A gentle breeze stirred the reed, caressing them into a simple dance. They waved back and forth, following the currents of air. It was a pleasant morning. Somehow that tickling wind was warm, bringing about a sense of comfort in place of the usual biting chill. Carpsplash's eye lids were heavy. This particular sensation was one that the elderly tom grew more intimately familiar with during every passing day. But something felt different about this moment.
Accompanying the inability to find a stable field of vision was a low and labored breathing. He, himself, hardly felt the effects of such a rasp. Instead, Carpsplash felt at peace. The constant pain wracking his limbs seemed to become little more than a feeling like a water-soaked pelt. It felt like Spiderquill had given him a dose of poppy seeds but more finite than the brief reprieve of the constant aches. Something told the old Riverclan warrior that he would no longer be privy to the experience of such sensations.
There was a burning desire to see the camp, more than just the snatches he managed through the darkening vision. Besides, he was tucked into the reed nest and Carpsplash knew his limbs wouldn't cooperate for such an endeavor. So, this was it. This nest, the one he'd occupied for so many seasons now, was to be his resting place. As an apprentice, the dusty tabby had dreamed of going down in battle, after striking down their opponents in a blaze of glory. But that was the muse of a spry warrior. Such dreams had been replaced with a more realistic expection. A smile dreamily crossed his maw, realizing he'd outdone that fantasy. Enemies had been bested and yet he still stood, moon after moon.
Given the circumstances, Carpsplash was afforded a lifetime of experience that would have been cut short if such things become a reality. A image of Dartfoot flashed through his mind. Once again, the contented expression flickered across his features. Every so often, it was the black and white tom's memory that propelled him forward. After the late warrior's death, he'd imagined joining Starclan so they could be reunited once again. But his love would not have wanted such a thing. So Carpsplash had lived for the both of them - guiding the clan and future warriors where he could, offering wisdom and tales of their great clan.
He found himself hoping that those he left behind were better for it, these extra moons he had clung to life in the forest. Making it through Asylum was a feat that Carpsplash was now proud to have accomplished, even if it had made him feel frail and insufficient in the moment. Greykit, Troutbelly, Ivystar, Cloverpaw... these names and more flitted through his mind. For several moments, the names of every clanmate ran through his head. So many cats had been lost in his lifetime but Riverclan was ever alive and thriving, no matter what circumstances befell them. Although he longed for someone to talk to, to share in this with, the clan was already about their duties for the day. It was just after sunrise.
With what little strength remained in his already sapped muscles, the warrior groaned and shifted. The lead of his eyelids was something he now fought against. This was his final battle and for what might have seemed like such a miniscule reward. But he could see it now. Carpsplash witnessed the bustle of the clan. His eyes were wide open now, drinking in the serene day. The dark frame of Jayshriek was headed somewhere, kits played outside the nursery, and apprentices were about various assigned tasks. This was what he wanted to remember, to experience one last time. For a while, draining seconds, the tom simply watched. And then, he let out a low sigh, releasing the last of the breath being held in his lungs. They would continue on, move past their grieving, and life would always flourish here in Riverclan. Carpsplash had never looked so at peace.
Farewell, Riverclan, greatest clan of the forest.
