The black tabby molly enters the den. It smells of crowfood, and she breathes shallowly.
"Squirrelfoot."
It's not a question, and the molly walks forward to her leader. His eyes are glazed over, and the red tom's breath comes in soft, quick rasps. The molly looks at him, frantic, and starts look around for other cats.
"Should I get Pigeonfeather? Or maybe Ivy-" "No. They won't be able to help now." "Are you sure? Pearstar, you need a medicine cat." Pearstar feels her with his whiskers, but puts his head down a moment later. "No, Squirrelfoot. I won't need a medicine cat again." Squirrelfoot shakes her head. "You sound like you're dying." He can't be dying.
Pearstar lets out a purr of amusement, and she looks at him in confusion. "I am dying, Squirrelfoot. I could tell you would be the last deputy I would ever appoint when I chose you."
The molly looks at him for another moment, her eyes wide. "Pearstar, I'm not fit to be leader. I'm too young, and I won't make the best decisions, there are much more experienced warriors than me too, maybe-" "Don't be ridiculous. You are more than capable."
Pearstar's mate died a long while ago, but his kits were still strong warriors. Russetshine and Cherryblaze shouldn't have to lose their father. But when the molly mews out a reply, she speaks for the rest of the Clan as well. "How will they cope with this? SwampClan has lost so much already." Pearstar lets out a small chuff. "They will manage. StarClan made us the toughest clan for a reason."
After he says that, Pearstar closes his eyes and soon stops gasping for breath. The other cat thinks about trying to paw at him and get him to rouse, but it's too late. Even she can tell that. Squirrelfoot takes a deep breath, stares out of the mossy den, and prepares to announce her leader's death.