Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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The past little while had been, to say the least, hard for Shadedsta—sun. Shadedsun now. The days had been constant anxiety attacks, the ever looming threat of danger dangling just above his head. Lilith E’tan had not been so kind during the short time she led Primal Instinct. Immediately starting up with battle plans and revenge, she had taken his darlings, his poor darlings Foxkit and Batkit, just to get him on their side. And while his failing vision was something he was already panicking over, the kidnapping made everything ten times worse. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why? How could someone do that to innocent kits?
Shaking out his thick fur, he made his way through SpringClan territory, stumbling over roots and uneven ground along the way. He could barely see anymore, everything a blur of colours and shapes. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t make anything out at all. Taking it slow, he cautiously stepped through the territory of the Clan he once led. He was too much of a coward. Too immature. Too idiotic to lead his beloved Clan. What was Cardinalstar thinking? Appointing him as deputy? Shaking his head of the nasty thoughts—thoughts he couldn’t get rid of for the life of him—he continued towards the SummerClan border. Lilith had been struck down, he had heard, but his babies still hadn’t been returned. Doestar and him needed a game plan, because nobody knew if they were ever to even return them.
A strong smell hit his nose. The smell of blood, so strong it made him gag. Heart pounding in his chest, he continued forward, slowly, trying to breath as little as possible because the smell was so overwhelming. And there, sticking out from the blurs of greens and the blueness of the lake, sat a small orange and red blob. His heart dropped. No, he was overreacting. Maybe it was a fox cub. Of course he would pity the creature, but only enough to bury it and be done. Squinting, he hesitated in moving closer, crouching low. It couldn’t be what his panicked mind was thinking.
Doestar hadn't spoken to Shadedst—sun much since the night of his friend's confession. He'd left SpringClan that night thinking all was fine, thinking they could just go back to how they'd been before and everything would be alright and he wasn't bothered by it at all; then he'd gotten home to his den, and the embarrassment and the awkwardness and the guilt had sunk in, and he hadn't been able to look Shadedsun in the eye since. They'd met for business, yes — about what to do with the kits now that two of their four fathers were gone, and, after that, what to do about the possibility of war. They'd both been distraught by the news of their kits' kidnapping, but, much as he needed it, Doestar had still felt self-conscious about going to Shadedstar for comfort — which, really, had only made him feel worse, because their kits were gone, and he was upset and scared and trapped in the beginnings of a war where any decision was wrong, and he'd needed him, but he hadn't let himself have him. And then his friend had suddenly been Shadedsun, and Doestar was the only Mountain leader left of the four who had met that very first gathering, and he'd felt more alone and frightened and out of his depth than ever, like he had been left adrift in a dark, open sea with no light or land in any direction.
Now, though, he had to be brave. For Shadedsun. For their kits. For himself. He never let it be about himself enough. He was working on that. Limping slowly towards the border with SpringClan, in no hurry to get there on time, Doestar's chest was tight with anxiety. He'd spent the last week in constant terror; it was bad enough that he worried about the kits when they were only on the other side of the border — now, they were far out of reach, surrounded by blood and fear, frightened out of their minds and facing StarClan only knew what. He hadn't let himself break down yet, hadn't let himself cry beyond the tears that were seemingly always welling in his eyes. If he started, he was worried he'd never be able to stop. The suppressed grief felt like a frantic bird struggling against his ribcage.
He caught a hint of Shadedsun's scent on the breeze and plastered a smile onto his face, forcing his ears up and holding his head higher; it all looked forced and out of place amid the tear-red eyes and the shaky steps. And then there was something else in the air. Padding forward more slowly, the smell already making him sick to his stomach, he left the last of the wildflowers behind— and there, in the middle of a little wreath of tall, dead grass, was the mangled body of a kit, its dark fur glistening with still-wet blood. The horror of it washed over him like hot wave of sickness, leaving him numb and blank-eyed; the trauma of what he knew he would find was too much, and he simply switched off. Shut down. Doestar slowly padded over to the little corpse and sat down, gazing down at it unseeingly, face expressionless and eyes empty and dry. Grief was cold and frail in his chest, the final little crack in a break that had been quietly shattering for a very long time. He didn't cry. He hated himself for it. Swallowing silently, he settled down beside the bloody kit, lying on his side and gazing blankly at the body of his son. So, this was what happened when he was allowed to be a little bit happy. The world had to take it back.
Time seemed to slow as he stepped towards the body, everything passing in nothing but a blur, both literally and figuratively. Leaning in close, so close his nose touched the small body’s kitten fluff fur, he breathed in, the scent of blood and Foxkit and left over terror. No. This wasn’t real. He was in a nightmare, he must have fallen asleep beside Doestar, nestled up in SpringClan territory. But a pet of him knew for certain it was real. Flipping the small body over with his muzzle, Shadedsun was, for once, thankful for his near lack of vision. He didn’t want to see what those beasts had done to his baby.
Standing straighter once more, everything rushed back to him. The scent of Doestar, and more blood, and fear and grief and suddenly he was screaming. Screaming at the top of his lungs at StarClan, at anyone who would listen. Hadn’t the world taken enough from him? Hadn’t he been punished enough for StarClan knows what. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He couldn’t handle anything anymore. It was all too much, and still he yowled until his voice broke and he couldn’t scream any more. He was scared. And furious. And a tidal wave of grief was washing him away. His legs felt like thin sticks, and soon enough they snapped and he fell to the ground in a large, sobbing heap.
“Foxkit, Foxkit, Foxkit, darling. What did those monsters do to you?” He whispered, his throat burning. “Please, you’ll be alright. I swear, I’ll make you all better. F-Fawnheart or Softpelt will help you, and—and soon enou-enough you’ll be back on your feet, better than ever.” His voice cracked with tears. He knew none of this was true—Foxkit was dead and there was nothing he could do to help him—but he thought that maybe, just maybe, if he believed it was a bad dream, than maybe it would turn out to be one.
At the sound of Shadedsun’s cries, Doestar raised his head and listened unresponsively for a moment, the sound just background noise and meaningless static that didn’t properly register in his horror-shocked mind, before rising stiffly to his paws and picking his way in the direction of the sobs. He didn’t remember how he got to Shadedsun, didn’t remember the walk across the border, didn’t know how he’d gotten the thorn in his pad or the scratch on his cheek from a little blackberry bush. He felt numb, and cold, and unfeeling. The kits didn’t matter; nothing mattered; he didn’t care.
“They’re dead, Shaded,” he mumbled, voice flat and quiet, curling up beside his friend on the opposite side to the mangled body of the other kit and staring blankly into the distance. He was facing away from Shadedsun, his back pressed against the other tom’s; he didn’t want to see his face, didn’t want to look at the blood. He was dimly aware that he was shaking despite the warmth of the night, that his legs were trembling so badly that he felt ill. Two kits, dead. Just like that. No goodbye, no last words, nothing. Just gone. He dragged his forepaw closer and pinned it under his chin to try and stop it shaking; it didn’t work. He heard his teeth chattering more than he felt it. “They’re dead,” he whispered again, still not looking at the other tom; he’d forgotten to blink and his eyes burned, “they’re dead and they’re not coming back.”
Shadedsun barely registered Doestar beside him—to busy fighting the floods of emotions welling up inside of him.
They’re dead. He stopped, stared at Doestar for a few seconds too long. “Dead?” He repeated in a whisper, so soft it was barely heard. “Batkit too?” Why was he even asking? He knew the answer, he knew this was his reality. He knew what was happening, but dear StarClan did he want to ignore it, forget it. And for a second he wished they had never found these kits. That he had never met Doestar or Bijou or even been born at all.
“No.” He growled, unsheathing his claws and digging them into the dirt. “No! Doestar—please! Can’t you do something? Ge—get you’re medicine cat or something! Anything! You don’t understand, I—I need them!” He begged, getting to his paws. “I barely got to see them before they were taken!” Leaning down, he nudged Foxkit’s body once more. “Please.” He whimpered, a soft, pathetic sound.
“This—“ He hissed through the tears pouring down his cheeks, “This is your fault!” He turned sharply to Doestar, having half the mind to run his claws across his face. “If you hadn’t come along—or—or if we had just left them to die—we wouldn’t be in this mess!” Ripping up the dirt beneath his claws, he took deep, shuddering breaths, feeling the verge of a panic attack. “What—what does he look like? Right now? What did they do to him?”
Batkit too? He didn’t respond. He hardly heard Shadedsun’s outburst, hardly felt him jostling him as he tore at the earth, hardly noticed him stand up. He didn’t register the pleading, or the weeping, or the senseless babbling. There was just the cold, steady thrum of his own heartbeat against his paw and the smell of blood that seemed so very far away.
When the other tom turned on him, Doestar was snapped sharply back into reality. He scrabbled backwards, whirling around to face Shadedsun with his eyes wide with shock and his ears pinned back against his head. He stared for a moment in bewildered silence before a furious glare settled over his face, his lip curling. “My fault?” he spat back, tail lashing. He stayed where he was, flattened against the dry grass in a crouch and snarling up at the former leader. “If you hadn’t been the most pathetic excuse for a cat and latched onto them because, oh, poor me, maybe having these kits will fill the part of my heart that no one will ever love? Maybe I won’t be so lonely while I pine after my friend that will never love me back? then maybe they would still be alive!” He screamed the last words, grief and misguided fury making his voice shrill and shaky.
He regretted it immediately. He stayed there for a moment longer, panting, claws dug helplessly into the soil and eyes widening from anger to shock, before letting out a teary breath and flopping his forehead down to rest on the ground. He let out a quiet, shaky sob and shook his head. “He looks like this,” he whispered, voice high around the silent tears. “Just like this. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeated it over and over, till his voice cracked and the words were lost to blubbering.
He stared at Doestar, ears flattened, tail lashing, his expression one of pure fury and grief. The sad part was that he was right. Doestar was right, and it was unfair. He needed these kits—and they needed him. How would they ever get to snuggle up into his chest fur again, just like the night they found them? “Shut up!” He screeched, his fur standing on end. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” He stomped his front paw, turning away from Doestar. He needed a breather, but how could he leave his poor son behind? He couldn’t run off.
Turning back around, he leaned over Foxkit to, squinting, trying to see him even though he really didn’t want too. His features started to form, from his tiny folded ears to his little finger tail. His injuries were apparent, ever prominent across his fluffy fur. Some new, some slightly older. He looked away, feeling the bile rise in his throat at the sight. Would this be the last time he saw Foxkit? He knew the kit had suffered before his death, and he could barely handle that fact. Imagining his sons in pain was unbearable.
“You’re not sorry! You idiot!” He fumed, turning sharply towards the SummerClan leader. “I wouldn’t have fallen so hard for you if you weren’t such a manipulative playboy! Telling me you loved me, with that stupid look on your face, saying all these sweet things, yet you go around and find a new toy in Chimerastar! So sorry that you used me.”
He glanced back at Foxkit, taking in the blurred colours. “I’ll never see them again.” He whispered to himself.
Doestar raised his head and watched Shadedsun helplessly, physically sick with horror and sorrow; his gaze slipped down to Foxkit and he glanced away sharply, swallowing repeatedly to stop himself from throwing up or crying, he honestly didn’t know which one it would be at this point. He didn’t want to see the gore, didn’t want to see the fear in his son— in the kit’s eyes. Better to just do what he always did: pretend he didn’t care. Pretend he could move on. The kit was never really his to start with. The lie made him want to wail.
When Shadedsun turned on him again, he met his gaze miserably, ears flat against his head, and didn’t try to defend himself. The words stung, made his chest ache with guilt and self-loathing, but they were true. Of course they were true. A part of him had known what he was doing to Shadedsun, and he’d enjoyed it. Doestar nodded and lowered his gaze slowly to his paws, throat tight and sore. His whole body was shaking now. He felt cold, and sick, and helpless; these kits had been killed because of him, because he was leader, because he’d been the one to suggest taking them in, because he was their father. Because he loved them. They were dead because the League knew they were his weakness. They had suffered for him, been torn apart for him, been terrified in their final moments for him.
Choking out a miserable laugh that tasted like bile on his tongue, Doestar rose shakily to his paws and padded slowly over to Shadedsun. “They’re at peace in StarClan,” he murmured, sitting down a little way away from the other tom to give him space, but the comfort felt empty and hollow. He wasn’t even entirely certain he believed in StarClan anymore. A hint of bitterness crept into his thin, tear-raw voice. “Maybe their mother is with them, whoever she is. Maybe you’ll share dreams with them, see them playing up there, unharmed and happy and loved.” He smiled thinly, a tear slipping down his cheek and landing like on his forepaw.
He forced himself to look down at Foxkit — and then his chin was quivering, and he was breaking down, sinking into a crouch and sobbing uncontrollably. Finally, the numbness was gone and the horrible grief truly hit him. “I’m sorry,” he wailed again, eyes squeezed shut and voice tight and broken. He didn’t know who he was apologising to anymore. “I’m sorry for everything.”
And he knew what he was doing. The realization made Shadedsun want to just scream, break something, even throw a tantrum if it got his anger out. But he took a deep, shuddering breath, and rested his head next to Foxkit’s. The stench of death was strong, hanging in the air. “StarClan.” He spat, once again rising to his paws. “Go get Batkit.” He said, letting an authoritative tone overtake his shaky voice. Picking Foxkit up by the scruff, ignoring the scent of blood and death and fear, he lashed his tail, as if telling Doestar to hurry.
”And when you’re done, follow me.” He said around Foxkit’s scruff, softer this time, but the angry, grieving undertone was still there. He cautiously walked back into SpringClan territory. He knew where he was going—why he knew his territory off by heart, of course.
still listening to "try again" and crying, this is fine
Doestar sniffed, flinching before instinctively tensing and raising his head to look at Shadedsun when the other tom’s tone changed. He was thankful for the authority, glad he didn’t have to make any choices or decisions at that moment, more than willing to just submit and do as he said. It hurt, to be brushed off and left without comfort, but he supposed it was what he deserved, and the pain was a comfort in itself; it was far easier to just sink deeper into heartache than it was to try and recover from it.
“Yes,” he murmured dumbly, dipping his head and trying to catch Shadedsun’s gaze one last time before he carried the body of their son back into SpringClan territory; but he was already gone. He stared after him for a long moment, lost in loneliness and grief and darkness and feeling frozen to the spot, before he forced himself to blink and turn back to his own territory. The familiar smells that washed over him felt stale and distant and cold, something out of a memory that didn't really matter at all. He stumbled back to Batkit's body, looking down at him for a long, heavy moment before softly picking him up and hating the way he gagged at the taste of congealed blood on his tongue. He sobbed quietly around his fur, tears spilling over his cheeks as he hurried after Shadedsun, desperate to put the corpse back down and be free of it, and hating himself even more for feeling that way. This should be some sort of a sacred moment, carrying the body of his son; but he just wanted it to be over, wanted to bury him and rush flowers to the grave and never visit again. Wanted to go back in time and leave the kits to the elements.
He caught up to Shadedsun in the midst of SpringClan, stumbling over his own paws in his hurry; his ankle burned from running, something he never usually did, but he hardly felt it. He plodded along helplessly a little way behind him, quietly sobbing around the blood and the fur. He didn't think he'd ever get the smell out of his pelt, didn't think the burning of the tears in his eyes would ever go away, din't think he'd ever get over the horror and the grief and the awful, messy confusion. How could this have happened? Why? For what? It felt surreal, so beyond belief that his mind still hadn't quite caught up with it before it shut down. He felt like he was only half there.
Shadedsun didn't dare turn back to face Doestar--didn't think he'd be able too, after all he's said. Keeping his eyes set ahead for fear of completely breaking down, he stepped carefully but quickly. almost forgetting about Doestar's bad foreleg, he could hardly find it in himself to care. Soon enough they had reached the stepping stones, and the memories of crossing them with Doestar that one special night came to mind. Reluctantly, he shook it away.
The water was calm, almost still, as he crossed the stones effortlessly. Much different from his usual approach. Keeping up his quick pace, they passed many sights Shadedsun would probably never see again. The edges of camp, the cherry blossom path, and finally, he slowed as he entered the Garden. Scenting the air for Doestar, he gagged on the strong smell of blood. He stepped forward slowly, stopping just short of the lifeless pond. Placing the lifeless carcass--which seemed no lighter than prey--he glared angrily at the slow setting sky. Why did it have to be his kits? Why not him? Why in StarClan's name did they not take him instead?
Doestar trudged silently after Shadedsun, tripping every so often over tree roots and clumps of leaves and hardly noticing. He stared after the other tom as he bounded over the stepping stones, ducking his head in self-conscious misery when he realised he wasn't going to stop to wait for him, let alone help him; being smaller, the dead kit in his jaws was heavier than it was for Shadedsun, and his sorrow melted in with a small shard of resentment. He crouched down and leaped awkwardly onto the first rock, scrambling clumsily and letting out a hiss when his hind leg slipped into the cold, dark water. He pulled himself back up with his claws scraping against the rock and leaped gingerly from stone to stone, craning his neck up to keep the body of the kit from dangling into the water, till he was safely on the bank, wet and cold and shaking.
But the resentment faded into quiet sadness when he slowly trailed after Shadedsun into the garden, pelt prickling with the horrible parallel of his beautiful night with the other tom and their current grief. He hated that they were tainting the memory with this. Limping over on aching paws, he gently set down the little corpse by the pond and stared down at the water for a moment before raising his head to look at Shadedsun. "What are we doing here?" he asked softly.
His tail lashed, an angry glint in his eyes. He knew he was being unreasonable. He knew he wasn't being logical, letting his grief-mixed frustrations take over his mind. And he knew, that when this storm was over, he would be left feeling less angry, yes, but much, much worse. His eyes landed on the colourful mixes that were his children, his heart pounding.
"I'm giving StarClan what they want." He spat, casting his eyes towards the slowly darkening sky. "You hear that, you monsters? Is this what you wanted, the bloody corpses of my children? Well, here they are? Anything else? You want my sisters? My home? The love of my life as well?" And he crumpled to the ground, pressing his nose into their fur despite the smell.
Doestar flinched, tucking his chin into the fur of his throat and watching Shadedsun in a helpless sort of horror. It made him feel even more sick to hear the former leader speaking to StarClan with such hatred - he'd always been so devout, so gentle, and to see him like this, to see him so close to genuine violence, terrified him. A small part of him was frightened Shadedsun would actually harm him - and then what, if he did? He wouldn't stand a chance. A fitting way to go, he supposed, at the claws of his best friend over the bodies of their children. A poetic death if ever there was such a thing.
"Because our other kits need you here," he replied at last, voice so quiet, so miserable, so bleak. He didn't dare move closer to Shadedsun, simply stayed where he was, with Batkit's body at his paws and the setting sun casting the long, dark shadows of the trees over him. Because I need you. His voice cracked, throat tight and eyes stinging with tears. "They need you to be strong, because they don't have anyone else now."
For a while, still, he didn’t turn around, but instead continued to nuzzle Foxkit’s fur. His eyes spilled tears of despair, landing on the kit’s ginger pelt, mixing in with some of the old blood.
Because our other kits need you here.
Shadedsun rolled the words in his head for a few long moments. Doestar was right. Lilykit and Applekit really needed him, especially now, when the rest of their siblings were brutally murdered. “I know.” He whispered, finally turning his head to face Doestar, even if he could barely see him. The former leader got to his paws and sat himself beside Doestar—his best friend, his lover. Pressing himself against the other tom, he spoke softly, his voice broken and cracked with tears.
”I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He whispered. “I—I’m angry and—and sad and I took it out on you and you—you don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” Taking deep shuddering breaths, Shadedsun continued his rant. “I don’t—I don’t want you to leave me. I—I need you.” And maybe he was a little selfish, after all, Doestar’s world didn’t revolve around him. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. “And I’m so sorry. Everything is going wrong right now, and just when I think we’ll be out of this mess, something else happens and it makes everything worse.”
An odd, uncomfortable sort of sadness washed over Doestar when Shadedsun pressed against him; the cruel, selfish part of him was pleased he'd so easily wormed his way back into the other tom's heart and good graces, despite all he'd said, pleased that he needed him, that he was apologising, that he was now back in the position of power, holding affection over Shadedun's head, just out of reach - and he knew, in an awful, fleeting part of his mind, that if he wanted to use Shadedsun right now, he'd have him in a heartbeat; the sweet, sad part of him that truly loved his friend was uncomfortable with the deluge of affection and forgiveness that he didn't think he deserved, and which felt overwhelming to his still-stunned mind. He hardly heard the words, just clammed up and stared down at the ground and let himself be jostled by Shadedsun's breaths, feeling like he was going to forget to breathe, or throw up, or just never speak again and turn to stone, or maybe all of them.
"I won't leave you," he replied at last, voice quiet, slowly turning his head to look at Shadedsun with a soft, sad expression. "I never will. We need each other, too, now more than ever." You're allowed to be sad. You're allowed to be angry. He didn't know if he actually said the words or not; everything felt dark and out-of-reach and far more than he could cope with. "And we'll..." He let out a breath. "We'll be okay." It felt like a lie. Glancing back at the bodies of the kits, he drew back even more into himself and murmured, "we need to bury them." His mouth felt dry, like it was filled with ash. The thought was worse than anything they'd had to do so far.
He stayed silent for a while, nothing in the air but his loud sniffles and heavy breaths. He liked the silence, much unlike any other day where he couldn’t handle it. And then, the words came. The words which he did not want to hear but knew would be inevitable.
We need to bury them.
“I . . . I know.” He said quietly. “I was planning to bury them here, but—but maybe we should bury them at our border?” He spoke quietly, resigned, and he barely registered that he probably didn’t sound like himself at all. But he didn’t feel like himself at all, either. After being promoted to leader—maybe even earlier—it seemed he became someone else. And it showed right now, over the dead bodies of his kits, pressing into his unrequited lover.
“I just don’t want to say goodbye. I’m not—I’m not ready.”
A wave of panicked nausea crashed over him at the prospect of having to carry the kits back to the border. "No," he blurted out. "No," he repeated, softer this time, resting his cheek against Shadedsun's fur and closing his eyes so he didn't have to look at the bodies. He breathed in the other tom's scent, sweet and flowery amidst all the blood, and exhaled quietly. "We're never going to be ready," he murmured, heart breaking anew at the thought that they were never again going to be able to find their way back to the cats they'd been only an hour ago. This was it. This was their lives now, and they were always going to carry this pain. They were always going to be broken, even more than they were before. Shadedsun didn't deserve that. No one deserved it less. He wished he could take all the pain for himself and leave him happy and free and still in love with the world. He wanted to cry at the fact that he couldn't.
Doestar opened his eyes, blinking a few times, before tilting his head up to look at his friend, cheek still pressed against his fur. "We have to, sweetheart," he murmured gently. "It's time to say goodbye."
As much as he wanted to turn away from Doestar once more, Shadedsun stayed very still, fighting with the overwhelming emotions circling in his head. He needed the comfort—he was the one who started the physical contact anyway, why did a small portion of him want to jerk away? “Okay.” He whispered, physically feeling all his anger draining away. He desperately grasped at it—at anything—but it slipped around his paws. He didn’t want to be left with the overbearing grief—he needed something to overpower it before it took control.
“How about . . . how about in front of the pond?” Already teaching his decision, the former leader got to his paws once more and slowly walked towards the bodies. The smell—which he feared would never leave him—entered his nostrils and he gagged. It burned the inside of his throat but he ignored it. The sky was mostly black now, the stars reflecting in the pool. He didn’t want to look at them right now. He didn’t even want to think about StarClan. Digging his claws into the dirt, he slowly turned up the earth, trying to guess a reasonable size for the kits.
Doestar slowly limped after Shadedsun, feeling like he was moving through thick, muddy water; just breathing was too much effort, like his lungs were being crushed. He stood there for a long moment, simply watching his friend tearing up the earth with his tail drooping and his gaze blank. Then, finally, he lowered his eyes to the ground and began to scrape away the soil with his good forepaw, tucking his other one close to his chest. It felt like both closure and torture, to dig the grave for his kit, to dig out the final resting place and lay him to peace; it soothed his heart and tore it apart anew.
His movements were slow, the earth gathering under his claws; he was acutely aware of every tiny detail - the pressure of the soil pressing against the undersides of his claws, the feel of dust billowing around him and drifting against his whiskers, the quiet lapping of the water against the bank, the smell of distant rain and wet earth and the soft chirp of crickets in the night-time air. Beautiful and horrible and perfect and haunting, too real and too false. He couldn't even cry anymore.
When the little grave was half a tail-length deep, he stepped backwards out of it and glanced at Shadedsun, frown terrified and miserable and eyes broken. "Ready?" he whispered.
