One Thousand Burning Arrows [open]

Continuation of this thread

Mistyfalcon and the Asylum rogue had made their way back to camp in silence, Brighteye's still form between them. The moon began to set, the sky slowly began to lighten with the oncoming dawn. Most of the Asylum cats would stir to wakefulness for the day, while many of the Shadowclan warriors would be preparing to retire as the sun rose above them.

Mistyfalcon couldn't find it in himself to care either way.

Brighteye's body had been prepared for vigil, the scent of herbs a weak attempt to overpower the scent of blood that stuck in Mistyfalcon's throat even after most of it had been cleaned away. At some point he'd retreated to clean the blood that stained his own fur, had hollowly informed Flintstar of how he'd found her, but now that Brighteye's body had been laid out in the center of camp, he returned to her side in silence, dull eyes unfocused.

When Mistyfalcon brought back Brighteye back, her limp body carrying the pungent smell of blood, Rookpaw had inferred exactly what had happened. He prepared to help bury the she-cat. He wished that he could have been there to help her, but there was no way that he would have known that Brighteye would have gotten killed, and he still wasn't the best at healing yet anyways. Was he making excuses for why he wasn't responsible for Brighteye's death? Yes. Were they valid excuses? Also yes. Either way, he did know that ShadowClan lost a warrior today, and he couldn't ever think about that and be happy about it, especially as their sole medicine cat.

As Crowpaw watched Brighteye’s body be laid down in the center of camp, his eyes remained clear, free of tears. But his mind felt like it was in a blur. His thoughts came to him in fractured bits.

After sitting quietly and staring emptily for a while, he rose to his paws and walked forward to the body as if automatically, his eyes fixed on the young warrior’s lifeless form.

He hadn’t been in love with her, not really. He’d just liked the attention, and after he’d felt challenged on it by Mistyfalcon he’d latched onto it even more. But he’d been losing that particular game even before she’d died.

Well...I guess we’ve both lost, then, the thought bubbled to the surface of his mind And I should be happy about that, shouldn’t I? If I can’t win, it’s better that we both lose

As soon as he thought that, he felt something tugging at this chest, some feeling he hadn’t really experienced before. What was that...was that shame? Was he ashamed of himself for thinking something like that?

Oh, he didn’t like that feeling. He didn’t like it all. Why should he...why should he feel ashamed? Brighteye’s death had turned a clear loss into something slightly closer to a win. Why should...why should he feel ashamed about being happy about that? It was all a game, and he was the only player who really mattered, and yet…

And yet.

He hadn’t loved Brighteye; but she had been his friend...and he’d miss his friend. He wasn’t happy. He just wanted to be happy. Really, he was just sad and ashamed. The realization disgusted him. He hadn’t known he could actually feel this bad about someone else’s misfortune. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Mistyfalcon,” he muttered quietly to the other tom who was sitting by Brighteye’s side. “I’m sorry for your loss. Genuinely, I am,”

And for once, he really did mean what he said, even if he didn’t fully understand why.