down, down [open; thunderclan mourning topic]

ooc; aight thunderclan for the sake of preventing further paradoxing, this takes place *before* the gathering. so TC cats should have some measure of sad. this is just a mourning topic so try not to do anything outrageous that would further make paradoxes. the previous topic can be found here. it is still in progress, but the ending is prickle dies.

Beartooth, along with the she-cat as his side, had trudged along in silence. Once again, his coat had been marred by several wounds. Flecks of blood had to nearly be part of his coat now. And once more, he carried the body of a cat he cared for. The last time it had been Flintfang. The weight of both cat's deaths transcended that which was physically draped across his back. Even those horrible claws, seemingly build for battle, were not enough to stop death in fighting back vicious foes. How those creatures fought as one, the strange nature of their opponents, it was quickly forgotten in the deputy's mind. His brother was dead. As they slipped through the entrance, his movements were slow. They weren't his own. He could hardly feel what was happening. When had they even reached the camp? Moments ago they had stood at the edge of the territory.

Padding to the center of the camp, he swallowed.

Pricklebush was lain in the center, in the dust, as he stooped and tilted ever so slightly. No action could have been ceremonious enough. Nothing could be enough. Despite the rift that had been driven between them, an unrelenting anger that only seemed to grow from the medicine cat with time, Beartooth had never found anything other than love for the tom rooted in his heart. It was worse than seeing the scattered remains of his kits. Those kin he had never known, never had the chance to understand who they were before mourning their loss. Pricklebush, however, he had watched grow since the day that he was bore. Once this spiky mass of pale fur had knitted and nursed at the soft stomach of Blizzardshine. She would be greeting him in Starclan, he knew it. That was the only comforting thought that his mind could draw in the moment. Otherwise, he simply did not want to exist. Anything else was too unbearable. Closing his eyes, Beartooth fell to the ground with a soft thud. He only shifted his head ever so slightly to bury it into the coat of his lost brother. There was nothing else to think on, nothing more to dwell on between them. No more discomfort walking into the medicine cat's den. And he would miss it.

Pricklebush was gone.

No sound came from the muscular tabby frame, but it convulsed silently, wracked with silent sobs.

Ferretnose stirred from her light nap near the warriors' den at the rustling of the camp entrance. She knew Beartooth had been out, and she just had to tell them about the incredible beetle she had managed to catch. The way its wings caught sunlight made her happy. She had a joke prepared and everything, and she was going to offer it to him in a grand display of romance. They hadn't solidified anything in all this time. Ferretnose desperately needed closure. It was time. She saw his huge brown form push past the brambles and her eyes glistened with joy. She scooped up the dead beetle in her mouth and sprinted towards him, tail pointed skyward in greeting. 

And then he gently placed Pricklebush on the ground. He said nothing. He cried. Ferretnose began to pad forward, started to ask what was wrong. The medicine cat didn't speak, and all of a sudden the she-cat just knew. His coat was splattered with blood, and his limbs looked broken in places. His face was hauntingly blank. There was no life left in his messy pelt. Her smile fell, sinking into her cheeks like quicksand. Her tail came down slowly, like a felled tree. She gently nudged Pricklebush's shoulder and understood what she already knew to be true. 

With a hunched neck, she set her jaw tightly, threatening to chip her teeth. Ferretnose padded around the body. That wasn't him. It was impossible. The warrior placed her prized beetle on the ground, near Pricklebush's nose. For him, she decided. Without a word, she pushed past Beartooth and Mossbloom like a twoleg's monster, knocking them aside with her wide shoulders. Her tail made noise as it dragged unceremoniously in the dirt. 

As soon as she was out of earshot, out of camp, out of sight, Ferretnose took off running.

Tears streamed silently down Mossbloom's face as she walked alongside Beartooth. How long ago had it been that the two of them had returned to ThunderClan in a similar manner, but with Flintfang strewn across Beartooth's back instead of Pricklebush? Now, both of her mentors were dead. A sob escaped her as she considered that, stumbling over her paws as she walked into the camp. Blood dripped from her belly, the open claw wounds having been forgotten completely when Pricklebush's life had been taken, stolen from his body by those creatures.

As Beartooth lay her mentor's body in the middle of the camp, Ferretnose approached. She barely registered her arrival, but she watched through grief-stricken eyes as the she-cat placed something by the tom's body and shouldered past. Unable to react quickly enough, between her injuries and state of mind, Mossbloom staggered before crumpling to the ground, collapsing at the dead tom's side. She had searched, desperately, for anything that could save him. She had tried, so very hard, to bring him back. And she had failed, once again, to pull someone she loved and looked up to from the claws of death. Was she destined to fail in this manner forever? Her vision swam with pain and hurt, agony and grief making her shake to her tail tip. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her nose to the cold frame of the medicine cat, the one who had interrupted her warrior ceremony and called her to join him, and guided her paws in the way of a medicine cat, once again.

Lynxtail looked up, startled by the sudden silence that had fallen over camp. He glanced around, trying to glean what was going on: Beartooth had just walked into camp and Ferretnose was trotting over to greet him as per usual...
What happened?

"Pricklebush" The name got stuck in his throat, never escaping his lips, and Lynxtail's eyes widened for a moment as he grappled with it. Pricklebush. Pricklebush.
If someone said his name, the medicine cat would pop up from where he was lying in the dirt with a sarcastic remark. If someone would just say something, break the terrible silence that was hanging over them, everything would go back to normal.
The silence was deafening. Lynxtail stood stiffly and walked towards the others, his gait unsteady. Mossbloom was a medicine cat, surely she would be able to bring him back.
He sat wordlessly beside Pricklebush's shoulder, staring down at him, trying to will him back to life. It was no use, but if he admitted the truth, Pricklebush would really, truly be... Lynxtail lowered himself onto the ground. Tears began to run down his cheeks. Thunderclan would never be the same.

Houndheart had never known Pricklebush well. The elder medicine cat had spent most of his time back and forth between Riverclan since the young warrior had been born. So, unlike the others, he simply witnessed the tragedy afar. It was not the first time that he had seen death. Like last time, it wormed its way uncomfortably into his chest. His paws sought the camp entrance to leave behind the emotional scene much like when Flintfang's dead body had been placed for those who wished to mourn as well. Before he could pad away, the warrior's eyes caught sight of Mossbloom's frame. It quivered relentlessly. He frowned as the desire to reach her side overwhelmed him. But not here, no, not in the middle of camp. Besides, the deputy was pressed just as closely to the unmoving mass. After she grieved he would talk to her, for now, it seemed like a good time to hunt.

The tan cat lay still in the grass, his blood has fallen out just like Hazelpaw's had. But Duskpaw only watched with jaded eyes. Her heart had not been sullied by yet another display of violence. She had seen death too many times to feel sad in its presence. How was she to be an adventurer if she was scared, sorrowful? This time she simply watched, watched as Beartooth collapsed into the ground in tears. Watched as Ferretnose ran into the forest, as Mossbloom cried. Duskpaw was told that Flintfang had been Mossbloom's father as well. She wondered if the calico was sad when the owl killed her father. It seemed strange, tragedy was such an abundant thing. Why did they still fret? They'd be fretting quite often if life continued as it had been. They were surrounded by many beasts, and lots and lots of blood coated the forest. It was not difficult to remove it from a body.

Duskpaw didn't blame them however, as she had cried at her sister's death. Perhaps Mossbloom loved Pricklebush, maybe she wanted to show him worms as well. Beartooth, too. He fit the part, and looked in place, sitting on the ground, wracked in silent sobs. Duskpaw almost felt bad for thinking it, but Beartooth had always been a quiet cat, heavy with something the apprentice couldn't put a paw on. As she padded toward her mentor, Houndheart brushed past her, looking stable. Duskpaw brushed her tail over his flank as he continued to trot onward. "Goodbye Houndheart." She spoke quietly, green eyes unreadable. Beartooth was soft, and as her friend Houndheart left, she pressed into her mentor's fur. It shifted as he breathed heavily, green eyes glazed over. "I will help you kill what killed Pricklebush." Duskpaw squeaked, gazing into the bloody medicine cat's pelt. "We can make all of their blood come out. You have many many claws, you're good at killing." A chilly compliment, however her intentions were pure. The apprentice let her tail rest over her mentor's shoulders, leaning into his fur, breathing in his scent. They'd avenge those who wronged them, it was her purpose in life, and Beartooth wouldn't be sad any longer.

Mistwalker had been slowly coming to terms that he had to go on without his son for the past few moons. Yet, the oh-so-great Starclan apparently didn't only hate him. Pricklebush's body lay bloodstained on the ground. A heavy silence dropped in the camp. Even the nursery seemed slightly less rowdy.

Mistwalker wanted to open his mouth, say something, anything- May Starclan light his path. May he find rest, peace, happiness wherever he lay. But no. No, he was frozen in the shock. Pricklebrush... dead. Killed... by what? Who cared? By the stars, if it was another clan, they would pay, they would pay so bad- why didn't anyone say anything? All these cats who knew Pricklebrush well, and believed in Starclan. Like, really believed he was there. Why couldn't they say something? The pain of the loss hur-

Duskpaw spoke, breaking the almost pure silence. "And I as well." Though his voice rarely held emotion, this was unnaturally cold, even for him. That was not all, though, no. He would get strong. Cats got killed when weakness was around.

Harefoot watched from the fringes of camp, mute. Pricklebush had always been around, at least since his birth. The warrior was well aquainted with Beartooth's siblings, or adopted siblings, whichever they had been. At least to the deputy they'd been like blood relatives. Pricklebush had been there to help patch up Harefoot after the badger had hurt him so badly. He'd been there to look over him when he'd wandered back into camp that fateful day. And he'd been there when Beepaw died and had accused Beartooth of being the killer. Some of the memories were more bitter than sweet, but his dearest friend's display of emotion made it clear that he had loved Pricklebush. Just ahead, Ferretnose burst past Mossbloom and Beartooth. Harefoot hadn't even realized she was that close with the medicine cat.

He felt split three ways. Harefoot, despite not being friends with the now-dead tom, grieved the clan's loss of a great medicine cat and a representative of the ancestors. He cared deeply for Ferretnose and longed to run after her, to press against her, to lick her tears from her cheeks and be with her in her sadness. But he also saw Beartooth breaking down worse than he had in moons, and was taken back to days of Flintfang, Ridgelight, Blizzardshine, Beepaw. Harefoot had been there to the best of his abilities. How could he leave Beartooth now? But he was already being addressed by Duskpaw and Mistwalker. They weren't gentle. Torn, the still-injured warrior approached the body and pressed his nose into the medicine cat's bushy fur. 'Thank you, StarClan, for his service. I pray that his spirit reaches you safely and that he recieves the many moons of rest he's earned.' The prayer that echoed in his mind was short but genuine. He glanced at Mossbloom, eyes soft and heart aching for her, and settled next to her gently. Harefoot hadn't spent much time with her, but he knew Ferretnose was good friends with her. Ferretnose wasn't here to share pain, so Harefoot decided to step in for her as respectfully as he could.

A warm, comforting presence settled next to her, and she opened her eyes to find a tear-blurred Harefoot. Of all the cats in ThunderClan, he had been one she hadn't interacted with much... Yet here he was, settling at her side as she grieved. Warmth and appreciation for the tom that held at least a part of Ferretnose's heart filled her as she allowed herself to take comfort in his presence, and a back corner of her mind nodded approval at her friend's choice in love. The warrior was kind-hearted and steadfast, of that Mossbloom was sure. For now, though.... Her eyes remained open as she stared into the pale gold fur of Pricklebush's still frame, trying desperately to fight the visions of his death that replayed in her mind's eye.

The air was thick with the weight of grief and loss. ThunderClan had lost a friend, a healer, a mentor, a loyal warrior; describe Pricklebush as they did, those terms alone could never sum up what he meant to these cats. He had been irreplaceably precious, as much the center of the clan as Oakstar and Beartooth were. To some present, he had been around for as long as they had been alive. Now that brilliant flame had been extinguished, and the stars' numbers were increased by one.

Into this seemingly impenetrable sphere of heaviness, a new voice broke from the entrance of ThunderClan camp. "Pricklebush...?" Hailpaw's usual firm tone was oddly distorted. It spiked in pitch, almost like one of a frightened kit's. The white-furred apprentice had just returned from a hunting patrol, as indicated by the bloodied mouse fallen by her paws. Houndheart brushed against her shoulder as he left, but she barely spared him a glance. In an instant, all her facades had shattered―the strong Hailpaw, the cheerful Hailpaw. Emotion flashed in her eyes, which were stretched dreadfully wide and round. In their dark depths, just one image reflected―that of the broken, bloodied mound of once tan fur in the camp's center.

Hailpaw drew in a sharp, pained breath. For a long time, she was silent, simply staring at the body around which her clanmates were crowded. Beartooth trembled, his massive frame racked with the force of an emotion words could not fully explain. His sides rose and fell in ragged breaths―wordlessly, soundlessly. Hailpaw turned to him, her gaze searching his agonized features. She attempted to speak, only to find out that the words had died in the back of her throat. Why... do you look to be in so much pain, Beartooth? ThunderClan's deputy was usually strong and unshakeable, not necessarily because he was, but because he was bad at conveying his emotions. She could count on one paw the number of times she had seen him show such open devastation.

What had happened in her absence?

Whose body was that lying in the center of ThunderClan camp, so cruelly mangled?

The name of her beloved brother had slipped from her maw, but surely―

The very atmosphere seemed to be choking Hailpaw. Bile rose in her throat, and she tasted its bitterness in the back of her mouth. No. Before the realization could sound itself in her mind, she crushed it with all her might. Without another word, she dropped her head and ran.

Hailpaw ran, and she ran, and she ran. She crashed through the underbrush, causing a racket terrible enough to frighten every prey creature in the vicinity. Twigs scraped at her face, caught in her pelt, and ripped tufts of her white fur out. Birds rose into the air with flurries of feathers and shrill, indignant cries. Terrified mice darted out of her path, desperate not to be caught in her rampage. Hailpaw could not care any less. Only when the gleam of the river shone through the trees were her paws were forced to an unwilling stop. The white-furred molly skidded to a halt on the gravelly shore. For a moment, she stood heaving for breath, her bright eyes glaring and terrible. Then, as if all the strength had suddenly seeped out of her body, she crumpled in a heap.

Sometime during her charge through the forest, the apprentice had ripped out a claw. Blood was welling from the wound now, staining her already muddied fur. It should have hurt; in all honesty, the wound should have been throbbing. But Hailpaw barely felt the pain. The screech that tore from her lungs was woven from a misery far greater, an anguish far more terrible.

Pricklebush... Pricklebush! Brother... Why you, too?