TW: Sensitive Content Open Camp I'LL MEET YOU OUT THERE [ dustystar's funeral ] IN THE VASTNESS SOMEWHERE

[wheatwhistle]

{$title} cw // mentions of death, grief, funerals

(★) dimmingsun and meadowbloom have graciously allowed wheatwhistle to take charge in the funeral preparations of their former leader. there is no body to be laid delicately before the clan, dusky fur strewn with dried rose and lavender petals, sharp eyes softly closed. she is not curled in the tall grasses of camp, tail tucked around her nose as if she were sleeping. he'd almost prefer to see a body, because then there would be no doubt. still, windclan is determined to carry on, and wheatwhistle will not allow any cat to do so without him. in lue of her body, he has gathered her nest, a bundle of tightly woven grasses, strung through with the odd feather here or there. if he had his way, they'd have scraped at the river's bottom until they'd found her sodden corpse, but this will have to do. dustystar had not been a materialistic cat, and her nest reflects this, but all the same her grandfather had seen it fit to scatter this instead with the customary lavender and rose. he takes a moment before he emerges from her den to lower his muzzle into the soft fibers of moor-grass, breathing in her scent for the last time. "oh m' dust-bunny," his voice is low, gravely with age and sorrow. "yer with yer mom 'n grandma now." lamb will be curling around her little girl now, learning everything she hadn't experienced with her daughter. chicken and alder will be looking on, fondness in their eyes. he wonders vaguely if any of them are watching him at this moment. with them all up there, all that is left for the old man here is his clan. he doesn't know if it's enough.

sniffing, the elderly warrior passes a paw across his face, scrubbing away the tears that have formed. standing, wheatwhistle shakes his fur out before gently grasping the nest with his paws and pulling it from its spot in the den. he emerges to a torturously lovely evening, sun beams reflecting flame off of the snow strewn moorland. dual-hued eyes blink as they adjust, and he frowns up at the sky, wondering why today of all days such a beautiful sunset is to appear. starclan should be mourning their chosen, should they not? no matter. he will grieve enough for the heavens and beyond. tugging the nest to the center of camp, the elderly tom flicks his tail, looking perhaps older than he has ever looked. his fur is messy, ginger replaced with gray in some places, and his eyes are bloodshot. shoulders hunched, he lets out a sigh. "windclan, it is time to say goodbye."

even with these simple words his voice catches, and he has to swallow down the painful lump that threatens to break in his throat. "dustystar was... she was th' light o' my life. my granddaughter was fierce... 'n cunnin', and cared... so very deeply for all of you," his head turns, meeting the eyes of each gathered clanmate with solemnity. a breath rattles in wheatwhistle's throat, chest heaving with the effort. "she found it her greatest pride to lead you here, an' i am certain she will continue to watch us from her place in the stars," swallowing, the ginger and white tomcat leans down, closing his eyes. "i love you, m'girl. travel safe, now."

DEEP GREENS AND BLUES ★ ARE THE COLORS I CHOOSE

• // medicine cat(s) tag @DIMMINGSUN @Meadowbloom " #6c8886"
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  WHEATWHISTLE ⏾ tags / toyhouse
  
  ⏾ cis tom (he / him) / bisexual, widower of CHICKEN
  ⏾ 111 moons old, ages realistically
  ⏾ elderly warrior of windclan
  ⏾ sibling to ALDER
  ⏾ grandfather to DUSTYSTAR
  ⏾ mentoring NONE / mentored by none
  ⏾ penned by LAVS / message lavendes on discord for plots!
  
  an orange tabby tom with low white and one gold eye, and one blue eye. short silky fur reminisces flame and rye, darker ginger tabby stripes slicing through the lighter tone. splashes of white are strewn across his face and body, a snowbank covering the flaming base of his coat. his eyes are odd- one crystal blue, the other sunshine golden, peering with a slightly lopsided look.

​

 

[PEONYPAW]

Grief is not a new concept for Peonypaw—not back when he had been a stray tossed around in the breeze, and nor as a member of WindClan, courtesy of recent happenings—, but that does not make it any easier to handle. Certainly not when the cat that they had all lost is someone so important.

Perhaps it had been wrong of him to get attached. He knows how these things go, how much more painful saying goodbye is when you allow yourself close. He had not even tried to do that this time; Dustystar's insistence on him had come entirely from her. She had not given up on him, even when she realistically should have, and now... now she leaves a hole in his heart that no other cat can possibly fill. His own mentor did not make it to see him finally graduate from the shackles of apprenticehood, can never see him live up to the potential that she had strangely seen in him.

His gaze searches the crowd. He can't even find comfort in Petalpaw now.

In fact, he doubts there is anyone left that he can confide in this moment. If Dustystar's body had been retrieved, he could push his nose into her fur, soak in her scent one last time... but he can't be granted that warped relief. Maybe one of the stars that begin to appear represents her, still dim from the sun that had not yet fully set. A sob threatens to escape him, and it takes all of him not to give in to the overwhelming sensation.

NOTES
N/A

 

[Cricketpaw Cricketpaw]

'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance
A foxtrot above my head, a sock hop beneath my bed
A disco ball is just hanging by a thread

.

Cricketpaw felt her heart clench all over again, a deep frown settling across her face as she watched the vigil before her. Again. Again. First Molewhisker... And now this. The realization sank in slow and heavy, like water seeping into her bones. Things would come to pass. One by one. There was a flicker of hope, fragile and trembling. There had been no body retrieved. No final sight. No true goodbye. That small mercy was all she had to cling to, even as her ears flicked back and she listened to Wheatwhistle speak, offering farewell to a leader who would never walk among them again. Or perhaps... Hopefully... One day she would...

Dustystar was gone. She would miss her.

A quiet sniff escaped her before her gaze found Peonypaw in the crowd. Her ear twitched once, hesitation tugging at her chest, before she finally moved closer and brushed lightly against his side. Just a touch. Just enough to say something without words. Comfort, of a sort. They had been at odds, she knew that well. The hurt between them had not vanished. But right now... Peonypaw was grieving. They all were. The clearing felt smaller for it, heavier with loss, and Cricketpaw stayed where she was, sharing the silence, because sometimes that was all anyone had left.

Speech, thoughts/emphasis

11 MOONS

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