TW: Sensitive Content Backwritten Camp FAR FROM FALLING OUT ♡ thornstar vigil

[serpentberry]

[ tw: dead body, mourning, postpartum ickiness ]

There's a strength in her frame; there has to have been, for her to travel so far in her state, to remain upright and conscious enough to treat her friends and family - to give life to several new kits and still be standing after. The strength warbles and warps as she waits in the morning sun, her legs feeling more like jelly than muscle, but she's still here. Her eyes wilt with fatigue, with the painful, uncertain weight of sadness - but she's still here. Others have asked her to rest with her litter, to focus on them rather than the return of her lover.

It's selfish. She had said, "I don't know them," to the cat worried for her. She bit it out with the ferocity of a tiger, and regretted it moments after, but pressed on. "I know him. I'll know him when I see him." As if, somehow, the cats of their new Clan will retrieve the wrong corpse. As if her friend misspoke or saw the wrong body fall before fleeing.

The camp errupts with a gentle chorus of mourning. Serpent snaps her gaze towards the camp's entrance, where she had seen cats come and go prior. A few push through the brambles, and atop their shoulders a body of silver chocolate - motionless, limp, each long limb hanging uselessly from the strong frame. A body, a body, but is it him? Delusional, she knows, to still question it. But she stands on legs that betray her, trip beneath her tired body, and stumbles towards the small patrol. And she sees him.

A choked cry rips from her throat. Serpent, ever steady, ever steely, breaks before the new blooming Clan. His fur is tousled, his eyes are closed as if he sleeps - his lips twist into a gentle smile, loosened with the lost tension in his body. But oh, his throat. Teeth have dug mercilessly, crushed and tore at him like he was prey, and his killer was hungry. Her legs finally give and fold, her muzzle pressing into the bloody space between his chest and chin. It's as if she can hide it, he will breathe again. If no one else will see the viscera, then no one else has to admit the truth. Hawthorne is dead. Hawthorne is dead.

"You - you promised," she cries, thinking of his honey-river eyes, crinkling at the corners as he talks about his famous pick of a name. She grits her teeth, pulling herself closer to him, "You said you would give me time - time that I deserve, Hawthorne... This isn't - this isn't -" she deserves better. She deserves more. Someone stole her forever after from her. She knows who dug their teeth mercilessly into his throat - but all the same, she knows who fed his father poison in hopes it would strengthen his spirit. She knows who's weakness had allowed him to fall. Hawthorne failed her, but so many others have failed him, again, and again, and again.

She nearly screams - declares him a liar so that his very stars can hear her distress. But the pain resonates differently. She draws her tongue over his cheek, trembling as she whispers, "I can't even bury you." She's too weak, from labor, from caring for others, from the nights of lost sleep and fear. She cannot leave their new camp and watch him be lowered, throw dirt over his body and cry by his headstone. She can't bring him flowers for leafbare is so pitiful in its resources. Was he meant to be buried beside his father, his fallen colony members - or the first of their new gravesite? Is his headstone to stand tall as the first returned member of ThunderClan, or will generations fade his memory, weather away his name and forget him entirely? Has fate always been so cruel, simply waiting like a snake to strike again? Serpent cries, "I can't bury you."

I can't let you go.

 

[Copperstorm]

COPPER OF THUNDERCLAN

Copper's steps were steady, though each one felt like dragging the weight of the world behind him. The body of Hawthorne lay carefully secured, his companions aiding in the solemn task of returning him to ThunderClan. Copper's wounds burned and itched beneath hastily patched fur, but they were the least of his concerns. Promises had been made. To Juniperstar, to the clan, to himself. He would bring Hawthorne home.

And after? In the dead of night, he would retrace his steps to the cold, lonely spot where his own brother, Flint, had been left behind. Left because there had been no choice, but the thought ate at him. He could only pray, beg the stars above, that no predator had found Flint's body. The idea of his brother, his kin... suffering such a fate twisted a knife deep in his chest.

Copper moved ahead carefully, ensuring Hawthorne's body did not shift too much. He barked out quiet orders to his companions, directing them with precision honed from moons of hardship. Together, they worked as one, carrying their clanmate home.

When they reached camp, the familiar shapes and scents of ThunderClan came into view, and Copper's heart twisted further. Of course, it was Serpent he saw first. Serpent, who froze him to his core with just a glance. Her presence stirred a storm within him, a tempest of grief and simmering anger. Flint had reeked of her and her brother, the scent mingling with his blood like an accusation. And yet...

They laid Hawthorne down gently, as though the very ground might protest. Copper's golden eyes never left Serpent. He watched her, tense and guarded, until she broke. Her body crumbled with a grief so raw it pierced through his rage like a claw. The storm within him subsided, replaced by a pang of understanding he hadn't expected.

She, too, had lost someone. Someone she would have held onto until the very end if she could. And though Copper's anger still lingered, hot and coiled, he couldn't summon it against her now. Not here. Not like this. He dipped his head instead, a gesture of quiet respect, and of shared loss. The way Hawthorne had been stolen from them, it was unjust. Unfair.

Cowardly.

" Those responsible will get what they deserve. " Copper said finally, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze flickered to Serpent, his words carrying a weight that promised action. He hadn't gone to her with his wounds, hadn't approached her with questions or accusations. He didn't know how to bridge that chasm, not yet. This... these words was all he could give her now.

As he stepped back, giving Serpent the space to mourn her lover, Copper's golden eyes began scanning the clearing. Instinctively, they sought one figure.

Where is Dewshine...?

you walk along the edge of danger ——･ﾟ✦​

･ﾟ✦ —— AND IT WILL CHANGE YOU

 

[rowanpaw]

Rowan is shaking badly as she leaves the den, following Serpent into the clearing. She resists the urge to offer her a supportive shoulder, knowing full well that Serpent would deny herself of it. It wouldn't help, it might even make things worse. Instead she stands just behind her, ready to support her if her body betrayed her. Her heart is somewhere in her throat, begging to be let out like a held back cough. She stares at the bramble covered opening, praying to unfamiliar stars that they've made some mistake. Surely not Hawthorne. Surely not.

But there he is, being dragged into the clearing, too much limb and too little blood. A terrible hole has been ripped in his throat, the blood clotted and clinging to his fur. Serpent bursts forward, burying herself in her mate's fur, and Rowan follows her, quietly, disbelieving. The sound of mourning cats is all around her, but it fades into a distant whisper of a thing, her ears ringing with loss.

Oh, how cruel, how cruel the stars are. How cruel. For a few hours, they'd given her hope, let her see a better future– Serpent had made Rowan her daughter, and Hawthorne had agreed, and for the first time in her life, she had had a family. Something more than just Maple, something bigger and warmer. For the first time in her life, she had a mother who wanted her. Serpent had chosen to take on the title, to take care of her, to be her mother. It was not motherhood like Rowan knew it, forced by blood and sickness, but something tender and malleable. She remembers Hawthorne's soft gaze as he looked at her and agreed, the soft brushing of fur, and then he was leaving. He was supposed to come back alive. She was supposed to have a father– she didn't even get to call him it, to call out the word she'd never spoken before.

It leaves her throat now, along with her heart– "Father," she croaks out, a broken and quiet cry, barely above a whisper, from somewhere deep in her chest. It's unfamiliar on her tongue, strange and foreign.

She thinks of the three kits back in the den, who know nothing but the warmth of their mother and the cold of leafbare, and who will never know their father. They won't get to say it either, to cry it out when they are afraid– they will not know his mismatched eyes nor his soft but steady voice.

Rowan cries out again, wordlessly, mourning a father she barely got to have, a home that almost was– then, a warmth surrounds her, and the familiar scent of her brother envelops her as he curls around her where she lies. He does not speak; does not need to. What is there to say? There is still the faint stench of blood on his fur, but in this moment, Rowan does not care. She burrows her face in Maple's side, shaking as she cries, cries for all that is lost, all they almost had.

How do you mourn the loss of a father you never really had, a love that you did not speak out loud? Rowan did not love Hawthorne, not as a daughter loves her father, but maybe she would have. She could have, if she'd had more time. And maybe in time, he'd grow to love her as a father loves his daughter. How do you mourn that loss– the loss of the possibility of love?

 

[THUNDERFLASH]

He is silent, watching not far from where Ghost had dug in by Serpent's den, ears flattened against his skull as silvered fur steps into the clearing. As those that carry the weight of his death appear through the gorse, as Serpent snaps from the den- he doesn't flinch away from it, teeth pressing together tight. Her wail alone causes his eyes to finally close. What was there to say? His death was a misfortune? No, it was an act of betrayal, of murder and sick selfishness. Anger burned, roaring in his stomach. He had known Hawthorne better then Fray, but even as he is presented with what was to-be leader's body, tears don't find it.

The anger inside roars to fury as Serpent's sobs echo through the ravine, as Copper promises Sable death like he had hours earlier at the return of Juniperstar, as Rowan and Maple joins Serpent in the mourning. Others are sure to cry or shed tears, he's sure, but himself? No, Thunder's biting down on his lip, the only thing keeping him rooted to camp was his wound. Baby blues opened, snapping towards where Ghost might be. The sight of black tabby fur, ruffled in the cold, vision as uncaring as possible would have been a weight that soothed. Thunder turned his head back forward. Serpent could chew his ear off, for all he cared, but he had already traveled from their first home to here without dying. Ten feet wouldn't kill him now.

Thunder is careful as he picks his way down to Serpent, ensuring nobody brushed against his right side, double-checking his left where cobwebs shadowed his eye. He replaces the gap left by Copper, ears still flat against his head, his lip and side aching. "I know y' may no' wan' t' hear i', but..." His accent is thick, clinging to his words, voice full of grit and hoarse as could be, but he tries his best to speak as clear as possible to the fresh widow. "For wha' it's worth, m' 'ere for you. We all are." He utters. "I'll... if y' need anythin' from me- anythin', tell me." His words alone don't sound like much, but it's an oath that runs as deep as his bone marrow does, clinging to his heart and coating his insides. He would be there for her.

It was simple. She saved his life, he'd do what he could to repay her for moons to come. (Was it truly that simple, when Serpent's mate was dead, and the cat that killed him still walked? No. No, it wasn't.) A long breath, vision turning towards Hawthorne's body. And you, y' bastard. I'll make sure every bit of revenge comes for you. I'll make him hurt. Thunder thought briefly, then dipped his head in a last sign of respect for Hawthorne. It was his turn to retreat, to return to the perch near Serpent's den, to hopefully find some semblance of comfort from breathing the same air as Ghost.

___________________ YOU'VE GOT MY BODY ☆ FLESH AND BONE, YEAH ___________________

• "speech"
  

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• THUNDERFLASH he/him, thunderclanner, twenty 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.