Guilt; the most painful companion of death (OPEN)

(this topic follows right after this topic: click me)


Curlypaw's lungs felt as if they were about to explode, but they'd made it back home and he couldn't have been more relieved to be back where it was safe. Somehow, him and Rosepaw had managed to drag the body all by themselves, though the journey had been a rough one. It wasn't an easy task to haul literal dead-weight all the way across the territory, but it was the least he could do for the stranger who had saved his life. In addition to using all of the strength that StarClan had given him, he'd found himself nauseous the entire way, most likely due to the fact that in holding her pelt, her blood had soaked into his mouth and he wanted nothing more than to drink from a stream and wash the taste away.

On the way back he hadn't been able to stop his tears, but if he was honest, he didn't even care. Today had been probably the worst day of his life and if Rosepaw saw him cry, then so be it. At least she knew that he had a heart, even if it got a bit mushy at times...

Sitting down with a thump, Curlypaw's shoulders sagged, his paws ached, and his heart raced. What now? Who did he tell, what did he say? Would his clanmates be angry at him? There were so many unknowns and the young tom didn't know what to think of it all. Well... now that he thought about it, he knew just who to call for; a cat he loved and knew that he could trust. "Comfreyheart!" he called out between heavy breaths as he sat beside the she-cat's lifeless body, his face stinging from the tears that stained his lavender pelt. He supposed that he should've called for Mottlestar or maybe even Thistlemask, but his mentor was practically his mother and she'd been the first cat to come to his mind that could help them in this unfortunate situation. Hopefully, she wouldn't be too disappointed in him.

After a long morning of training, Lichenpaw was resting. His body ached from the sparring he'd done with Darkspirit, but he was improving, and that was what mattered. The gray tom was sprawled out near the apprentices' den, his long feathery tail flicking back and forth as he half-dozed... and then there was the smell - the unmistakable smell of cat's blood. Lichenpaw lifted his head, watching as a weirdly shaped bundle pressed through the barrier tunnel and into camp. It took him several long blinks to dissect the shape into cats: Rosepaw, Curlypaw, and a third, larger cat that they carried between them.

She was dead.

As Curlypaw's yowl for his mentor went out, Lichenpaw was on his feet and trotting over to stand at his brother's side. Tears stained Curlypaw's face, and Lichenpaw circled him, checking him over for serious wounds before pausing and standing a bit awkwardly off to the side. "Bro, you ok? What happened?"

She was not Comfreyheart, but the russet she-cat responded to Curlypaw's wailing with irritation at first. Loud, crying. He must have tripped or something. Seeing that Rosepaw was with him, it was very likely she'd gotten him into some kind of trouble.

Until she spotted the bloodied form of a warrior laying between them. The culprit who caused the curly apprentices tears. Though she didn't know this cat, they would still be worthy of mourning. Firepaw would say nothing, since words wouldn't reverse whatever happened to the white furred she-cat. May StarClan - if she was into that - guide her safe passage.

Lightly, she headbutted Curlypaw's shoulder before sitting beside him, head bowed to the lifeless form. Just this once she would allow Curlypaw a break. It must have been a long trek home.