"i saw death on a sunny snow"
Daffodilcatcher was awoken in the warrior’s den by a loud whistle of wind hissing against the den walls. She blinked away the heavy remnants of sleep from her eyes, the limey light agitating the weighty beginnings of a headache poking at her temples. It was rare for her to slumber so deep and dreamless nowadays.
She shifted her body and realized her claws were embedded in bedding from her frightened wake, irritatedly she picked it from between her toes and angrily flicked it to the empty side of the nest… the nest she shared with the cat she felt a confusing myriad of emotions for. Her heart ached for Embergaze’s comfort in the suffocating silence. She attempted to be quiet, biting her tongue as she stifled a whimpered sigh.
Daffodilcatcher craned her neck to peer over the sea of bodies still sleeping peacefully in the den. She gazed at the cloudy light leaking through the entrance and approximated it was early dawn. She roused cautiously, half-heartedly fixing her ruffled nest but diligently grooming her tousled fur. She never strayed far from her routine, every so often she found herself slipping and mercilessly realigned herself with her habits. Although she was never satisfied with the outcome of her efforts, she decided it was “good enough” and proceeded to start her day.
While she tip-toed through the den, she paused to find Lavenderfang in the crowd. Daffodilcatcher swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Whatever happened? She used to feel protective, loyal and affectionate for her. It faded, and the lines blurred, and now she harbors resentment for her sister’s intense ambition and tireless drive. At the very least Lavenderfang never showed she grew weary of her extremely active warriorship. Somehow that reflected worse on Daffodilcatcher, as someone who flippantly went about her tasks and toyed around with her duties like they weren’t integral to MonarchClan’s functionality.
Realizing that she stopped and casted a lengthy shadow above a cat she barely spoke to, the young warrior swiftly moves on. She didn’t want to be caught staring stupidly into space at such an awkward time in the day. That would be terrifying.
Daffodilcatcher continued to ponder her sister as she exited the den. She starkly remembers her stilted encounter between Daphnepath and herself and afterwards Lavenderfang’s disregard for her and her open friendliness for her cousin. How was it that Daffodilcatcher couldn’t muster the same earnestness that Lavenderfang could, that would make Daphnepath smile instead of frown? Her sister’s charisma birthed kindness in the best way, something Daffodilcatcher sorely failed to do.
Her paws buried themselves in the freezing snow, her bright green eyes set aflame by the white light mirrored off the silvery powder. In a cruel case of fate crashing down on her she was slapped with the reminder of Snapstride’s passing and her own brother's declining health. Daphnepath was right. Daffodilcatcher blinked back tears, they burned cold against her skin as they soaked into her fur and trailed down her cheeks.
She felt ridiculous for crying. After all she had been through, this was her breaking point? She remembers crying once, before. Gazing at a frozen stream. She remembers the anger in her crystalized expression staring back at her, telling herself she was weak for crying. She can barely recall what she wept about. It could have been Minnowfleet’s insistent pestering, bordering on bullying, and Lavenderfang’s dismissive attitude when Daffodilcatcher defended her. Or it was Pearwhisper’s return, and Daffodilcatcher’s yearning for closure. Of which she still hasn’t received.
Gusts of frigid air pushes her fur around, obscuring her vision even further. It’s easier to picture Embergaze beside her right now, like she was back then. Her kitten grin and soft, always warm features. A sad smile curls her lips back. Daffodilcatcher is filled with dread. Snapestride’s death… Redith’s death, death, death, death! Daphnepath was right. She hates it. She hates her for being right when she shouldn’t be. Daffodilcatcher grits her teeth and rushes forward, galloping through the snow violently.
The young warrior’s muscles screamed in agony at being spurred beyond their limits. Her lungs cried out for a steady breath not rocked by the pumping of her raging heart. The pounding in her head grew louder, consuming her body in an inescapable cocoon of pain. Sobs wracked her body, the wintry air stinging her eyes and nose. She sunk into a snow drift and growled deep in her chest. She was angry at herself for thinking so foolishly, life was a gift, and death was inevitable, and there was nothing that could be done because she didn’t ask for any of it.
Flowers were pretty. She cried into her fur, flowers were pretty, and she lamented that such pure beauty was fleeting. Embergaze had been so sullen, she had been changed irrevocably by Snapestride’s passing. Daffodilcatcher found herself grieving the loss of her and Embergaze’s shared optimism. She was naive to believe that it would stretch on forever; that whenever she reached out, she would find that glowing string connecting their hearts and minds. A projection of Embergaze’s shattered expression and the explosion of Shrikefrost’s voice echo in her head.
Daffodilcatcher was familiar with caging her hurt behind her ribs and skull. She likes to patch over the wound and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.
She saw that part of herself in him. It terrified her.
She desperately sought out Embergaze and Shrikefrost’s company, believing that her presence could be soothing, like theirs was to her. She was wrong. They needed time to think, space to allow the dust to settle, but she wanted to comfort them like they could comfort her. She wanted to be that bridge they used to cross to the otherside of their turmoil, she wanted to be their sound board, the warm body they hug, lean on, be close to…
Slowly the tide of her misery ebbed and she was granted room to breathe. Daffodilcatcher regarded her surroundings in confusion, unsure of what it took to get her where she was. Lavenderfang would remember, the thought sneaking into her head, the taste of her words sour on her tongue, her sister would retell it in a way that would enrapture her audience, unlike Daffodilcatcher, who couldn’t formulate the reason why she cared about petty things like the beauty in dead flowers without spitting on another cats ideals. She shakes her head to derail her ugly train of thought, the young warrior reluctantly lifts herself from the ground, clumps of snow stick to her fur, matting it together. She has to apply effort to each step, wiggling her legs in a weak attempt to remove the ice from her pelt.
As much as she is rattled by her episode, Daffodilcatcher decides it’s wise to hunt, or at the very least try to. Returning to camp empty-pawed would be humiliating, she’s done it once before, and she refuses to do it again.
The territory would be described as a winter wonderland to a soulful kit with wide, unknowing eyes. With icicles hanging from the low branches of the pines, and puffs of powder being lifted into the wind, swirling in the most mesmerizing patterns. Light bird song flutters through the air and Daffodilcatcher pays very close attention to it. She’s hoping to catch a cardinal with striking red feathers. It would stand out, it would be memorable.
She doesn’t catch a cardinal; When all is said and done, she catches a scrawny field mouse scrounging under a skeletal, leafless myrtle. It isn’t what she wanted. She understands the lesson. Daffodilcatcher sets a course for camp, trodding through the fresh, dusty snow with heavy paw-steps.
Upon entering camp she is devastated to see cats wandering about. Had she spent that much time away? A quick glance to the sky confirms her suspicions. Behind a blanket of clouds the sun’s silhouette has climbed higher. It must be afternoon. She follows a path carved through the snow by other cats to place her mouse on the fresh-kill pile. It melds into the other furs and feathers. She dedicated her entire morning to one meek, little mouse.
Daffodilcatcher chews on her cheek. Her stomach grumbles hungrily. Hastily she turns and carries herself away from the fresh-kill pile, there are many mouths to feed and her’s is not a priority. The young warrior’s ears prickle at the small voices reverberating throughout camp. She listens closely. It sounds as though Houndsnarl’s kits are as lively as ever. A tiny smile pokes at the side of her mouth.
She wishes her kit-hood had been so jubilant. So ignorant. Daffodilcatcher longs for the days she curled into Tigertail’s fur and called her mama, nosing at her siblings obnoxiously until they would hear what she had to say, and she always had so much to say. She wishes for the days she was ecstatic to catch a glimpse of Carrotblaze or spend time talking mindlessly to Pearwhisper about the rocks, the leaves, the sun, the night.
Her usual resting spot beside the warrior’s den was unoccupied and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was fearful that she would have to find somewhere else to wallow in her filthy depression. In many ways she felt blessed. Loving mothers, however high their expectations may be, siblings who are supportive and nice, regardless of the distance between them all. She graduated on time, she was beautiful. Daffodilcatcher saw Embergaze’s face in her mind’s eye, telling her she looked beautiful. Her heart ripples, that fuzzy affection tickling her chest when she pictured the infectious smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, sparkles melting and blinking in her irises as she looks at Daffodilcatcher.
She has felt a lot of things. She has felt anger, so much anger, and sadness, way too much sadness. But never before has she had to name such a profound, life-altering feeling than when she exchanges blushing glances and discreet smiles, little touches here and there. Embergaze has started a flame in her, one that threatens to consume her whole. She would let it burn on forever, if she were not inhibited by fear of the unknown.
Treading foreign territories of the heart is like playing with the fire raging inside her. She will burn her paws and she will learn harsh lessons in the process. She’s not convinced the intimacy she shares with Embergaze won’t destroy her. This is more than than the butterflies she’s felt when Minnowfleet, Sycamoretrail and Smallfern have talked to her in a suave cackle or soothing timbre or bashful shy ways. Daffodilcatcher blinks at a wash of bright light spilling into camp. Sun spots illuminate the blinding snow. Her brows furrow. Cats stand still.
She can still hear the chatter of kits in the nursery, yet an accompaniment of murmurs floods through the clearing. Dread pulses through her veins, propelling her instinctually towards the source. She’s heard the muttering too many times. She heard it when Snapstride passed, when Clearsong passed, and all of the other’s who were gone too quickly from MonarchClan. Daffodilcatcher is running towards the herbalist’s den, skidding to a halt, spraying a wave of wet, trampled snow in a cone in front of her.
Lying underneath the cold winter sun is Onionpaw. His fur is mussed, blowing loosely in the wind. She sways on her legs as tears surge into her eyes. Everything feels suspended, hanging limply in a thin web. A gentle fall of snow decorates his pelt, the dappling of sunlight illuminating him in the frozen embrace of death.
Daffodilcatcher numbly spectates Lavenderfang as she collapses against Onionpaw’s quiet body. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, she chants in her head, it gets louder and louder, turning into a continuous roar, the sound warbles as the hiccuping sobs of her sister reach her ears, the faint chorus of why trailing blindly into the cacophony of weeping.
What had Daphnepath said? Worry about her own siblings. Worry about herself. For once stop sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Daffodilcatcher stares at her brother and she regrets ever calling the world beautiful. She wishes she could take it back. For the first time in her life, she prays that it’s imaginary, she never woke up this morning.
The young warrior is brought back to reality by Leechmask offering condolences for their family’s loss. She purposefully ignores him.
She drifts forward in slow motion. If only she could just… say goodbye, if only she could just treat him to the kindness of saying she loves him for the first and last time. She needs to, if she doesn’t want to shatter her soul. Yet the image of her family when they grieved over Clearsong is still fresh in her memory. She broke a part of herself then by denying herself the comfort of her family’s unconditional love and support, and that same broken piece of her holds her back.
Daffodilcatcher emits an agonized sob when she sees Lavenderfang curl a protective paw around Onionpaw’s lifeless form. It cuts into her. Tigertail sits over them, tears gathered in her eyes and trickling down her face, lip quivering- Gods, she sees Pearwhisper join them and she can’t take it anymore. Hope has been vacuumed out of her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. She rips her sight away and flees.
She only visited him once during his illness, and she knows this is the last time she’ll see him, suffocated in the presence of his heartbroken family.
Daffodilcatcher crashes into the warrior’s den, stumbling and tripping over herself to the empty nest she woke up to. She tiredly collapses in it. She pleads and begs in between her choked whimpering that whatever entity took Onionpaw away from them… he’s given peace after his long suffering.