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Paws crunched through the brittle undergrowth, faint moonlight tracing jagged lines across her jutting bones. Lately, she'd fallen into a night routine. Mostly because it was too painful to go out in the sun anymore. More and more of her clanmates kept the same hours too, but no one questioned her leaving camp so late.
She stopped in the clearing where they'd buried Coalstrike. The dirt was still fresh, dark and freshly turned. She stood there for a long time, just staring at that mound. When they carried him out, it hadn't felt real then—and it didn't feel real now. She stepped forward and pressed her paw into the airy dirt. Something in her chest tightened, but she couldn't get why.
She wasn't close to him, not like with her siblings or Jadethorn. Jadethorn mentored her, so there was more there. They spent time together. Could she say she'd ever spent much time with Coalstrike? She was there for the birth of the kits, they went on patrols together, and he was tough, but was that all? He had always been a mean bastard when she was a kit. He never put up with her shit, and plenty of times she wished for a tree to fall and crush his big head.
Still, she respected him. He was strong in a way that she had always dreamed of being. No one could pick him up or ignore him. When he said something, you well and listened unless you wanted to get your jaw cracked. When he started noticing her more, it felt like she was finally doing something right.
Out of all the cats in ShadowClan, she never thought he'd be the one to bite it first. If anything, she half-expected him to outlive her. He was too stubborn to shrivel up and start complaining about his aching bones. In a way, the tom thought a lot like she did. Coalstrike had fought death til his last shutter. She didn't want to go writhing pathetically on the ground with everyone lookin' at her like they did him. If Fleafire was going to pick a way to die, she wanted to go fighting. A warrior's death. Setting as many lives ablaze as she could, dragging a dozen cats with her on the way to the grave.
She circled the grave, then awkwardly sank down on top of it. His scent was gone, swallowed by the blackened earth. "You're such an asshole for dying. I never even got to spar with you, probably would've got my ass kicked, but I wanted to try..." She sniffled, claws flexing against the dirt. Could he be in the same place Froststorm came from? A dark, endless forest where not even the stars shined? Even if she went to look, what were the odds he'd be there?
He wouldn't answer, but with any luck, he could hear her from wherever he was. "Some father you are too. Dropping all those kits on us and then leaving. Could've stuck around til they were apprentices at least?" Wolfpack and Jadethorn would figure it out and she would help them, but it wasn't the same. The kits that were his would not have a pa while the others did. Wolfpack couldn't be expected to waste his time with offspring that weren't his. With luck, the kits would grow up not resembling either of their fathers. At least then no one would be the wiser.
"Fuck you. Half the mind to dig you up and beat your dead ass!" Her claws took a swipe at the topsoil before flopping against the ground with a grunt.
She sighs and presses her cheek to the cold grave. Filth smears into her fur, a chill soaking through her layers. If anyone could claw their way out of a grave, it was him. The ground pounded against her ear, but her heartbeat was the only thing that resounded back.
Biting back a shiver, she curls up and shuts her eyes.
Coalstrike's death was a filthy, oozing wound that the clan wouldn't recover from anytime soon. He hadn't just wandered onto the thunderpath by mistake. He'd been murdered by cowards who couldn't face him in a real fight. She didn't want to believe someone as strong as him could die like that, but he did. Coalstrike was dead. The light had left his eyes like any other creature.
How many times were they gonna let ThunderClan spit in their faces? They took one of theirs. A piece of their clan they could never back. Now it was personal. Never mind what anyone else did—Fleafire already knew what she planned to do.
They would pay. The cats who killed Coalstrike were probably curled in their nests right now, thinking they got away with it. For the moment, maybe they had. But whether it happened tomorrow or next year, they could stay hiding in ThunderClan forever—but she'd find a way to flush them out, even if she had to raze half the forest to do it. When they came scurrying out of the flames like mice, they would have no choice but to answer.
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And I'll burn the wick at both ends
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FLEAFIRE14 MOONS
SHE/HER
- Undersized cinnamon solid with folded ears. She's thin but stubby with very messy fur.
"SPEECH" - crimson | 'THOUGHTS/EMPHASIS' - crimson
Fleapaw values family the most with survival at a close second. In conversations, she is blunt, fun-loving, and clever. She is guided by her desires which often leads her astray. Despite her abrasive personality, she cares deeply for those she loves and will do anything to protect them. Due to her experiences, Fleapaw is corrupt and has minimalistic, if any, morals. She does not care for the warrior code and its restraints. Neither does she believe in StarClan. Growing up in a kitten mill, being separated from her mother, and ending up on the streets have deeply affected her view of the world.
I always knew life wasn't fair.