((Takes place a day after
Farewell, Forever.))
The stars above gave way to the dawn's light, and Beechfang pulled herself to her paws, stiff muscles aching as she did so. The mix of cobwebs, marigold and oak leaves stuck to her pelt had been the bare minimum, and the former medicine cat had refused anything else. The pain from Spottedfrog's claws and fangs was nothing compared to the way her chest tightened when she glanced at Bloodstrike, on the ground before her. The night had been to mourn, though it wouldn't stop there.
With his eyes closed, her father almost looked like he could've been asleep, but this sleep was final and unending. His pelt had been carefully groomed, as much as it could be given the extent of the injuries he'd suffered. Lavender covered the scent of dried blood, but as the day wore on that would not be the case for long. For all her inclination toward bloodshed, death was not something Beechfang had ever known how to deal with. It was final, ugly, bitter. Something she never wanted her family to go through, but it had always been inevitable. Now death had claimed another, at her own paws. The blood had been washed away, but Beechfang swore it was still there when she looked down. After Smokefeather, she'd told herself never again... And here she was, guilt choking out any other thoughts.
Throat tight, Beechfang lifted the old tom's corpse, silently making her way from camp once those who had stayed to mourn alongside her had dispersed. The sky above was cloudy, threatening rain. Beechfang glared up at it, tail lashing once behind her. After everything the stars had put him through, they had no right to shed tears for him. They could wait until she was finished. The bitter anger that rose in her was muted though, the grief that had a vice grip on her too strong for anything else to penetrate fully.
Burial was an elder's duty, but the lone elder in Skyclan's camp hadn't known her father. She was younger than Beechfang, or even Spottedfrog, and had memory issues besides. Her own paw had dealt the blow, and she would be the one to bury him. She owed him that at least, for the life she'd ended. The grief tore at her, sharper than Spottedfrog's claws or Dawnhawk's fangs could ever be.
Birdsong broke the still morning air, and even that didn't seem cheerful and upbeat. Her paws found themselves on a familiar path, leading to a small, grassy area, ringed by stones and tall pines. Through a gap in the trees, the creek was a clawscratch of silver cutting through Skyclan territory. Smokefeather rested below, a small stone marking her grave. Sometime since, a tree had fallen across the area. Probably during the great quake. But the ground had not been too badly disturbed.
Setting her father down, Beechfang began to dig. It was something to focus on, but the dirt on her paws didn't cover the blood that stained them. Beechfang stared at them for a moment, then forced her gaze ahead of her. If she looked at what she was doing, she might never finish.
It was after sunhigh when Beechfang was finished. Her paws ached. Her shoulders felt like they were on fire. She sat for several moments, breathing hard. She knew what needed to be done next, but her paws wouldn't move. Tears blurred her vision, not for the first time, as she glanced at her father. She half-expected to see a faint shadow standing in the trees, staring at her with an accusatory, mournful expression. If she had acted faster, if she had caught up to him and that fox, this could've been avoided. If she'd not fought the urge to hover in the medicine den, maybe this all could've been avoided. Too little, too late. Like always.
No ghostly visage appeared, but Beechfang still felt as if she were being watched. Judged.
"I couldn't let you be that again, dad. You deserved better." She muttered softly, voice trembling.
"And Spottedfrog... I know you would hate yourself for that. You both deserved better." She knew her half-sister didn't understand, and probably never would. She'd been born much too late to have seen what Beechfang had, much too late to have fought through what Bloodstrike and the ex-medicine cat had fought through. Beechfang had taken out misguided anger on the kits her father had with Briarthorn, and that had been repaid with claws and her own blood. For all that they shared Bloodstrike's blood, they were hardly family. But Spottedfrog had deserved to not be chewed on, and Bloodstrike deserved better than to live as a mindless shell of what he once was. If Spottedfrog hated her for that, and so much more, all Beechfang could do was accept it.
Going down against that fox would have been a kinder end, but his suffering in this world was over. No cat's paws were more bloodstained than that of the ex-medicine cat. The blood of foes and allies alike stained her paws. The blood of her parents was what hurt the most. Both times, with a blue-eyed golden foxheart guiding her forward. But she had been the one to deal the final blow.
A ragged breath escaped her.
"I hope the afterlife is kinder to you. Say hi to Copperfox and Dustpaw for me." Smokefeather, she almost said, but Smokefeather was truly gone. Their relationship had been complicated, but Beechfang knew the love they'd had for each other still existed somewhere. They'd never be together in the afterlife, but at least she could do this for her parents.
Did Smokefeather's spirit still linger somehow? Beechfang thought she could almost make out the outline of a silvery tortoiseshell pelt among the trees, but she blinked and it was gone, the tears clouding her sight falling.
She had slain both of them, put them out of their misery before they could suffer worse fates. Not before they'd already suffered pains unimaginable to most. She wished she could've saved either of them from getting to that point to begin with.
She fought to keep her paws from trembling as she stood, but nobody was here to witness it. Just the trees, and the ghosts in her head as she carefully lifted her father, placing him in his final resting place.
Another cat might have said something about the stars lighting his path, or some flowery words along similar lines. Beechfang kept her silence as she began to bury her father, the distant crack of thunder moving her paws. It might have sent her running to her nest not so long ago, but she would see this through. Her father deserved that much.
The patch of earth that finally covered him stood out against the grass surrounding it. With enough time that would change, she knew. Burial complete, all Beechfang could do was sit, staring numbly at the creek through the trees, memories of the last conversation she'd had with her father beside it playing in her mind.
"I should probably start heading back. The clan will assume a fox got us." Words said jokingly, but Beechfang couldn't find it in her to laugh now. Indeed, Bloodstrike was tied to this forest, blood running as deep as the roots of the trees within it.
The first drops of rain began to fall, mixing with her tears as the silver tabby sat alone.
