OOC: Aspenheart was the first character from my return to WCC that I had a really strong connection to as a writer. All good things come to an end. If I kept him alive, it would’ve been a disservice. And, since this is my first death topic since returning to WCC, I figured I might as well set the bar impossibly high for myself in the future (lolz). Parts 2 and 4 of this topic were written by our dear citrus, Lemon, who offered to contribute Finchstar to Aspenheart’s ascension to StarClan. This topic wouldn't be as great as it is without them, and I wanted to thank them one more time for their contribution. I hope you enjoy.
This is a solo death topic. The mourning topic, which takes place immediately after this thread, is here: Ashes, Daybreak.
In a clan usually so full of life, the quiet of evening was always unnerving. Aspenheart was a creature of the night, staying up far too late attending to things that could, in all fairness, wait until morning. He watched the spiders spin above his head, laying in the medicine den, the dirt floor pressing against his short-furred back. He spent just over two hours completely overhauling the herb stores in honor of Softbreeze’s naming. She needed a cleaner workspace, now that it was more definitively hers to inherit. An odd idea… a cat he had known since her ears were too big for her face, barely more than a wobbly bundle of fluff, who had her father’s muzzle and mother’s gaze, inheriting a place after he inevitably died. He imagined that his gruffness had thickened her skin, or made her a little more resilient to criticism, without stripping her of the qualities that made her such a good medicine cat. Even if he imagined, he didn’t know if it was really true. He couldn’t take all the credit, as her mentor, for how much she had grown. Cats grew without being told to, as weeds sprout up around flowers without anything to plant them there.
So was the case with WindClan. In the time he had spent in their ranks, he watched warriors, apprentices, and leaders embody the spirit of the wind, from the strongest gale to the lightest draft. They were experts of change, easily switching direction and striking up a new path wherever they chose, regardless of circumstances. It was incredible, how quickly they recovered from Finchstar's death... himself included. Perhaps he was showing his age if he said that the concept of StarClan had become a lot less intimidating. He spent so long planting stakes in the ground, when the greatest safety was in the notion of change. It was the only constant. WindClan would change long after he was gone, as well. It had already begun, under new leadership. To compare Ravenstar or Finchstar, or even Brindlestar, would be a disservice to all that he had ahead of him. Each leader marked a new era, especially in a clan like this. Aspenheart was proud to see him grow into this new challenge, after seasons of struggle.
The old medicine cat rolled onto his side, grumbling as he struggled to stand up. His skin hung loosely on his fur, flecks and pieces of grey dotting the usually silver tabby coat he had once been proud of. It felt strange to be vain these days. Between his musings, he became vaguely aware of something stirring in his head. Swiftly, he crouched back to the ground as he was barraged by a seizure, body stiffening on the ground, eyes blank and unseeing.
Only a few moments passed before he rose once more, hurrying out of the den. They usually came in sets of three. He wanted to lay down in the clearing before another one took hold. Less movement was better, and he enjoyed the communal sleeping place WindClan shared. A few cats were still awake, grooming and murmuring softly over the chirping of frogs. Their pelts were illuminated by the slow-moving flickers of lightning bugs as the glided through the grassy camp. Aspenheart tucked his head and rolled over, stretching out in a comfortable, splayed position. Seizures were common enough for the medicine cat that warriors never bat an eye at them. Kits tended to be wary until his unique condition was explained. In any case, as the next seizure struck, a few eyes shifted to him for only a moment before sliding away. When Aspenheart returned to himself, he flexed his paws and blinked, attempting to shake out the fog. It wouldn't leave. Perhaps he ought to try and sleep. As he laid his head on the ground and shut his eyes, he listened gleefully to the slow decrescendo of voices as snoring, shuffling, and slow breathing overtook the late-night conversations. The dull roar became a whisper. WindClan would sleep peacefully, another night in paradise.
The last seizure struck him like a ton of rocks. Not often did he convulse so violently, legs thrashing and a low growl bubbling from his throat. For the first time, he could feel it... he could see it! Terror took his chest as he realized he was experiencing what had, until this moment, been a blank spot in his memories. Every static shock in his brain connected, but he could not move beyond his uncontrollable trembling, nor cry out for aid. His vision was blurred and dark at the corners, but with his sea-green eyes fixated straight out in front of him, he saw Softbreeze's pelt, and prayed she might hear him struggle and wake up. In his panic, he thought he might will himself to break free. This seizure was far too long. Several long, agonizing, terrifying moments passed, and Aspenheart felt like he was watching himself from high above, as sparks flickered in his temples. He was released from the convulsions as suddenly as he had been caught in their claws. He shifted onto his back, blinking and heaving, mouth open in absolute shock. He had not felt so helpless since the first seizure he ever had. He stared out at the horizon; the night was almost over. Aspenheart wasn't in the mood to sleep anymore.
He rose to his paws, sighing with a furrowed brow. Padding between sleeping warriors, he wondered if he should go on an herb hunt. It might help to take his mind off of such a traumatic experience. Besides, they were all going to need some strength herbs and new moss if this heat was going to continue. Aspenheart broke into a brisk trot, making his way to the gorse tunnel with one thousand things on his mind... except the most obvious. It took him until his muzzle was halfway into the tunnel to ask himself the question.
How am I trotting?Aspenheart half gasped and half screamed when the realization took root, backpedaling away from the camp entrance with strange, foreign stability. His legs were firm on the sandy ground. He stood tall, center of gravity in his core. Nothing moved, nothing buckled beneath him, and nothing threatened to bowl him over like an ill-balanced stick. He felt his heart began to drum loud in his ears, and he began to step forward with turtlelike movements, as if placing a paw on the ground might kill him. One, two, three, four. Again. One, two, three, four.
His legs were working. They had mended themselves in an evening, as if they were new. Seasons of non-use were nothing to him. He knew what it was to walk with pride and balance like he had done it yesterday. He strode in a lovely, splendid circle on his new limbs, gawking at how they settled on the ground without intense calculation. Aspenheart felt his chest swell into action, a large lump finding its way into his throat. He couldn't stop grinning. He laughed, a high and joyous sound. No longer did his tail sweep oddly to the side, offsetting his awkward hobble. No longer did his paws shake with every motion he made. He was walking, trotting... why, he could nearly run!
The medicine cat whipped around like an apprentice on his first patrol.
"Softbreeze!" he howled, sprinting towards her slumbering form, riding high on the winds of jubilation.
"Softbreeze! Look! I seized, but then I woke up, and now I can—"He made a garbled, strangled noise, cutting off his victorious yowl.
His legs trembled again, but not from his damaged mind.
He felt small. The floodwater swept him up again, threatening to drown him, leaving him powerless.
A crumbled, silver tabby lay beside Softbreeze's pelt. The body had a row of scars along its muzzle, and its chest did not move. Otherwise, he might have been sleeping... the contented expression he bore might have meant a good dream. Aspenheart slowly looked down at his own chest, and finally noticed the luminescent quality of his own fur. He was doused in starlight. Softbreeze did not hear him, nor did she even see him.
He shook, nausea punching his gut, and approached his own body. Now disconnected from it, his pelt looked dull and shriveled. Without any kind of warning or prior notice, he collapsed in a series of weeps, ragged breaths transitioning into devastated moans, heart breaking as he stared at himself. He was dead. The seizure he thought had healed him had dispatched him. He prodded his physical form, he didn't slide back inside. He was really, truly, actually dead.
"Put me back!" he groaned, eyes snapping up to the heavens.
"PUT ME BACK RIGHT NOW!" The medicine cat lurched up and began to pace in wide circles around his body, heaving and sniffling as he considered his options. A plea wouldn't hurt, right?
"Wait, okay, listen to me, hear me out," he yelled to no one, hoping somebody would hear.
"They need me. You must know that. I've been around the bush and back, I'm older than most of the clan! I could do so much more for them. When another war comes to our dens, they're going to need two medicine cats! They're going to need me around! My time isn't up yet, not according to ANYBODY! You know what, I'm not leaving this camp!" Abruptly, he pitched himself to the ground, pressing his head to his front paws. His sniveling ceased. Though his breaths were still quick and shallow, they were now coupled with the heat of rage. If they wanted him, they'd have to drag him to StarClan by the tail.
"I'm waiting! You can put me back in my body whenever's convenient! You don't need an appointment, you flea-pelted starry-brained foxhearts!" he yowled.
"I spent all those hours climbing those awful stones to come talk to you folks, and you can't spare me the time of day?" He waited, but only for a few seconds. Aspenheart heard wandering pawsteps behind him, the swishing of a tail, and a greeting mew that was low and sweet, like sap. He twisted his head behind him to see who had joined him as company. He smiled in spite of the situation. Finchstar looked nice, cloaked in swaths of stars. Aspenheart stepped up to meet him, beckoning his old friend closer.
"I missed you at the Gathering," he murmured, breaths slowing and heart reducing its rhythm.
"I was wondering when we'd meet again, friend. Come on. Let's do this! Give me some sage wisdom about not being such a rabbithead and stick this soul in my body!" Finchstar's odd expression made Aspenheart uneasy. The past leader's eyes did not exactly scream “Okay, take me to the body." The medicine cat's impish smile fell into a mortified frown as his large ears flipped behind his head. The two toms looked at each other for a long time. Aspenheart looked away, the very air around him crushing his chest, dropping his knees, and forcing broken sobs from his maw.
"That look on your dumb mug," he sighed.
"That's not a good look. You're looking at me like that because you won't do it. Or you can't... but I don't believe that. StarClan gave you nine lives, they can't give me one? I just want more time... Why, friend? Please, just tell me why..."
”Had StarClan allowed me to share my lives, I would have given you every last one, friend.” Finchstar crooned, settling down on the grass beside Aspenheart, finally able to feel his medicine cat’s body once more. The sobs that shook the slender gray tabby broke Finchstar’s heart in two, and his yellow eyes faltered in their brilliance, hurting deeply for the tom. His friend, his
brother had grown so much since Finchstar’s parting. To see him now cling to life with such adamance was stunning, indeed. But it spoke of Aspenheart’s spirit. The tom was never one for such mediocrity. If something had to be done, Finchstar knew Aspenheart would follow through, kicking and screaming with a heart of fire. It made the former leader smile, a wide, sunny thing. He draped his long tail over the lanky tom’s back, now with new vigor. The feeling of fur once more, the boney spine that structured his pelt - it caused tears to well up in the leader’s eyes. It’d been so long since Finchstar had sat by his friend’s side, but now they had an eternity wield.
”It’s quite ironic, is it not? For such reckless cats like ourselves, we’ve come to miss the moor the moment we’re asked to leave it.” Finchstar chuckled, glimmers of stardust sparkling from his eyes.
”You and I love differently, friend; but your heart, it’s filled with no less love than my own. You’ve done such wonderful things for the cats in our little dip in the moor, even if that meant giving them gray hairs, mmm?” There was a cheeky look in Finchstar’s eye as he stood and shook out his pelt, shimmers sparkling onto the grass below.
”Tell me, first-paw. What is it you’ll miss? Your wayward apprentice, or perhaps your new working legs? Or maybe it’s that adventurous feeling of sitting atop Outlook Rock, watching the world unfurl before you; knowing you’ll only be but a splash in the grand scheme of it all.”The former leader began to pad around Aspenheart’s earthly body, watching with an empathetic gaze as the night began to lift into a humble dawn. WindClan slumbered soundly around camp, a sight Finchstar often watched from the clouds above. Aspenheart’s mortal frame laid with them, so peaceful, as if he was sleeping as well. Fireflies danced above tall strands of heather, weaving in and out of gorse bushes with grace. Cotton floated above the glades with a lazy gust of wind, christening the cats below with soft whispers. It was all so intricate, so perfect. Finchstar cast a smile to his brother from where he stood, looking out over Aspenheart’s body. There was a vast note of understanding, undertones of empathy and deep love. It was always meant to be that he’d see his first apprentice off to StarClan. His counselor and friend. They’d fought life itself together; raged against all that was evil and doomed.
”We were never ones to turn down such poetry, were we, friend?” Finchstar called, beckoning Aspenheart’s ethereal form from where he now resided in camp. Dawn was slowly climbing over the gorse wall, not yet bright, still toying with beautiful undertones of blues and purples.
”If you are going to rage against the light as it pulls you from your body, do not do it alone. Let us fight as we used to long ago in your den. Let us cry on each other’s shoulders after a tumultuous gathering. And let us love, oh, brother, let us love. If we’re going to miss the moor, then let’s relish it one last time, shall we?” There were tears in Finchstar’s eyes as he stood next to his greatest friend, facing towards the sunrise as it charged itself to emerge. A bittersweet smile crested his lips, speaking words of love and longing. One’s home would always remain with them, no matter the winds of change.
There was nothing to say when Finchstar extended his feather-soft invitation to Aspenheart. It was over; he could do no more for WindClan. His many moons of trial and tribulation had come to a close, not with thunderous applause, but with the lightest whisper. The breeze. Like a phantom, it ruffled his neck fur. Aspenheart found that the fight between the known and unknown, the hissing and spitting, and the terror of the void, were all coming to an end within him. Cosmic stillness filled the cavity in his chest, and there was only the sweet repose of laying down one’s sword that remained. His eyes fluttered shut. Aspenheart released his tethers, all the bonds that kept him straggling to the edges of life, before touching his nose to Finchstar’s. He nearly heard the chanting of his clanmates the first time he had done this, all that time ago.
Aspenpaw, Aspenpaw, they had cheered. Now, it was both of their names, Aspenheart and Finchstar, that were calling from the stars.
He took one last lingering look at his apprentice, his leader, his deputy, and his clanmates. All of the kits in the nursery, who he would not watch grow up. This was the only bittersweetness left.
“Softbreeze,” he whispered, voice trembling.
“Say hello to our friends for me. Take care of your brother. Take care of WindClan. Most of all, take your time. The greatest honor I had was training you.” Night was fading to morning. It was time to go. He nudged Finchstar’s shoulder, pressing his cheek to the slightly taller tom’s throat.
“What was that thing you told me, in the mountains?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah. For love, for freedom. WindClan is forever.”
Aspenheart and Finchstar; brothers of the moor. The sun burst from the gorge bushes with such graceful ferocity, lighting the sky with hues of change. And like the wind, their love would flow unending through every turbulence. Red waves meant with those of orange, crashing together in a beautiful longing. Yellow light streaked over the grasses, illuminating Aspenheart’s mortal frame, striping his pelt with the shadows of heather. Finchstar exhaled and laughed in joyous glee. He winked at Aspenheart, and they ran. Up, up, up into the sky. With new rejuvenated bodies, free from all the hurt and the pain. Change had taught them to love, and change had taught them to heal. They ran with the speed of all of WindClan, dipping below clouds, sprinting in the dust of stars, up into the everlit sky as the sun lit their path. Brothers, brothers of the sunrise. Aspenheart was free.
![Empire's Embers [co-written by lemon - death topic] DhMrV6c](https://i.imgur.com/DhMrV6c.png)