The prophecy came true again.
Hawkfrost's blood is sticky in his mouth, and then it fades like the rest of him. Blood has spilled blood. Brambleclaw breathes shallowly. It would be more accurate to say blood has spilled blood has spilled blood. Hollyleaf's body doesn't fade.
The battle ends without much victory. He buries his muzzle in his daughter's fur, and listens to his own breath, unaccompanied by her heartbeat.
There are too many dead; the lake runs red. The earth runs red. The moon rises, soaked in blood, casting its scarlet glare over all of them as they grieve. Brambleclaw, soon to be Bramblestar, mourns his brilliant daughter in silence. He has been so, so shortsighted. He spent moons in anger, raging at Squirrelflight and feeling his heart shred every time he looked at his kits... Because they are his kits, they are, and that is the bitterest thing of all; that he has not spent every heartbeat with them, and now Hollyleaf is gone.
He grieves for her, for the time they've lost, and for his own foolishness. He repents. There is peace, now, as the prophecy said. Hollyleaf is dead. Many, many Clanmates are dead. And now there is peace. He holds vigil for her and every other fallen warrior, shoulder to shoulder with his Clanmates. Lionblaze is the first to settle next to him, to press his own muzzle into Hollyleaf's dark body and take a long, shuddering breath.
Then Jayfeather sits too, his skinny body feeling very frail against Brambleclaw's own. Brambleclaw wraps his tail around his son and closes his eyes tightly. Squirrelflight's scent washes over them as she joins them. He can offer her nothing. He knows she is thinking of the moons they've lost in anger. But vigils are not a night for explanations or apologies, only to remember and honour the fallen. And as Squirrelflight fits herself against them, father, mother, sons, and daughter, Brambleclaw knows she remembers. He lowers his head and bids farewell to his daughter.