The last time Ivypool had seen her, the stark splash of white cresting her forehead was barely visible through the drenching scarlet that clumped her fur and dribbled down her jaws. She cast a gentle, forlorn gaze to the dying cat in front of her, but offered no help or comfort. The she-cat must have had trouble breathing through her scratched nose, but her chest rose and fell as evenly as any other cats'.
The dying tom was from the Dark forest, and as his pelt's colours began to fade and his outstretched paws grew less and less frantic in their clawing for life, the she-cat looked almost intrigued. She hadn't known dead cats could die once more.
Antpelt gave her a reassuring look, proud of his former clanmate's skill. Breezepelt had whispered praise before padding to the waking world, and Hawkfrost seemed slightly impressed.
"Didn't know you had it in you, Sunstrike."
He was returned with a questioning look. "I always had it in me." Her words were smooth, relaxed, and she had shifted her weight to her other side before she mewed, "The sun is going to rise soon. I need to be ready for morning patrol."
She turned, but had glanced back at the group of cats behind her. "Bye, then?"
She had blinked slowly, calmly, and with a rustle of the blood-dappled ferns beneath her tortoiseshell paws, the Windclan warrior was engulfed by shadow.
Ivypool didn't think much of it.