The Fallen Hero [P]

[TheNyanCatMinecart]

Fresh green grass rippled in a chilly breeze, nurtured by the bright sun that cast the world in warmth and highlighted the delicate stalks in gold. Splashes of pale purple, explosive yellow, and deep red decorated the broad moor. The flowers perfumed the air with their own scent, sending forth sweet plumes that mingled with the grass' earthy growth in an elegant dance of nature.

These plants would not be here forever. They would grow brittle and depraved as frost nipped at them with merciless teeth. Then they'd crumble and brown, lost forever under a blanket of snow. And yet they would not disappear. The rain and the sun would coax new shoots from the soil once the chill let up. Even though the vegetation died, there would always be more to continue the never-ending cycle.

The sky was different. It stretched on forever, an infinite expanse of light blue that sung whenever someone dared to look up. No seasons killed it; there was no need for it to die and regenerate. It had been that way since the beginning of time. Yes, the sky could change - clouds could cover it, white or gray or even black - but it was still the sky. Today, it was patchy, light gray clouds fighting with the infinite blue for their own space, dappled light and shadow flitting over the moor.

The sky would always affect the plants, no matter how far apart they were. It sent forth rain and wind, snow and lightning. It helped the grass grow or smothered it in endless sorrows.

For the Clans were those plants, and the sky was their ancestors.

The moors and the skies had seen much. They had bore witness to many tragedies. Today was no different.

The first signs lurked in a sheltered, shady spot. A few casually placed trees loomed over a flat expanse of grass, darkening the stems with their shadows and blocking the relentless wind that brushed the landscape. However, some pleasant sunbeams poured in through the open spaces, their warmth hanging in the air. It was quite a pleasant place.

It would be, if not for the stenches hanging in the air.

[CONTENT WARNING: From this point forward, there will be graphic descriptions of corpses from cat and prey.]

Rotting crow-food. Fresh blood. Recent death. Coyote.

The myriad of odors led to a rather strange and ghastly sight. A heap of something rotting - an unidentifiable animal, huge for prey but medium-sized when compared to other creatures - lay in the grass. Several large bites were taken out of it. If investigated, the teeth marks would resemble a large canine's.

Not far from that lay Wolffang's body. His limbs were splayed, teeth bared in a final snarl, all 18 claws extended. The enamel and keratin glinted in the fleeting sunlight. His amber eyes had clouded over, and yet they exuded determination, narrowed into slits that burned with a residual fire. However, if one were to look closely, they would be able to see the tear tracks carved down the sides of his broad face. If only they could see into his mind, where one final image was burned: a beautiful snowy-white she-cat adorned with light brown bengal spots and captivating copper eyes.

The warrior was great even in death, large and muscular, broad and sturdy, finely toned with no excess fat. However, he had been disgraced, mangled by the ferocious beast that claimed his life. One of his front legs was mangled, the bone severed so that it was nearly snapped in two. His throat was ripped out and his chest torn, light cream-gray chest fluff scattered about like dandelion seeds - though the latter injury was not deep. The fluff had protected his chest, but not his throat. Deep bite wounds decorated his flank and hind leg.

The coyote had fought to kill, but luckily, it had decided that the nearby carrion was tastier and left when it had its fill. Wolffang had received all of his wounds in life, not after.

His dappled gray fur was coated in crimson. Some of the blood had dried into a dark crust, but most lay puddled around him in dark pools, wafting a metallic stench into the air. It was beginning to be traced by death's gentle touch.

Yet there was something else, amid the blood and death and coyote. Many traces of unidentifiable scents, but one thing powered above all.

The stench of a certain she-cat who had once stained WindClan with her poisonous views.

She had left a gift, too.

A single red rose that matched her brother's blood, dropped right in front of his eyes.

@Alchemist Kitsune [Dapplebreeze] @gs29513 [Deadmoon] @Moonraven [Batglare] @Undertaker [Leechscar] @Rani [Crowtooth] [Wolffang will contact them later, after they've all discovered his body. The coyote has also left the area but is still on WindClan territory. For now, all the patrol will find is his body, the large piece of carrion, the lingering scents, and, of course, Rosebriar's "gift."]

[Undertaker]

@Moonraven - Batglare | @Alchemist Kitsune - Dapplebreeze | @Rani - Crowtooth | @gs29513 - Deadmoon
The huge gray warrior twitched his ear nearly violently as he slowed his pace into a light jog the closer, they moved to their location. He parted his maw, breathing in the air, once he overlooked the strong scent of fresh wildflowers, Leechscar almost hacked on the revolting taste of death and rot. Snapping his jaw shut, Leechscar glanced at the older cats behind him and silently charged forward again.

The green-eyed warrior swung his gaze to and fro as he caught a glimpse of the mauled corpse ahead of them. Leechscar stared at Wolffang's brutalized body for a long moment and then at the strange flower near the corpse. He'd never seen one of those before and doubted it grew among the wildflowers. Leechscar carefully hooked his claws within the stem of the strange flower and drew it closer to him, moving it out so it wouldn't get stepped out. "What's this flower?" He looked mostly at Batglare for an answer but didn't mind an answer from whoever had been listening.

He left Deadmoon and Crowtooth to do or get whatever it was out of their system while looking over to the eldest of the group. There was another strange scent hanging around the body, Leechscar knew it was a cat, but hadn't the faintest clue who. It didn't smell like an outsider. Quite frankly there were way too many strong scents in the air, breathing them deeply would give him a headache.

"What's that scent?" He asked no cat in particular. "Wolffang will need to be buried, there's no way he's going back to camp in that state." Not unless they wanted to give their clanmates nightmare. Not to mention, that's not the last imagine you want cats to remember the warrior in. Leechscar stifed down his temper as his mind drifted to a pretty white and brown queen. He didn't think he despite Wolffang as much as he currently did, but his disdain for the tom was mixed more complicated feeling than after learning of his first death.

Leechscar hadn't been around to see Wolffang's corpse the first time around, he was just upset and bitter that the tom had left him on his own. Actually, seeing the life completely gone from the tom's eyes and carnage left behind, there was something more than just raw rage. Regardless, whatever it was, it was something to be concerned with later. Now that they knew for certain that he was gone, they should be prioritizing finding and killing that coyote.

"We need to locate the coyote." He stated the obvious, looking around for any blood trails or indent and tracks they could follow.

[Rani]

Crowtooth
Windclan Tunneler/Fury | He/him | 50 Moons

Power Card: Cold Gust

Could ones ears get sore? Crowtooth might find out today at home much his were on a swivel, eyes and ears darting around to take everything in as the group traveled. He was tense all over, ready to break into a rarely seen sprint to attack either the coyote in the area or to go to a probably injured Wolffangs aid whichever came first.

He still didnt believe that his friend was dead, he couldnt until he saw the body heart just unwilling to let go when things had been so good of late. It wouldnt be fair that he went now, when he'd mended past hurt and built bridges that did not exist before, friendships that shouldve come long ago but for a last that prevented it, all for promises of a bright kind future he shouldve had.

The scent of death however was a betrayal of the true unfairness of life.

The sight of Wolffangs body was another.



Having bounded forward, ready for a fight Crowtooth locked in place, grey and brown eyes wide as he took in the scene. In a way he did kind of know what was coming, deeply in denial even, but it was different to suddenly face reality and find it harsh and cold.
Wolffang, dead and furious even through his tears. The prey, unnaturally there though Crowtooth didnt have it in him to investigate all the little details that showed it so. The scent of coyote, not here but not far. And a "Rose. That'sa rose....."

Funny that the flower was what broke the tunneler from his stasis.

Something itching on the edge of his memory, recognition and instinctive disgust for the strange cat scent on the rose Crowtooth padded past it ridge of back fur instinctively rising as he did to reach Wolffang.
It was really him and gently nosing along his chest there wasnt even a breath of air to buoy his desperate hope of a last minute save. There was nothing, nothing they could do and Crowtooth let out a sudden shuddering gasp of air, wet and painful, head dipping in a moment of pure grief.


It just wasnt fair it just wasnt fair.
But little even was.


His moment of grief was done, not allowed to last given the task at paw and the ever unhealthy idea that Crowtooth was not allowed to be weak and break in front of his clanmates, and the tom forced himself to shove down those emotions. He could break proper alone once this was done, the coyote was dead and Wolffang was buried, veiled by the dark and quiet of night. Allowing only one tear to escape Crowtooth composed himself, a gentle paw reaching out to close Wolffangs eyes, before he turned to join Leechscar.

"The coyote wont be far, we got here quick. Prolly went off ta find a sheltered place ta rest after its meal so we might find it in the grove. Plus once they 'ave a kill unless driven from it they tend ta stick close." He recalled those lessons from Creekdash well enough. "The rose though... Somethin's rotten about this, more then usual."


@Undertaker @Moonraven @gs29513 @Alchemist Kitsune

[gs29513]

Deadmoon had managed to keep up with the patrol as they made their way through the territory, possibly because Leechscar and Batglare had slowed their own paces on account of her and Crowtooth's difficulties with running. She wasn't quite sure what it was that made it harder for the older tom to do Windclan things (her difficulty came from a much more visible source) but he had never been one for speed. Deadmoon could feel her stupid leg getting cross with her, stiffening as she came to a halt, but that wasn't her main concern. How could it be, when the scent of the area was one of overwhelming death. Death and rotting, and something strangely sweet.

Their charge into the little copse of trees was too late, and ultimately anticlimactic. No snarling coyote awaited them, no wounded Wolffang there to aid. It was still, shaded, and smelled absolutely terrible. Deadmoon was frozen for a moment, staring at Wolffang. Wolffang's body. His soul had long gone, already on the plane of stars. Her brother was gone, and he wouldn't be coming back. On the one paw, she wanted to hope more than anything. That he might return as he had done before. But there wasn't a chance, not really. The stars had granted a second chance but surely wouldn't grant a third, even if Wolffang had been on the cusp of things new and exciting, of a long life surrounded by Leopardsong and Crowtooth and maybe her and his other friends.

So lost was Deadmoon in her realization (for she had denied it till this point) that her brother was gone, that she had missed Leechscar's initial question. She could see the flower, hooked under his claws, but had no real care for it. If the coyote were to lunge out at that moment she probably wouldn't have noticed. It was terribly unprofessional, stupid even, to indulge in sentiment when there was a cat-eating coyote on the loose. But Deadmoon couldn't quite draw herself away from staring at Wolffang. She didn't dare approach. Somehow, she was still clinging to some shred of hope. But if she looked in his eyes, and found them glassy and staring and gone, there would be no hope.

Crowtooth was braver than her, and approached the body. The way his head dropped told her all she needed to know, even though she'd known it since Twistedpaw had told her story.

And then Crowtooth's words, thus far lurking within her eardrums and unable to penetrate the fog of grief within her head, broke through. A rose. To the others, rose probably meant little more than the name suggested. A pretty flower, probably explaining for the weird sweetness in the air. A prefix or suffix sometimes. Alas, Deadmoon was no stranger to roses. Their mere mention brought to her mind one very, very specific cat who would also have been transfixed by such a scene. Whether in glee or sorrow she did not know, Rosebriar had never been particularly rational nor easy to understand, and Deadmoon hadn't tried. But a rose. All she could think of whas her sister, THEIR sister, for she was Wolffang's as well.

It was a crazy thought. Insane. Rosebriar was DEAD. But when Deadmoon finally, finally returned to the land of the living from whatever strange, foggy plain she had inhabited, it seemed all too real. The scent Leechscar had remarked upon, too young to remember perhaps. Batglare and Crowtooth would doubtlessly find it a bit familiar, from their time in camp with the she-cat. But to Deadmoon it was clear as day, a scent she couldn't forget even if she tried. She'd love to be able to, to never think about her sister again, but it was impossible. That had been proved many times over.

It's Rosebriar. she whispered to herself, for the first time really looking around. Almost wildly, as if she expected a ghostly she-cat, once beautiful but now mauled, to appear from the trees, or the ground, or the sky. The scent is Rosebriar's. Stronger now, more likely to be audible to her clanmates. Improbable as it was, the fog was practically lifted from her mind, eyes sharp as she peered into the shadows. But she's supposed to be dead. Wolffang saw her.......last time. She WAS dead. Deadmoon sounded more like she was asking for verification, or like she was trying to convince herself, than certain of her own words.

The muddled mist of sadness was being driven back by the fire of her anger. Was Rosebriar resurrected, just as Wolffang had been? Had she somehow found a way to temporarily escape the bounds of the spirit world? Deadmoon didn't question what her intentions were, that much was clear as day. She had helped kill Wolffang, whether in concert with the coyote or by luring it here she did not know, but she had been involved. The rose was some sort of sick calling card, to ensure that they were aware of her involvement. To ensure they connected the dots. The dots had been connected, and Deadmoon wanted to tear something to shreds.

She was well aware she was unlikely to be able to track the coyote, or Rosebriar for that matter. As distinct as her scent was it was muddled with that of the coyote, a far stronger odor. She didn't know whether her sister was alive or dead, here or long gone. There was too much going on, too many disparate threads of thought and feeling. The coyote threat to deal with. Rosebriar being involved, taking from her the one healthy relationship she'd managed to have in their messed up family. Even now, after all the work Deadmoon had put in to try and heal, and be better, Rosebriar could still knock her down faster than anyone else. Wolffang. Gone.

Deadmoon felt guilty, then. She shouldn't be focused on Rosebriar and...what? Getting back at her? Just.....knowing where she was and what she'd done? Wolffang was DEAD, she shouldn't be selfish and think about anything else. Classic Deadmoon, getting hung up on things from the past rather than the here and now. The here and now was the coyote. She had to focus on that, get what revenge she definitely could. No one knew where Rosebriar was, but they could find the coyote. She didn't have much to add to the discussion of where it had gone though, so she simply rejoined Leechscar and Crowtooth silently seething, Rosebriar's face swimming behind her eyelids in a terribly taunt. It had been made clear she wasn't here to do the coyote-butt-kicking, so she'd stay quiet and let the furies take the lead on that front. @Undertaker @Moonraven @Rani @Alchemist Kitsune