On to Brighter Pastures

OOC: hoooo boy yall this is going to make me cry but it must be done, love u elm <3

The scarred tortoiseshell tom seemed even more thin and frail than ever, heavy coughs wracking his frame as he lay in a moss nest in Aspenheart's den. In a strange way, he knew. He had promised Gustleap he wouldn't come until it was his time...it seemed his time had finally come. A faint smile crossed Elmskip's face. His body ached with the greencough but his soul, his mind, they felt...relaxed. He was proud of himself. Proud of what he had accomplished. He had gone through so much heartache in his long life, finally he would know peace. His green eyes cracked open, searching for Barleytuft's form nearby. His dear friend, his closest companion, was here with him. "Barleytuft, friend..." he croaked, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Aspenheart, Softpaw...F-Finchstar..." Patrick was already laying with him, their tails intertwined.

The scent of the sickness that was spreading like a fire through WindClan's cats permeated the air; the sounds of whitecough echoed through the camp, emanating especially from the medicine den. It was becoming more crowded with every sunrise, it seemed to Barleytuft. He himself had been confined to the den for over a quarter moon already and confined to camp for longer. He had watched his friends join him - Finchstar and Elmskip among them - and he had watched them grow worse each day as he did the same. He had lost track of how many days he and his companions had been nest-ridden. Elmskip had been hit hard and suddenly; he was declining at a disturbingly rapid speed. The obvious concern from the rest of their Clanmates was apparent.

Barleytuft woke from his dozing to the sound of a horrendous coughing fit. There was something in the rattling gasp of the uneven breaths that opened a yawning pit of fear in the senior warrior's stomach. Fighting against the tightness in his own chest, he lifted his head to focus his bleary eyes on the nest beside his. Elmskip's tri-pawed calico body trembled and heaved at his side. The distant look in Barleytuft's eyes made his heart sink into his stomach. Elmskip's eyes flickered opened and locked hazily on Barleytuft's dark hazel ones as he muttered his friend's name. The way the sick tom spoke... they both knew what was coming. Patrick already lay patiently on his mate's other side, a look of sorrow on his patched face.

There was no way Barleytuft could get more sick, he felt, so there was no risk in comforts; he eased over to Elmskip's side, his thin, matted cream tabby pelt blending with his. "Hey, buddy," he rasped, touching his nose to Elmskip's bony shoulder. "I'm right here. What can I do...?" He broke off to cough, veering his head as far away from the tom as possible - it didn't likely matter, though. He felt himself shudder as his coughing fit settled, and he turned back to Elmskip with a fresh dribble of moisture down his nose and water pooling in his eyes. "What can I do for you, my brother?" he asked gently.

Aspenheart was no fool. He had lived enough sunrises on this miserable plane to know the wretched unfairness that life often had. Not even the greatest were spared by the sickle of illness and death. Elmskip was one such pure soul who, in all the young tom's life, had never revealed himself to be of poor intention or ill will. No, of course not. Aspenheart wasn't entirely sure the old tom could feel anger or evil. It was a gift the medicine cat had longed for his entire life. He knew too well the darkness that could bubble over in a cat's soul. True, there was no soul more gentle than Elmskip's. That gentle soul was now taking its leave, as greencough unraveled his body and untied his spirit from it. He wondered if the others knew. He preferred to keep his sacred den positive and hopeful. It was the least he could do in such a dark and gloomy Leafbare, when sickness ran much like a brush fire.

The medicine cat stumbled wordlessly to Patrick and Elmskip's side and slide a small pouch of herbs toward him. The herbs were more of a parting gift than a prayer for health. The tortoiseshell tom's symptoms had passed what most medicine cats would consider the point of no return. Aspenheart was glad to see that Elmskip's eyes did not hide his peace of mind from the onlookers in the den, though the silver tom could not deny the aching of his heart. The older the cat, the harder the grief. "You seem in higher spirits," Aspenheart quipped quietly, lungs dripping with misery. Why so soon?

Whitecough had gripped the camp with fierce leafbare claws. Finchstar could stand the pull on his own lungs, however seeing his clanmates suffer was something else entirely. A shiver ran across his spine as Finchstar gazed into Elmskip's eyes. A tom who had faced trials and adventure right alongside himself. Elmskip was a strong cat, one filled with unconditional love and light. An ache tugged at the WindClan leader's heart as the tortoiseshell called his name. The clan was circled around him. Barleytuft, Aspenheart, and Finchstar. Patrick rested ever close by, always attentive and watching.

"Elmskip…" Finchstar crooned, forcing a smile onto his face. It was a bittersweet moment, one that marked the passing of a dear friend. Aspenheart had spoken of Elmskip's fate, and Finchstar trusted his medicine cat and friend, despite their disagreements. The old tom was dying. He soon would pass on, to be the wind in the ryegrass, the snow atop the gorse, and the sun that said goodnight below the hills. The tom blinked away his tears, chuckling softly with the realization, placing a gentle paw atop Elmskip's. "You are..." The leader sniffed. "...one of the bravest cats I have ever known. Friend, what is it I can offer you? I will bring the very stars to earth if you shall ask it of me..."

The old tom took in a rattling breath, his sides shaking with the effort. For the first time in his life, that ugly black cloud in his mind had lifted. He kept a strong gaze on his friends, gazing around at each of them in turn with a smile before finally coming to Patrick. Using the last of his strength, he raised his head and pressed it against his mate's before coming to rest against the moss once more. He didn't have any more strength to lap up the herbs Aspenheart had brought, nor did he have it to return Finchstar's touch, or Barleytuft's comforting presence. But he graced them all with an even warmer smile before he let his eyes slip closed.

"Thank you..." he breathed, the words escaping like a cool breeze across the moors. "I won't...forget you...my dearest friends..." His breath ran out, his scarred, three-legged body finally coming to rest. Elmskip was suddenly aware of looking down at himself, surrounded by his loved ones, as a light not unlike the Moonstone filled the space. The battered warrior took one last look at them all, his heart swelling with love for his Clan. He couldn't have done any of it without them. And, while his life had not been an easy one, he felt a great pride in himself for combatting it all. He was proud of himself, truly, for what he had done despite all else. He craned his neck around to look at his missing leg, something that had once brought him such pain and agony, and smiled. "I will see you all again soon," Elmskip mewed before his spirit was whisked off to the brightness of StarClan.

Softpaw was on the verge of tears, "E-elmskip, please, just hang on!" She begged. It was of no use. It was his time and he was ready to go. As he whispered goodbye, Softpaw allowed herself to cry. "Oh, Elmskip," She whispered, "I know I haven't known you long, b-but.." She trailed off, tears glazing her cheeks. "I will miss you, Elmskip.. I-i hope you have safe travels to StarClan.." She whispered, turning away. Death was the least favorite part of her job.

The dying tom's gaze had fallen away from Barleytuft by then, drifting with a gradually strengthening look of peace from face to face as the others gathered at his call. Barleytuft could feel them drawing nearer and looked to each as they spoke with warmth to Elmskip; Aspenheart stooped before his patient with a packet of herbs, yet the expression in his eyes was grim and certain despite the positive observation he made; Finchstar approached from his nest to crouch lovingly beside their Clanmate, speaking a heartfelt praise of the tom. Barleytuft nodded his head deeply in agreement with the sentiment, and the tears in his eyes - which had been caused by his coughing fit at first - dripped down his cheeks. His throat tightened not with sickness but with grief, and he felt his lips quiver as he bit against a weep. This wasn't the time to mourn; the look of joy and peace on Elmskip's face didn't ask for grief.

The calico tom whispered words of love and gratitude, and a genuine, bittersweet smile spread over Barleytuft's illness- and sorrow-darkened face. "I'll never forget you," the senior warrior whispered back in a rasping voice, his eyes shining with love and happiness. Yet as Elmskip's body went still, his final breath released, Softpaw's heartbroken voice called out in protest. The relief that Barleytuft felt on behalf of Elmskip's peace was crushed by the weight of the loss he and his loved ones now faced in its wake. Elmskip... was one of his earliest, dearest friends. The tom had been part of WindClan - his WindClan - as long as he'd been alive. The older tom had been a light; an inspiration. Barleytuft had learned to never underestimate a cat with good spirit and a strong heart. How many ways had Elmskip influenced him in his life? "Breathe deeply in StarClan, my friend," Barleytuft whispered in a cracking voice, pressing his muzzle into Elmskip's dark patched fur. May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep.