Re: RiverClan Floodstone
Falconfeather
Purrks: Silver Tongue (disabled), Herbal Knowledge - T2
He wanted to curse the stars, tear them out from the sky and watch the ones above him bleed for their doings, the curse that laiden upon RiverClan that they had so wrongly decided. But he couldn't. They hung mockingly in the black night, laughing and glowing at him with all their power. They laughed and pointed and took pleasure of making a fool out of his clan, pushing and shoving and hitting, blow after blow after blow. Each one packing more viciousness and raw power, beating down this clan. Their crashing fall had started with Lionstorm, a cat he only knew from stories as a kit, and had slowly trickled down the long line of leaders, one by one. Frostfall, Eagleflight, Dirtfur, Sootflare, Stormcall , Splashleap, Sparrowskip, Snowleap, Slatewhisker, now it the tragedy had struck Gingerfrost, and it would only be a matter of time before it would take Larkwing too.
She would follow the same, sad faith of every one before her. He felt remorse, anger, denial at what had happened, and what would happen. He would hope, pray, beg, plead with the stars and his ancestors that in some way, somehow, maybe she could earn the respect of StarClan. Maybe Larkwing could prove herself to be better than their previous leadership, that she had more sense, more logic. That she could bring their clan back to power once more, before Evil Era, when life was simple. Falconfeather would hope, yes he would. He had faith in his sibling that she could do it, she had the patience, the brains. Maybe not the confidence in herself, but Falcon's own trust and assurance in her made up for her lack of self-esteem. She could do it
He follows behind his little sister, gently helping her lay their fallen leader in front of the Floodstone, and situating him to look more peaceful position, less awkward-looking, yet he knew that death could never look peaceful, no matter how you tried to hide it. The healer touched his nose to the ginger cat's fur once more, before slipping off to sit closer towards the base of the Floodstone, watching the clan gather before him at Larkwing's hoarse, sullen words. He sat, mulling over how he would explain it, the best way he could. He knew their were little ones here, but if he just came out and told them exactly what he found, no sugar-coating it, he deemed it better off that the clan wouldn't pin the blame on him and Larkwing. He shared similar concerns as the tortie. Wondering silently if the clan would think of it as a scheme, that maybe Larkwing and him were planning this all along, waiting for the right time. That maybe Larkwing wanted Gingerfrost dead, so she could be leader.
Any cat with enough sense as a newborn kit could see that Larkwing didn't have anything to do with the leader's death, he knew his sister, and after his inspection for the cause, he was certain it was just stress, or some internal condition Gingerfrost had that caused him to die. He catches the vivid chocolate eyes of Tansypaw glowing from the entrance of their den, and gives her a small nod of greeting, hoping she'd catch the hint to come sit by him, or closer up the front of the growing crowd. He sees a small, thin calico slink up solemnly towards Gingerfrost's body, silently settled down in a laying position and nuzzles the older cat's ginger fur. Sorrow for the younger cat washes of Falconfeather, knowing how close Mumblepaw and Ginger were. He knew Gingerfrost was Mumblepaw's father, and was glad Larkwing gave the apprentice time to mourn and grieve on his own in private, away from the torturing eyes of the clan. If he catches the cat's eye, or attention, Falcon would nod at them.
The silver-furred healer turned his attention once more towards the gather cats, dreading what would come next.
Last edited by elswhere; October 20th, 2023 at 08:42 AM.
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