☁️⟐ °•➷ if I catch fire

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then I’ll take my turn, to burn and burn and burn « flameberry death roleplay » ☁️⟐ °•➷ Oh my god. She is finally dead. I remember 25 moon old Flameberry fighting Rookcall over a fish. I remember the rat invasion and the territory before the Great Journey. I remember the boats and the Leviathan and the Shore. And now Flameberry is 85 moons old and heading off to cat hell. What a wonderful ride this has been. A long, feathery tail slithered through the dry undergrowth, dragging on the ground. Flameberry’s speckled face emerged from the bushes with a soft rustle. She padded into a small clearing, tasting the air. An odd scent was about the wind, the smell of Twolegs. And another acrid, burning scent she couldn’t quite describe. Well, it wasn’t anywhere near her. It was somewhere else. So she couldn’t see how it’d bother her. Perhaps she’d be useful for once and report it to the clan leader. But she’d come here to hunt, and hunt she would. Flameberry wrinkled her scarred muzzle and scanned the clearing for prey. She found her target - a small, grey-furred vole scrabbling at the roots of a tree. Flameberry crouched, padding noiselessly to it, and killed it swiftly. Picking it up, she looked around to make sure no one was watching. Then she ate it in a few quick bites. She stood up, cleaned her fur, and disappeared into the bushes, heading towards Shadowclan territory. Maybe she’d see that cat she met a few moons earlier. Or maybe she’d go to the Windclan border and find the cat the brown-colored apprentice had told her to scare - what was her name again? Frozenfur? No, it was Frozenpurr. She’d never actually done what the apprentice had asked her to do, but she’d been paid in four purple crystals. Maybe she didn’t even need to do that if she’d gotten her reward. Either way, she’d gotten her prey. Now she’d head home, perhaps rest in the sun. After a few moments, Flameberry realized that she wasn’t retracing her previous steps - she was moving out further into the woods, as she was lost in thought and not paying attention to where her paws were leading her. Something was wrong. The sharp smell she’d found earlier to be a mild annoyance was almost unbearable now. A reddish glow was about the woods. Panic clutched at her head as she turned around, and was hit face on with a wall of heat. Flameberry took one look at the smoldering ground and broke into a run. The licks of flame clawed at the ground and caught the tip of her tail while the acrid fumes pulled at her head and sent her dizzy. She sprinted through the woods, the trees melting into a blur as the flames nipped at her paws with blistering pain. The air was heavy with smoke and ash. Flameberry couldn’t run for much longer. She collapsed, and soon the fire caught up to the scarred cat and devoured her. That is how the terror known as Flameberry met her end, and she awoke in the forest of the damned. No one was there to watch her fall, and no one came to greet her.