Love Never Dies [Closed]

The stars still shone in StarClan, which was strangely unexpected to Burningwolf when she first joined StarClan. To this day, Burningwolf still thought that she died too soon. Her life had been filled with nothing but fighting. Fighting for her clan. Fighting for her life and the right to a happy one. Fighting dogs. Fighting cats dressed as dogs. Her life ended with more fighting- an infection. After the pelted cats fled the camp, she thought she was fine. She turned down help for more injured cats. But within a few days, a nasty infection had set in. It attacked her like the burning she-cat had personally insulted it and before long, she was beyond saving when the infection entered her bloodstream. The pain ended quickly after that. There was no StarClan cat standing over her to give her a third life. No, this time, it was final. Her life ended in agony. Uncontrollable shakes. Never able to feel comfortable. Ragged breaths. Blurry vision. Crying out. She hadn't even been gifted a dignified death, but begging and pleading to feel better. Her only relief was Lightfang's love in her final moments. He was there when she passed, curled around her and licking her cheek. At least he was there, and at least Flickerkit was standing beside him to bring her up to the starry afterlife.

Burningwolf spent the time waiting for him to join her in StarClan pacing back and forth, angsty and restless. It was conflicting. She wanted him to live and be happy, but on the other paw she wanted him here with her and their kit. In order to pass the time, Burningwolf turned to training Flickerkit - naming her Flickerpaw - and it certainly helped pass the time.

It was a full moon when Lightfang died, collapsing at the Gathering from sheer exhaustion. Heart thudding, Burningwolf had sprinted from the outskirts to meet him and bring him home. Finally, they were reunited. A family again. It was the happiest day of her not-life.

Ever since then, the two had been as insperetable in death as they had been in life. Together, they trained Flickerpaw and soon they stood before her and chose her name. Flickerflame. It fit the sparky kitten perfectly. Despite the fact she still took the form of a very tiny kit, Burningwolf viewed her as the most honorable warrior. And she was proud.

But tonight, Lightfang and Burningwolf decided to leave Flickerflame to her own devices. Together they strolled beneath the starry sky, pelts touching. After a nice, silent walk, Burningwolf looked to her mate. "Isn't it weird how nobody alive remembers who we are? It weirds me out." She commented, pretty bitterly.

For some cats, death was an adjustment. Lightfang, however, took to it like a bird to the air. The moment he’d hoisted himself free of the battered shell slumped in the snow, his eyes fixed on Burningwolf with a glow they hadn’t held since that night on the Halfstone, was the first peaceful one he’d had in recent memory. Guilt still weighed heavy on his shoulders, lingered on his tongue like the stench of rotten prey whenever StarClan called him to speak with one of WindClan’s new apprentices. He would carry it forever, he thought. No warrior worth the title would abandon his Clan. But when he looked at his mother, his littermates, his mate and daughter, some of that weight fell away. Here and here alone, they could just…exist. Side by side. He had apologized to Firflower; he had sparred with his siblings; he’d gotten to watch his daughter grow into his handsome pelt, her mother’s blazing spirit, and something wholly, uniquely hers. No matter how much he regretted the choice that had killed him, he would rather die a hundred deaths than relinquish the things that came after.

He got antsy sometimes when Flickerflame (or any of them, really) strayed too far out of sight. But like any young cat, she needed time to herself; and when Burningwolf asked if he wanted to take a walk, just the two of them, Lightfang discovered he’d been itching to stretch his legs. He padded beside his mate, keeping perfect pace. Even now, his heart skipped a beat each time his shoulder bumped against hers.

Presently, she spoke. Lightfang turned to look at her, the shine to his eyes faltering at her tone. “It is weird. But I think it’s…nice, too. Not having to run anymore.” Thornstar, gone. Tinystar and Spottedstar, gone. The cats wearing predators’ pelts, scattered like seeds on the wind. As much as thought comforted him, his mate was another story. Where he’d always been content to fade into the background, Burningwolf was like the sun; she had no qualms about being seen. Demanded it, even. Though after everything she’d done for both WindClan and SkyClan, it was the least she deserved.

Looking ahead, he gave a thoughtful hum. “I’m sure someone down there remembers us. We’re still here, after all.” He gestured to her, then himself with a paw. They—he especially—didn’t shine as vibrantly as some StarClan cats, but their outlines were solid. “And we get to visit the Moonstone. That has to mean something.”