PIKESTAR
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➣ Burying his face into Slatewhisker’s fur and trying so desperately to figure out what to do, the tall oriental longhair felt so damn powerless and pathetic. How many more cats would suffer this fate because of him? Would Pikestar go down in history someday, many moons from now, as the leader who caused so many loyal RiverClan cats to die? Like he was some kind of bad luck charm? It terrified him, to feel like the cause of all this disaster and chaos in the clan that he had always loved so deeply. Thankfully, there were many cats who approached him soon after the grieving tomcat collapsed next to his deceased deputy. First was Mapledawn, who placed themselves beside him and soon would rest their tail along his shoulders, not saying anything but silently offering comfort to Pikestar. Rainwhisker was the next to console the crumbling clan leader, sitting nearby and reminding him that this was, in fact, not his fault. Her tone sported grief for this loss, but her words held a certain amount of wisdom that he desperately needed to cling to right about now. Then the comforting scent of Moonfrost would come to his senses and the mute molly would place herself beside him, their pelts brushing together. He uttered a small ‘mrr’ of acknowledgement to his dear friend, grateful for her presence. There were times that he felt alone within his own clan, but the truth was that he had many cats supporting him. Friends. Family.
Moments later, Bluepaw ran over to him and sat beside the oriental longhair, tears dripping down the young tom’s face. He had no problem with his apprentice’s presence, silently welcomed it even, but the question that the white-furred youth asked him made the RiverClan leader tense up.
“What?” The single word echoed in his mind as he lifted his head to look at Bluepaw, his expression a clear mix of confusion and obvious fright.
“Some rogues tried to kidnap you? When?” Once those words left his maw, Otterfluff appeared, having overheard Bluepaw apparently. He lifted his head to meet the brown-furred warrior’s gaze, which silently told him that this was a matter that would be discussed later. He didn’t look away from Otterfluff for a good few seconds before uttering a small sigh and nodding gently, before turning back to Slatewhisker’s body. He would deal with that mess at a later time, for sure. There was always another mess for him to clean up. Or try to, at least.
While returning to his grieving, Pikestar heard comments of who would take Slatewhisker’s place as RiverClan’s new deputy. However, that was the last thing that the oriental longhair wanted to think about right now. After seeing what happened to his loyal and hard-working deputy, how could he bear to choose another cat so soon? What if they suffered the same fate? He solemnly shook his head, not wanting to bother himself with such troubling, morbid thoughts. Pikestar just wanted to say goodbye to his second-in-command and make sure she was given a proper resting place. However, once again, his grieving was interrupted. To be completely honest, the dark-furred tomcat hadn’t even caught what started the whole event, but something that Hawkpaw—
his own apprentice— had said clearly set off Fawnpaw. Personally, he had only seen the young medicine cat, who was basically a little sister to him, show such intense emotion a few special times. His ears pinned against his head, not wanting to deal with this right now. Why couldn’t everyone just stop fighting and just mourn in silence for the loss of Slatewhisker? Was that so hard? Why did everything have to be so loud and violent? Hadn’t RiverClan… hadn’t he himself… dealt with enough violence lately? His head was starting to hurt because of all the bickering and it was becoming increasingly harder for him not to cry. Then Cloudpaw’s voice rang through the clearing as she yowled curses at someone who was supposed to be her denmate.
“CLOUDPAW.” Pikestar snapped, standing up to lock his partial gaze on the fluffy apprentice, who only stared back at him with defiance.
The two of them stared at one another for a heartbeat or two, not saying anything, but both clearly upset. He gave the young molly a look of understanding, since he knew why she had acted out as she did, but he silently tried to let her know that this was not the time or the place for such things. Nobody was right in this situation. Silverpaw, Hawkpaw, Cloudpaw, even Fawnpaw. All these young cats were snapping at each other while they were supposed to be grieving for Slatewhisker. This was supposed to be a calm and emotional time where they were supposed to comfort and console each other. His stomach was starting to ache with this sickly feeling as he turned away from the three molly apprentices. Hawkpaw had gone away after Fawnpaw had apologized for her outburst, so he couldn’t even deal with him right now. With a huff of exhaustion, Pikestar sank to the ground again, just in time to feel another cat’s comforting touch: Slumberpaw. The RiverClan apprentice brushed him with his tail and even gave him a gentle bump of his head as the oriental tomcat pressed his nose into Slatewhisker’s fur once more. Then Hollowstorm came over and started to bug him about something. An apprentice? Marking borders? Sending out patrols? Was he seriously doing this now? Goddamnit.
Initially, Pikestar just ignored him, not wanting to snap, not wanting to show his anger again. He couldn’t. It would hurt too much and he didn’t want to do this at Slatewhisker’s funeral. She didn’t deserve this kind of disrespect. However, many of his clanmates were not keen to ignore the warrior’s blatant disrespect. First was Fawnleap, then Marigoldleap, Gingerfrost too. Darklight, Bluebellpaw, Flintfang, Reedwhisker, Koipool, Adderscale, Flarepaw, Stormpaw. A sea of different voices sounded and Pikestar found it impossible to lock onto just one. Stars above, he just wanted to clasp his paws over his ears and drown it out. But he needed to be strong. He needed to be a leader. That’s what RiverClan deserved.
“Please… stop fighting…” He whispered, though Pikestar wouldn’t be surprised if nobody heard his tiny plea for mercy. His head felt like it was being bashed against a rock and his stomach felt like it was doing uncomfortable flips against its will. Get a hold of yourself, Pikestar. Get a goddamn grip.
Be an adult, be a man, be a leader for the love of StarClan. His body felt hot, like the kind of hot that one felt before fainting, but he forced himself to stand.
“We must give Slatewhisker a proper burial in the Thicket. It’s what she deserves, a place of resting so that she can walk among the stars.” He meowed, looking at the body at his paws. Pikestar wondered if he had the strength to carry her himself. His body felt so weak, so tired, so overwhelmed. But it was what needed to be done. This was his deputy. She deserved to be carried by her leader to her grave. Pikestar lowered his head and grabbed Slatewhisker by her scruff, lifting the molly’s body off the ground and pushing her form onto his back. His legs trembled, threatening to collapse, but he prevailed, looking towards the camp entrance.
“Hollowstorm. I ask you to stay back at camp.” Simple, and to the point. He didn’t want to see the tom’s face right now.
With that, he waited for a moment for those who wished to accompany him at the thicket to gather around him.
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( If there are any mistakes in this, I'm sorry aaa, been working on this all day. )