incurable in the wounds they make [closed]

takes place immediately following [Only mods are allowed to see this link] post in contrary gods stand to none.

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Crack!

The heady ringing, blossoming low in the stiff base of his skull and tensed nape, curling tight and hot within the depths of his sore ears was intercut only with the faintest recollection of a watery memory. Judgement invoked in the revelation of apparent crimes transgressed within the bounds of his own home, fury and disbelief at the apparent situation neatly waylaid by the desperate measures of a starving creature; his own flesh splitting beneath the tight-clinching bonds of gnarled teeth, his own bones renting in twain at the explosive impact of both the initial collision and the great weight of the branch that had tumbled free afterwards.

Crack!

The endless bounds of silence that had followed suit in his initial tossing to the trunk of the old beech tree, stifling dampness of the snow-sodden afternoon sky splitting under the terrible shattering of old, rotten wood; the sticky rivulets crowing of disturbed corvids who happened to make the unfortunate decision to ride out the winter within the starved confines of the winter bleak forest. The snow-curtained air, besmirched with the trembling flakes of partially frozen snow drifting down in a lazy current of casual movement, obscuring the worst of the impending doom that lurched down to his flailing, trembling shape.

Crack!

Jaystar had been out on patrol, tending to Darkpaw seeing as hardly any others were willing to under such circumstances; a confession to aiding in a futile attempt to escape ones own stupidity, a fight that had been exceedingly minimal in length, a branch plummeting down to envelop him. He was dead, was he not? The reaches of his vision were shaded and sticky, still tinged with the off-putting pallor of blood and injury, and hardly capable of processing any additional sensory information with this current state of misfortunate- but yes, a shaky attempt at curtailing his surroundings seemed to confirm a relatively logical conclusion. Definitely dead.

Shambling, lackluster movements were upheld in a careful attempt at hurt-fueled movements, muscles stiff and adorned with the chipped crown of death; sticky droplets of blood left glinting coldly upon the dark earth, rounded and irregular tears against the sickly laurel of his newfound crown. White-hot agony blossomed sharp and insistent with each stiff attempt to rise into a hunched, half-sitting position, a tumultuous throbbing that wreathed across his thoroughly exhausted nervous system with the restless flutter of his circadian rhythm. Just the simple challenge of pulling up to an arguably more dignified sprawling shape set the sticky, dark air alight with the faint hiss of raining splinters and debris, first place trophy in loss evidently being carried over with him into the next world.

Speaking of the infamous next world, the greater plane of existence, it certainly looked a sore far-cry from his last visitation. Enough to set his exhausted being alight with the faintest dredges of alarm.

Swirled in a dark, misty fog, Vixenstar’s form took shape and she slowly made her way through the debris and slick mud. Each step sent a flurry of pain through her legs, but time had dulled it; she’d much grown used to it by now. Amber eyes settled on the mangled, bloody leader who’d found himself stuck within the confines of her eternal otherworldly prison. Walking with purpose, she soon found herself right in front of him as he struggled to bring himself to a respectable position. ”No need to further exhaust yourself.” She said simply, tail curled over her paws. ”Some leader, hmm? Comparable to only one- your mother shared a similarly ridiculous fate. You’ve more in common than you’d think, yourself snd that one. At least your death isn’t permanent… Yet.” Her tail tip twitched almost rhythmically, in tune with what would be her heartbeat. ”I could show you how to prevent things like this from happening. You’ve got a multitude of lives, so this will hardly phase you. Imagine if poor Darkpaw had fallen victim to this instead, however. Your Clanmates are not indestructible, nor are they disposable. Without your Clanmates, you’re nothing but a title.” A smirk wiggled it’s way onto the she-cat’s maw as she looked down on Jaystar with pity. ”There is so much that you worldly souls miss out on. Don’t let that be the reason for our Clan’s demise.”

The carefully condition muscles once imbued along the hard bones of the shoulder, a formerly delicately interweaving of intricacies and unseen maps tying together in a knotting web of overlapping bands, strained awkwardly under the duration of holding his weight up; Jaystar's posture unnatural, some caliber of injury apparent in the hard angle of his left shoulder.

The aquiline curve of his sharp muzzle twisted upwards in a thinly-veiled display of detestment at the sudden intervention of an apparent stranger, wine-dark gaze remaining fixed upon the looming mass of Vixenstar amidst the casual strolling that brought her within immediate proximity. Delicately weighted spine tensing into a posture of defensive attention, the dark-furred tom's ears pressed tightly against the narrow confines of his skull at the molly's crooked, faux sympathy. Demeanor a striking cry away from Splashwillow, the bearer of his first life- who... was supposed to be here, was she not? Little information had been granted in the wake of his presence to how such proceedings should formally progress.

"Self-inflicted tarnishing of the reputation aside, I feel as though I still hold some respectability to my name- drowning as the Leader of RiverClan is significantly more embarrassment worthy than finding yourself crushed by a tree." Jaystar eventually leered back, sullen and sharp in his seething response, blatantly brushing away the connotations of the stranger's relatively accurate assessment. The sharp lines of his mouth simmered with the rustic tang of blood at the mention of Darkpaw, soft inner flesh of his cheeks and gums gouged and sore under the straining press of both splinters and injuries incurred by his own teeth. Must he always spend the duration of his time suspended between the living and the dead being insulted? The pain they had often bestowed upon him was enough.

"You are not the one who gave me this life, yet you come to me all the same to offer promise?" Jaystar eventually heaved, turning the debilitating offer upon his tired teeth, the terrible wound etched deep into the delicate flesh of his nape throbbing with the rhythm of Vixenstar's careful movement. The dead have called upon him before to anoint him, paving the way here with the blood of his mother and mate and all those he had shared sleep and nourishment with during the occupation of Asylum. "You are a ghost, intangible. What could you possibly have to give to me?"

Vixenstar watched as Jaystar rose, soaking in his words as they left his maw. ”Yes, but do you think she drowned herself? Do you think such ridicule came from her own mistaken pawsteps, as yours did?” Vixenstar’s pointed remarks ended there, leaving the leader with whatever questions might brew from her statements. Her whiskers twitched with amusement as Jaystar’s frustration grew, her mention of his mother, his weakness, and of Darkpaw creating a perfect storm of anguish. ”I offer you the promise that you not need your extra lives, that you and your Clan will make it through this leafbare no more scathed than you already are. No more kits with empty bellies, no more festering infections stemming from wounds that never should’ve landed, that your medicine cannot cure. I offer you strength, skill, and stability.” She mewed, voice deepening the more she spoke. ”I offer you the peace of knowing that you nor our Clan will ever have to endure a loss as devastating as losing a loved one; of losing Kitefire. Are you going to deny your Clan all these things, Jaystar?”

An ache, fiery and thick under its sweep intensity, tremored up the strained muscles of Jaystar's wounded being; figure shaking under the perpetually building stress of his lasting injuries, shiny-dark rivulets of hot blood gradually leeching away the dwindling remnants of his dwindling strength. Tufted points of sloping ears were pressed flat against the gentle curvature of his matted skull, the simple act of outwardly expressing his building frustration with the all around truly unfortunate circumstances bringing pain to his splinter-adorned self.

For one who showed not hair nor hide during the formal processions of his hastily pulled together ceremony, this ghostly molly seemed exceptionally confident in her abrupt analysis. It felt like encountering the nightmarish amalgamation of Ivystar, Loonwhisper, and Wisteriabloom.

Dark lips pulling back into the feline mimicry of a simper, Jaystar did little other than feign passive interest through the showing of a bloodied grin; irritation lending him the strength to scowl through such a fantastic offer. Old ghosts, probably forgotten, coming to bear promises of a better day? It was one thing to randomly besmirch his already sullied name with the weight of leadership, it was another to offer boundless opportunity with little suffering. Truly, it was all preposterous until Kitefire was mentioned, and all sour humor promptly bled from his bones.

Liminal catches of a reflective gaze, left to simmer in the exceptionally low light of the winter-barren forest, lingered imploringly under blood-thickened lashes; honey-wine stare fixed upon the partially translucent, wavering outline of the strange old ghost perched before him. Rustic and heavy, the sharp tang of blood continued to well upon his sour and scorned tongue, traces of real and not-quite-real blood plaguing the twisting confines of his mouth. "Such a grand promise from ones meant only to let the natural way of things happen as they were intended," Jaystar eventually rasped out, pale teeth shaded with the pink-blush of his own blood, "from those who never intervened directly before, not even when Asylum made to share our homes for moons on end."

The bearing of his own weight eventually came to be too much, with Jaystar unable to do more than slip back into a half-sprawled position before Vixenstar, scowling up at the partially existing molly evident on dragging him through fire and thorns for some greater reason. The collision of his injured forelimb making contact with the dry, desolate earth sent a shockwave of pain through him with such intensity that it took a grandstanding heartbeat for his wit to return in full functional standings. "I deny nothing, but I do not see how you intend to deliver upon such promises."