Chapter Thirteen- Whiskers in Snow

Gingerpaw sat at the edge of the clearing and watched the camp fill with snow. The white powder was falling in large clumps, the camp slowly filling with its cold touch. She hissed in frustration as the white clumps fell endlessly. The Clan was becoming thinner. Because the snow piled higher in the dip of their marshland, they had less food than the other Clans. Prey was becoming so scarce that even the fat queens were beginning to look thin.

She flicked her ears toward the nursery. Frecklekit and Petalkit-two moons now-were playing inside the warm barbs. Leapwing purred as they tussled over her, laughing and scattering the needles Shellpaw and Gingerpaw had so carefully collected. Palemist-who had announced recently that she was due to have Gorsefur's kits-purred as they played. She could almost see the gently queen's eyes as she looked at the tiny bundles, imagining the little ones that would soon be her own.

Gingerpaw hissed as snow whipped her face. She looked in the center of the clearing where Snakepaw, Slypaw, and Violetpaw were playing. Shellpaw and Rushpaw were crouched at the edge of the group, ready to jump and join in. Gingerpaw growled and leaned back, trying to find warmth in the ferns that hung over the medicine den. A couple days ago, Weaselpaw had started coughing and sneezing. Swanfeather said it was just a chill, because he wasn't as used to the cold, but Gingerpaw had a feeling that Swanfeather was hiding something. Why else would she insist that Weaselpaw stay out of training and remain in the medicine den, with her?

She looked around the camp, fretfully. What if greencough came? How would the Clan survive? They needed all the warriors they could get. Since Marshwhisker had died, many things had happened to ensue that the Clan would not survive without every breathing warrior. Gingerpaw remembered the Gathering following the battle. Scarletstar had said nothing, but Briarstar had openly challenged her. She had traveled to RiverClan, taking Lichentooth, Beeflight, and Spottedpaw with her when she went. Nettlestar had agreed to help ShadowClan get revenge. They had been planning, bringing in the RiverClan leader and medicine cat, or sending Skydapple and Swanfeather, to make negotiations. But even that was being put on hold because of the snow.

Gingerpaw watched her brother now. He was sitting next to Sagepaw, talking to her in a light voice with a strange brightness in her eyes. She narrowed her eyes and growled. While she still felt the raw pain that had been left in her since her father's death, it seemed like Spottedpaw had never felt any pain at all. Gingerpaw had spent almost all her time training extensively, wanting only to be a warrior her father could be proud of. Spottedpaw had spent more time with Sagepaw, and seemed to Gingerpaw to be neglecting his training.

Nothing was worse than her mother's reaction, though. Whitebirch seemed to have given up on life as it is. She wouldn't eat, even when Brindlefern would coax her to. She tried not to sleep at first, but eventually fell into a fitful exhaustion she couldn't fight. Then she spent most of her time lying stiffly. When she went on patrol, she was openly hostile toward her own Clanmates, and when she was hunting she brought back only the weakest of prey. Skydapple seemed to have given up on getting her back into Clan-life. She spent more and more time with the elders'-cats who could take care of her-these days.

More snow landed on her nose and she sneezed. "Oops!" said Slypaw's voice shyly from the playing group. "Sorry Gingerpaw!" She opened her mouth to complain to them but all that came out was a rough hoarse coughing. Gingerpaw sputtered as she fought for air, then relaxed as she found her breath again. The other apprentices were watching her with their ears drawn back, faces looking worried.

Gingerpaw drew her ears back, her face twisting with indignation. "I'm just thirsty!" she snapped.

"Then go and get some water," Brightblaze ordered from behind her. "And when you come back, go straight to Swanfeather. We can't afford you getting sick."

Gingerpaw looked at her paws in dismay. She hadn't wanted the Clan to find out that she hadn't been feeling well lately. She was afraid of Brightblaze's gentle order because if Swanfeather told her she was sick, she would miss out on her training. She had fought hard to keep it hidden, but she couldn't fight forever.

"And take a warrior with you," Brightblaze added thoughtfully. "The snow's deep out there." She turned away without waiting for Gingerpaw's response and headed for the elders' den. Going to check up on Whitebirch, are you? Gingerpaw wondered. She didn't wait for other cats to question her, just looked around the camp for a suitable warrior to ask to go with her.

Hailfur was sitting outside the warriors den, talking with Talonclaw. Gingerpaw would not ask the dark tabby, but she couldn't ask Hailfur either. The tom had been busy lately, because he had taken over Shellpaw's training since Marshwhisker had died. Cedartail was sitting with Gorsefur. Both were senior warriors, and Gingerpaw could not ask them. Swishtail was sharing tongues with Brindlefern. It seemed that since Whitebirch had become more and more incapacitated, Swishtail had stepped up and filled her place in the Clan. She'll never fill her place in my heart!

Molefoot was sitting outside the warriors den, stretching and flexing his claws. Of course! Gingerpaw thought. Molefoot should have been the first cat she thought of. He was extra lonely lately because his sister was in the nursery, and his apprentice in the medicine den. He of all cats would want to take her out for a drink. Her paw fur prickled with a mix of nervous-excitement and an emotion she didn't understand. Her pelt grew hot as she thought of taking him out of camp, alone. They didn't get much alone time, considering how things were working out. The Clans' needs came before their own personal needs.

Gingerpaw trotted over the brown tom and flicked her tail shyly. "Cold, isn't it?" He turned at her voice. She saw his eyes brighten, and she sighed inwardly. There was no denying something in those eyes. She only prayed that it lasted even when she told him she could only be a warrior.

"Hey you," her purred, leaning close to her. "How are you on this...fine day?" He indicated the snow flurries. Gingerpaw snorted and answered.

"A trip into the snowdrifts. How would you feel going on a walk to the stream and back?"

His ears pricked at her request. She felt her fur bristling again as she waited his answer, her pelt feeling like it was crawling with ants.

"Of course," he replied at last. "I would love to." She doubted that he actually wanted to go out into the storm. He's just saying that so he can get some alone time with me, she thought sullenly. How would she tell him that she didn't want to be mates? How could she? A rock of depression lodged into her stomach. She did want to be mates, she knew. But she couldn't. She wanted to be the best warrior this forest has seen, and to do that, she couldn't afford to take a mate. Brightblaze had said so herself: "Not taking a mate is part of what made me such a great warrior."

The brown warrior fell in step with the tortoiseshell apprentice as they headed toward the entrance. Spottedpaw stood and pricked his ears as they headed out.

"Just getting some water, Spottedpaw," she commented airily as they passed. Her brother's eyes gleamed in amusement.

"Right. I was going to remind you that the Clan doesn't take kits from apprentices." She reacted immediately. One moment, she was shuffling toward the camp entrance with Molefoot listening to her brother's deranged comment, the next she was lunging, teeth bared in a fierce snarl of humiliation and indignation. Her brother jumped back, laughing in cool mirth. He needn't have fallen back. Gingerpaw floundered, slipping on the sleek snow and collapsing forward on her forepaws.

"Watch out," Snakepaw sneered. "It's slippery." Gingerpaw was wheezing, and could not respond, but that did not stop her from fixing the other apprentices with a glare of promise. I will get you back!

Molefoot brushed her side lightly. "We don't have to go if you don't want to," he murmured casually, avoiding her eyes.

"No," she responded heavily. "I need to get out of here before I give them a good clawing they won't soon forget!" His eyes shown with admiration, which only made her more irate. She shoved past him and headed purposefully toward the camp entrance.

"You're going out?" asked Skydapple as the duo passed them. Gingerpaw didn't answer, so Molefoot stepped up to answer for her.

"Yeah, we're going to the stream-bed to get some water."

Skydapple narrowed his eyes. "While you're there, check for prey. The fresh-kill pile is running low."

Gingerpaw had reached the entrance by now, and turned and looked over her shoulder warily. "Of course," answered Molefoot. "We'll find as much as we can."

"Hurry up!" she snapped impatiently. Skydapple and Molefoot exchanged meaningful glances. She began to feel uncomfortable just standing there.

"I'm coming, lay your fur down!" He wasn't hostile.

When they had finally reached the entrance and slipped out, things seemed to get more awkward. They padded for a moment in silence. Gingerpaw found it hard to keep up with the stronger warrior's pace. The snow was up to her belly, and pushing on felt more tiring than she would have anticipated. She narrowed her eyes in concentration as they pushed on, wanting only to get there and back so she could sleep for a moon.

Molefoot interrupted her thoughts. "You've grown in the past moons." Gingerpaw detected a hint of awe in his voice when he spoke. It only further infuriated her. "I mean...training is going well then?"

Gingerpaw flicked her ears. The question was throwing her off. "Yes." She flicked her ears uncomfortably.

"You like you're training?" Gingerpaw snorted. What a ridiculous question! "What?"

Gingerpaw's responded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The only way I can be the best warrior in the Clan is if I train the hardest."

Molefoot blinked warmly. "You are a strong cat, Gingerpaw, no one can deny that." He paused when Gingerpaw didn't acknowledge his praise. "What about other things? Is being a good warrior all you want?"

Gingerpaw felt like an ice shard had pierced her heart. She could hear the strained curiosity in his voice. She could guess why he what he was really asking her. Although she knew she could never be with him, Gingerpaw felt she owed him an explanation. He was, after all, walking in her snow up to their whiskers to get water. He would be upset at first, but he would get over it. She knew he would understand.

But the words to explain it? It was so hard for Gingerpaw to even admit it to herself. "I want to be a warrior the Clan can be proud of," she started, choosing her words carefully. "If we ever go into battle again, I want to be able to fight strongly for my Clan."

Molefoot narrowed his eyes. Gingerpaw wondered what he was thinking.

"You fought well at the battle, Gingerpaw. Not every apprentice could take on the ThunderClan deputy in battle."

Gingerpaw shook her head. He wasn't understanding! "I didn't do as well as you think in that battle, Molefoot."

Molefoot was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "It's about your dad, isn't it?" he asked finally. Gingerpaw bowed her head, wincing internally at the mention of her late father. It was her lack of response that alerted Molefoot that he was correct. "Gingerpaw, how would what happened on the Thunderpath ever be your fault?"

"You don't understand!" Gingerpaw answered him, despair tinging her voice. When she spoke, it was choked off from the strain in her throat. "Marshwhisker shouldn't have been anywhere near the Thunderpath!"

Molefoot looked at her incredulously. "Gingerpaw, we were fighting on the Thunderpath!"

"No we weren't! We were fighting beside the Thunderpath."

"Exactly!" He looked at her, his eyes showing sympathy and a hard edge of bitter knowledge. "It was bound to happen."

"No it wasn't!" Gingerpaw wailed desperately. "The only reason Marshwhisker was on that Thunderpath was because of Banesong, and he was only fighting Banesong because I couldn't fight Banesong. He died because he was defending me!"

Molefoot stopped and looked at Gingerpaw, his eyes full of sorrow and sympathy. He shook his broad head. "Gingerpaw, I don't think that's right." Gingerpaw flattened her ears and opened her mouth, but he didn't give her a chance to interrupt. "I don't think your father died because of you, Gingerpaw. I think that what happened was an accident, and just that."

Gingerpaw's voice cracked with grief. "But if I had been a better fighter, he wouldn't have been on the Thunderpath at all."

"No, Gingerpaw. I think that what happened there was bound to happen to any cat. It just happened to be Marshwhisker who was on the Thunderpath at the time." Gingerpaw swallowed hard. No! she screamed inwardly. It's my fault. I could have stopped it! I should have stopped it!

"I'm never going to let it happen again," she croaked, shaking.

"How are you supposed to do that?" Molefoot challenged her. "Gingerpaw, sometimes, cats just die. It's their time. We were fighting next to the Thunderpath. It was going to spill over no matter how hard you fought." He leaned his head against hers. "You're just one cat."

And suddenly, she knew he was right. She couldn't have done anything to save her father. The only thing I can do to keep from losing the ones I love is to not love at all. But looking at Gingerpaw, she knew that she couldn't do that. A life without anyone to love wasn't worth living. And she loved him! How miraculous. Her life could be so easy. She didn't have to train, and only concentrate her energy on being a warrior. She leaned against his warm fur and murmured softly, "I love you."

He was in the middle of a purred response when he cut off. "Gingerpaw? You're warm."

Gingerpaw looked at him, blinking snow out of her eyes. "What?" She drew back. "What kind of response is that?"

"No no!" Molefoot exclaimed, looking worried. "You're warm Gingerpaw." He sniffed her, his eyes widening. "And you smell...funny." Gingerpaw scrunched her nose, stifling a cough. What was he talking about? She was fine! She was...spinning?

The world was spinning. She shook her head to clear it. Relief was threatening to overtake her. She could feel a drowsiness coming on from it. She exhaled and looked into Molefoot's panicky eyes.

"Gingerpaw!"

She bowed her head, becoming weaker and weaker. "It's okay," she thought she heard a familiar voice calling. Marshwhisker? "Just go to sleep now, my sweet." The voice trailed off, and she thought she could distantly hear Molefoot calling her name as she gave way to dizzying blackness.

Mind the mistakes, I wrote it rather quickly.

-Cara Lea