5

There was a stillness in the air, that morning, as if the entire world was holding its breath. The wind that had blown overnight had gone, merely leaving the moor under a pelt of white in its wake. No cat stirred as the darkness began to drip away, the sun peaking over the horizon. The sky gradually shifted toward pale blue, reflecting the snow, which sparkled and caught the eye. It was as if time itself had ceased to exist for every living creature. Whereas the world kept on turning, life had been put on pause.

A cough disturbed it all, followed by another. Then another. Every head in the badger sets rose, almost in unison, and turned toward the origin of the sound. Pelts prickled and eyes turned round and wary. Tails twitched, and there was a rustling in the nests that seemed loud, on such a quiet dawn. Murmurs passed from one member of the Clan to another as they tried to pinpoint who had coughed, but it wasn't until there was another that they all knew.

Pelts scrambled past each other, cats stepping on tails and paws and even heads as they rushed to escape from the badger set. Panic had burst into the WindClan camp, and none of them were prepared for it. Blacktuft crouched over his sons and mate as if he was facing an invisible enemy, his pelt standing on end and his back arching. He dug his claws into the ground to remain as still as possible as warriors brushed against him, nearly forcing him to lose his footing. He was buffeted by tails and shoulders, but he was determined to keep the two youngest cats in the Clan from getting tripped on or hurt in the process.

All of it ended in a matter of seconds, and a cat lay, gloomily staring toward the clearing as he coughed again, tucking his muzzle. Shock seized Blacktuft from ears to tail-tip, though he knew he shouldn't have been surprised when he realized who it was. No cat would be, he figured, but it still eliminated any essence of warmth the black cat had felt within himself. Tallear gave Blacktuft a rapid nuzzle before ushering her kits from the set, the three of them bounding after the warriors who were now huddled in the center of camp, trying to keep warm against the cold.

"Lostear?" Blacktuft croaked, his voice shaky. The name echoed against the walls thinly, sounding quieter than it should've. The blood in Blacktuft's ears was rushing, and he could feel that his tail was quivering.

The dark gray cat turned his eyes upon Blacktuft, sadness in their depths. He rose to his paws slowly, coughing once or twice in the process, and he tucked his ears back. The two cats stared at one another in absolute silence. It was drawn out far longer than it should've been… Once again, it was as if life had quit, allowing the moment to burn into the deputy's mind.

Then, without saying a word, Lostear turned away. Blacktuft listened to every slow, gradual paw step the dark gray tom took, his breath rasping from the greencough he had so suddenly acquired. Blacktuft didn't feel the ground under his paws as he followed Lostear out from the set. In fact, he couldn't feel anything. He had turned numb, as if his emotions and his feelings had turned to ice from the freeze.

They walked up the crest together, son following in his father's paw steps. Blacktuft paused at the top, holding his breath. Lostear started walking away from the camp, limping from an old battle injury, when the sickness had begun. "Lostear…!" Blacktuft called again, his voice no better than before. Lostear paused, his tail lowering to the ground. He turned his head, his green eyes meeting Blacktuft's yellow ones. Blacktuft worked his jaw, spitting out, "You don't… You don't have to…" but he couldn't get it out. He knew he couldn't say it. He knew it wouldn't be rational.

"Yes, I do," Lostear murmured, voice so soft and gentle that Blacktuft could barely catch it. Then, he turned his head away, facing forward again, and continued on his way from the camp.

That was the moment Lostear walked out of his life.

Blacktuft's paws were still burning from running around all day, catching prey and bringing it back so it could be granted to ThunderClan. Horseplace, thankfully, was proving to be advantageous, and evened out their ventures. Blacktuft, however, didn't want to catch any of the lazy prey existing in that barn; he wanted a chase, and he would have one. He had spent the entire day chasing the few rabbits he could manage to find, crisscrossing the moor. He refused to spend a waking moment where he could think about the look in his father's green eyes.

The cats didn't need a body. They gathered for a vigil in the center of camp, where the cold white stars glimmered from an inky sky. Blacktuft entered the camp when the moon was already on the rise, stepping into the WindClan camp and padding toward Tallear. He heard Grousepaw call softly, "There's Blacktuft…!" getting up to look at the deputy. Tallear issued him a gentle rebuke, and the WindClan deputy joined his family. Grousepaw pressed against his side and Blacktuft stared at the empty ground.

He couldn't imagine it. His mind went blank when he tried to think of Lostear with glassy eyes and a mouth partially ajar from his spirit's departure. All he could think of was how Lostear looked in life. The tom's green eyes had seared through his soul when he turned his head to look back at him. Blacktuft vividly remembered the smell of his fur, which was coarse but as comforting as a mother cuddling a kit to her side.

Lostear's paws had been shaky toward the end of his life, but Blacktuft remembered when he had been strong. Lostear had been a warrior among warriors, though his name had been Rushfoot, before his ear was torn off. The tom had been someone a young Blacktuft had looked up to for all his warrior assessments, though it wasn't until after Blacktuft's mother died that the two became close. It changed nothing about the ache in Blacktuft's heart.

Blacktuft knew how it had happened. That night in the cold, with the snow falling all around them… it had been too much. Already, the group of cats was starving and weak, but the open wounds and the cold air had increased the chance of sickness exponentially. Trenchstar and Blacktuft were discussing their luck at not having a bout only recently…

The moment came that Blacktuft's eyes began to shimmer, and he shuddered under the weight of the sorrow that came crashing down. He bowed his head, his breath shaking. He unsheathed his claws and dug them into the dirt. He felt like he needed to cling to the earth, otherwise he would drop away and be swept into the snow…

Blacktuft felt a muzzle poking into his fur, and he looked over and reminded himself that Grousepaw was there, using him as a refuge. He blinked rapidly once or twice, attempting to clear his blurry vision, and slowly curled his tail around the gray and white tom. He leaned his head against Grousepaw's, finally raising his gaze to turn it around to the various cats partaking in the vigil.

Most of the Clan had held some small affection for Lostear; if they weren't sitting a direct vigil, they lingered along the edges of the camp, eyes glinting from the shadows. Trenchstar sat across from Blacktuft and his family, Torntail coming to join him and keep him warm. Redbird was scattering old fronds of rosemary upon the clear place where they would normally situate the body, if they only had one. The rosemary was shriveled from the cold, though the scent still wafted up to Blacktuft's nose, even if faintly.

Blacktuft forced himself to bite back the low, keening note that threatened to release itself from his throat. He watched, eyes swimming as he listened to Redbird whisper, "May you find good hunting and rest in StarClan, Lostear…"

A few cats glanced at each other when Redbird murmured this, and Blacktuft felt a flash of frustration when they did so. Lostear deserves a StarClan, he thought to himself, hating the thought of Lostear being gone forever. Perhaps he couldn't commune with the dark gray tom, but he felt some comfort in the idea that… maybe… just maybe… he would see him again, someday. Without that hope, Blacktuft had nothing…

He turned his gaze from them, focusing on young Grousepaw. He began to rasp his tongue between the cat's ears slowly. As much as he missed Lostear, it disturbed him to think of the fear that must be running through Blackpaw's and Grousepaw's minds. A death in WindClan hadn't occurred for a few moons. ThunderClan and ShadowClan were still miserably suffering, but WindClan had been slowly recovering. This brought back all the old pains with it. For Blackpaw and Grousepaw, they may not have been there when the thick of it occurred, and many of the sick cats never saw the two kits, but their worries for their father must have existed in their minds.

The Clans were not tolerant toward sick cats. It had become a principle to exile a cat and presume him or her dead as soon as they showed signs of illness. This principle had been proposed by Cloudstar, and had been agreed to by the other three leaders. It had been a unanimous decision, at the time. Now, ThunderClan and ShadowClan couldn't afford that, and the principle only existed for the sake of WindClan and RiverClan remaining as healthy as they were.

Blacktuft longed for a time when this wasn't true. He longed for when a sick cat could be kept in the medicine cats' den, to have a chance to heal. Normally, sick cats would be given some herbs, in case they happened to survive and could manage to return. Lostear, though, hadn't even asked for that much.

Lostear's green eyes flashed back into Blacktuft's mind. He stroked Grousepaw's spine with his tail with a little more purpose. There had been so much finality in that gaze. Blacktuft would've stopped him… but something invisible had seemed to hold him in place. The dark gray cat had kept his nobility to the end.

Blacktuft knew his murder of the gray she-cat was unjustified, even for the fact that he had been trying to protect his kit, but the sting of it wasn't as sharp anymore. He hadn't lost Blackpaw that day, and he wasn't going to lose anyone else if he could help it.

He raised his muzzle to look at the stars again, though they were blurry in his watery vision. Maybe you'll meet all your old friends from StarClan, Lostear. Maybe there's no sickness up there; no death or pain. I hope so, Blacktuft thought to himself miserably. You deserved so much more.