Stonetail's POV
Ever since I found Whitepelt on the edge of the gorge, she's been more solitude than ever. She barely speaks to me anymore, let alone the Clan, and she is always sneaking out of camp. I don't follow her out of fear of what I might find.
Why did I have to tell her? I couldn't have just kept it to myself? I always knew it wasn't meant to be, so why did I even try?
The hunting patrol just returned. It seems like fresh-kill just becomes more and more sparse as leaf-bare goes on, and my Clanmates grow thinner and weaker around me. Just a few sunrises ago three kits died of the hunger and cold, and shortly after their mother died of grief. They were buried near the gorge, and Whitepelt was nowhere to be found.
I slowly pad out of camp and weave my way through the trees. Everything is quiet and still. My breaths come out in small clouds of gas like the ones I see monsters spit out as they rage across the thunderpath.
I don't know where I'm going, but I don't stop myself from walking through the freshly fallen snow. However long I wandered through the territory, I don't know. I just kept walking. Walking. Walking.
I almost didn't recognize her when I saw her. Her fur was tangled and matted like she hadn't groomed herself properly in days, and her eyes were dull and lifeless. Whitepelt turned to face me, and I realized why she was here.
"Whitepelt, don't do it," I tell her. I am desperate. I can't loose her. The red deathberries stand out against the snow, and Whitepelt stares at them like they might be the last thing she will ever see. And they just might become that if I'm not able to convince her.
"It must be nice in StarClan," she whispers, pawing at the deathberries. "I wonder what it's like."
"Whitepelt, you can't do this," I repeat. "I don't know what I would do with myself if you... if you were gone."
Tears well up in the corners of my eyes, and Whitepelt raises her head to look at me. The blue in her eyes seems to have faded away, and I realize how she must feel. But I can't risk losing her.
"Grassclaw wouldn't have wanted you to go this way, would he?" I say. She grows ridged on her paws as though she were suddenly rooted to the spot. Her eyes become glassy, and a single tear rolls down her cheek onto the snow.
A pain stabs my heart, sharper than the rake of any claw, as she lowers her gaze to the deathberries again. I take one slow step toward her, then another, until I stand close enough to her that I can see the light reflecting on her eyes.
I slide one of my paws over the deathberries, covering them. "Would Grassclaw have wanted this?"
When she doesn't respond, I lick the top of her head and stare into her blue eyes. They remind me of the sky on a cloudless day, clear and calming.
"You have his eyes," she whispers. I blink, and she pulls away from the deathberries. I step backwards, and together we bury them in the snow.
Sometimes life can be a challenge, and you just have to rise to meet it. Nobody is perfect, and no matter where you go, you can't avoid problems. It's just life. So as Whitepelt and I walk back to camp, I know that sometimes, when life tells a tale of sorrow, you just have to move on.