A Fulfilling Life (o)

This happens the day before the gathering, a couple days after her last living topic!

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It was barely past dawn, leaves blown through the air as the wind carried them. That was a sad song in the air, the birds chirping in a melancholy tone, as if they'd known this morning would bring mourning to the moors and the cats who lived there.

It was quiet this morning. Almost too quiet. Especially in the empty nursery, where in Shyfawn's nest, not even breath made a sound. It had been painless and quick, slipping away in her sleep. The soft fawn gray point had died with a smile on her maw. Shyfawn had raised countless kits, none her own, and one of those kits walked into the nursery, ginger pelt illuminated by the dawn light, a small smile visible behind the rabbit he carried in his mouth. Upon not seeing the gentle rise and fall of the queen's chest, the hare was thrown to the ground as Downtuft raced up to his starmother, who'd cared for him his whole life alongside his actual mother, Graybriar. "Shyfawn!" He wailed, burying his face into her still warm pelt. Hoistering her onto his back, desperation in his eyes. "H-hentooth! Hentooth!" Downtuft cried, gently laying down the body of a cat who'd brought nothing but love to WindClan. "It's- It's Shyfa-" His voice cracked, choking on his tears.

All the ginger warrior could do was bow his head in sorrow.

After their conversation a few days ago, Hentooth had been trying to keep an eye on Shyfawn. Trying being the key word. There were a lot of things to do as Leaf-bare approached, and less time to do them in, and there was her self-appointed job of keeping an eye on Fourtrees after running into way too many SkyClan cats there. The calico was yawning as she dragged herself out of her nest, decidedly late. Warriors were already returning from their hunts… stars, don’t be a dormouse, Hentooth.

And then someone cried out and her name was yowled and her heart sped up and pounded in her ears. She stumbled over her own paws, skidding into the nursery- was somecat giving birth? She wasn’t prepared for this, stars forsake it, hare-brained queens- only that wasn’t it.

“Shyfawn?”

There was no need for the herbs she’d grabbed in a fluster. The elderly queen had died in her sleep… for a moment, the your fault your fault your fault monster rose up again- but there was nothing she, or any cat, not even StarClan could’ve done. The young medicine cat sighed deeply and padded over, eyes glimmering. “I’m sorry Downtuft… she’s dead. She lived a long, full life, and now she’ll watch you from the stars… she’ll be missed.” Maybe she wasn’t good at that empathy thing, but death had hit her many times over her short life, and… for the young, yes, it did get better with time. But for the old… when most of your life was already lived… time wasn’t such a healer anymore.

“She was a good cat.” That was the consolation she offered, and yet it meant much more than the simple words. All of it did, really. She’d be remembered, as she walked among the starry moors. There was nothing more one could aspire to. While sadness weighed down Hentooth’s heart, the small flame of determination that had been lit when her father died was unquenchable.

The young medicine cat laid her tail gently across the older tom’s shoulders, offering what comfort she could give. “She’s happy.” Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, but that was what she said, and what she’d found helped other cats. Death… it wasn’t ever pretty.

Thrushflight, wakened by the yowls from within the nursery, rose slowly to her paws, dread settling in her heart. Shyfawn… it had to be Shyfawn. She’d been vague these last days, and Thrushflight knew the slow coming of death when she saw it. Still… she could hope against hope… and yet, poking her head into the nursery, Downtuft and Hentooth bowed their heads over a still form.

The elder padded slowly in, needing no words to tell her what happened. She would sit vigil for the queen tonight… another one. Death was never pretty. “We’ll miss her…” That was all that could be said.