Until My Last Breath [OPEN DEATH TOPIC]

Duskflight

The moon was bright that night. Casting its luminescence down to the marshlands of ShadowClan, it shone through spots where darkness lay, forcing itself through the thorned branches that shielded the camp and past the canopy of pine trees. The wind would rustle where it shone, just barely ruffling the fur of resting felines that lay at peace in the protected space. A dark-pelted figure blended in with the silhouette of the very night that lay above them, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. Death's presence loomed upon the unsuspecting elder, creeping up on him as he lay at rest. For him, it would be just a night like any other, yet for all that he didn't know—it would be the very moment when his existence would be stolen from the cruel hands of nature.

It started with an ordinary cough. He wished not for Swiftheart to ever worry, so he hid it from her, distancing himself from his clanmates as much as he could. Those who knew him personally would notice his frequent absence from Gatherings, his reluctance in taking more prey for himself, and his growing distance towards the growing clan. He hardly went outside, if at all, other than mandatory times when he needed to in order to survive. What he didn't recognize was, however, that the cough had soon grown into something untreatable while he had concealed them from his clanmates. The same reason woke him up from his sleep, leaving his fur bristling as he awoke to cough violently. In such times, he would force himself to his paws and slip away from the den to not disturb the others; though this time, something was different.

He couldn't get up.

Grunting, he tried again, paws uncurling as he poorly attempted to lift himself and rise to his paws. It lasted for only a few seconds or so before he collapsed back onto the moss bed, panting. He had experienced many times of similar exhaustion before, but never had it been so severe such as this one. Gritting his teeth, his tail gave a sharp flick before he attempted again, and again, only to fail once more. Why was this happening? It was something he couldn't decipher right away, the survival instincts kicking in him to force himself to rise and pad to the medicine den to treat himself. He opened his maw to call for help, or at least some sort of assistance from whichever cat was near—but it only came out as a soft wheeze. He coughed again, feeling his chest tighten and throat run dry from exhaustion. Something came arising in his throat, and the following cough made him snap back in alarm, eyes widening again at the sight of the substance that lay before him: blood.

He was too late now.

"Ah," He mused to himself, his voice unintentionally hushed to a raspy whisper. So this it it. Crawling back inside the elders' den, he coughed again, hiding his tremble as he rested himself upon the familiar moss bed he had always laid in since his retirement. Starclan is coming for me. The thought, strangely enough, occurred as both a relief and concern for him. The sight of his mate flashed by his vision as he closed his eyes, laying his head down between his paws. I can't just leave her here. Not like this. Yet, still, he knew better than to risk his ability not being able to say anything at all. His throat was sore enough, he could not try more if he tried.

The numbing sensation of death crept up from the tip of his tail up to his limbs, scratching at his ears as the warmth slowly pulls from them. It came slow, yet steady, washing over him like a soothing dream. Had I done everything I could? He reminisced back to his earliest memories, ones where he had been a simple, bright-minded apprentice with the hope of contributing to the clan as much as he could. From the first scars earned from battles, the training sessions he had been through with Emberleap, to the forever-engraved names of Murkystar and Froststar; how he had fought against the Dark Forest and how they had taken his friends' and families' lives away from him—every single moment, he did not forget. He could not forget. How their presence lifted him up from his sorrows, how such a simple name could brighten up his name; from his first kits that have grown and lost, to the shaking events that swept them away from their homes; how Nightstar had trusted him to appoint him as part of the council members then retired him... All the way up until now.

Such memories flashed through his mind, leaving him breathless as his whiskers quivered under his last gasping respires. He felt his eyes grow wet with tears, and with one last quiet inhale, he whispered under his breath. "I have done everything I can for this clan. Thank you for letting me serve this far, ShadowClan."

And with that, Duskflight closed his eyes, allowing the gentle grasp of death to grace him and lift his soul up to StarClan.