A magnificent golden tabby padded silently into the clearing, tail high. The cold leaf-bare wind brushed against her fur like matches, which she tried to ignore. As leader of the ThunderClan, she had to be confident. But how could she, when already four cats died of green cough only yesterday.
The snow stormed down and her pelt felt like ice. Wind howled and her paws sunk into the white blanket below her. "Curse leaf-bare." she hissed.
In the medicine cat's den, Messyfoot, the medicine cat, urgently tended to a dying apprentice. Her name was Tinypaw. The little she-cat coughed and sneezed as her eyes began to dim… slowly. Messyfoot began to panic. "Here," she rasped. "Eat these."
Tinypaw's eyes flickered wordlessly to the catnip bundle placed in front of her. Her eyes became vacant pools, and Messyfoot thought she saw death written all over them.
One last squeak came from the apprentice, before she stopped breathing. Her eyes closed. Messyfoot desperately tried to wake her. No response. Tinypaw was dead.
Windpaw, Messyfoot's apprentice, came padding up beside her. "Were you able to save her?" he meowed anxiously.
The stare his mentor gave him made his blood run cold. They were lifeless and exhausted. She looked at the floor.
Windpaw got all the answers he needed. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." That was when Goldstar called from behind. Her voice seemed stuffed up and sick, but she was much better than the rest of the Clan.
"How's Tinypaw?" she meowed.
Messyfoot almost collapsed from failure. She shook her head. Goldstar's eyes weren't full of sadness, however, only anger seemed to boil inside.
"Oh, how I hate leaf-bare!" she snarled. Her cold paws scraped the earth as the sound of sneezing and wheezing cats were behind her. "Five cats gone…" Her head thrashed wildly from side to side. Her tail whipped, and her eyes gleamed challengingly to the sky, as if she was questioning StarClan themselves.
Windpaw was terrified of his leader's sudden rage. "Are- are you alright, Goldstar?" he whispered.
The leader glared into his eyes. "Do you think I'm alright?" Her voice was harsh and her breath smelled of sickness. That was when she stalked out of the den and into her own.
"Do you think she will be ok?" Windpaw squeaked.
Messyfoot sighed heavily, looking well over her age, like a frail piece of meat. "At this rate…" she began, eyes focused on Tinypaw's still body, "…I'm not sure ThunderClan will survive." Her eyes sadly turned to her apprentice. "I'll check on the others." That was when she stood up and left as well, leaving Windpaw alone with Tinypaw.
"ThunderClan will survive," he meowed confidently, "I'll be sure of it."