Strongclaw can't speak. Words were his favourite past-time, his mask, the source of many complaints. It's only taken the death of the cat he loved to shove the words back down his throat. So when he takes her kits to the meadow, he's silent. They don't really understand what's happened, and nor do they know the bloodstains the meadow hides, so Oakkit entices Emberkit into a rough-and-tumble game (which she loses) and he stares at a patch of flowers. They look bright and happy: so unlike her. Strongclaw reminds himself now that Sablefrost is feeding the flowers. A part of her, however small, is obnoxious colours, soft petals, sweet smell. He crushes one under his foot as he stands, because he's not in the mood for flowers.