Tattered Banners and Bloody Flags [Wolfstar]

OOC: Directly follows this topic, could spiral into including Bloodstrike/Briarthorn if necessary?

Beechface felt her mood sour with each step towards camp she took. Bloodstrike had brought a murderer into the clan, knowingly or not, and the last thing Skyclan needed was another war. She'd been able to brush off the stress and exhaustion when Dovefrost had asked, but it was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other now.

Wolfstar was grieving, the last thing he needed was this added stress on top of everything else that had happened. She didn't want to bother him with this, but there was no other choice. "Wolfstar? Sorry to interrupt but I- We need to talk. It's urgent." One look at her grandfather's face and she regretted speaking, but this had to be done. The medicine cat shifted on her paws, tail lashing back and forth in displeasure. She couldn't seem to sit still, agitation evident in the tense lines of her shoulders that for once had little to do with the typical mountain of problems plaguing Skyclan.

"Dovefrost sent one of our warriors to find me, he needed help deciphering a prophecy. I had also received this prophecy a few moons ago, but I wasn't able to make sense of it and there were more important things to focus on. We talked, and I believe we were able to piece it together. He's probably having the same conversation with Minkstar right about now." She huffed out a breath. If this actually managed to lead to war, she was retiring, regardless of Muddythorn's training. The solution was as simple and straightforward as it could possibly get, in her opinion, and she genuinely liked Dovefrost. Warring over the actions of one already proven-disloyal she-cat would be pointless.

"The prophecy was 'even the highest-flying birds can fall victim to sharp thorns.' All of our dead have been accounted for for moons now, but Dovefrost told me that they found the body of one of Thunderclan's warriors Robinloft near the thunderpath... Shadowclan border, and they never did find out what happened to her. None of our own would have reason to kill a Thunderclanner, nor would they have done so at the Shadowclan border." Beechface curled her lip, "Briarthorn is the only thing that fits, and she's Shadowclan. It would have made sense for her to be on that border, at some point. I can't say I'm surprised either, given how she betrayed her own clan already, of course she'd have to hide a murder too. She's proven her disloyalty and code-breaking before-" Hypocritical, and she was ranting, but she didn't care, "and I can't imagine Thunderclan will be pleased to know about it. There's nobody else that could fit the prophecy, why not let them have her? We don't need to go to war over someone who has proven they can't be loyal or keep from breaking the code." Briarthorn had never been Skyclan, wasn't Skyclan, and would never be Skyclan, regardless of who her mate happened to be. And after recent events, Beechface wasn't sure Skyclan could handle another war at all. So many were wounded and injured, and half the cats that weren't so severely wounded were sick with heartbreak or were paranoid and exhausted. If giving their murderer to Thunderclan would avoid that, Beechface would gladly advocate for that instead. One disloyal cat's life did not outweigh that of the entire clan. Skyclan wasn't Windclan, to continue harboring those who deserved justice against all reason... At least, that was what Beechface hoped for.

SkyClan's leader had seen better days. In the half-moon since the devastation of Dawnhawk's rampage, he'd taken to his den, leaving when only absolutely necessary, and sometimes not even then. Warrior ceremonies, patrols, decisions, all of it had been left to Bloodstrike as Wolfstar, in his absolute and overwhelming grief, found himself entirely unable - or perhaps unwilling - to function. The tom was practically wasting away; he was thin, moreso than he'd been during even the coldest, harshest of Leafbares, and because of his complete lack of self-care, the scrapes and bites that he'd attained during the war were on the edge of festering, despite Beechface's best efforts. But he couldn't quite bring himself to care.

The days had blurred together. Sometimes, he had visitors... Bloodstrike, Beechface, occasionally another, checking up on him. But they never stayed long, and he was glad they didn't. Sometimes the visitors brought food, and then came to take it away once it began to rot. He didn't want to eat, or talk. He just wanted to sleep, and so sleep he did. It was during one of these long periods of slumber when Beechface entered, and her herb-scent flooded his nostrils. The leader opened his eyes, briefly, to look at her, and then closed them again. Go away, Beechface. Someone else surely needs your help more than I do. I have lives to spare, after all. Five more of them. Just let me sleep.

Apparently she was unable to read minds, however, as she didn't leave. Instead, she talked. And talked. And talked.

He lay there and half-listened. Briarthorn had killed someone? Supposedly? And Beechface wanted him to... hand her over, to ThunderClan? For the first time in... longer than he could remember, Wolfstar laughed. It was raspy and painful, and eventually dissolved into a fit of coughing that took him several moments to gain control of. When he could finally breathe properly again, Wolfstar lifted his head to look his granddaughter in the eye, and when he spoke, his voice was cracked and hoarse with disuse. "StarClan has a lot to say now, hm?" There was no disguising the pain in his voice, though whether it stemmed from a mental or physical cause was difficult to discern.

He stared at her, face blank. "Your dislike of Briarthorn and her kits is secret to no one, granddaughter. Do you think perhaps you are looking too hard for something that may not be there? A reason to exile her, and the memories of how Bloodstrike hurt your mother?" He rested his chin on one paw again and closed his eyes once more, taking a large, labored breath as he awaited an answer.

"Name someone else that could fit, then, because I can't." She retorted evenly. Yes, she despised Briarthorn, no it wasn't a secret. Beechface wouldn't lie to herself, and she wouldn't lie to anyone who asked, either. There was no point in pretending she liked Briarthorn when she didn't, and so she wouldn't try to dispute Wolfstar's words. He was right, after all.

"Starclan is a load of foxdung, they're hardly ever useful when it actually matters, but they gave that prophecy to Dovefrost and I. As mousebrained and cryptic as they are, even I don't think they would do that if it wasn't any of Skyclan's business, grandfather. It onvolves us, one way or the other, and she's the only 'thorn' we know." Aside from Muddythorn, who had hated his warrior duties nearly as much as Beechface despised being a medicine cat, and who would rather sit out of a fight than participate. He'd always been that way as far as Beechface knew, that reaction wasn't because of some trauma-induced response to accidentally killing someone.

"I was lectured at this past half-moon. We can't pick and choose what rules to follow, murder is murder and maiming is maiming regardless. They'd rather pass judgement and stir up trouble rather than be helpful, that's nothing new. Maybe Dovefrost and I are playing into that as they sit and laugh at us, wouldn't surprise me. If Briarthorn killed someone, and I think she did, because nothing else fits that stupid message, she deserves whatever punishment she gets for it."

The leader kept his eyes closed as she continued, though his ears were trained on her. The irony of the situation begged him for more laughter, but he was just too tired, so he settled for a harsh wheeze, shifting from his side on to his belly so that it was easier to breathe. SkyClan was the one harboring a supposed murderer now, after all they'd done to bring Dawnhawk to justice.

Dawnhawk was different, he told himself. He's not a murderer, he's a monster, with more blood on his claws than any other cat in the forest.

Finally, he lifted his head, peering sleepily at the medicine cat. "Briarthorn fought, and bled, for SkyClan. You don't have to like her, but you do have to respect that," he said quietly, studying her through half-lidded eyes. She was angry, it didn't take a genius to figure that out, but it wasn't all anger... there was hurt, and pain, as well. Wolfstar sympathized with his granddaughter, she had so much on her shoulders, but he couldn't just hand Briarthorn over to ThunderClan without at least thinking about it. Eventually he spoke again, "If Minkstar demands recompense, I'll deal with him, but this is not a decision I'm making today. Let me talk to B-" he cut himself off abruptly, turning his shoulder and curling into himself. He didn't want to be a part of this conversation any longer. He was tired.

"I-" Beechface began, then huffed. "Fine." Briarthorn had fought for Skyclan... For now. Beechface wouldn't hold her breath counting on the Shadowclanner in the future. She'd just have to trust that Wolfstar would do the right thing if Minkstar wanted her for her crimes.

Wolfstar spoke again, confirming that he'd handle it, then cut himself off and turned away. Beechface regarded him for a moment, and let out a tired breath. Her grandfather and Smokefeather were... Handling their grief. Or not handling it, rather. And Beechface had no stars-forsaken clue of how to help them. Beechface found herself padding forward, sitting next to him. She opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no idea of what she could've even said, certainly nothing that would actually make the situation better.