Not a Good Mourning [OPEN]

((OOC: Directly follows Introduction to the Snow))

The morning air was still and quiet, the sun just breaking over the horizon and bathing Riverclan's camp in a soft glow. Peaceful, almost. Swanpaw wished that she had never left it the night prior.

"PERCHSTAR! OWLCALL!" The broken wail of a young cat shattered the silence as Swanpaw stumbled into camp, struggling under Morningpaw's weight.

She tried to be as gentle as possible with her brother's crumpled body, but her own exhaustion sent the young she-cat sprawling to the ground. Tears stung her eyes, far from the first time today. She wasn't sure how she had any left to give, but the tears still came. The long trek home had allowed her to ignore what she had tried to ignore in the heartbeats following the farm animals' stampede.

Morningpaw was dead.

Maybe the broken leg would have been salvageable. Maybe they could have still made it back to camp, if not for... whatever had happened. The fence had came apart, noise had startled the great beasts within the farm, turning them from docile to rampaging in the blink of an eye.

Felix, that foxheart... Broke his leg and left him to die. Almost like it was on purpose, in Swanpaw's mind. He had trespassed, he knew the barn... And now her brother was dead because of him.

He had pushed her out of the way. At least, Swanpaw thought bitterly, Morningpaw would not be left there to rot. His clanmates would mourn, he would be buried... And she didn't know how she was to face her siblings with this awful, awful news. Owlcall had tried so hard to protect them all. And it hadn't mattered. If she'd been faster, maybe she could have pulled Morningpaw out of the way. But she hadn't been.

Another sob wracked the apprentice, vision blurred by tears.

Nothing good ever came of her name being yowled out in camp.

It was early, early morning. Few cats were awake. Of course, Perchstar was one of them--she was always one of the earliest to rise and last to sleep. It was the nature of being a leader. This morning, she was preparing to head out on the dawn patrol with a few other warriors. But it wasn't to be. She had gotten no farther than to the center of camp, no farther than the single ray of sunlight beginning to illuminate camp with morning's bright sheen, when she heard the yowl. It was high-pitched and young, but wracked with a level of grief no one at that age should have to experience. She froze, ears and eyes alone swiveling toward the camp entrance, trying desperately for a moment to place the voice. It was one of her Clanmates. But who was it? What would have happened? And who on earth would be outside of camp at this hour?

Many of her questions were answered all in one moment. The soft white pelt of Swanpaw staggered into camp, collapsing at the very same moment her paws touched sand. There was something on top of her. It looked like a flat piece of white fur. But no--it wasn't white; it was stained with red. It couldn't possibly be a cat. It couldn't. And yet, though they were at odd angles, she could spot limbs. It took one horrific second to place the pelt color. Morningpaw.

Queries flew around in her head desperately, as if their responses could possibly undo whatever had happened. Why were you out? Was there a warrior with you? How could you do something so foolish? What happened? What happened? But no words came. Instead, Perchstar simply strode forward, her paws taking over when her mind was too stunned to properly assess the situation. It only took one closer look to see that there was no point in calling for Sandyshell. Morningpaw was dead. Dead. He'd only had his apprentice ceremony last moon and already, he was dead. No time to think. Is there danger? Perchstar finally managed to force a few rough sentences past her lips. It would be nice to let Swanpaw rest, give her some poppy seeds and a moment to breathe, but there would be no such luxury. "What happened?" Perchstar asked. "Was there anyone else with you? Is there still danger?" The many other thoughts in her head, some of them accusatory--"What were you thinking?" "What did you expect?"--would remain unsaid for now.

--

Dovepaw didn't have the dawn patrol, for once. So he was going to sleep in. He was going to get some rest, or so help him, he was going to smack Pigeonpaw if she even looked at him funny this morning. He'd stayed up late last night training, and was so exhausted he didn't know if he could move. His sleep came quickly... and for once, dreamlessly. Not even any strange shadows consumed him. But something awoke him. Some kind of noise. His ears pricked up even as he groaned, rolling over in his nest, wondering if he should try to return to his slumber. It couldn't possibly be dawn yet. But--wait. That sound was important. Something about it tugged at his stomach. It took a few sluggish seconds, steeped in the sleep he was emerging from, to notice. Then his eyes flew open. Swanpaw. That was Swanpaw's voice.

All thoughts of sleep fled. Dovepaw was wide awake, scrambling out of his nest and running faster than he ever had before out of the apprentice's den, not caring what or who he stepped on in his path to get out. Swanpaw! Is she okay? She sounded so upset. She's never been that upset before. The sound replayed over and over in his ears during the infinitely long seconds it took him to sprint into the center of camp. And there--there, he saw it. There his heart ceased to beat in his chest and all breath fled from his lungs at just one image. Swanpaw collapsed on the ground, sobbing in a way he had never heard before. And next to her, falling from her back...  falling from her back...

"...Morning...paw?"

The name came from his mouth without his bidding. But no, that couldn't have been correct. Morningpaw wasn't that... flat. And red. And oh stars was that actually him? His paws halted for just a moment before he started moving again, jerkily, strangely, almost like he was trying to puppet his own limbs. That couldn't be right. That couldn't be right. Swanpaw and Morningpaw wouldn't have gone out of camp at night. Alone. With no warriors. Without telling him. They wouldn't have, right? And nothing bad would've happened even if they had. Whatever could possibly have happened to make a cat look like that--it wasn't possible. No, it couldn't. Morningpaw was extremely young and Dovepaw had hardly ever spoken to him and he couldn't be dead. Apprentices didn't die. That wasn't something that happened.

He was supposed to protect his siblings. He was supposed to protect them. So why was Swanpaw wailing in grief, choking on her own tears, next to the corpse of Morningpaw? He should have protected them. He should have told them not to go out alone. No, he should have gone with them. He should have woken up despite his exhaustion and accompanied them and protected them from whatever had caused this. He should have fought it off. He should have been the one flattened.

I wasn't there.

I wasn't there.

I wasn't--

Perchstar was saying something. Dovepaw couldn't hear it anymore; for some reason he couldn't hear anything other than a faint buzzing noise and, magnified infinitely, the sound of Swanpaw crying. Slowly--as if moving through water--he made it to his sister's side. His paws trembled as he sat down. He hadn't breathed this whole time. Slowly, he inhaled once. The breath rushed out quickly in an unfamiliar sensation. Another breath came out just as fast. What was wrong with him? His breathing wasn't working. All of this was being observed distantly because if he actually thought about this, if he thought at all, then the rest of him would stop working, too. So instead Dovepaw continued his strange, shuddering breaths, and lay down on the ground. Gently, his paws crept beneath Swanpaw's head, so that at least she wouldn't have to cry into the sand. He didn't want any to get in her eyes or her nose. Once she stopped... maybe.... no. "I'm sorry," he whispered. The words sounded so hollow. "I... should've been there."

Owlcall was already awake in the early morning, unable to sleep because of a certain dream. It seemed to replay over and over again, tangled wood and mist. It mad it hard to sleep because of the unease it caused him. As soon as his name was shouted, he startled out of his daze, and panic settled in. Swanpaw. The large brown tom was quick to dart out of the warriors den, ready to asses the damage to his little sister when the scent of blood and the sight in front of him hit him he paused. Blue eyes took in everything.. Mangled body, blood... Stars. He didn't know what to think, what to say. Morningpaw.. his brother.. his apprentice was dead. He fell silent.

Perchstar covered everything he wanted to ask, all the concerns coming to his mind. He took the chance to carefully pull his apprentice's body from Swanpaw's, taking it and placing it off to the side for now. The large tom circled his sister, making sure there was nothing majorly wrong with her, all the while his ears were perked for the slightest sound, making sure there were no danger that followed her back to camp. All the while his mind raced, questions and guilt ate at him, while he remained silent. Mourning in his own way.

It wasn't long before Perchstar showed up, naturally asking questions. Questions that only made Swanpaw feel more guilt and more anger. Dovepaw also approached, and she silently pressed against her brother. "I'm sorry, I wasn't fast enough..." We shouldn't have gone out at all, she wanted to say, but words failed her. Swanpaw was sure her expression said it all, though.

Owlcall too, had arrived, saying nothing, but gently moving Morningpaw's body to the side. Tearful blue eyes followed the movement, a hiccuping breath escaping her before she could speak. How was she to find the words to explain what happened? Owlcall's gaze, Dovepaw's response... Perchstar's questioning, it all made her feel worse. Like she wanted to curl up into a ball at the back of the apprentice's den. Or rake her claws through that rogue's pelt.

"W- We were exploring near th- the twoleg farm." Morningpaw's idea, but Swanpaw couldn't bring herself to say that. Couldn't bring herself to throw her sibling under the bus like that. She had gone with him, excited to get a closer look at the fluffy white farm animals.

What a terrible decision that had turned out to be. Swanpaw inhaled shakily, sniffling. "There was a rogue, trespassing. Felix." She continued shakily, "M- Morningpaw leapt at him, but landed wrong. H- His leg-" The sound of bone snapping had been sickening. Swanpaw shook her head. "I'm not sure what happened next. There was a noise... The rogue told us to move, but he couldn't, of course." Tears streamed down her face, "The rogue - F-F-Felix - He shoved me. The farm animals were running towards us, t-t-the fence broke apart-" They had trampled Morningpaw. Like he wasn't even there. Swanpaw shivered. Her throat felt too tight to speak, constricted by an invisible force. Grief.

Perchstar disliked her role as interrogator. While it fit her better than the role of a comforter, it made her feel uncomfortable to question Swanpaw when she was so obviously emotionally distraught. It would be better if she could allow the apprentice to rest for a while before asking. However, information had to be divulged--and the sooner, the better. The leader sat down with a neutral expression, listening closely--only for maintaining her mask to become a struggle with a single name. Her heart plummeted. No. No. It can't be him. This rogue had been trespassing, and the two apprentices had attempted to defend. He said he was a wanderer. Why would he be here? He isn't fool enough to trespass. The rogue had apparently saved Swanpaw's life? But Morningpaw had been... It simply cannot be him. Perhaps the name is a common one among rogues. One breath in... one breath out. She was calm and composed. Her expression had not shifted, not once.

"I am sorry," the leader said softly. The loss of an apprentice was harsh, especially to such a fish-brained, unnecessary excursion. And yet, feelings of panic continued attempting to break through the shadow of grieving loss. Morningpaw dead. But... Felix?... "It was an unfortunate accident. You knew the rules--but you also could not have known what would happen to him. The blame does not lie with you. However, I am certain you will not be swift to make such a mistake again. It is a good thing that you survived unscathed." She glanced toward what was left of Morningpaw, barely able to keep a wince from crossing her expression. "This rogue you mentioned. What did he look like?" A casual question. One that made sense to ask. She was simply seeking more information. That was all. No ulterior motives... she hoped.

"No, I won't." Perchstar's words made her ears flatten, shame burning her pelt as she stared down at her paws. Wasn't it her fault, though? Morningpaw had insisted she come out, but he hadn't had to insist very hard. Swanpaw had been perfectly willing to join him on their little adventure, eager to see the farm animals and not even thinking of the possible consequences. No, neither of them could have known what would happen, but the guilt of not being able to save Morningpaw still stung. If she'd been faster, maybe she could've dragged him out of the way before Felix had shoved her. If she hadn't been paralyzed by shock and fear, she could've gotten him back to camp with just a broken leg. Or have intervened before Morningpaw had leaped at the stranger at all, then it all could have been prevented.

The leader spoke again, asking for a description of the rogue. Swanpaw paused, trying to remember. The events of the night had been chaotic, and she wanted nothing more than to banish all thought of what had happened from her mind, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Hopefully Swanpaw could give her enough information that they might be able to find the rogue. "Dark fur, with lighter patches. Orange or white, I think? Green eyes." The darkness had made it difficult to discern. "He smelled like he hadn't groomed himself in weeks." That could have just been the way rogues smelled, though. Swanpaw wanted to find him, wanted to sink her claws into that filthy pelt. It had been his fault her brother's leg was broken, and whatever had happened to make the fence come apart and spook the animals in running, Swanpaw was sure he had something to do with it, too.

"Dark fur, with lighter patches. Orange or white, I think? Green eyes."

Perchstar only barely managed to stifle a sigh of relief. It was not him... it was not him. He would never. In fact, he was likely far from this place. So, either it was a common outsider name--which could be the case for all she knew--or this other rogue knew him, and was attempting to blacken his name... or simply borrow it for the time being. How odd. Either way, that was not currently her main concern, as the rogue had not done anything wrong except for trespassing. The overstep had been by Swanpaw and Morningpaw, and they had unfortunately paid the price. The way that Swanpaw hung her head showed that she understood, likely all too well, the consequences. So there was no punishment necessary. "Thank you for telling me, Swanpaw. Please take some time to rest and recover." Perchstar shook her head. "This is a sorrowful turn of events. I will strengthen the border security by the Farm, in case we end up with a chance to drive this rogue away from our territory once and for all. But for now, we will set up a vigil." One more time, she looked at Swanpaw, now being consoled by two of her brothers. To lose a sibling in such a tragic and violent way, so early in her life... all she could do was hope that the apprentice would recover. "Owlcall, come with me to prepare a grave for Morningpaw. The Clan will mourn, and we will bury him with honor."

--

As the conversation continued, Dovepaw managed to hear none of it. His mind was completely scattered, staring with unfocused eyes at a particular part of sand, unable to confront the racing thoughts in his head. His body was the only thing that could function. All he could do was hold his sister tightly, feeling her form shake with repressed grief and held-in sobs, and try to keep his own self from shaking in the same way. He needed to be strong for her right now. He needed to be there for her. He hadn't protected her--he hadn't protected Morningpaw--he hadn't protected anyone. So for now, the least he could do was to console her. He couldn't stand looking at his brother's corpse. It seemed like something straight out of a nightmare. Dead... He'd barely even known the tom that Owlcall's parents had adopted. Dead. Yet he was dead. He could do nothing. He did nothing. He was nothing.

For now, all Dovepaw could do was press himself even closer to Swanpaw and fiercely tell himself that he was not going to cry. Not now, and not ever. He would be here for her.