If You Don't Treat Your Blossoms With Care, They Die [OPEN DEATH TOPIC]

Blossompaw sighed as she kicked her paws along the wet path that led to the river. The she-cat had been depressed and hadn't been eating much lately, ever since she had been a kit she was alone. She hadn't really tried but every night she thought about death, death about her and who she loved. She had a very deep life right now, she knew she was starving and wasn't even trying to eat, she stopped as she hit the side of the river and looked into the shiny waters as they waved by.

The young she-cat was settled down in a small curled up pose. Her bones were already showing and her mind was blank, she just tucked her small head into her tail and began to quietly sob, it wasn't loud at all. Tears just went down her eyes without noise as she kept blinking. The amount of life she felt was gone, she had nothing left to love really. It was weird...She felt dead...Gone from the world.

She was ready for death anyways, it wasn't like Blossompaw was going to all of a sudden start thinking and actually working like most apprentices. She was broken and as she silently cried her tears dried into her fur and she fell asleep. She had heard a voice in her head telling her to wake up as she felt pain in her stomach, she felt like she was already insane, but she didn't act it, it only felt like it. The starving she was left alone as her body laid there, quietly and she was still crying. Her body wasn't tucked in as tight anymore, not fully loose as well. It was just like she were sleeping in the apprentices' den again, peacefully waiting for her training day to start.

Smokepaw had gone out for a walk. A walk, hunting, honestly, he couldn't tell. Until now, he had been walking blindly around, his paws, paws of a young cat with his whole life ahead of him, took him to the river. But he did certainly not feel as if his whole life was ahead of him. He couldn't stop thinking about Tawnystorm, how close she was to Crowpaw, and thinking about the sleek warrior made him to angry to cope with usual life, so he escaped on this lonely stroll.

But as he approached the bank, he scented a cat. His mind flew to an enemy, a battle, but the scent was RiverClan, which relaxed him. Someone to talk to would be the best thing to do, so he trotted towards the source. Weirdly, another hint of a scent floated from the now visible heap of fur in the distinct shape of a cat. He made him more careful, until he was peeking over the limp, life-less body of Blossompaw.

He urged the apprentice with his nose, dreading the obvious, but still hoping she'd get up and snap at him an angry, retort that he woke her up, hate him, claw him then run, anything, just get up and be alive. But she was dead, that was for sure. The RiverClan apprentice gazed into the sky with lost eyes before shaking himself back to reality. He buried his muzzle into the dead she-cat's fur, murmuring a prayer to StarClan.

Please, guide this poor cat's steps up to you, StarClan.

He stood there a bit more, his breath drowned out into hot air by the fur obstructing much of his nostrils. He needed to take the cat's body back to camp, for burying, but that could wait a little.

Not this again. She'd been keeping a close eye on her kittens after the loss of Saltpaw, but she had failed again. This time with Blossompaw. Fogheart stood in the reeds, frozen again with horror and the beginnings of shock. She could smell death in the air. She could smell Smokepaw too, her adopted son. Her heart was heavy. "Let's take her back." She tried her best to keep her voice level, but it was so hard. When would Starclan be finished with her family?