THE ONE WITH PRETTIEST OF VIEWS -- death

Fawnpelt heard the scream. It sent chills up her spine, turned her blood cold. She ran as fast as she could with her injuries, following the echoing sound. When she discovered which way it was coming from, her heart dropped straight to her feet. No! Dear StarClan, no! thoughts rushed into her mind, rising at the front and getting shoved to the back and back around again.
She tore her dressed wounds, not even caring. Just so long as she got there in time. She spotted his den. She gave it all she wasworth, boosting to the den. She slowed, breathing as she was at the entrance. She caught her breath and entered. She sucked in alot of air. He looked asleep. But she couldn't hear the pulse of his heart. He had disappeared in the storm. And now it was official. Her brother was dead.
"SNOW!" Her wail pierced the air. Her wail turned into a scream of pain. And then into a wail again as she collasped, her nose buried in his fur. She raised her head again to yowl out her pain and sorrow. "SNOW!" Again and again she repeated his name in a wail that turned into a yowl, as if that would bring him back, back into her grasp. Another, dead. Why was everything getting taken away from her? Why?
"Please." She cried out. Then she fell silent. Her face buried in his white fur.

[hr][hr]//it was great RPing with you, Destiny! Hope to see you around!
The scent of blood, and then the broken body of the forgotten warrior. It seemed it was over.
Snowpaw was dead.
Fawnpelt had gotten everything ripped from her, a quiet soldier, and now was confronted with visions of death of those closest to her, of those she had looked up to since birth. How could someone heal a heart so broken? The green-eyed feline hovered some distance away, feeling so desperately inadequate and small next to the pale comrade's weeping, chest swelling with pained sympathy. There was a terrible monster growing inside, and the still white fur was just fuel to the fire.
Spidersilk hesitated, and then moved toward the grieving cat, slowly, uncertainly. She didn't know what was best for Fawnpelt, because despite having lived through quite a bit of loss herself, the feeling of never having someone again was different for everyone. Every muffled sob cut the oriental open, made her bleed that much more sympathy, made her blood the water of pity.
The tall cat sat beside her clanmate, not touching but offering her body in case the other wanted to use it. In her mind, an ancient prayer ran, hoping for the apprentice's safe path to StarClan.
How meek they all were against death. Only leaders could defy it, nine times, or else they were doomed to return different, changed.
Spidersilk bowed her head, but despite the taste of blood on her tongue, her eyes were not on the dead. They were on the dying. They were on Fawnpelt.

Fawnpelt's muffled sobs could be heard, echoing in the den. Her tail wrapped tightly around her body, the fur where her face was buried soaked. The saltiness of her tears only made her all the more angry.
How could she let this happen? How? All she had left was Tadpole and he seemed more worried about Darkstar. Fawnpelt Could FEEL Her heart splitting into two, it just ripping slowly out.
"What did I do to deserve this, Spidersilk? Did I love too much?" She asked. She was aware of the other's presence as she hicupped and sobbed.

[hr][hr]Oh, StarClan, if only Fawnpelt could know how badly her heart ached for her! But personal battles - personal struggles - had sucked her dry of expression, letting nothing remain but apathetic countenances and the occasional waver of her voice. She watched the broken warrior press desperately against her brother as if to coax him back to life, but the vain attempt did nothing to wake him from the perpetual sleep, and the pleading stopped.
This kind of question was dangerous. It was the same thing as those that questioned if life was fair, the inquiries of a mind corrupted with slow, creeping realization, of terror. She did nothing to deserve this. There was no answer.
As for love... Spidersilk's blood ran cold at the word, and her chest swelled with tender pain. The tortured soul. Would she ever long again?
Wordlessly, like a statue coming back to life, the oriental cat stooped down, slowly, and pressed her flank against her clanmate's to provide warmth and some sort of comfort. Feeling only the dead could make one go mad.
Or, in Fawnpelt's case, terribly sane.

Fawnpelt flinched at Spidersilk's touch. She never leaned into it but never leaned away. She just mentally couldn't. Her sobs ceased slightly, leaving her hiccup in and sniffling. She gripped Snow's white fur in her paws, hoping, prayinf, he would come back to life.
But it never happened. Another cat under Fawnpelt's watch was dead. Why was this happening? How many more times would this happen? She felt a chill go up her spine, afraid of her own thoughts. What if she lost Tadpolepaw?