Open to Join Plot Thread When a Stone Turns Cold

I don’t need anyone! The only one I can trust is myself.

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All was still in the Nettleplume's den. The warm wind brushed against Stoneclaw's fur and he felt a faint stinging from the wounds that dappled what seemed to be every inch of his coat, if certainly felt like it.

If he had though he would die defending a lazy mouse-hearted cat like his son, Goosesong, he wouldn't have stepped out to the Gorge yesterday. He let out a final disappointed huff as his blue eyes slowly glazed over as he fell quite and still in his nest. the blood that he had lost became too much for him, the matted fur and wounds spread across his body were still fresh be he had doubted they'd heal.

His last moments were spent in anger, with a growl in his throat that he couldn't quite let out. His last thought was of his son, how helpless that waste of muscle was. But he was also angry that it came to this, Stoneclaw didn't want peace, he wanted work, he wanted something to do. The last thing he wanted was to lay down and die like limp prey. But StarClan had a cruel way of forcing him to relax

And if that were death, then that was what it must be.