the bearer of bad news [open for all of TC]

The journey back to ThunderClan's camp was exhausting, physically and emotionally. It took longer than Emberheart would have liked to drag Coyotefang's frozen body from the river to the camp, but she had done it. She wasn't good with words, she was terrible with words, but she had to find the ones she needed right now.

"ThunderClan," she called to her Clanmates, barely managing to force the words out, "Coyotefang is... Is dead. I found his body by the river..."

Forestkit bounded into the clearing at the sound of calling. "Whats going on?" she asked

Birchheart rushed over in dismay at the sight of her mentor's body. Part of her wanted to believe this was StarClan taking charge and taking the indifferent tom off their shoulders. But, she felt it was wrong to degrade a dead cat. She had no good memories of him, really only a handful of memories at all. She groomed his fur out of respect she struggled to find for him. At most, he became a warrior.

Eaglekit heard the call in the clearing and was immediately racing out. Although, he had missed Emberheart's exact words. His eyes merely glanced at Coyotefang, dismissing him as a cat sleeping in the middle of camp. He and his siblings were no longer tiny kits mewling at their mother's stomach. They grew in strength and size every day. Throughout all of this time, their father had never set foot in the nursery to see them. While the young tabby tom knew the name of the warrior who had been Sharptooth's mate, he had never interacted with him.

"What's all this about?" He stalked up to Emberheart as if he was a much older cat, who had any right to be questioning a warrior's authority and stuck his nose practically into her face. The kittypet warrior thought she could call a clan meeting? If there was one thing he had learned, it was that Emberheart had not been born into the clan. That fact stuck with him. He had grown to love his clan fiercely while hardening himself to the fact that his father had never cared to be around them. It was that fact that drove him to love his mother. She was pure Thunderclan and had been a fantastic mother and warrior. Coyotefang was a coward and an impure rogue. His eyes narrowed as he waited for the much older cat to come up with an answer that would satisfy his self-righteous young mind.

Forestkit saw Coyotefangs body in horror. This was the first time Forestkit had seen a dead cat, and she was terrified to see it in her own clan. She tried to look at anything else but couldn't. She didn't know Coyotefang much, but she somehow felt a pang of grief. She finally was able to look at something else and saw Birchheart. she walked slowly up to her and asked,"W-whats going on?"

If it were any other day, Emberheart would have cuffed the kit over his head and had some kind of answer, but today was not any other day. Emberheart had reached her breaking point, at least temporarily. Another day, another death, another nest left empty. It was more than she could manage just to keep herself together.

Today, she stumbled back from Eaglekit, her typical confidence nowhere to be seen. She was a shadow of herself in that moment, shaking her head slowly. This was one of Sharptooth's kits. She needed to, once more, find the right words, but words failed her.

"No."
A tall warrior stepped forward, disbelief etched all over his face. "N-no. This can't be happening." Leafstorm stood there for a moment, the ground swaying beneath his feet as he struggled to process everything. His apprentice, his friend... Even as he stood there, a cold, heavy feeling spreading across his chest, Leafstorm realized that he had lost a son today. With a stifled sob, he crouched over Coyotefang's body, trying desperately to find a piece of the young warrior he had known, the half-shadowclanner he had loved as dearly as his own kin.
When Thistlepaw had died, his mind had been racing. But now all Leafstorm felt was a quiet, cold emptiness. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe...


Sharptooth padded forward, purring. "What is it, Emberheart?"
Then she saw him.
Her purr faltered, then went silent.
"Coyotefang..."
The rest of the clan faded away, and there was only Coyotefang, her mate, her best friend. Others would've said that he was indifferent, cold and heartless, but Sharptooth knew that wasn't true. The real Coyotefang could feel, truly and deeply. And that had scared him, pushed him away from Sharptooth, away from his sons.
Maybe that was why he was gone.
She took a shaky breath and sat down heavily.

Leopardclaw had been eating quietly underneath the Highrock when Emberheart entered camp, the dead body of Coyotefang draped over her shoulders.  Limp.  Helpless.  Unprotected.  With a sharp, shocked intake of breath, the deputy's eyes widened for a moment, before glazing over with the numbness and despair that had begun to seduce his mind once again.  The tears wouldn't come, and he couldn't seem to make any sound leave his mouth.  Stumbling to his paws, he walked unsteadily towards the tom he had sworn to protect, to watch over... he had promised.  He fell abruptly to the ground next to the brown tabby warrior's body, and pressed his muzzle against his still flank, in silence.  So much death...pain...sadness.....it was too much for him to bare.  A hollow shadow of the tom he was only a moon ago, the spotted golden tom lay beside Wolffang's son for the last time, wishing hopelessly that it was him dead in camp instead of the tom, instead of his daughter and her three stillborn kits...

Time was a terrible thing. It was cruel and vicious, took cats both young and old without discretion, and it never ended. It was never satisfied, yet it just kept moving without a single thought. Without a skipped beat. Marshpaw stared at Emberheart as she brought in Coyotefang's body. He felt numb from nose to tail. Coyotefang. The cat who had found him saved him from living a life as a rogue forever. Who had brought him back home, to the forest's embrace once more where he could be a true cat.

Now, his body was a cold mass on the ground, and all Marshpaw could do was stagger towards it. This was wrong. He was too young. He had a family, a mate, kits to look out for and so much more.
"Starclan... please no." He whispered as he reached the body. Until only a couple moons ago, he had been his only living relative. His only connection to his dear sister. He looked at Sharptooth, then to Eaglekit, who seemed confused by what was happening. Yet he couldn't explain it. His throat clenched and his chest felt tight with grief as he licked weakly at Coyotefang's pelt, then buried his nose into it with a choked breath. "It should have been me..." He whispered shakily as he closed his eyes in a weak attempt to stop the tears that welled up anyways. "I'm so sorry."

Confusion set in as cats around him began to choke out words with an evident sadness. The kit had little experience with such feelings, and having grown up during the war, he was simply used to it. However, he still shifted a bit uncomfortable. His eyes darted from the kittypet to Marshpaw, and finally to Sharptooth. His mother's expression caused his little chest to tightened. She was usually so strong and tough, everything he had grown to idolize. But, now, she was far from that. Amber eyes glanced down at the still frame. Something felt off about it. However, he couldn't quite figure out what. While the kit wanted to be in the middle of the action, all of his fight died away. Eaglekit's tail fell and he settled for simply turning and heading back to the nursery.