tread softly, let them sleep [C]

The dusk patrol would be heading out by now. It was a thought unrelated to what he was doing here, alone in a seemingly empty part of the territory, devoid of underbrush despite the thick layer of sod and pine needles beneath his dirty paws. He came here whenever he needed time by himself to think. One tuxedo tom’s white paws were stained green, yet he did not seem to mind. His tongue tingled with the tastes of plant sap both bitter and sweet, harmful and healing. He’d torn up little seedlings regardless of nature, tossed into a haphazard, wilting pile in one of the last shafts of sharp sunlight. The scent of ripped grass hung thickly in the air as the sounds of birdsong gradually lulled with the setting sun.

The air was heavy with humidity and for but a moment, however foolish and wishful it seemed, Yewfrost thought he saw his brother’s spirit hovering there, above the dirt. But with a blink, he was gone. The young tom stood still for a moment before shaking his head and continuing with his work. Graves did not tend themselves.

“If you have a problem with how I’m doing this, tell me.” He spoke to no one, his gaze fixed downwards as his claws regularly scored the dirt. What was he hoping for? His paws stopped moving. “What would you do in this situation?” ‘Crickethop.’ Why was he trying to speak to the dead? He was no medicine cat, he did not see signs, he hardly believed the stars were worth following. But he knew his brother. If Crickethop could say something, he would. Some young part of his heart that still went by Yewpaw wanted to hear his brother’s voice again. To have someone who understood his way of thinking completely. Yewfrost sat where he’d stood in Leafbare a blackbird higher due to the snow, where he had dug the hole along with the elders.

His voice came only loud enough for his brother to hear. “Would you stay? Should I? I don't know what to do, Cricket.”

Seemingly empty would be the operative word in this situation.

It seemed that it was an unfortunately growing trend among the cats of Skyclan, one that seemed to be an effect rippling from a particular tom. A tom that sat formerly in a seat of power, whose word dictated the future of the clan. No longer. What was more unfortunate was it was only all the more fitting that the tom in question had been the father to the evil subject of many nursery stories spread within the forest. An unfortunate reality they lived in, that it all could've been seen coming. Violent claws left violent marks on the earth which were irreparable, left for all to see, learn from, and fear.

A particular she-cat of that very kin had been left disturbed to her very core. She was of no better bloodlines than the cats who had left the very mental scars that currently sat in her mind, and as much as she willed herself that demeanor would cause her to be better, there would be no proof. Dawnhawk, Klaus, Morningstar... That cat was the son of Bloodstrike. Much as she was the daughter of him, too. Even if they had different mothers, it was the vengeful claws of their sire that tore wounds into more than just those they personally inflicted it upon. Prayer after prayer was sent each night to the stars, who she wondered if they even listened, that she would turn out more like her mother. The selfless she-cat willing to fling herself in front of such a traitor to save their Clan.

Useless, hopeful wanderings found the large-framed torbie to go towards the very area she was at now. Perhaps it also was an effect of the heat rippling through the forest that her mind felt just as sluggish as her body did, the dew in the air clinging to her pelt and weighing her down. The innermost part of her was certainly cooled thanks to her coat, but even just simply shaking out her pelt sent tufts of a pale undercoat flying. She was sure the birds would enjoy it for their nests, it was an easy give-and-take. Allow them to have good nests to have their babies, which meant Skyclan would continue to have food. It was an oddly morbid thought, and one she quickly dismissed from her mind.

Green eyes finally settled upon something, no, someone in the distance. Few cats milled about this part of the territory, and if they were, clearly there was a reason for it. She could hardly hear the words that were being mumbled, but perhaps that was of intention. Moonlily carefully found herself walking towards the tom, her nose quickly telling him he was of Skyclan himself. "...Is it okay if I sit by you?" Moonlily asked, her voice oddly gentle, soothing. She simply wanted some company, perhaps that was why her voice seemed so timid, practically begging to have the company of another clanmate.

Someone's voice came floating through the air, soft as a moth's wings. His heart leapt, somehow half expecting to hear his brother's voice - what a stupid thought. Yewfrost turned his head in their direction, spying Moonlily lingering a short distance away. A question hung at the back of his throat, but he could not find the words to voice it. "If you wish." Her appearance made him conscious of the dirt and grass stains in his pelt, especially on his white chest and paws. The warrior swiftly moved to clean his greened paws. "It's rare to see someone else here."

He paused in his grooming, paw splayed in front of his face and claws extended. His somber mood flickered for a moment. Should he really just be swallowing the dirt instead of spitting it out? It was easier, sure, but this was a gravesite. A beat passed while he stared at his own paw. To anyone else it might have looked like he was deep in serious thought, and in a way, he was, if not for the brief moment he thought to himself, 'At what point is it cannibalism?' How many of these quiet places were there in the forest, where the dead slept? As far as he knew, only his brother was buried here. Though of course him being buried here in the first place implied that it was an established burial ground. He was not privy to the many other eternal nests that existed on SkyClan territory. And it only now occurred to him that that knowledge - where so many cats were buried - so much was lost. Not just from time, but... 'Morningstar had his claws in this too.' He set his paw down as a wave of some odd emotion washed over him. Realization, fury, grief. Before Crickethop and him were born, that thing slew and maimed every cat too weak to fight back while the rest of the clan was away. Including the elders. And so the knowledge of where graves laid was erased. Part of him felt ashamed that he hadn't thought of it sooner.

But it wouldn't do good to show that anger around Moonlily. He knew that. So, he took a few moments to wipe his mind clean, though he knew he'd have to stew over those thoughts sometime later. Yewfrost shook out his neck fur and took a deep breath, drinking in the scent of the sunbaked trees and the fragrant weeds. "It's peaceful. Out of the way. No one comes here, though that's likely due to the graves." he murmured, beginning to feel the sleepy lull of the fading sun as if it were a warm nest cloaking his tired body. Ah, but it wasn't wise to sleep here. He forced himself to take a sharp breath to wake up. He wasn't superstitious, but to nap while surrounded by an unknown number of dead cats...