Guess we'll just keep going 'till we no longer can (c)

Laying curled up near the edge of camp just a few pawsteps from the medicine cat den, tears streamed down Curlyfluff's flat muzzle as he sobbed quietly into his fur. Rosethorn's death had arrived far too soon and the curly-coated tom hadn't been the same since, and the clan seemed to know it, as most of them didn't attempt at making small talk with him anymore. His once optimistic and joyful demeaner had turned into a quiet and sorrowful one, his thoughts were constantly plagued with the unforgettable memory of that wretched day, and every night he'd lay awake yearning hopelessly for the warmth of his mate's pelt to somehow show up beside him.

Hearing the recognizable playful mews of his kits across the clearing in the nursery, he shut his eyes even tighter and curled his fluffy tail even more around his body. Part of him wished to go spend more time with his kits, but he was so very tired, mentally and physically. He'd made sure that his daughters were in good paws with the clan's queens that resided in the nursery and new they'd be fine, but right now... he just couldn't look at them, especially Sweetkit. Deep down, he felt horrible for even thinking in such a way, but the spunky kit's stark resemblance of her late-mother brought him such an overwhelming sense of sadness that it made him want to vomit. 'I'm a horrible father,' Curlyfluff thought bitterly to himself. 'I wish you were here to raise our daughters. I can't do this alone.'

No one had bothered to visit Firefly in the med den, though that was something she appreciated. She felt like carrion - both physically and mentally - unsure if she would be able to entertain a guest even if she wanted to. Besides, she only had a claw-full of friends and one of those was dead. A wheezing sigh drew from the russet warrior as she closed her eyes, unable to keep the memories from flooding in: waking up to a head wrapped in cobwebs and the throbbing headache that accompanied a shrill, obnoxious voice that belonged to the then apprentice. Curlypaw had been there as well, though he was - as usual - in tears over something that wasn't even his fault. The tom was filled with too much empathy to contain. Firefly genuinely wondered how it was Curlyfluff who remained, and not the head-strong Rosethorn. For a brief moment, a warmth crept through her russet chest at the bitter-sweet memory. Only to be dragged away by a commotion in camp.

Tired eyes dragged around the medicine den, visibly upset over the sound of kits squealing their heads off. She huffed, her peaceful smile turning into a grimace. Really, Firefly? The kits arrived happy and healthy, the least you can do is be thankful she left something behind. With great effort, she pushed to her paws, earning a weakened cough as she dragged herself to peek around the dried curtains that isolated the den. Her hideous scar was the first to be kissed by the wind and rare sunbeam that greeted her, followed by russet ears that were trained on the kits. Well, one kit in particular: Sweetkit. She was the spitting image of her mother... Stars, did that ever hurt. She couldn't help but wonder if Curlyfluff felt the same when he looked at his daughter. While neither of the two looked like him, they both heavily took after their lost mother.

That was enough. She couldn't look at either of them anymore.

A blurry figure on the edges of camp caught her attention as she turned away, eyes blinking hard to rid of the stinging tears. She stood defensively at first, moving to glare at whoever had seen her cry without permission - only for her body language to soften completely. She knew that wild, curly pelt anywhere. She wasn't going to say anything to him at first, not ready to interact with anyone. But something about the way he looked to be isolating himself from the clan - from his own kits as they played merrily - and the way his muffled cries somehow pierced her ears... She couldn't leave him there alone.

Not wanting to share her sickness with him, she chose to lay her back against his. The tears she had fought so hard to keep back silently slid down her cheeks once more as she felt her best friend shake with sorrow unlike any other. There was nothing she could say to him to make it all better. She couldn't turn back time or bring back the dead. Instead, she would share in his misery without complaint.

If he was to be honest, he hadn't been expecting any-cat's company. The feeling of someone's pelt pressing against his sent a sharp shiver down his spine and he almost flinched away, until a familiar scent wafted over his nose, putting all of his nerves at bay. Taking a breath, he felt his muscles relax as he leaned against Firefly's russet pelt. He hadn't been expecting her, but her presence was more than welcome and tears continued to stream down his face. He took a moment and wondered if some of them were more so tears of joy than sorrow. Joy, because through it all, she stayed the firm foundation that made her who she was. Joy, because she continued to be his friend even with him in such a sorry state. Joy, because she was alive.

The two cats laid nestled together for who knew how long, drowning out the playful sounds of the kits in the background with their own thoughts until Curlyfluff was finally able to muster up enough strength to talk. "Firefly," he began through sniffles, his voice soft and raspy from the gasping-like breathes he'd been taking. "How do you do it? How do you deal with it all? I'm just... I'm just so tired," the tom spoke truthfully, knowing he could speak openly to his friend.

It was a long silence, but it was a comfortable one. The feeling of curly fur against her own thin russet one almost melted the pain away, her best friend the only true comfort she's had since her sisters death. She could have stayed like this, the slight breeze combing her unkempt fur. Her own mind was silent for blissful heartbeat, though she could feel the leaves rustling within that curly-furred head of his. Before long, it was him who broke the silence with broken sniffles.

It was a question she should have been expecting, but it still took more time than she would have liked to reply. How did she do it? Deal with it all? The molly shook her head, not even lifting her chin from her paws. "I don't." Her chest wheezed as she spoke, voice almost matching his own rasp. Every single day from dawn till dusk and between fitful sleep, she thought of their shared friend. And each time she heard her loud, obnoxious laughter and yelling in memory only, tears would stream down endlessly. Her chest ached. "Be tired, my friend. Out of anyone, I should be the one with the qualifications to tell you to rest. The wounds are fresh and I have no doubt it will leave scars, but you don't need to stop mourning so soon." Rosethorn hadn't passed all that long ago, her kits still small and squealing and naïve. Firefly was sure that this was a good time for him to process the loss while they didn't fully understand. "Just promise me one thing, Curlyfluff." Her head rose slowly, though she still didn't bother to turn around. "Be strong for those kits. If you can't even be a father to them, I won't forgive you. Rosethorn's death was not their fault; not even yours."