CHAPTER 63-The Winding Road

We skirted the scruffy patches of remaining brush, Dewstep and Ember leading the way. The stench of foxes and crowfood and the lingering traces of coppery blood hung heavily in the air, nauseating and overwhelming. I couldn't help but curl my lip.

We masked our scent by wallowing in a shallow puddle we came across, and covered our fur with mud to disguise ourselves. I disliked the way it squelched under my paws and clung onto my pelt like a dead weight, but we had no choice. I could only imagine what I looked like with it smeared all over my face. But it masked our scent and identity pretty well.

We headed north, away from the Lake, veering away from well-trodden paths and instead choosing the winding roads heavy with foliage. I didn't encounter any foxes yet, but the smell got stronger and stronger still. Fire burned through my veins and adrenaline resounded in my blood as we crept closer to their domain, closer and closer to my enemies. Our paws crunched almost silently on the bracken. I could sense the tension straining and strangling the heavy air, the electricity nipping the tips of our whiskers. I could sense it, and I could sense the heartbeats of my friends and how fast they were fluttering, like trapped birds pounding their wings against the bars of their cages.

Dewstep gulped, his ears so flat against his head that it looked like he had no ears at all. "We're nearby," he whispered.

Sure enough, when we peered out of the bracken, the quick shapes of foxes trotted past, their shadows washing over us. We shrank back into the cover of the brush.

The ground trembled.

The ferns parted and the burrow came into view, a large, yawning black blemish on the earth surrounded by dust and bones. Ominous murmurs and whispers sounded like the brushing of wind against leaves.

My claws gripped the mud and I tensed up, my breath quickening, when a mournful howl of anguish rippled from deep underground and chilled the heavy air. It was like the grief-stricken scream of a banshee at night, like the low calling of a lonely wolf, a sound from the heart, a noise that was so sorrowful and wrenching that it chilled me to the very core and left my veins running like ice. After a few minutes, it reduced into a low, guttural groan at the back of the throat, a few low, raspy mutterings, and then silence.

I noticed that my spine was arched up into a half circle and my heart was skipping a mile a minute, like the frantic beating of a tiny drum.

Dewstep's fur was fluffed out until he was twice his size, his owl eyes as wide and round as dishes. Ember had shrunk back behind me, her brown eyes narrowed and her nose trembling.

I regained my footing and swallowed, running my tongue along my dry lips, and it was a while before I could speak again.

"There are cats trapped down there?" I asked. I straightened up, breathing low through my nose. "Then it's my job to rescue them."

I flicked my tail. "Dewstep, you can come with me. But Ember, you're going to have to stay here."

She sniffed indignantly, her eyes gleaming. "I'm coming too," she growled.

"But you'll be recognized straight away if they see you. You'll get killed. It's best if you hide here."

She glared and opened her mouth again, but I pressed my forehead against hers. "I don't want to lose you," I whispered. "Not after Snowstorm."

I murmured something else into her ear, too low for anyone else to hear.

She hesitated, debating with herself, and then finally pulled away after giving me a quick lick. "You'd better be safe," she growled, the tip of her bushy tail twitching.

She lifted her chin, her gaze stern and unflinching. "You know that once you go Down There, you might not get back out? And once they find out who you are, they'll kill you for sure."

I nodded solemnly and planted a lick of my own on her black beetle nose, before turning to Dewstep and beckoning him to follow.

Looking back one last time, I saw her staring after me mournfully among the undergrowth, her paws digging fiercely into the earth as if she wanted to chase after me but forced herself to stay put.

I tore my gaze away. She'll be safe, as long as she stayed hidden in the undergrowth.

Dewstep's flanks were quivering, although he wouldn't let me see his face.

"Do you want to stay behind?" I asked. "I can do this on my own."

He shook his head furiously. "No," he muttered. "I'm not leaving you. We're doing this together."

I smiled gratefully at him and we paused, teetering at the edge of the bushes. Two foxes lingered near the entrance of the burrow, fighting over a scrap of meat. Their eyes were narrowed into black daggers and they snarled and growled, none of them backing down from the other.

"Just to make things clear, we don't attack right away," I whispered. "There is a whole population of foxes living here, and it's impossible for just the two of us to take them down. We'll let them take us to the tunnels and then I'll try to figure out what's going on Down There and how to get the rest of the cats out." I hesitated. "And hopefully I'll find Fang," I added quietly. Fang would be tough to beat, that was certain. He fought with tooth and claw, with rage and fury and power, and I knew it would take all I had to defeat him. I already had a plan half-formed in the back of my mind. It was a risky one, and I might die in it, but as long as the Clans would survive, it was alright. It would always be alright.

I raised a paw, preparing to step out from our hiding place. "You ready?" I whispered.

Dewstep straightened his back and his gaze hardened into stone. "Yeah."

Together, we padded out of the shadows, our heads bowed low and our tails trailing into the dust.

The two foxes stopped bickering and stiffened into statues, their electric eyes never leaving ours.

Slowly, their mouths formed into toothy, twisted grins. The smaller, grey one stalked on over and studied us, circling us slowly. It was too close for comfort, but we stood our ground firmly. I held my breath.

Dewstep was trembling again, his tail tip twitching back and forth, his ears flattened. I draped my tail across his back. It's alright, I thought. I'm here. I'll protect you.

As if he could hear me, he slowly relaxed.

The grey fox barked something to her companion. They yapped and snarled, mangled barks scratching their throats, and then they finally switched to the cat language.

The voices were stuffy and mangled, as if they were talking with their mouths closed, but I could still somehow understand it.

"Runaways?" one of them hissed, golden eyes narrowed into slits, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He seemed to be enjoying himself. "How did you manage to escape out of the Underground? Naughty, naughty kittens. We will have to punish you."

I slowly let out the breath that I had been holding. Good, they didn't recognize me. I was grateful for the mud and water cloaking my fur and the strong-smelling leaves that had snagged onto my pelt.

The grey fox wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Don't these cats know how to groom themselves? Come on, Drift, we're going to have to bring them back in." She shoved Dewstep roughly. I could tell how hard he was trying to bite his tongue and not hiss. Who knew what would happen if we angered them.

"No, Poppy, wait," Drift said, his voice low. He peered at me and I stared back into those dark eyes, willing my brain to stop panicking. Did he know me?!

Run, Shadefrost. Run before you get killed! No, shut up. But he's going to kill you! Fang is going to find you!

I inhaled a deep breath and my mind cleared like a foggy window, just a little bit.

Drift sniffed me. I flexed my paws, ready to run if I needed to.

"These cats aren't runaways," he observed. "They've never even been Down There. Look at their pelts. Not a scratch on them. And the way they flex their claws and stand their ground, and they even dare to look us in the eye! They haven't been broken properly."

Poppy's eyes brightened. "So they're outlaws! Oh goody! That means two more cats for us to look after." She said those words so cheerfully, reminding me of the nurse who gave little children their shots. This won't hurt a bit, I promise! You'll be fine in no time! in that phony sunshiny tone, as if getting a shot was the most fantastic thing in the world. And the dreary thing is that it almost always hurt. A sinking feeling settled into the bottom of my heart, the same feeling that overwhelmed me whenever I waited in the beige leather chair for a dentist's appointment. It was raw and sharp and sickening, like the cold glint of frost on metal.

Drift shoved me forward harshly, making me yelp in surprise and almost stumbling onto the ground.

"Get going," he growled, impatient.

I turned my head slightly and whispered in Dewstep's ear, "Remember, we're supposed to act like helpless little kits. Make them feel as if they're in control. We have to make them underestimate us."

He snorted, obviously not liking the idea of bowing down and kissing the feet of our captors, but flicked his ear, signaling that he had understood. With another jostle from the foxes, we headed toward the pit of despair.

The burrow gaped up at us from the ground, a toothless mouth revealing shadows and emptiness in its throat. Or maybe it reminded me of a black eye staring at us, watching our every move. Which was ridiculous of course, but somehow I couldn't shake off the feeling that it was a breathing, conscious thing, although undeniably more dead than alive.

Flurries of hoarse barking and chattering could be heard down below.

"What's the matter, kittens? You scared?" Poppy jeered.

And that was when Dewstep exploded. He unsheathed his claws and yelled, "I'll show you who's the coward here!" and lashed out at the fox, teeth bared and snarling.

"Dewstep!" I gasped. The two were rolling in the powdery dust, scuffling up clouds and locked in tight combat. I saw flashes of razor-sharp fangs and claws raking down their spines.

I hissed, "Dewstep, sto—" before a large paw smacked me right in the cheek and left me careening to the side, my brain bouncing against my skull.

Drift glowered at me, front teeth bared. He lowered his paw and barked sharply, "You two idiots, I'm going to have to report you to The Judgment if you don't stop it right now!"

The last words were practically a roar.

With a high-pitched yelp, Poppy broke free from the tussle and sat stock still at attention.

Dewstep spat out a mouthful of blood and glared at her. I quickly leaped over to his side and helped him up, shooting him a disapproving glare. The last thing we needed was to get them angry.

The two foxes were arguing at each other in low barks and grumbles. After a while, they turned away and forced us into the yawning maw of the burrow.

Our descent down into darkness began.

OoOoOOOOoOOOoooooooooooooooooOoOoOoOOOOOoo

The tunnels weren't as dark as before. The badgers had dug more entrances and exits, so the dull light filtered in through the openings. Tendrils and roots clawed desperately at the dirt walls, trying to dig their way out. It stank horribly of blood. I could practically taste it.

The walls resonated with hoarse wheezing and wails, quickly cut off by a flurry of growls.

They led us through a series of passages, some dark, some light, and some worse than others. They seemed to have no trouble navigating and had probably remembered the whole layout of it.

After a short while, we came across the opening to a room. Since two foxes were guarding the entrance, it must have been an important place. Fang's chambers?

My whole body went cold. Fang would recognize me for sure. I wasn't ready to face him yet!

I stopped walking and went stiff, my fur bristling like porcupine quills.

"Aw, don't be such a spoilsport," Poppy pouted. "Maybe The Judgment will show mercy to you."

She shoved me forward but I dug my claws in deep to the floor, unwilling to go inside. I shook my head furiously, the fear evident in my eyes. Dewstep nudged me comfortingly.

I clenched my eyes shut and gulped. "N-no," I mewed. "I—"

Drift growled warningly. "Don't speak unless spoken too," he said. "Unless you want your tongue ripped out."

"Don't worry, that's happened before!" Poppy sang.

They were only trying to intimidate me. I had to be strong. Everyone was counting on me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I let them lead me inside the room. My legs were shaking.

We entered into a large chamber about the size of an average classroom or living room. The ceiling was perfectly rounded and smooth, and an opening in the center let down a stream of light that dripped down onto the object in the middle of the ground.

It was huge and jagged and had cracks crisscrossing its surface. It was black and dark but shone like glass, and that small meager stream of light was able to be reflected across the entire room. It was a block of gleaming ragged tar, or a wedge of black water that somehow looked liquid but not quite.

Poppy forced us to stand inside near the entrance.

Five foxes were seated around it, and I recognized Scarlet as one of them. Fang was nowhere to be seen.

As Drift and Poppy approached them, she stiffened and whipped her head around to glare at us. I backed away a few steps and turned to face the wall, hiding my face in case she recognized me.

She squinted at us standing near the entrance and sniffed her nose, but then turned away and growled, "What do you want? Can't you see we're having a meeting right now?"

Poppy and Drift dipped their heads in respect and said, "Forgive us for our intrusion, but we found these two cats wandering the land outside of the tunnels. By the looks of it, it seems that they've never been in the tunnels before."

"Then just do what you want with them, see if I care. Throw them in with the rest," came the swift reply.

Scarlet waved them away impatiently, obviously annoyed, without casting another glance my way.

Poppy's and Drift's eyes glittered dangerously.

"This way!"Poppy said giddily, leading us down through a different tunnel.

This time, the air seemed heavier and still. The coppery stench grew thicker and thicker until it blanketed and choked the atmosphere like smoke. I gagged.

Everything about this place was too much: Dewstep's ribs trembling like piano keys, as if he would fall apart at any moment; Poppy's toothy grins and cheerful bounds as if she was leading us toward the center of a carnival; the wailing and hisses that echoed off the walls and penetrated my ear drums.

"Rule number one!" she said. "No talking unless you're spoken to. Rule Number Two: You must show submission at all times to the superior race."

"Superior race?" I echoed, remembering too late that I was supposed to keep my mouth shut. I clamped my jaws over my tongue, but the slap still came. The stinging numbed my cheek as Dewstep quickly darted toward me, his amber eyes round and worried.

Drift flicked his bushy tail and tipped his nose up into the air. "Yes, the superior race," he growled, smugly. "The foxes are the highest in the scale, along with the Darklings. The badgers are second highest, rats are third, and the dogs are second. The dumb dogs are so stupid, they chase after their own tails. I would have set them lower, but Fang makes the rules, not me. And the cats, of course, are the lowest of the low."

My fur bristled involuntarily.

Drift snarled, "Are you defying us?" and I earned another cuff to the face, leaving me with a bruise and a cut lip.

The wailings from farther down the tunnel ceased briefly, and then started up again. It led us deeper down under the ground, deeper and deeper still.

The tunnel widened and numerous rooms branched out from both sides. I stifled a gasp of surprise when I saw cats curled up in them, writhing and moaning and crying. Their matchstick ribs were visible through their dirty, thread-bare pelts. Their wailing sounded like a gloomy song on a cold, cloudy day.

They were all either from RiverClan, WindClan, ShadowClan, or ThunderClan, the survivors of the terrible battle.

What horrified me the most was their eyes. They were dim and clouded over and unseeing, and they stared off into space.

And although these cats still breathed and their hearts still beat, those unseeing eyes were most certainly dead.

They flicked their ears and tails when the foxes tossed Dewstep and me into one of the prisons, averting their gazes.

Poppy chuckled, a coarse, cruel noise in the back of her throat. She sent a kick to Heathertail, making her mew silently and shuffle toward the back of our small cell.

"Feline scum," she spat, and then walked away, leaving me alone with these pitiful creatures.

Heathertail, Reedwhisker, and another she-cat that I didn't recognize. She smelled faintly of ShadowClan and her thin stomach was grotesquely bloated. I tried not to stare.

They shuffled their paws awkwardly but made no attempt to talk or even look at us. What had these foxes done to them? They had once been proud, loyal warriors, and now they had been reduced to little more than hollow shells.

"Hello," I whispered.

Reedwhisker flinched and backed away, settling down on his haunches. He shook his head slightly and then winced, every movement hurting him.

"Don't talk," Heathertail muttered. "The rule says no talking."

We sat there in stifled silence for a little while longer, before a long, drawn-out yowl resonated from another room.

"What about the other cats?" Dewstep demanded. "Look at all the racket they're making."

The bloated she-cat shook her head weakly. "They're not talking. Not talking at all. Listen, they're not even saying any words. They are only singing their songs of misery."

I peered out of our cramped room carefully, sniffing the air.

"Why do they leave us unguarded?" I asked.

Heathertail hissed, "We don't dare leave this place. There are foxes and badgers and rats at every turn. They'll kill us if we even misplace a pawstep." She broke off, her once bright blue eyes now distant, as if remembering. Her face hardened. "Now. Shut. Up. Before they come back and rip your tongue out. And StarClan knows that I don't want to see that happening ever again." Her shoulders quivered, just a little bit as if she was shuddering, and then glared once more and turned to face the wall.

I glanced out at the entrance again. The hallways were empty. No sign of foxes anywhere.

But I could still smell them everywhere, and for a faint moment I had the vague notion that they could still hear us even when they weren't around.

But I shook my head and then whispered softly, "If we whisper, they won't hear us. Now, how many Clan cats are still alive? Do you know?"

The bloated she-cat hesitated, muttering something under her breath. Then she lowered her head to her paws and mumbled, "The last time I saw any of my Clanmates was weeks ago. Oakfur and Tawnypelt. But the foxes shut them up someplace and I haven't seen them since. I don't even know if they're still alive."

"And what about RiverClan, Reedwhisker?" I asked.

He shot me a harsh glare and kept his mouth in a solid, rigid line.

They huddled together, sides heaving, their heads down and wide eyes sorrowful. I hardly even knew them. How long had they been kept down here?

Their eyes narrowed. "Aren't you Shadefrost, the cat from the prophecy?" Heathertail hissed.

Reedwhisker flattened his ears. "You lied to us," he spat. "You said that you would save us, but you didn't! You probably lied about the prophecy too!"

Dewstep lunged forward, his front teeth bared. "Don't you dare call her a liar!"

"Dewstep," I said quietly, telling him with my eyes that it wasn't a good time to start an argument.

To the others, I mewed, "Don't give up now. You're warriors, aren't you? Brave warriors of the Lake, the upholders of the warrior code and the descendants of noble heroes. You're survivors."

They fell silent and unmoving. The ShadowClan she-cat gave a few licks over her belly, winced, and then settled back down again. For a moment, all I could hear was their heavy breathing and the distant baying of hounds.

"Tell me," I whispered. "What did they do to you here?"

The swollen she-cat opened her mouth to reply, her ears swiveling nervously, but then she averted her gaze from mine and lowered her head.

Dewstep gave a hoarse chuckle. "It's alright," he assured her. "Shadefrost won't bite."

"It's okay if you don't want to tell me," I added.

The she-cat opened her mouth again, hesitantly, and then began to talk. At first, it was only about personal details. Her name was Cloverstream of ShadowClan, the tom that she loved had been killed after he had been dragged away by badgers, and she had lost track of how long she had been kept imprisoned underground. She didn't know how many cats of her Clan had survived. She once caught a glimpse of a few ShadowClan elders, but that had been a long time ago.

And then the barrier collapsed and the river in her heart flowed its banks and flooded her words, and she trembled a bit, straining, one half of her heart willing her to stop talking and the other half urging her on. She spoke of the horrors in the Deep Underground, of how sometimes, occasionally, the foxes would drag a few cats kicking and screaming down a certain set of tunnels, never to be seen again.

And the one thing worse than all of the abuse and hunger was the Pitch, a horrible place that made her eyes suddenly dimmer.

"What's the Pitch?" Dewstep asked softly.

She looked smaller somehow, her stomach less bloated. "It's a dreadful place," she whispered. "It doesn't happen every day. Not every day. But sometimes, when the tunnels grow darker and the rats start gathering in huge numbers across the floor, the foxes choose a handful of cats and lead them away." Her voice quivered like a delicate leaf that was about to fall and plummet to the ground.

She regained her footing and whispered, "They take them to another room that is almost as wide as half the Lake, with enough room for a certain number to gather. You know what it's for?" She hesitated. "They make the cats fight each other, square off, two at a time for three rounds. The foxes and the dogs and the badgers and rats cheer and watch from the sides and see who would win. Sometimes they force the cats to kill each other.. And I've seen it. I've seen it."

She buried her face with her paws and whimpered.

Reedwhisker muttered, "Enough. Don't say any more."

Without warning, Cloverstream's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'll do what I want and say what I want," she growled. "You may be the deputy of RiverClan, but you're certainly not my deputy."

"You left some details out," Heathertail muttered from the corner.

"Yeah," Cloverstream gulped, curling her tail tighter around her. "Warriors aren't the only ones who are forced to fight in the Pitch. Medicine cats fight too. And apprentices, and elders, and queens, and kits. It doesn't matter to the foxes. It's all the same to them."

Dewstep's amber eyes flashed with fury and crackled like electricity. "That's insane!" he hissed.

Cloverstream buried her face in her fur. "I know," she wailed. "I hate it. I hate the Pitch most of all. I don't want my kits to be born in a place like this, and I dread the day when they pick me to fight in the there. They'll kill me. Kits or not, they'll kill me."

Dewstep's eyes widened in disbelief. "You're a queen?"

I zoned out of the conversation. Digging my claws into the ground, I felt the rage and fury and anger boil inside me and ravage my senses into a red haze. I was like a kettle about the simmer over.

I had never felt wrath this raw before, like a white-hot knife. I had never been this angry. I was mad at everything. Mad at the rats and the badgers and the dogs and foxes, mad at the cats and even StarClan when they didn't do anything wrong. I was mad at myself, for failing and not being strong enough, and not being able to help my friends and comrades and for letting Snowstorm die. And the anger and rage burned through the center of my heart, searing my veins and arteries, filling my blood with nothing but pure, black hate. I centered that hate to Fang, picturing his filthy face, his jagged teeth, that twisted and cruel smirk on his muzzle, imagining myself tearing into his side and ripping him apart until the sun blazed over his spilled blood.

The hatred scorched itself until it rose like a tidal wave inside me, like a great monster. Any second now, the wave would threaten to wash everything and drown everyone and leave me rocking in a leaking boat, the water lapping at the edges and filling it up while I tried desperately to bail it out. The monster was hungry and fearless and spiteful, capable of tearing everything in its wake.

It scared me too.

"Shadefrost?"

I blinked, and my senses cleared enough for me to realize that Dewstep was whispering my name, blinking at me worriedly.

I looked down and saw deep, crooked scratch marks on the earth where I had clawed at in my rage.

Sucking in a deep breath, I whispered, "I'm fine." The anger left me like a receding tide, and when I opened my eyes again, everything became clear.

I heaved myself to my paws and stared at the entrance to our cell.

Reedwhisker asked, "If you really are the cat from the prophecy, then tell me. Can you get us out of here?"

I shrugged. He shrank back, crestfallen.

After a period of silence, I asked, "Who do you care about the most?"

The cats murmured softly to each other.

"Tell me," I said. "It won't hurt."

Reedwhisker cleared his throat, looking nervous, and then whispered quietly, "My mother. Mistystar."

Heathertail flicked her tail when I glanced at her. She lowered her gaze and murmured, "The one I love. And I hope with all my heart that he's thinking of me."

Cloverstream stared down at her swollen belly with a tender, motherly emotion that made my heart throb. "I care about my kits," she said. "About the world that they would be born into."

I nodded. "You've all got cats you care about. Keep their memories with you. Lock them tight into your hearts. Never let them leave you. As long as you still have love in your life, there's always a reason to move forward."

The cats slowly nodded, one by one, and their dead eyes almost looked hopeful.

OoOOooOoOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoOOoOoOOoOoooOoOO

The cats were curled up, tails over their noses, eyes closed and sleeping. I wasn't sure if it was nighttime or not. It was hard to tell with no sky.

Dewstep and I crouched near the entrance together, sharing tongues quietly.

After hesitating, he whispered, "Shadefrost…you don't seem happy."

I snorted. "Of course I'm not happy. Why on earth would I be happy in a place like this?"

"That's not what I meant," he sighed. "Back when…back when my brother was still alive, you always had that spark in your soul that made you lively. Even when you got in an argument or when you came across something bad, your eyes would still shine. But now, they're dull. The spark is gone. I know there's a lot of terrible things happening right now, but there's something the matter with you. What's wrong?"

I mumbled, "Nothing."

"Tell me. I'm your friend."

I chuckled lightly. "You're my only friend."

I tipped my head back to study the ceiling, forgetting for a second that I couldn't see the sky. I longed for the stars.

After a while, I spoke. "I've lost a lot of things," I said. "The home I left behind, my mother, father, brothers, and friends. And I lost Snowstorm too. Sometimes I get a bit lonely, thinking about my past life."

I blinked at him. "You know, in life, there's a path that everyone has to take. Some of those paths are rockier than others, some a lot smoother. But it's an individual road. Everyone has to walk through it. There's a lot of bends in it and rocks and thorns, and forks that split in two ends and I have to choose which one to take. My winding road is a long one, and an awfully quiet one too. Sometimes, friends show up to help you through a few parts of it. But they always leave, in the end."

Dewstep's eyes flared up until he almost looked angry. "Don't you dare say that!" he snapped. "Are you that blind? Even if Snowstorm is gone, that doesn't mean that you have to walk your path alone. It's true that everyone has to die someday, but they don't die. Not really."

My shoulders tensed up and my eyes widened at his sudden outburst. He sighed again and muttered, "Sorry about that. But still. You know the lie that everyone tells you, the lie that almost everyone believes?"

"What's that?"

"That death is inevitable. But it's not true. Snowstorm isn't dead. He's living inside you, right here." He tapped my chest, the place where my heart was.

If I wasn't feeling so terribly down right now, I would've chuckled at how cliché that sounded. But he was right. He was so wonderfully right.

"As long as you still remember him, he won't die. Your memory of him keeps him alive."

"Dewstep?"

"What?"

"Can you walk the road beside me and keep me company for a little while longer?"

He smiled. "Of course. No matter how bumpy your path gets, or even if it's full of thorns, I will walk beside you. That's what friends are for."

I closed my eyes, and for a brief second, saw the road ahead. A bright light was shining at the far side of where it ended, probably brighter than the sun, but it was so far away that it looked like a tiny star. I was padding toward it, on that individual trail, but I wasn't alone. Two figures stood next to me on either side, one grey, one white, and as I began to doze off to sleep, I thought I caught a whiff of that snowy scent that I had grown to love so much, and then it disappeared.