Hello everyone! New chappie, mostly filler again, but I promise, more goodie goodie stuff soon!

frost: I'm glad you like it! Your clans sound absolutely amazing, it seems as though there's a Leopardspot in this story, too!

The receding tides of leaf-fall chill, the forest plunging into the grasp of early leafbare. Prey holed up in burrows, a jackdaw calling to its brethren, slicing through the bleak silence with a single, piercing note. Frost, glinting with the weak first rays of a hesitant dawn, brittle leaves crunching underpaw.

The age old battle of day and night waged, and with a dying cry, the moon loosened its clutch on the sky, spiralling below the trees like a warrior struck down in battle. With triumph, the sun rose over the horizon, pooling light that stained silver clouds with crimson hues.

Sighing, Silverpaw turned back, his tail trailing along the frosted ground as he padded back to the ravine. His early morning hunting expedition had concluded fruitlessly, as most hunting patrols the past night. Silently, he wondered how the clan was going to cope. From the worried tone of senior warriors and elders alike, it seemed as though this was only early in the season. Leafbare had not yet begun to take hold, but prey had already begun to grow reclusive. Not a single track, a single feather, a single scent in the bone-chilling drafts that rustled dead and dying leaves that hung to the skeletal trees.

Rocks skittered past as Silverpaw leapt back up, finding clawholds in the brittle rock before thrusting himself forward again. He paused at the top for a moment.

The camp was a weary serpent, a monotonous silence taking hold of the clearing as the cats carefully crept around the crumpled shapes of the two lost warriors. Aspenshadow, who was left guarding the camp the previous night, was crouched beside the tunnel, tail tip twitching as she bit into a frozen mouse, a catch from before the battle that had shaken the forest. A battle that scared what prey was left back into their burrows, Silverpaw mused bitterly.

Silverpaw sprang down, paws barely skimming the uneven gravel of the ravine. He meowed a greeting, padding over to sit with his friend. Aspenshadow didn't seem to notice. She was still staring at Birchheart's broken form, a thoughtfulness in her eyes as she opened her mouth to say something.

"Who... Who was she?"

Silverpaw shrugged, casting his eyes down. "I-that's what I've been wondering, too," He glanced quickly at the grey and white warrior, hoping she didn't notice his slight hesitation. Indeed, this very question had been nagging at the back of his mind, a constant churn that purred beside his ear. Who was Alderpaw? Who was Lionfrost? Silverpaw furrowed his brow in thought. Why doesn't anyone seem to care?

Aspenshadow sat up, frowning at the spot the she-cat lay, pelt illuminated by the half-light. She whisked her white patched tail over her snow-dipped paws, flicking her tongue to swipe at her lips. Eyes dark, they swept over Silverpaw, settling on his own. He felt his heart give a little flutter, and forced himself to hold her gaze.

"Not one cat shared tongues with her last night," Aspenshadow's ear twitched. Silverpaw's eyes narrowed in surprise. "Not one?" He echoed, lashing his tail.

In all of the vigils he had witnessed, every one had at least one cat that shared tongues with the dead. Even the charred bodies of Moontail's kits had each been given a tentative lick before they were buried among the debris.

Aspenshadow's brow furrowed, muzzle wrinkling as she scowled in disgust. "It's as if there's no one that cared about her in this clan." Silverpaw dipped his head at her words.

The elders were clambering out of their den. Mosspelt, Fogstep, and even fragile Vinetail. Silverpaw winced, realizing that he could pick out every one of their ribs. Leafbare had not even truly begun, and the weakest of the clan already looked worse off. His stomach grumbled in protest as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten.

Aspenshadow stood up quickly, picking up the half eaten mouse by the tail and trotted over to the three elders. She ducked her head and placed the prey by Vinetail's paws.

"Sorry-I know this isn't much but," The young warrior started, "it's the only fresh-kill in camp. You should eat before you have to work."

Vinetail cocked his head, shaking his paws. "Eh?" Quietly, Mosspelt stepped up, pushing it back to her.

"S'alright , young one. You need the energy to bring back more prey for the rest of us," A dry chuckle escaped her throat. "We don't 'eed too much energy to lie around all day."

Fogstep got up behind Ravenstrike's corpse, grunting as he tried to heave it up on his shoulders. Silverpaw noticed that his legs were shaking, tufts of fur hanging off like it was too big for his scrawny frame. The brown tabby tom managed to get the dead queen onto his back, but his legs folded in from him. He landed on the ground with a soft oof.

Silverpaw found himself by the elderly warrior in a moment, kneeling down to take some of the weight. Ravenstrike's head bumped gently against his hip, and he winced as the dried blood on her fur crumbled off, sprinkling his pelt. By the stars, he hadn't realized that there'd been so much. It clung to every tuft of dull black fur, tipping the queen's pelt with a strange, rust-like colour.

Aspenshadow had Birchheart slumped over her flank, Mosspelt trying to push the sandy grey warrior further onto her. Aspenshadow smiled softly and shook her head, stepping away from the elder to resist her attempts.

"We can help," Silverpaw meowed, confirming what they already were doing. Fogstep nodded, single eye clouded in defeat.

"Some elder I am," He grumbled, flicking his ear. "Too weak to even send a clanmate off to their final rest."

Mosspelt was nudging Vinetail forward, the dark grey tom mumbling meaningless words as he stumbled. The ancient tom had been a leader, Silverpaw heard. He had been the deputy of the great Whitestar, the leader of ThunderClan who had suggested gatherings, now a part of the sacred code.

He had retired when his health started failing, giving up all of his remaining lives except one, along with his leader name. Silverpaw sighed, Ravenstrike's stiff body sinking into his fur. It was hard to imagine as Vinetail as a former leader sometimes, with his frail, hunched over form, and the ever-present cloudiness in his eyes. Vinetail was becoming less stable by the day, forgetting more than he was remembering. It had become hard for him to recognize cats in the clan, let alone answer questions.

Shaking his head, Silverpaw turned back to Aspenshadow, who had groomed Birchheart's ears and paws. The warrior's grey fur was clean of debris and blood, and, with a start, Silverpaw realized that it looked more plush than it ever had in life. He caught Aspenshadow's gaze and nodded slightly. She had, in her own way, made up for the silence of the clan.

They started toward the stream, the weights of the dead balanced between their shoulders. In silence, they walked, and all Silverpaw could register was how cold Ravenstrike's body was, as if a rock or boulder, the cold of the wind seeping into it until it had become like ice. The sun was still nowhere as bright as the promise made by the flashes and first lights of dawn, shining in a cold, pathetic way through the clouds, casting a pale light over the trees.

Aspenshadow seemed to know where they were headed, seemed to have done this before. Silverpaw, with a twinge of surprise, noticed the slope of her shoulders, an almost defeated manner in which Aspenshadow held herself. She had never seemed any less than confident, at least, not that he had seen.

Silverpaw was just about to ask her if she was alright when she stopped in her tracks. Birchheart slid off her back and landed with a soft thump in the leaves. Aspenshadow turned around and stared hard into his eyes. Her dark blue orbs swirled restlessly with emotions that Silverpaw found he could not pick out, hate and hurt and resentment and despair darting among liquid pools of pain.

"No one cared when my mother died, either." Her voice was flat, as if all the tone and feeling had been drained from it. Ears pinned flat against her head, eyes burning with a silent challenge. Silverpaw found that he did not know what to say; telling her that he was sorry seemed like too emotionless, too abrupt and crisp thing to say, something she must have been told a thousand times.

"Oh."

Fox-dung.

He felt Ravenstrike's stiff corpse slump to the ground beside him

."I mean-I..I can't pretend that I understand how that feels," Silverpaw started, staring cautiously at Aspenshadow's snowy paws. "I would never be able to understand how it feels. I'm sorry, I'm doing a terrible job of consoling. But I-I just don't know-"

A white tipped tail was whisked over his mouth. Silverpaw looked up in surprise, and found himself staring into Aspenshadow's dark blue eyes.

"Oh Silverpaw. You're such a mousebrain sometimes," Was that a...a purr in her voice? "It's fine now, really, thank you." Aspenshadow sighed and glanced back to where Birchheart rested, in the clump of rotting leaves. "I hardly even think about it anymore." Straightening up, the familiar hardness returned to her eyes. "They need us now."

Silverpaw nodded, grasping Ravenstrike's matted scruff and dragging her toward Birchheart, wincing every time her body jolted against a stray rock. I'm sorry-oh StarClan, I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry. His flank bumped into Aspenshadow's, and he looked up, the apology already forming on his lips dissipating instantly as he realized they were looking out over the stream, the very spot where he and Featherpaw had stood, that last night. What seemed like a thousand moons ago.

Waves of fresh pain churned and rolled within his chest, breaking and splashing against him, again, again, again. Just as they had, just as they still did. His fault, his fault, his fault. Shoving the voice within him, Silverpaw tried to focus on helping Aspenshadow, scraping pawfuls of frozen earth and pushing it aside to form a loosely-packed mound. Claws unsheathed. Pull. Push. Repeat. Featherpaw, Featherpaw, do you still remember me?

Again and again. Until they had managed to make a two shallow graves, marrs in the ground, claw marks scratched before the running ribbon of greys and silvers that had made up his last good memories with her. "Ready?" Aspenshadow asked softly, flicking her ear. Silverpaw nodded silently, nudging Ravenstrike's body toward the pit. Rolling his paws, kneading against her limp fur until the body, with a final lurch, tumbled into the hole, a flurry of dust erupting from underneath her flanks. And then, numbly, monotonously, mind filled with swirling memories of her fur, her laugh, her eyes, Silverpaw began to push the dirt back into the hole, pawful by pawful. Until there was nothing left of Ravenstrike's lithe figure but a darkened smear in the earth.

"We should say something."

Silverpaw was surprised by the sound of his own voice. Aspenshadow murmured in agreement. Stepping back from the twin heaps of dirt, the grey and white she-cat looked out over the stream, and then up, at the bleak grey sky. For a moment, she stared, silent.

"May the winds be at your back and the ground be solid beneath your paws, may the prey run and sun shine, endlessly, for you, wherever you may be. We shall remember you, your endless duties and sacrifices for the forest, for the futures of our kin and of our clan." Voice, loud and clear, an almost defiant look in her eyes. Aspenshadow nodded slightly, telling him to finish for her. Silverpaw gulped, words clumping in his throat. Mouse-dung, I'll mess up for sure!

"We will defend this place, the forest, the camp you loved so, in your place, until you wake from your slumber. Rest easy, Ravenstrike, Birchheart. Your bravery will stay with us, in our hearts, for as long as we shall live." He furrowed his brow, surprised that he had managed to finally think of something right to say for once. Aspenshadow smiled encouragingly.

"That was beautiful, Silver." He was, for a moment, lost in the pools of her eyes, until she turned away and beckoned him to follow. Silverpaw trailed after her with quick, jerky pawsteps. The sun suddenly seemed brighter, warmer, perhaps.

That was beautiful, Silver.

He was aware of the rapid pounding of his heart, jumping within his chest.