One Last Time [OPEN; Perchstar Vigil]

Perchstar’s body had been cleaned. Though he was going to do so regardless, Rookflight took up Mistwalker’s offer to help with grooming her. There was a strangeness to knowing he was sharing tongues with Perchstar in this manner for both the first and the last time. The rituals should have served to steady his soul, but the ache in his chest only grew worse over the hours. Rookflight hadn’t felt grief this profound since his kithood. He’d almost forgotten how exhausting it was. Only a few hours into the wake of her death, and already he was so tired. Tired of body and mind, tired with the loss.

For a moment, Rookflight gathered enough consciousness to look away from Perchstar. Their pale gaze swept across camp, searching until they found Cindersky. They nearly departed from their huddle with Sunpool and Willowwisp until they noted Larkspring nearby. He would look after her; he always did. This satisfied some part of their hurt, and so their attention returned forward. To Perchstar--more aptly, her body. Perchstar herself was no longer within.

Her fur was nearly pristine. The lines of her face were slackened; relaxed, for perhaps the first time. More peaceful than Rookflight had seen her in life. To regard her was uncanny. The death in her makeshift den hadn’t disturbed them nearly as much as this. Knowing she would never rise again made them sick. Their claws flexed, pressing into the wet sand in search of something to ground them.

It was then that Willowwisp’s head pressed into his shoulder. Rookflight blinked twice before turning his head to look at her. His ears folded back and his heart throbbed painfully. He did not know how to comfort, especially not when his own grief gnawed, but he wanted to try. She deserved that--trying. Though he would not speak, Rookflight tipped his head down to press against the flat of hers, rare physicality offered as silent support.