All My Demons Lay to Rest [Open]

ooc; continuation of this topic

Each pawstep had been heavy with something far more ethereal than the weight over his back. This had to be the longest trek back to camp in his entire existence. And knowing Mosspaw followed suit only further burdened the deputy. He had not once stopped to look at the disheveled frame of his former clanmate. It would have immediately ceased his step and that was something he could not afford. Maybe somewhere deep inside he believed this action would wipe the blood from his coat and cleanse it from his past. Yet he chose not to actively consider these things. Flintfang had been a clanmate, and a cat he had once cared for greatly. For all of these things, a proper treatment and burial was simply an act of duty. Or could it be mercy? He wasn't sure. Regardless, Beartooth also chose not to consider these things. When the gorse tunnel was in sight, after trudging up the ravine with even heavier than average footfalls, he paused to gingerly place the body on the ground in order to better fit through the entrance. It was made securely, to accommodate a cat at a time and hardly spared his bulky mass the ease of passage. Bringing Flintfang in posed a further challenged. He wanted to hesitate, but he didn't.

His eyes were still glazed over as he tugged the body to the center of camp before sitting back onto his haunches. Oakstar deserved to know but now he could not will his massive paws to pick up. He couldn't bring himself to swing his head in really any direction. Head dipped in mourning already, Beartooth focused on the pelt of Flintfang. It felt unlawful to touch the pelt in an intimate matter but his own pitiful grief dropped his nose until it was buried into the side of the younger cat. Having watched the gray tom in his youth only furthered the internal blow. And finally, he allowed himself to ignore the burden of his conscious and indulge in the depths of his anguish. Only one shaky sob tore through his frame before his was still. That was all he could afford, all he was owed. The rest was outside the grasp of his oversized paws. That, he did not deserve.

She had stared at the ground with each pawstep, following the thin trail of blood that was left behind Beartooth carrying Flintfang's body. She had never felt so hollow, so empty, as she did now. The final words of her father continued to echo in her mind, and with each one she fell further. It didn't even hurt anymore, to recall it all. Nothing hurt anymore, in fact, she couldn't feel anything. Not the sun shining on her back which had always brought her joy, not the dirt and leaves underfoot that had always brought her comfort. The pain in her heart was gone, replaced by an emptiness that she believed wouldn't be filled again. It was all over, everything. Flintfang had said his final goodbye, abandoning her for the last time with his parting words of hate. She had failed in the last attempt of making him stay, and that would be her burden to bear for a lifetime.

The ravine yawned before her, the camp bustling below. As she picked her way down the face of it numbly, a sarcastic and cruel voice whispered in her ear about what the cats within might think, what they might say about the cat that had abandoned his clan to chase a dream, and lost. She didn't know how she would feel about that, the clan owed him nothing after all. Her ability to hope had been decimated as Flintfang's life was, so she was unable to find any hope there. Perhaps, though, at her request she could give Flintfang the final resting place he would have wanted.

After all. He hated that she knew him so well.

Beartooth led the way into the camp, settling with Flintfang in it's center wordlessly. The confused and shocked faces of the cats that started to circle around made her feel even more alone, some of these cats had no idea who Flintfang was, and none of them had a reason to mourn his passing. Her ear twitched as she heard a sob, her eyes landing on Beartooth's back. Was he crying? Why wasn't she crying? Why was everything so silent, but loud all at the same time? Her head raised as she looked for Oakstar, eyes dull and emotionless. Finding him, she spoke in the same even, expressionless tone. "Flintfang is dead. He was impaled by a root. There was nothing I could do. ThunderClan owes him nothing, but as his daughter I wish to request that he be buried outside of the territory, on a hillside where the sun will shine on him and he can look for the utopia he always wanted to find, far from beneath the limbs of these trees he felt so trapped under. That's all I ask of you, Oakstar, and I'll do it alone if I have to."

Why wouldn't the tears come? Where were they? Why didn't she fall, sobbing at her father's side, broken? Instead she stood, steady and solid before the clan making her request, but she didn't feel anything at all. Padding forward to stand next to Flintfang's body, she pressed her nose to the top of his head for a heartbeat before turning and leaving the camp, along with her clanmates and her father's body, behind. Her paws shifted her direction towards WindClan without her fully realizing it.

The tom had already been awake, paws stirred for the purpose of one of many patrols going on throughout the day. He'd checked on the elders, who despite his relentless teasing of their age, had the apprentice's utmost respect. They seemed to like his presence, if just for the prey and fresh bedding he bought. And in return, Houndpaw was entertained by their almost impossible stories and tales of legends that had both recently walked the forest and had lived here countless seasons ago. Surprisingly, he found himself less and less apt to train. When it was time to return, he slipped through the den entrance with a slight frown. Even in his discontent, the eager young tabby was prepared to join one of the many patrols or to head back into the forest with Harefoot who he had also taken a liking too. However, he was not at all prepared for the sight of a still body lay in the middle of camp. Beartooth crouched over it in obvious anguish.

It was hard to not immediately glance away. As much as he boasted his parentage to anyone who would listen, Beartooth was a figure he had equal amounts of disdain and reverence for. They had never so much as spoken even when being confined to the same camp. Now his maw twisted and discomfort wormed its way into his chest. Of course he couldn't remember the shredded remains of his littermates from all those moons ago. His newborn brain didn't quite capture the carnage. But the trauma and knowledge of it had rooted somewhere deep into the being of the apprentice. He took a couple steps back, not quite stumbling, with wide eyes trained on the scene ahead. Mosspaw was there and he heard her words as a garbled mess before she turned away. Hardly a thought passed through his mind, just the desire to leave, and as she disappeared through the gorse tunnel, Houndpaw was quickly at her heels.

The weather was overcast when Oakstar watched as Beartooth emerged from the gorse. His pawsteps heavier than usual. He padded forward until the body became visible. The grey tom that had left ThunderClan to embrace the mottos and policies of StagClan in full. He felt a pang of grief in his chest. He had watched this tom grow up.

Watched him as a kit, then as an apprentice. During the migration home from the lakes. He hated himself sometimes, for not seeing the signs of discontent in the young tom. Now it seemed, he didn’t have to worry about it anymore. He was dead. No amount of wishing will raise him from the slumber he slept in now.

He padded forward as Mosspaw spoke, sitting down beside her with a solemn nod.
"He will be honoured." he paused, interrupted as she stood and took off outside of the camp. Amber eyes following until she was out of sight. "Flintfang may have left ThunderClan… but I hope he found what he left for." Truth be told, Oakstar didn’t know why the tom left. He had never bothered to ask, and that disturbed him as he leaned down to press his nose to the gray tom’s pelt.

"May you find good shelter to rest, and plenty of prey." The murmur was soft against the cold pelt as he pulled away. His gaze sharp at Beartooth, then to the cats around them. "Flintfang left ThunderClan, but we will respect Mosspaw’s wishes. He will be buried at dusk, by whoever wishes to volunteer, outside of camp… in a small patch clear of trees. So he may seek the sun." He dipped his head to the other warriors, padding away to reflect on the young tom’s life. Letting the clan grieve for one that should have been their own.