wash it all away, ft. whitesmoke, loonpaw

On one side of the playing field, everything was normal. Looking over the vast territory, everything looked the same, the same as it always had, little to no changes. Then, you took a look at the big picture. The burnt down trees, greater in number than perhaps three moons ago. Their gaunt shapes stole snickering glances at you as you walked along under their ever-reaching grasp. Everything appeared dead, but only the ones that lived there truly knew. The first fire had left a dent in everyone's heart, yes. The sycamore was still standing, its charred branches still telling stories of the pain it suffered. It was silent here, save the cool breeze brushing snow along the bark, whistling around the ears. Natural, and calm.

But the second fire had ripped open the still healing wounds. Prey was scarce, elders were gong hungry, and that spitfire strength ShadowClan had always had buried under their sleeves was dwindling quickly. A downward spiral that went faster and faster. Where was StarClan? Those ancient ancestors that had guided their pawsteps, granted them food, passed on messages to the leaders and medicine cats. Gannetstar was dead, Littlestar missing. They had no medicine cat, and Whitesmoke struggled with her position. She couldn't take over as leader. There had been no sign that Littlestar was dead.

Were they really lost?

Mothdust's paws pressed into the snow, the chilling gust of wind tugging at her short fur, snowflakes bustling. They had no care in the world. Their purpose was to make things cold, to empty the life and make it sleep. To give the growing and restless need to find sunlight a rest. The she-cat's pale yellow eyes watched absently as the cold white flakes danced in the wind, sticking to the bark of trees, disappearing in the cold ground. Carefree, unaffected by the issues each and every clan seemed to be having.

Her attention was captured by the great sycamore, a standing reminder that it had survived throughout that fire. Perhaps they could too. Although burnt and showed little leaves during Greenleaf, it proved strong enough to face anything. She remembered vividly her training sessions underneath it's ghostly branches. How proud Seedwhisker had been. How casual and easy daily tasks seemed to be. What were they now but a hollow shell of that? Mothdust's tail tip twitched as a deep sigh escaped her.

What were they to do?

ooc; really bad and kind of miserable moth isn't seriously miserable but. viola. @white ➳ loonpaw