when memories fade, where do they go? [closed death topic]

They were almost home. Spottedfrog could see Highstones in the distance, could almost smell the tall, familiar pines... leagues and leagues of forest that she'd spent her life learning. How long had it been since they stepped paw in SkyClan territory? She couldn't remember... there were a lot of things she couldn't remember. Her mind was fuzzy, and the paws that had carried her to the lake, and then this far back, were no longer strong enough to keep going. A little while ago, the clan had stopped to rest before taking on the home stretch, the last half-day that would carry them home, and Spottedfrog had curled into the snow at the base of a tree. Now, the clan was preparing to leave again, but the black and white she-cat couldn't get her legs to move, and she was so warm now... or, perhaps she'd just stopped feeling the cold.

Spottedfrog was no stranger to death. Death had taken away nearly everyone she'd ever held dear: Maplepaw, Newtspring, Bearflower, Cedar and their kits, Bloodstrike... and now Paledove, too... all of them were gone, stolen from her, leaving her alone in a clan she'd practically always felt like an imposter in. But oh, how she loved SkyClan, how she'd done everything in her power to help the clan thrive from the day she earned her -paw. She was half ShadowClan, but Spottedfrog's heart had only ever longed for the trees... and it was the trees, now, that she wished she'd be able to see one last time.

A ragged breath escaped the she-cat, blowing away some of the fresh snow that had settled in front of her nose. There were voices, she could hear them speaking around her, could feel the general buzz of excitement even through the muffled tones. They were so happy to be going home. She didn't blame them. She wished she could go with them.

Would the trees be the same, in StarClan?

[Spottedfrog has died.]

Spoiler:

Newtspring wasn't a guide-- wasn't a leader, even though he acted like it. He was careless, and only just bold enough to be a fool, and he made about as good a chaperone as an overturned stone.

Yet there he was, waiting in the snow.

It was almost like visiting wide-eyed apprentices at their Moonstones, coming this close to the earth and nearly standing amongst the living again. Newtspring missed the sharpness of reality, and he hated that only echoes bled into his liminal space. But maybe that muffling was for the best: for all his heart ached, watching SkyClan from his seat within Silverpelt, there was a subduance that came with being dead. It might have killed him a second time over, if he were to be struck by the violent grief of his living heart. It was a terrible feeling, still. Even though it didn't drive him to madness, Newtspring's cold chest panged.

The snow did not shift under his paws as he moved forward, weaving between the dispersals of SkyClan to move closer to the dark hunch settling beneath a tree. "Oh, c'mon, Spot," Newtspring groaned, as if she could hear his lamentations, "don't lay down here. Y'made it this far." He was complaining to circle the subject, but the nervous flutter of his tail; his unusually sober, drawn countenance; and heavy tone betrayed him. Newtspring knew there was no other reason for him to be here, and he wouldn't be here if her legs held the energy to carry her far enough to reach the ancient trees that raised them both... but he didn't want to watch his sister die. He wanted to run from the responsibility of ferryman, climb a tree made of stars that went on forever and only come down when he could act surprised by her death.

Then again, just the same, Newtspring would've put up a caterwaul for as many twilights as it took to trade places if anyone else stood in his paws now. Spottedfrog kept him waiting too long, though he might've waited forever anyway.

It was quiet-- peaceful, at least, and she deserved that after the tumult of her life. Newtspring knew she wanted to go with the others. On her behalf, he cast a baleful look toward the excitable among them eager to continue moving. He'd carry her, if he could. Instead, he just looked back to Spottedfrog, watching over her dutifully as the shallow rise and fall of her flank grew harsher, stuttering. It wasn't much longer after that before stars began collecting in her thick fur, and the muddled shape of her grew clearer. Newtspring had to close his eyes for a moment, washed over again by grief, but... accepting of it this time. Whatever Spottedfrog wanted--whatever he'd wanted for--it might have just been cruelty, to make her keep going. The trees were endless in StarClan, and forever healthy; and faces familiar to her, faces that loved her. All of them, waiting.

In all the times that Spottedfrog had thought about death, it had always seemed so… final. When she closed her eyes for the final time among the living, there was darkness, where darkness was expected… but then… there she was again, looking down at herself, at the body she’d left behind. It was scrawny and malnourished and incomplete, and the sight brought tears to her eyes - how far she’d fallen from the warrior she’d once been.  But now… the she-cat took a step forward, on a leg that hadn’t worked in moons, and the sob she stifled was for no one’s benefit but her own. The rest of SkyClan couldn’t see her, or hear her, anymore. She was alone.

When he opened his eyes again, Newtspring shifted out of his stony sentry to stretch out a paw and give Spottedfrog a crisp, affectionate box across the ears. She turned, green-gray eyes wide with confusion, ears slicked back and ruff spiked in alarm. When her gaze landed on Newtspring, she froze, refusing even to exhale in fear that her breath would carry him away.    

"Y'know, you'n Dad make gettin' old look real sorry. 'M glad I was young when I wen' up." A barking laugh broke out from him, his characteristic yawp of good humor, but it was thick with emotion and unsheddable tears, too. "I sure missed a lot though, huh? Dunno if 'M that jealous'a ya for all'a that, either."

Her burning lungs eventually forced the air out, and Spottedfrog sucked in a ragged breath just afterwards, falling to her haunches and staring at her brother. She knew StarClan was real, she knew she’d meet her family, eventually, but seeing Newtspring here, feeling the touch of his paw on her head… it was surreal. Her eyes slid past him, finally taking the time to scan her surroundings properly in case there were others she’d missed, but it was only him, and strangely, Spottedfrog was thankful for that. There was something blatantly vulnerable about curling up in the snow to die… something she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone else to see.

Newtspring waited a few moments, giving Spottedfrog a moment to gather herself and swallow down her new, half-formed reality before moving closer. When he stood just beside her, he lowered his voice a little to continue, "Missed ya, Spot.”

“Missed you too, Newt,” she said, voice thick with emotion. He spoke up again, and Spottedfrog fell silent, just listening to the sound of his voice and thankful that, for the first time in so, so long, it wasn’t just in her head. She’d been alive longer without Newtspring than she’d been with him, but she’d never forgotten it.

“'T's been hard, watchin' a lotta what you'n SkyClan's been through since I ain't been around to do anythin' 'bout it..." he snorted, amused at his lingering delusions the world would bend to his will. "Not 'sactly thrilled yer here, but I'll bet it's better'n whatever would'a happened next down here." A shudder went through his whiskers, thinking of the impending war. At least if Perchstar and her hounds advanced all the way to SkyClan's camp, Spottedfrog wouldn't be a casualty.

Moving to press his nose to his sister's head, Newtspring half-snickered, half-purred, "Let's get a move on. I don' wanna get yelled at by everyone's been gnawin' at bark waitin' for ya to give it in already." He pulled away, looking Spottedfrog over again before turning woefully to the hazy figures of their living Clanmates. Softer, lacking the grate of inappropriate mirth, he added, "...'ever yer ready, I mean." Newtspring looked to his sister once more, his eyes impossibly lit by a thousand tiny stars, imitating tears. "There's forest's jus' like ours up'n StarClan. We'll get to'em faster than any'a these guys will get back home, even if ya need t'just... stand 'round for a li'l while. We've got time, now."

She followed his gaze, blinking sadly. If she’d have been able to help even the slightest, Spottedfrog may have been angry at StarClan for taking her when they were so close to home, so close to war… but the truth was that she’d stopped being useful to SkyClan moons ago. She couldn’t help them. “SkyClan is stronger now than I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I don’t fear for them. Not as much as I fear what they will leave in their wake.” With Dawnhawk truly walking among them again, the upcoming war threatened to be bloody and devastating. Part of her was glad she wouldn’t be there to see it.

There were so many questions that Spottedfrog wanted to ask Newtspring. Had he taken part in their half-brother’s reincarnation? Had StarClan taken part in it at all? Was Bloodstrike here, or…

Spottedfrog chased those thoughts away with a brief shake of her head. Of course their father was in StarClan. And certainly he’d be able to remember her, now. “I can’t wait to see them all,” she said, suddenly eager to leave this place behind. She stood, shoulder to shoulder with Newtspring, and nudged him playfully, aiming to wipe the serious look off his face. She was dead, but she was whole again, and she couldn’t wait to reconnect with everyone she’d spent so long missing. There was no reason to mourn, anymore. “Show me.”