Lost Hope

"Snowpaw?" a tired voice asked. Snowpaw grunted vaguely as she sat up stiffly, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Snowpaw, it's nearly sunhigh. It's our turn to go out hunting again."
The small, sandy-colored apprentice sighed. "Maybe this time we'll manage to catch something besides one scrawny, sick little squirrel. That would be nice."
Foxwing smiled, ears flicking forward hopefully. "Come on then. We won't know until we try." Snowpaw got to her feet, following her gaunt mentor out of the den. Russettail, the deputy, stood in the clearing, talking to Cloudfoot. Cloudfoot's two kits, once energetic and cheerful, leaned against her in the clear midday sun.
"Cloudfoot, we're doing everything we can. No-one much cares about borders right now, no clan has enough food for petty squabbles. Last Gathering we even thought about simply obliterating the borders for a while until spring comes. Every cat with the strength left is out hunting as often as possible, at night half the time. What else can we try?"
"I don't know, Russettail. I just don't know. But I hear my kits meowing in hunger and if Grasslight doesn't get enough food soon, her three will starve to death! We have to find something!"
Russettail looked away, unwilling to meet his mate's eyes. "We will. We have to. We have to find something, enough to tide us over until winter ends. That's how Starclan works, isn't it? When you have nothing left, Starclan guides you?"
Cloudfoot shook her head slightly, gazing up at the sky. "I can only pray to Starclan that the winter will end, and soon. If it ever does."
The light touch of a tail woke Snowpaw from her shameless evesdropping. "Come on, Snowpaw. Don't give up yet. We're still alive, we still have kits for the future, Stoneclaw's still alive and in his own den, cranky and exhausted though he is. If we want to keep it that way, we need to actually go out on patrol." Foxwing began walking purposefully out and Snowpaw hurried to catch up again. As they left the camp, she spoke up again.
"Foxwing?"
"Yes?" her mentor replied calmly.
"What happens when someone gets hurt? The dog pack that normally stays outside Clan territory is beginning to stray inside. If someone gets hurt, we won't be able to replace them, much less feed them. What happens then?"
Foxwing glanced into the anxious brown eyes of her apprentice. "Rainfall will do his very best to patch them up. Cinderstar will probably try and get help from the other clans. Hopefully, the other leaders will listen to her."
"But what difference would it make? The deputy says every clan is just as hungry. If the winter keeps on at us like this, it won't be long before there's not a cat living in the forest, will all be dead of starvation. Isn't it supposed to be true that you can't heal if you don't have food to repair the injury with? That's what Rainfall keeps muttering about. He knows, doesn't he? About the dogs?" Snowpaw pressed.
"You should stop eavesdropping so much," was Foxwing's only reply.
"But it's true, isn't it?"
Foxwing stopped dead, turning her head away. "Ravenflight says three Windclan cats have been killed by the dogs already and whitecough is beginning to strike. They can only pray it doesn't turn to greencough. I take it you've noticed how Rainfall jumps every time he hears someone cough?"
"Yes." Snowpaw gave Foxwing a long look. "You know something, don't you?"
"Of course I do," came the quiet answer. "But all it would do to you is make it worse. We're dying slowly, all of us, from the moment we're born. The dogs will reach us, and attack, and those that are hurt will never heal because what little food we have will turn to poison in our mouths as the cold brings greencough on its shoulders."
Snowpaw stared. "Surely there's more. There's more, there has to be! We weren't just meant to die like this!"
Foxwing wouldn't meet her eyes. "What other choice is there?"