#smoothsands

…

The day had been so, so bright, and now the scent of blood nearly choked out the sun.

Flyspots felt Wormshade flinch against his side at another yowl of pain, cut off suddenly by what was surely the end. The camp was too flooded by noise and violence to know who it was for sure, but Flyspots could only hope that it wasn’t a young warrior dying before their time, that their kin didn’t have to see them go. He hoped it was fast. Not everyone had the luxury of a quick death today, he thought grimly, glancing behind him at Salmonskip.

Wormshade had managed to drag her here, into the cover the pair of mates had found at the start of the attack, after the dog that had fastened its jaws into her had let her go, apparently bored once its prey had grown too weak to fight. Even now, with the wound in his neck weeping and tears and blood splattered across his face, Salmonskip tried to stand. Wormshade was quick to return to her side, motioning for her to stay down. Flyspots followed, for once quiet.

“Well?” Salmonskip asked frantically, her breath wheezing with the effort. “Did—“

“I didn’t see Moosefall, not fighting nor on the ground.” The /injured or dead/ part of the last statement remained unspoken, though you could hear it in the roughness of Wormshade’s voice, the wetness of its eyes. “Your sibling or Brackenwing, either. And don’t even worry about Jumblepaw. I saw Rustbee leading the apprentices out before we hid, so she’s safe.” Though there was little emotion in Wormshade’s voice, anyone could see the words brought some semblance of comfort to the younger cat. He finally stopped his fruitless attempts to stand, and the tears flowed a little slower as Flyspots laid his tail on her ginger and silver back. He could feel a tear of his own slip down his cheek, and he spent one moment wondering how Wormshade could seem so calm, even now. But it’d always been that way, hadn’t it? He could remember its old mantra— Flyspots, we both know you’re dramatic enough to have enough emotions for the both of us. But he knew Wormshade always felt just as much, if not more, as he did.

“Yeah, what he said,” Flyspots said after the sounds of fighting from beyond the outcropping of stones that shielded them got too much. “Everyone’s gonna be fine.”

He jumped as Salmonskip released something resembling a laugh, his yellow eyes fluttering closed with pain and exhaustion. “Everyone but me,” she whispered, and Flyspots couldn’t quite tell if the words were bitter or not. He saw Wormshade lower his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Can you…” she paused, eyes open again, clearly struggling to speak now as her voice failed her. “Can you at least lay with me while I die?” 

Flyspots could not bring themself to respond at first, too shocked and overwhelmed and devastated, but Wormshade’s reaction was quick and short. “Of course,” it rasped, and lowered itself beside the bleeding molly, only hesitating a moment before resting his head on her flank. After that, Flyspots was quick to nod, to begin to lie down in honor of her request.

His belly hadn’t even touched the ground when the dog thrust its head around the rocks and grabbed him.

The pain was so great that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, but he heard Wormshade wail as he clawed desperately at flesh, trying to do anything to stop it. But it was too late, and everything went black.

•••

When he woke up the pain was gone, the sounds of the battle muted, but he saw the blood on the ground. He was still here, in this blood-soaked camp, and yet he wasn’t truly here. He rose, feeling lighter, stronger than he had in fifty moons, and met Salmonskip‘s eyes, saw her cheeks glimmering with tears that shone as stars on her ghostly form. But her fur was clean of crimson.

He hadn’t laid beside her as she died after all.

Flyspots didn’t look down, he didn’t want to, he dreaded seeing his own body lying lifeless. Instead, he scanned his surroundings, the ceiling of the cave. In death, he could somehow see the stars through the rock that separated the clan from the stars. As he watched, he spotted a brown flecked form leaping upwards, before disappearing in a flash of light. Beefreckle, the name appeared in his thoughts, and the realization sent a sensation so strong through his chest  that he thought he was dying a second time. His kit. His little boy was dead.

Salmonskip’s voice broke him from his shock, and when he looked at her once more, he found her watching him with sympathy in her eyes. “I was waiting for you, to go up there,” she said, jerking her head in the direction of the stars. “We can go now, if you’re ready.” He couldn’t go, though. Not yet.

When he found the strength to look down, avoiding looking at the body his spirit had left behind, his gaze fastened to what he’d been searching for. Wormshade. His mate was a few steps away from where he’d died, his sides rising and falling shallowly despite the wounds that decorated his sides and face and the blood that matted his dark fur. Flyspots stepped towards him, settling against his side, curling his tail around his back legs and settling his head down, listening to the faint sound of his breathing.

He didn’t hear her, but he could feel Salmonskip grow closer. “I know. He’ll be with you soon, but… it’s going to take him a while.” Flyspots knew. Somehow, he could sense it, could sense Wormshade slowly drifting. Slowly dying. The elder’s eyes were open, ever so slightly, but Flyspots couldn’t tell if it was conscious or not. Oh StarClan, he hoped not.

Flyspots curled a paw against Wormshade’s side, but he couldn’t feel his fur, or his warmth, only the pressure of something stopping his paw from going further. “Can we wait?” he asked suddenly, twisting his neck around so he was looking at Salmonskip. She was still crying stars.

He could see her hesitate, but after a heartbeat, she gave a slow nod, and sat down.

He didn’t know how long the two waited, but after a long while, Wormshade stirred.

The black tabby didn’t speak as he lifted his head, looked down at his corpse, saw the two ghosts waiting for him. It simply rose with Flyspots, pressed its head against his, gave Salmonskip a nod. Then the three leapt up through the stars.

Hours later, when the couple sat alone, still unused to the stars in their pelts as they watched the clan below them grieve, Flyspots asked his beloved a question.

“Are you sad that we’re here?”

Wormshade raised his head to meet his eyes, silent for a bit, lost in thought. Flyspots didn’t mind, of course, taking a moment to study him. The shimmer in each cats’s pelt were different colors, he’d realized. Salmonskip had glowed pale green. Flyspots sparkled with a hint of sky blue. And Wormshade, in death, was dusted with gold. It clashed a little with his amber eyes, but Flyspots thought it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d never cared for things that matched, anyways.

“No,” Wormshade responded, voice even and calm. “We were old. It was going to happen regardless.”

Practical. It always was practical. But still, it wasn’t enough for Flyspots. When was it ever? “Did it hurt?”

The silence was longer this time, and Wormshade’s voice was quieter when he answered. “Yes. So much.” The tabby breathed. He closed his eyes. He lifted his face upwards. “But that’s okay.”

And then he leaned against Flyspots’s side, and— oh. He understood.

It was okay.

Anyways I will never be the same <3

Wormshade is my favorite so even though this takes place through Flyspots point of view this is really a memorial to him. I included Salmonskip as well because Moosefall is my third favorite and I figured I’d pay homage to his mate

Gyoza does what he wants, when he wants. Gyoza doesn’t care what other cats think. Gyoza knows the funniest pranks!

Ravenpaw talks about it all the time.

“So you’re my mentor now, Bub!” he crows, delighted after his ceremony. “You have a name like my dad, so you must be cool!”

The colorpoint simply huffs with amusement, giving the young tom a blinding grin. “I must say, I am pretty cool. But who could be cooler than your old man?”

Ravenpaw has to agree with that.

Littlepaw wants to be like his dad.

Gyoza stands up for what he believes in. Gyoza chases after the things he wants. Gyoza can lighten a room with smile and a joke.

Littlepaw doesn’t tell so many cats this.

Ravenpaw lays in their shared nest, cuddling close to him as they talk quietly through the night. “I can’t wait to show Dad the battle moves I learned today! I swear, I’ve seen him demonstrate the exact ones for me one time!”

“Raven,” Littlepaw murmurs quietly, much quieter than his brother had been. He was always just a little quieter than his brother. “What if I want to be like Dad, too?”

“Who wouldn’t want to be?” Ravenpaw asks with a flash of a smile. Cloudpaw shushes him from across the den.

The dark furred apprentice continues, only a little softer. “If you ask me, though, I think you’re more like Momma.”

Littlepaw has to agree with that.

Ravenshade wants to be like his dad.

He is now, right? He’s worked so hard, days and sometimes even nights, without much break. Even Bub had gotten tired most days, leaving him to practice on his own. And it’d all paid off.

It’s not often there’s a warrior of ten moons.

But sometimes he wonders.

How can this be like his dad? Gyoza didn’t graduate early; he didn’t graduate at all! Would he have worked this hard, or would he have relaxed more? He didn’t even take a warrior name.

Lost in thought, Ravenshade comes across a ShallowClan patrol.

It feels good to taunt them. Certainly better than being wrapped up in his head.

Littleleaf wants to be like his dad.

He likes his name a lot. Leaves are beautiful in the autumn, and they can heal so many things. His name makes up for the fact that he’s two moons behind their brother, right? They graduate with Cloudtuft, at least; expect, he’s a moon younger than him, so it’s not really the same.

This is the normal age for graduation.

But sometimes, they wonder.

Did Ravenshade miss his warmth in the nest these last two moons like they did? Gyoza never seemed bothered when Troutspeckle spent the night on a solo patrol, but every time Ravenshade went out to hunt without letting Littleleaf know, he felt very alone. Their brother would always be there for them, but sometimes, they couldn’t seem to remember.

“I know you boys look up to Gyoza,” his mother says, her eyes half-closed with something wistful. “But I’m glad you’re a little more like me.”

It feels nice to talk with her. He knows she understands what’s going on inside his head.

Ravenshade wants his dad.

He doesn’t care what he has to do. He wants him back.

Gyoza would know how to make it better, he thinks, and spirals a little further.

He is not like his dad. He is falling apart when Gyoza would be calm. He is angry where Gyoza would be making jokes. He is wandering the borders when Gyoza would be home.

Oh, he is nothing like his dad.

He is alive, and Gyoza is dead.

Littleleaf wants his dad.

They know nothing is going to change it. He still wants him back.

Gyoza would know what to do now, he thinks, and sinks a little deeper.

They are not like their dad. He is lying alone when Gyoza would be with clanmates. He is letting Ravenshade go out alone again and again when Gyoza would go with him. He is so, so tired where Gyoza would be working.

Littleleaf has never been like his dad.

And now Gyoza is dead, while they are alive.

Troutspeckle watches, and yearns for her mate.

She wonders if tomorrow Ravenshade will come back from one of his patrols with blood staining his paws.

She wonders if tomorrow Littleleaf will stop talking altogether, and simply close themself off to the rest of the world.

She loves her sons so much, just the way they are. But

She wishes she were a little more like their father.

Gyoza would know what to do.

I’ve wanted to write a Raven/Little comparison about Gyoza since Raven got his name early, but I only got up the motivation today when I realized Gyoza had been killed by the dogs too— I don’t know how I missed his name before! I wasn’t going to include the little part about Troutspeckle but it practically wrote itself lol

anyways I’m newly in love with Moosepaw he’s so cute!! So here’s a little doodle of him and Hawkwish which is his mentor unless I read the name wrong lol

Graduates!! I’m honestly in love with these guys and their littermates, they were so fun to draw!! When I looked through I didn’t see a fullbody of Mothfrog so I hope she’s satisfactory lol

also Moosefall is sooooo short in my opinion. Shortest cat in the clan. Mothfrog is only as short as him because they’re still growing

🐈 - Turtlepaw has always been a mama's boy. He's always bringing her pretty feathers and stones he finds on patrol and the first pick of prey. (he hasn't found her favorite yet, but that's fine! He's working on it!) More than anything, he wants his mom to love him be happy.