Lost Lives; Trying Time [Closed]

It seemed like ages before the swirling torrent of water, relentless waves tossing him to and fro, subsided. All the while, Burntstag and fought for his consciousness. Determined strength kept him from giving in to the pull of the flood. All the while debris, massive sticks, uprooted plants and a slurry of pebbles and earth had battered him time and time again. It was more aggravating their agonizing. At some point, he had even considered the condition of his coat. Grooming out the mess would take ages when this finally subsided. It appeared to be about that long when he finally washed up on the east shore. Strange, twoleg crafted structures rose up from the ground and cast a shadow over the cats that had begun to stir around their base. Burntstag rose and set about the business of clearing the debris that clung persistently to long fur. The burden of walking would be made easier by this task. He let out a soft sigh and stretched, allowing the strain of his muscles to sent bolts of agony throughout his entire frame. The sensation was welcome and pushed past with ease. Things needed to get done and he could not be held back by his body's inability to handle the pounding of mere water.

Once that all had been straightened out and quite a bit of time had passed, the Shadowclan tom set about trying to decide the next best course of action. Obviously, kin and clanmates were the priority. From a quick taste of the air, he determined that Shadowclan was not the only one who had been afflicted by the decimation of their camp and territory. But it also allowed him to pick out the cats that were his clan. Additionally, the couple Thunderclan scents meant that perhaps Duskpaw, or even Flintfang, had ended up here as well. Although he failed to catch sight of any of his siblings, nor the tom whose kinship had been created. He padded slowly along the coast in search of cats he knew. Eventually, the sight of Silentpaw allowed him to release a breath that he did not even know he had been holding. His paws lead him to the she-cat's side, where he greeted her with a pleasant and relieved tone before setting to work clearing her pelt and rasping his tongue through the white fur as he had done not long before upon her return to camp.

He planned to talk to her, mouth opened to speak in some sort of means of comfort. But, for once, he found his silver tongue unable to conjure up the right words. It took a moment of internal fumbling, continued rasping before he had an idea of what might be right. And by then, he had caught sight of the still black frame. A bulky cat, matted with various sticks and other things, lay still and unbreathing. The pelt markings were ones he had known since birth. For a moment, the breath caught in the back of his throat. Over the moons, even as young as their kithood, the calico had nourished a particular disdain for his reckless and battle-thirsty brother. There had been a certain hope behind it, though, that perhaps one-day Slatestrike would learn how to control himself and perhaps sharpen his mind. Some kit-like dream that would now never come to fruition. He stepped past Silentpaw to get a better look at the body. Burntstag half expected it to leap up and attempt to rip his throat out. That did not happen. His tail brushed along Silentpaw's side as he padded closer to prod the dead body with a paw.

Last time he had seen something like this was after the great battle between the exiles and the clans. Brushgaze had lain in a similar fashion, with unseeing and glazed over eyes. Lichenmask had been exempt from such a state, at least it had appeared that way. The warrior remembered the way in which he had regarded death before, with a mere curiosity at the time. Hints of sadness had come later on as the reality of what happened had sunk into his brain with a growing understanding. Now, there was some sense of loss that tugged at his chest. However, it was more at the notion that he had lost some of his own flesh and blood kin, and less at the particular loss of Slatestrike. The brothers had never been close. In fact, Burntstag had always felt a particular burden having to watch and manage his sibling. Conflicted emotions flitted in and out of his thoughts as he tried to pinpoint the exact feeling that swept through his chest. Was that relief? Was there the throb of true loss? Neither seemed appropriate as he peered down at his kin, almost studying him. Burntstag's whiskers twitched slightly as he realized the late warrior's expression, still distasteful in death. It was fitting.

"I can't believe he's gone." The words were finally breathed from the side of his maw, breaking the comfortable silence that had built up between them. Speaking felt wrong, but for the first time in his life, Burntstag had spoken unintentionally. He was shocked by the realization but refused to show it as he scrutinized the dead Shadowclanner. Finally, he settled back onto his haunches, still at a loss of exactly how to handle the conflicting feelings that prodded at his usual easy candor. Not knowing what to do frustrated him, so he settled for nothing. That had to be better than making himself look a fool. After some moments, it occurred to him that the rest of their littermates might feel some loss as well. Would Littlepaw even shed a tear? The thought of her usually pleasant attitude being crushed by such a moment caused a frown to flit across his expression. He was more displeased with that than the loss of their brother. Being decided about that much was a comfort.

His tail curled around the she-cat. Normally he would have considered her receptivity to such an action but with everything going on, that too was a welcome comfort. Resisting the urge to rest the bottom of his jaw atop her head, Burntstag found it fitting to speak once more, even though the words were stoic and soft, "I am glad to see you among the living."

ooc; i know everyone else has already done topics, so im assuming this is after the flint/little topic and after the silent topic ik is up right now. also maybe before the shore meeting? *shrugs*

Pawprints were placed carefully in the mud as Flintfang padded across the shore. The water line of the lake washed up and over the indentions in the sand, then receded back to allow more prints to be made. It splashed upon the young warrior's paws, tugging gently at his fur, and swirling away sheepishly. The sound of the waves threatened to lull Flintfang into a sleep. These waves were calm, peaceful, and serene, the very opposite of the waves, that not long ago, had washed the tom away from his home. The warrior wanted to sit in front of the water forever, and have it drown out the sounds that played in his head. Here, he didn't need to choose between Falconwing and Littlepaw. Here, he didn't have to look Mosspaw and Lilypaw in the eyes, and pretend he didn't care. He did care. He cared too much. And Flintfang hated it. The sheer velocity of his emotions felt more dangerous than the dormant water of the lake did. The water had bruised his body not but a few sunrises ago, but his emotions, those would bruise his soul. So long had Flintfang kept his mind hidden from those around him. So long had he strived to never love again. But the past events had dragged him through the mud, literally and figuratively. His resolve had been washed away. Now Flintfang stood exposed on the shore, every vision from his eyes went straight to his mind, his filter had been mercilessly stripped away.

The young warrior's green eyes glazed over, and tears crowded on the edge of his temples. It was all mousebrained. Why should he cry now of all times? It's not like straying from Falconwing was devastating, and it's not like looking into Littlepaw's eyes was too deep to handle. But perhaps everything was catching up to the tom. Perhaps he was loving again. Loving the thought of mud beneath his paws, loving the yellow glow of Falconwing's eyes, loving the determination of his two adopted daughters to make him smile, and loving the swirl of Littlepaw's pelt. Why did he feel this way? Blinking away the tears, Flintfang cut it off again, shut his mind, and dug his claws into the sand. Love was pain. And pain was hurt. He didn't want to hurt again.

Finding a small strand of strength, Flintfang looked up from his spot, to witness a familiar face, and a mysterious white she-cat, crowd around a black lump of fur. Burntstag... Taking a deep breath, Flintfang padded over to the two figures, the usual excitement from meeting his friend and companion gone, this time replaced by a dread of facing more death. He wondered how the tri-colored tom would possibly handle the drenched pelt on the mud. "Burntstag…" Flintfang breathed, dipping his head. He turned his attention to the white she-cat and introduced himself as Flintfang, repeating the respectful gesture. His hollow green gaze fell upon the lifeless cat on the shore, and it hit him that this tom was more than likely Burntstag's brother, Slatestrike.

I'm so sorry... Flintfang whispered in his head. Blocking out the pain of his own sister's death before it could register in his mind. Gingerly, the gray tabby tom rested his tail on Burntstag's shoulder for a moment, and then removed it afterwards. It was a strange act of comfort, but spoke thousands of words coming from the tom who rarely displayed empathy. "He was your brother wasn't he?" Flintfang sighed, his gaze staring over the lake and into the horizon, beyond this plane of earth and into the depths of the unknown. He wanted to plunge himself into it, but held back, wanting to see his friend's reaction. Was Burntstag hurt? Did he feel as if his emotions would kill him as well? Closing his eyes, Flintfang whispered; "I'm sorry... You must be devastated..." A crushing silence set in afterward, and Flintfang wondered if he would suffocate from it. But he would withdraw, he would fight love like it was his enemy. He would be strong as Burntstag was, and fear nothing. He had nothing to lose... Right?

Littlepaw had finally gotten to her paws from her spot on the shore, her interaction with Flintfang startling and new, uncertainty swirled in her mind. These feelings were feelings she had never felt before, she had witnessed such strange behavior directed at her, sure she knew a lot of emotions. Anger, disdain, fear, love, and pride, what Flintfang demonstrated was none of which she had seen before, and it troubled her not to know. When he had left, she had immediately set to making herself presentable, what if another cat just grabbed her paw and cleaned it just as he did? Littlepaw's paws shuffled nervously, her cheeks growing hot as she thought about it. It was so awkward! Her belly clenching yet feeling full of squirming lizards. She had no idea what she was feeling and she hated it. Maybe she should ask Burntstag? He would know, right? He liked Silentpaw, so he should know.

Mind made up, Littlepaw made her way down to the shore, towards the last location she knew her brother was at. Littlepaw was a little apprehensive about meeting back up with him, she wasn't certain as to why though. Maybe it was because Flintfang was heading towards the same direction, she could see his grey fur from where she was. She stopped for a moment, watching Flintfang stop next to a familiar form... ah, it was her brother! She could see the white fur of Silentpaw, her den-mates, and another limp form that was also familiar but it was too hard to see details.

Paws continued to step in front of each other, her chest growing tighter in apprehension as she got closer. Closer to her brother, to Flintfang.

And just like that, she was there, the somberness of the mood finally getting to her as the silence stretched. Her eyes flickered from each and every cat there, and as if her paws had a mind of their own, carried her past them to see what they were gathered around.

She wished that she didn't move forward to see her brother, half-buried in the mud and dead. Brushgaze flashed into her mind's eye, Lichenmask came next. Then Canren being dragged away by Shade, by all their friends and clan-mates lying in their own blood at four-trees. Now, it was her brother's turn. At least he was not murdered by the cruelty of her clan-mates, but by the cruelty of Starclan. Littlepaw's eyes widened, it was their ancestors that were truly to blame, wasn't it? Was it not her ancestors that had sent her father down? Was it not Starclan that had wrought that mass destruction upon them, slaughtered all her loved ones and tore apart her family? Starclan was to blame to tear them from their homes and force five clans to mesh together under this destruction.

Littlepaw's legs trembled as her piercing green eyes turned from her brother to the skies above, she hoped they were happy with themselves. She was so young, yet she had seen so much. Is this why she was brought into this world? To look to the future and... change it? Was this what Starclan had wanted? Confliction crossed her gaze as she wrestled with her thoughts, on one paw, Starclan was ripping wounds into these cats, into her litter-mates. On the other paw, they must have a reason for this. Her father's words echoed in her head, 'With this dawn, you will be faced with a choice. Your blood demands something of you, something that far beyond the comprehension of normal cats. The legacy you hold is a heavy one, heavier than most could bear to burden themselves to carry. In time, you will come to understand just what it means to be who you are. But you must come to a decision, first- will you look to the past, or to the future?'

This was it. This is what her father had been looking to this entire time. The final piece of the puzzle had finally slotted into place. She could see their destiny now, the cause they had born too. But how could they change it? They were just a couple of young cats, one less of their litter, and another one she suspected since she hadn't seen Duskpaw, and he had been ill last she knew. How could they? What could they do? What were they capable of? Anger roiled in her belly at the uncertainness of it all, at the unfairness, her brother was dead because of the very stars that had birthed them. Starclan birthed their father, gave them life, and is not ripping it from them. What was their end goal? They had the power of the stars in their paws just like them, so why end their lives?

So many questions suddenly at the forefront of her mind, and yet nothing to answer them. She fixed her sharpened green gaze on her brother, a tenseness coming to her body, and for once, she looked every bit like her father and nothing like her mother. Under Littlepaw's desperation to be better than her lineage, was the teeth-bared mutt that was ready to attack, held-back by a thin thread and it was howling. "I've never really liked Slatestrike." Littlepaw's words were as sour as milk. The fur along her back bristling, her limbs picking up their trembling from having stilled during her revelation. "I loved him as a brother but nothing more." She continued, slowly turning her gaze to her brother, and brother alone.

"But I'm angry for him, Burnstag. How cruel must these stars be if they birth us only to take all of our brethren away? Lichenmask, Brushgaze, Canren, Slatestrike, Aspenpaw... everyone that we've ever known is dead. What have we done to earn Starclans scorn?" Littlepaw broke, her eyes glistening as she slumped, righteous fury turning to despair. "What have we done?" Littlepaw stumbled, her head knocking a bit harshly into Burnstags chest as she desperately tried to keep in her tears. She didn't want to be the cat who leaned on every other cat that offered themselves for her, not anymore. If she wanted to be the cat Lichenmask wanted her to be, she had to be more.

She could still be her... but stronger. She had to be strong, for the uncertainty of the future, of the stars that led them yet treated them like beetles. That had manipulated such undying faith in the cats around her. There was something over the horizon that she was mouse-lengths from grasping in her own paws, it was up to her to extend her paws just a little further for it. And that's exactly what she needed to do. Pulling away from Burntstag, she wiped her paws against her eyes before turning to look at her brother with a watery yet the most determined gaze that was stuffed full of conviction. "And what do we do now?"