… This couldn’t be right. Mossclan was strong. The best clan. The clan she could lead one day. Even though it seemed that predators invaded the territory every quarter-moon. Even though the fresh-kill pile was nothing more than a pathetic heap of bony old corpses. Ever since kithood she had herself convinced that Mossclan was surperior, even while her stomach ached with hunger and she lay awake every other night fearing that a wolf or bird of prey would devour her in the night. But now as she felt her life slipping away, she felt her whole idea of her clan begin to crumble. It wasn’t only her. The leader, who seemed like the sun - bright yet unreachable, was dead. So many apprentices and warriors, slowly succumbing to the claws of hunger. Tears slipped down her face and dampened her fur as she thought of all the cats she knew. Slugpaw, her closest friend, who was supposed to be her deputy when she became leader. Russetpaw, her friend and training partner, who she could always count on. Even thinking of Snowcappaw in Urchinclan deepened her misery. Now that she thought about it, Snowcap seemed so much bigger and stronger with a plumper belly, signs of a cat who had enough to eat. Signs of a cat from... a better clan. Tunapaw didn’t want to think about her mother, Mulberryaurora, who didn’t live to see her become an apprentice. In fact, had she even paid attention to her? She always seemed steeped in sorrow for all of Tuna’s life. Maybe it would all be okay, she would see her friends and mother in Starclan and they could be happy, she tried to tell herself. But somehow, this only made her angry. How could Starclan let this happen? If she had enough energy left, she would have unsheathed her claws and raked them across the ground to let her anger out. All this time telling herself that she would be the best, but Starclan had to turn her dreams to dust. Was blaming Starclan the right idea? She would never know. Even the moss on her pelt was beginning to wilt. No, she realized, it had been slowly dying since she first found it. She had thought it was the softest, greenest moss in camp, and she decided to wear it on her pelt to represent her clan. She had always seen it as a sign of pride, but it turned out it was just like her clan, dead while she convinced herself it was still living. "I guess I was lying to myself about Mossclan this whole time, huh," Tunapaw uttered, despite the pain, even though no one was listening. The last of the life in her seeped out and she closed her eyes that would never open again.
Roleplay: generations
