Lightning'growl barely registered the first ripple of chaos tearing through camp.
He stood rigid near the edge of the clearing, mud still clinging to his legs from earlier, shoulders squared and head high in a way that usually came so naturally to him—but now felt forced, like he was holding himself together with nothing but habit. The overlapping voices, the blood-scent, the frantic movement toward the medicine den all blurred into a single, nauseating pulse. His ears flattened, then twitched, trying to latch onto something that made sense.
Dustystar is gone.
The words still rang in his skull, hollow and sharp all at once.
He watched cats funnel into the medicine den under Goldenroar's direction, his jaw tightening as Dimmingsun barked orders with the practiced authority of someone who had already accepted the loss. Lightning'growl's tail lashed once, hard.
Accepted. The thought made his chest burn. How were they already moving on? How was there space in anyone's lungs to think about
"what comes next" when WindClan's first leader had vanished into nothing but rumor and blood-soaked earth?
His paws shifted restlessly, claws pricking the ground as
@DIMMINGSUN's voice rose—firm, commanding, silencing the clearing like a snapped branch.
"That's enough."
Lightning'growl's head snapped toward him, jade eyes flaring. His hackles bristled again, fur along his spine lifting as if struck by static. He took one sharp step forward before even realizing it, body angling instinctively toward
@Silentstep's side—
close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed her flank. He didn't look at her, didn't say her name, but his presence was unmistakable: solid, unmoving, a barrier as much as a statement.
"Savages?" Lightning'growl echoed, voice low at first, dangerous in its restraint. His ears pinned back as Dimmingsun continued, blaming no one, promising SkyClan would "pay" in time. The words scraped like grit against Lightning'growl's teeth.
His tail flicked once, twice, agitation bleeding through every sharp movement.
"Don't twist this," he snapped finally, voice rising, cutting clean through the hush that had fallen.
"Don't you dare stand there and pretend this is about proving SkyClan right or wrong." His gaze burned, sweeping the clearing, lingering on Goldenroar only long enough for bitterness to flash across his features.
"This is about cats bleeding. Cats dying. Leaders disappearing into nothing while the rest of us are told to swallow it and line up for treatment like it's just another bad patrol."
His chest heaved, breath coming faster now.
"Dustystar didn't even get a body brought home," he growled.
"No vigil. No farewell. Just gone. And you want us quiet?"
For a heartbeat, it looked like he might say more—but something in the clearing shifted.
Lightning'growl's eyes flicked sideways.
Silentstep had lowered her head.
The sight hit him harder than any shouted accusation.
He stiffened, confusion flashing across his face before it could harden into anger. His ears pricked despite himself, attention narrowing to the way she seemed to fold inward, the way her presence dimmed as
@Weaselchirp's voice drew her away. When Silentstep stepped back—away from him, away from the storm he'd planted himself in front of—Lightning'growl felt something tug unpleasantly tight in his chest.
Why does that bother me?
He watched her cross the clearing, watched her lean into Weaselchirp's shoulder, watched her withdraw from the argument entirely. His tail stilled, then drooped just a fraction, betraying him. For a breath, he looked torn—like he might follow.
But then the rest of the camp surged back into focus.
The murmurs. The anger. The quiet satisfaction in some faces at the promise of future bloodshed.
Lightning'growl's expression hardened like cooling stone.
"So that's it," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His ears flattened again, shoulders rolling back as he straightened to his full height. He cast one last glance toward Silentstep—not protective now, but something closer to regret, sharp and unspoken—before dragging his gaze away.
"If this Clan wants war so badly," he said aloud, voice rough, stripped of its earlier fire,
"then you can scream about it without me standing here to listen."
His tail lashed once in finality.
Lightning'growl turned sharply, paws digging into the dirt as he strode across the clearing. Each step was quick, angry, purposeful—grass bending beneath him, mud splashing against his legs as he passed the medicine den without a glance. He didn't slow, didn't look back, even as the noise of camp swallowed his name and the weight of everything he hadn't said pressed hard against his ribs.
The wind caught his fur as he left, tugging at it like it wanted to drag him back.
He didn't let it.
Lightning'growl stormed off toward the warriors den, jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with rage alone, but with a grief he refused to let anyone see.
