the outskirts of the colonies camp, Ghost lifted his head from atop large paws to watch the scene play out before him. He was no stranger to death, though he knew it'd been a long time since he'd had to deal with in on a personal level. In the Coalition, loss was a small thing, the grief affecting only a handful of cats at most– those they were closest to.

Here though, he watched as even Sables supporters took pause to mourn, offering to help bury the dead leader or dishing out condolences to the toms kin. He couldn't help but wonder if it was genuine loss they were all feeling, or if it was just some kind of social custom he wasn't used to.

Regardless, it had nothing to do with Ghost. He was neither a friend of the fallen nor a colony cat with the right to mourn. Probabaly couldn't bring himself to feel genuine sadness even if he tried– not for someone he'd never even laid eyes on before.

​

---

future thunderclanner - male - a large, grey tabby with dark amber eyes and several scars​

​

 

[THUNDERFLASH]

☆ While Hawthorne's announcement doesn't come as a surprise, it does... sting. In a curious way. Fray had been... Fray had gotten him closer to enjoying the sense of a father figure again, and now that was ripped from his life in the way he hasn't ever had to experience before. No, leaving his father behind was... well, it was easier then that. Far easier. Barely a glance back for his siblings kind of easy, the kind of easy where he doesn't think about it in guilt. But Fray? He had accepted him, allowed him into the Colony's welcoming arms.

It's hard to not go misty-eyed at the thought. He had just been returning with another catch- ever tireless, paws aching and jaw hurting and nose full of crud, but he was dedicating each hour to giving back to a colony that gave to him. His paws slowed, ears forward and blue eyes wide. Dissenters were just as kind in their offerings, each and every soul giving their condolences to a cat so great that he had knitted together what could only be described as a failure in progress, held it together with strings and claws and heart, and now he was gone.

Ears flattened backwards. Baby blues turned misty gray, eyes turning towards the sky, then left. Black tabby filled his vision. Easy to spot. He thinks to himself, the only clear one he had in a tumbling mess of a mind right now. Thunder swallowed the lump in his throat, looked back towards where Hawthorne stood with his ring of support, and turned, fleeing for an empty, decaying log somewhere in this mess of a forest.

‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ITS TIME TO DO IT NOW ☆ AND DO IT LOUD

• "speech"
  // in and out!
  

• 

• THUNDER he/him, future thunderclanner, nineteen moons.
  ☆ a sh/lh chocolate tabby with low white and stunning baby blue eyes. stands of average height with a 'mohawk' and spiky-shaped mane.
  ☆ mentored by who / mentoring no one
  ☆ whichever relations / want listed
  ☆ peaceful and healing powerplay permitted / / underline and tag when attacking
  ☆ penned by dallas ↛ dallasofnines on discord, feel free to dm for plots.

 

[Crying Dove]

❦ With everyone banding together to sniffle and commiserate about the death of an ancient, ancient elderly old cat, Crying Dove was almost tempted to join in on all the heart-to-hearts happening around the geezer's den. Almost.

She sits back, tapping her tail casually to cat-watch all of Fray's closest family and followers gather round to share condolences and wax poetic about the content of his character. He was quite nice, Dove thought. At least, he seemed so in the short, unremarkable interactions the younger she-cat had had with him since she'd joined the colony. You know, in that cute, rickety elder way. She didn't say anything, though, knowing any condolences she scraped together would come off disingenuous at best. Her brother Gentle would be a better bet for this kind of thing. Of course, she'd let the old-timers and kiss-ups offer their help at the burial, Dove would surely not be taking that away from them.

"You think it's too early to tell Hawthorne congratulations on the promotion...?" she mutters wryly to whoever was next to her on the outskirts of the small crowd. Her whiskers remain twitched upward, cool and humorous, but her eyes remained resting on their defacto leader with a glimmer of interest. She wasn't stupid, she'd heard that cats had doubts about his capabilities as leader, pinning his lack of leadership as the reason why finding prey was hard, as if it wasn't leafbare. Hawthorne was a soft-hearted guy, she assumed, but surely he'd had plenty of time to prepare to take up the mantle, right? (Fray has been dying for most of the time her family's been hanging around, it seemed.) She hummed to herself, pelt twitching at the crackles of tension simmering below the surface, colonymates walking off and muttering to themselves.

Dove thought suddenly that she should take one of her semi-frequent day-trips out to the twolegplace tomorrow or the next day or something. The vibe around here was certainly... weird.

❦ BUT I TAKE IT... AND I EAT IT... WITH A CHERRY ON TOP...

• ooc:
• ❦ crying dove- colony member, future thunderclanner - eighteen moons - she/they - younger sister of grace and gentle- a striking longhaired seal mink with low white and aqua eyes. fluffy and conventionally attractive, she somehow makes lack and prey and perpetual hardship look... chic?
  
  - detached and hedonistic, it seems like Dove hasn't a care in the world for any particular thing or cat beside herself. she's quick to scoff at perceived dramatics and prefers to skirt along the path of least resistance.
  
  - speech is be6284 , attack in underline, penned by eezy
• 

 

[Blue!]

𓆝 . ° ✦

Fray is dead, and Hawthorne now inherits the throne he has left in his wake. A dull wave of emotion echoes through the crowd of colony cats. There is an obvious mixed bag, but if you'd asked Blue, Fray's passing had been long overdue. In fact, if someone had sooner wanted to usurp the old geezer he wouldn't have stopped it from happening. However fortunate or unfortunate though, Fray has passed peacefully in his sleep. Blue cannot retroactively hope for anything different, but he tries not to think about what the future now holds when his eyes find Hawthorne and several of his supporters.

Crying Dove's wry comment reaches Blue, and he almost doesn't look at her as he thoughtfully flicks an ear. "Why would we congratulate him?" Blue scoffs in reply, perhaps a bit sharper than he intends. Where Dove sees interest in the future, Blue narrows critical eyes at the de facto colony leader. Was it some hard and fast rule that they must follow? Hawthorne must assume his father's rank...? Some of his colonymates might argue that it was only right; that Fray had been teaching and training Hawthorne to follow in his footsteps. And while it was true that Fray and been fair, Hawthorne, he thinks, is too soft-hearted.

He does not elaborate on his hard scoff towards Dove, and he turns away to move towards the bulk of his colonymates. Though he is sure to seek out Sable as soon as he can, he is not heartless. "My condolences," he murmurs to his new leader- the thought nearly makes him wince- and dips his head respectfully. "I'll help you all to bury him," Blue offers, though he tries to maintain an air of nonchalance in his voice "The cold has made the ground hard. You'll need the help."

✧ ° . ✶ . ° ✧

ooc Information

• ooc: —
• 

  BLUE — HE/HIM ･ 40 MOONS ･ SHADOWCLAN WARRIOR ･ PENNED BY CARAT!

  description goes here. here too.

 

[Plover.]

WHAT IF EVERYWHERE I FELT
THAT I BELONGED WAS NOT MY PLACE? ​

-

plover & 27 moons & trans. masc & he/him & the colony

-

The elde4s death is a loss to them all- and Plover, while never close to him or his kin, cannot help the frown that crosses his maw. It is a painful thing, to lose a loved one - and a leader, for everyone else. "my condolences... he says softly, as though worried speaking to loudly will break the fragile state. "I can help as well - put my paws to good use," the smile he gives is a forced thing, butter and never quite reaching stormy blue eyes - but he supposes its all he can really do, the only sense of comofrt he has to offer.

━ actions & " speech, " & 'thoughts/quotes' ━​

-

T H E R E - G O E S - E V E R Y T H I N G - T H A T - I ' V E - B E E N
W O R K I N G - F O R - A L L - O F - M Y - L I F E

-

 

[serpentberry]

The ground beneath her is sinking.

Serpent idles by @cicada , murmuring to them the uses of the different herbs they have. She pays little mind to the kicking in her midsection, the emptiness of her heart. Everything is falling apart as she sorts one leaf from the next and spells the dangers between them, only for Cicada to return the favor in kind. Lessons she's learned in her short life translated to a cat seasoned beyond their moons - together, they're a righteous force of known and unknown remedies. Apart... Apart, she is nothing less than her namesake. A viper slinking through the reeds, slithering towards ill prey and sinking fangs into weak, sinewy muscle.

Hawthorne parts from Fray's den. Serpent looks up at his paws, then his face, trailed by tears. It is her pelt that he seeks first, unable to see the sin that dredges its claws through her fur. Even their children still as he draws closer and whispers those damned words to her. I know. She won't tell him. It's for the better. She won't tell him.

He draws from her to address the Colony, and her gaze trails to Cicada. Serpent holds their eyes, jaw tense as Hawthorne speaks. A sweep of her paw scatters the herbs they are learning about, and a flick of her attention away from them says it all. Say nothing. Do nothing. Please, Cicada. Juniper and Honeysuckle depart; Marble and Blue offer their paws. They are to entomb their former leader in his very bed. They are to rinse the stench of death off of their paws and look forward to a new day.

Serpent fears that the red will never wash off of hers.

 

[cicadabuzz]

Cicada observes the scene with a stillness that belies the tension threading through the air. Their paws remain steady, sorting through the heap of disheveled herbs that Serpent has scattered. They work methodically, paws brushing over the leaves with practiced care, but their focus lingers elsewhere—on the faint tremor in Serpent's breath, the quick dart of her gaze that avoids meeting theirs now. The stock is lighter. Too light. It had been weighed only days prior, a habit born of necessity in these unpredictable times. Fewer scarlet-red berries rest in their stores now, the absence heavy and accusatory. Cicada doesn't need to count again; the number sears itself into their mind, as sharp as the claws that will be digging Fray's grave.

Hawthorne's voice carries, but the healer doesn't listen. They watch the tremble in Serpent's paw, the way it curls and uncurls faintly as if trying to shake off invisible stains. When her eyes finally flick toward them, it's fleeting—a flash of something raw and unguarded. A plea, perhaps, or a warning. The look lingers with them longer than the words of the Colony's mourning leader. Cicada says nothing. They let the weight of that glance settle, let the silence speak louder than any accusation ever could. Their paws resume their task, movements deliberate and precise. A stem of juniper, a sprig of tansy, carefully sifted from the mess Serpent left behind. Their eyes remain lowered, though their ears stay tilted, catching the murmurs of the others as they move past.

Serpent's plea is unspoken but clear. Cicada hears it, feels the weight of it pressing between them like a stone too heavy to lift. They say nothing. They do nothing. But their mind works quietly, sorting through this as they do their herbs, separating truth from assumption, suspicion from certainty. Their gaze falls briefly to petals of foxglove nestled among the herbs. A single pause, their paw hovering, then moving away. The petals remain undisturbed, their place in the pile unchanged, just as the silence between Cicada and Serpent remains unbroken.

 

[Jadethorn]

There's only two types of people in the world

The ones that entertain, and the ones that observe

​

The ancient first king is dead, leaving only a single son to mourn his loss. The single son that would inherit the crown as the golden ichor of royalty dripped onto Hawthorne's helm. It's a heavy droplet, pushing the Tom's head downward in grief as he showed himself to the Colony of cats eagerly waiting for his attention. The attention that the masses all demanded, with more than half showing ribcages and tight muscles.

Jade was one of the ones towards the back, scouting around for another person's meal she could swipe when the announcement was made. Her own gaze flitted towards the prince before she scoffed and turned her attention to her crimes at hand. A particularly small cat had their full attention on Hawthorne at the moment, and the spotted Tabby made sure to take this chance to snatch up the half eaten meal they were no longer paying attention to. A few silent footsteps and the mangled squirrel was hers before the cat even knew what had happened.

Despite her non-interest in the conversation at hand, spotted ears were pricked and listening as multitude of cats gave their condolences and apologies. A shake of the head was given at these meaningless words. After all, who could trust the prince when he's barely been there for them in the first place. If anything, with the death of the king, there would at least be less mouths to feed. Paw steps moved towards the shadows, where she grumbled underneath her breath. "Good Riddance..." Without another word, she made her leave before her victim could find her.
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OOC ✧❦✧ Basic Info

• ooc
  —— Im sorry for her, shes such a bitch
• 
  string of lyrics / lengty or short quote goes

  here

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• Jade she/her
  ❖ An Average Sized Black Rosette Tabby with Low White and Green Eyes
  ❖ Future Warrior of Shadowclan
  ❖ 28 moons; ages on the 8th of every month
  ❖ speech thought attack
  ❖ peaceful + healing powerplay permitted
  
  penned by Taru​

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