Fallen Feathers. (OPEN)

The morning was bright and sunny. Soft wisps of wind blew through the trees as clouds gentle milled through the sky. Soft warm air was inviting and welcoming. Green eyes opened to gaze at the comfort of the ThunderClan camp. To take in the sights of all that was familiar. His chest ached, but for a moment he could forget about his pains. A smile on his muzzle as dawn broke into the full light of a bright and promising day. He swallowed back the discomfort he felt in his stomach. It didn't matter.

It was time.

He turned his head up towards the sky. Knowing that this was the end, didn't make it any easier. In some ways, he would have preferred to have never known. His licked his lips as he took a deep breath, that turned into a rattling, nausea inducing cough. A soft sigh slipped from him as he rested his head against his nest in the warrior's den. He wouldn't make his visit to the medicine den today. He wouldn't hunt the forest of Thunderclan again, and that made his heart sink with regret. He loved the forest with it's soft blanket of grass and leaves. The way the light made it seem so much brighter during leafbare.

He remembered the fear, the hate he had when he found out he was going to die. The pain of knowing he'd soon leave his family behind, it had made his heart ache. His entire body throbbed from injuries as he loathed the very idea. Yet now... he felt none of it. The anxiety he thought would plague him was absent, and in it's wake only a calm acceptance. He wouldn't be far after all. He could still watch down on them, he couldn't protect them... but they didn't need his protection. They all knew he loved them, even in the stars that would never change.

At least he got to be here. He turned his head to glance at the warriors just beginning to stir. One of them was his sister, his brother still in the apprentice's den. He mused for a moment about the irony. The one sibling he had always worried about dying early... and here he was. Greeting the light of day with a last breath on his maw. His gaze landed on Sharptooth, his mother. Their mother. His tail made a weak attempt at flicking as words he thought of saying choked up in his throat, in time with his heart as his body sank deeper into it's nest for a final time.

'I have... no regrets.' He thought to himself quietly. 'I'll see you all... someday, in StarClan.'

Wildfire had slept in as she did so often these days. With Newttongue back and his odd habit of decorating their nest returned, she felt reluctant to leave. Her nights were filled with confusion after he had said that he loved her with such ease as if he said mice had fur. She'd never said those words to him. Stretching, she stood up. Little bits of flower petals and black fur were stuck in her pelt but she didn't mind it so much anymore. She was turning into an idiot. Horrible coughing snapped her out of her thoughts. She peered over curiously as she spotted Featherheart. Maybe she'd do something nice for once and get him some wet moss for his throat. But, seeing his body sink into his nest, she grew nervous. Padding over, she nudged him with her nose, narrowish her eyes at how limp he was. Was he even moving at all? The image of Rowanpaw's body flashed behind her eyes and panic filled her. She let out a nervous laugh and nudged him again. "C'mon, get up, you dormouse... Featherheart. Featherheart." Her paws shook and her claws tore at his nest unconsciously. Was this her punishment for never admitting? That wasn't her fault! Sharptooth told her that she had a plan and to stay quiet! Specklefang wanted to play hero. The she-cat let out her own shaky breath, crumbling next to him and curling around him as much as possible as if trying to keep his body heat from leaving so she could lie to herself and say he was still alive. "I'm such a coward!"

For the first time in moons, Sharptooth had finally managed to sleep a full night peacefully. Her slumber had been undisturbed by the usual dreams and fears that often sent the fluffy she-cat racing to her children, nudging them and grooming them to see if all was well.
That was why Sharptooth didn't stir when she heard Wildfire speaking. Instead, she merely tucked her nose under her bushy tail and tried to ignore her daughter. Whatever she was saying could wait, right? She hadn't been this relaxed for moons, and she didn't want it to end.

In the end, it wasn't Wildfire that made her turn her head. It wasn't Featherheart.
It was the incredible, unbearable lack of life. Something inside her was missing, a part of her that had always been constant, never straying, never giving his mother a reason to worry. A good son, a good warrior. Instead of his usual warm presence, Sharptooth was appalled by the cold, empty feeling in her chest.
For a moment, the short-legged she-cat stared at her paws, confused. What was happening? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will herself back to sleep. If she could just... go, everything would be fine.
Her heart gave a sudden jolt and Sharptooth leaped to her feet, unable to pretend that she was calm any longer. She raced to him, her perfect son, her pride and joy.
"No." She ran her nose through his ginger fur, something she used to do when they lived in the nursery. "No, no, no..." Sharptooth was beyond grief, beyond tears. "My son, my beautiful son..."

Leafstorm, like Sharptooth, could tell that something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. The tall warrior sat up, his graying face filled with worry at the sight of Wildfire crouching over Featherheart's body.
His body.
Leafstorm fell forward, a sob wrenching itself out of his throat. Featherheart, his grandson, lay in his nest. His brilliant eyes were open but unseeing, glazed and empty.
They hadn't been bound together by blood, but that didn't matter. Sharptooth wasn't his blood-daughter, but they were still kin. No, Featherheart was a family member, bound by something stronger than flesh and bones.
And now he was gone.

OOC: ^trash

Ever since that time that Featherheart had confirmed the fact that he was sure to die, Wisteriapool had been alert for any signs of evident death in the ginger tom. Between being a new queen, taking care of her own kits, and occasionally watching her nieces and nephews in the nursery, she hadn't been able to watch her brother as closely as she wanted to. Everything seemed to be so fine and happy as she woke up in her nest with her daughters on either side of her. Taking a glance at each of them made her heart swell up with glee and pride knowing that she had finally taken the step to becoming a mother, something that she had always wanted.

What could possibly go wrong? The thought of her brother had quite possibly slipped her mind as she drew her tongue gingerly over the heads of her two kits before rising to her paws and heading, silently, out of the nursery. All the she-cat really needed was to stretch her legs before she headed back to the nursery, which was where she spent most of her time, now.

That was when she heard noises, voices, coming from the warriors' den. They weren't pleased voices, either. Fear scent poured out of the den opening in waves, drowning Wisteriapool, and all she could do was lift her ears and listen as the sound of sobs and sadness drifted toward her.

Then, it struck her.

Now, Wisteriapool was unsure if the fear scent was coming from her or from the cats in the warriors' den as she raced forward, yellow eyes open in fear. This couldn't be happening... not today, not now. Oh, StarClan, why now? When the ginger-and-white queen burst into the warriors' den, tears were already falling from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and spilling onto the ground right in front of her paws. Just thinking about a dead Featherheart was bad enough, but seeing the limp, lifeless body as pure evidence right in front of her sent a powerful jolt of shock through Wisteriapool's heart, and she even had to sink her claws into the ground to prevent herself from collapsing.

"N-no... no... NO!" She let out, her voice gradually growing louder until she realized that she was full-out screaming.

Their family had already lost so much, was StarClan trying to make them suffer? Were their warrior ancestors cursing them for something they had done? What had her family done wrong? Wisteriapool found herself shivering, sobbing uncontrollably, not knowing what to do. What was there to do, after all? Her breathing was so rough, so uneven. Her exhales came out in short, raspy chokes, and her inhales were only perceived as forced gasps. Her vision was growing blurry with tears as she attempted to find any place to look instead of Featherheart's body.

The shock was too much for her. There was no way that she could've lost her brother. It was as if the litter was dropping like flies. It was too horrible to imagine that all she had left was Dappledpaw and Wildfire, and she knew that she couldn't lose them, too. No cat should ever have to constantly wonder which loved one they would lose next, but alas, here Wisteriapool was.

The ginger-and-white queen realized her mistake once she glanced back down at Featherheart's body. and that same violent, powerful, harmful jolt of shock and sadness flew through her as her heart skipped a beat and her breathing became worse. All she wanted to do was take a step forward to bury her nose into Featherheart's fur and breathe in his scent one last time, but she couldn't even take another step forward. The shock and the hyperventilation caused her to pass out, right there, in the entrance to the warriors' den.

So much for staying strong for his sake...

Lilykit reluctantly stuck her head out of the nursery. "Mama?" She mewed, "What happened?" She squeaked, looking at the tom's body. She looked around. "Why is everyone so sad? He's just napping.". She looked up at Wisteriapool, her eyes large and innocent.

The yowls made Marshstorm's eyes snap open. His pelt bristled as he leapt up from his nest, ready to leap out of the den and attack intruders... when he saw the cats around the entrance. Around a body of an orange tom. He closed his eyes. It didn't make the scene go away, but he took a few deep breaths to calm himself from the adrenaline. Now... he reopened them. Hesitantly, he stepped forward with care. His eyes caught sight of Wisteriapool on the ground, though her stomach moved with breaths. Only Featherheart's body did not. The stench of death would soon reek in the warrior's den.

It wasn't right for the tom to simply be left here. He padded slowly past Sharptooth, then nudged Wisteriapool. Trying to rouse the she-cat as he noticed the kit and blanched. This wasn't a scene for one so small. He grabbed the she-cat's scruff and gently pulled her a tail length to make room before he addressed the kit quietly.
"Go back to your nest, little one." He spoke softly. "He's not going to wake up anymore." He nudged the kit gently, then glanced at the mourning cats. Taking a deep breath, he padded forward.

"Sharptooth... Leafstorm. I am deeply sorry." His voice was laden with sadness as he looked down at the skinny tom. "We should move him to the clearing." He suggested carefully, before he stepped back. "I will go and retrieve the Medicine Cat and Leopardstar." With that, he padded away quietly. There wasn't much he could do anymore to help. He knew the pain of losing family all too well, and in a way, he was grateful he had never had to see his siblings or parents bodies.

His heart broke at the thought. Though he hadn't known the young tom that well, it hurt to lose a warrior when he should have been at the fittest point of his life. He paused at the entrance of the Medicine Cat's den, then slowly pushed through the moss.
"Mapleleaf, Rainpaw. You're needed at the warriors den. Wisteriapool has fainted." He meowed, his amber eyes looking for them in the den, hopeful they could at least do something for her.

Rainpaw was sleeping peacefully when Marshstorm's voice woke him. He jumped up and hissed as his head ached in protest. "What is a queen with two young kits doing in the warrior's den at this time?" He knew Wisteriapool was timid and very jumpy but fainting? It didn't matter now. He would have to just come and see for himself. Normally, he would stay behind to grab the herbs for Mapleleaf but this was his family and he couldn't stop himself from bounding over to the she-cat that lays on the ground. The familiar sound of mourning made a pit in his stomach. He caught the scent of death and saw Featherheart laying like a stone. His suspicions were confirmed by Wildfire's frighteningly vunerable state. He nearly tripped over Wisteriapool as he rushed to see Featherheart for himself. There was no logical reason to do this. He couldn't help him. He should have stayed at Wisteriapool's side. She was tge living one. For now... It couldn't be! He was with Featherheart in the nursery not too long ago... He'd lost another family member now. And what memory would Featherheart have of him? Just one? Just one...

A shadow fell across the entrance to the warrior's den; Leopardstar, having been roused by the commotion, entered the den to check on his clanmates...only to see that for one it had been too late.  Featherheart's motionless, ginger tabby body lay peacefully in his nest, never to awaken again.  The golden spotted tom heaved a great sigh.  How much pain was Specklefang's family expected to endure?  They all grieved...he stepped carefully around Wisteriapool's fallen form on his way to the deceased cat's nest, gently touching Rainpaw on the shoulder with his tail.  "There is nothing you can do you him Rainpaw, I'm sorry."  Resting his tail across the young medicine cat's back, he carefully directed him towards Wisteriapool before padding closer to the family.  Wildfire, Sharptooth, and Leafstorm were all distraught, and as Leopardstar stood beside them, he too began to feel the tingling stabs of grief.  "Featherheart was a great warrior...even though his body had begun to fail him much too early, he faced the challenges with bravery and clarity.  I too feel your grief...but let us not dwell on it for too long.  He would not have wanted that for you, his beloved family.  He is with us, among the stars forever, and I am sure that StarClan has welcomed him with open paws."  Bending his head low, he pressed his muzzle against Featherheart's cheek, trying not to inhale the rancid scent of death.  "May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter where you sleep...thank you for your service to our home."

Lifting his head slowly, he met Marshstorm's gaze and nodded.  "We must bring him into the clearing."  Looking over his shoulder, he spoke to the young tom's family.  "Which of us here shall carry him?"