The Thunderpath on the eastern border of MistClan's territory wasn't that terrifying until you had to cross it. Few things came close to the disgust it inspired in Snaildapple. The smell, the noise, the ground shaking… It spoke of nothing but danger, and only kits and mouse-brained cats weren't afraid. But some times, there was no choice, and it was such a time.

As always, it had started inconspicuously. Flipspot had been tired, and she sneezed from time to time. But she was old, and the weather was barely beginning to warm up even though new-leaf neared its end. Then she had begun coughing and wheezing, and Heatherrump had relocated the elder to the medicine cats' den.

A shiver of horror had crawled up Snaildapple's spine when the white tom had whispered the word 'whitecough' in his ear. They both knew that no one had found catmint on their territory and they didn't have the resources to spare for a full-scale search. To make things worse, Blossomstar was still mostly out of commission after the stunt she had pulled a quater-moon before – no one else in the Clan had been given the real reasons for a sudden frailty – and Pricklesong still spent most of her time looking after her.

Before they could decide what would be the best course of action for the Clan, Heatherrump had begun showing symptoms, and Baypaw was ordered to join the apprentices' den. From that point on, there was no hiding that whitecough had found its way into the camp.

It had taken heated discussions and a few sleepless nights to decide on a plan. The longer they took, the higher were the chances for the disease to change into greencough. Against his and Pricklesong's wishes, Blossomstar decided to replace her in the medicine cat's den. The brown and white she-cat was to take quarters in the leader's den with her supplies, and the look the light grey tabby sent her when she tried to protest silenced any further argument.

"StarClan won't let me lose all my lives on illness. I'll hold on for as long as necessary."

There was no proof, but all they could do was believe.

Snaildapple had transferred his duties to Grasslilac – despite his worry for Flipspot, he was the Clan's most seasoned warrior – and taking Crookedflight, Springpaw and Firepaw with him, he had made his way towards one of the last places where they might find the precious plant.

So here he was, about to cross the Thunderpath.

The acrid smell made him gag and it took all he had to hold it back. The apprentices' noses were crunched in distaste but the pale ginger tabby seemed quite fine. Life as a loner must have led her to many thunderpaths, he supposed.

"Crookedflight, you're the most at ease, you'll go first. Both of you," he added, looking at the apprentices, "look closely, because you'll go right after. I'll be last."

Watching the older she-cat doing it, it looked almost easy. When her paws touched the forest floor on the other side he released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

Luckily, an absence of monsters allowed him to send successively Firepaw and Springpaw to the other warrior.

As he was crossing, the ground begun rumbling, sign of a monster approaching. Fighting against the very prey-like instinct to freeze in the middle of the Thunderpath, Snaildapple pushed himself to run faster and, by the time the monster actually ran across it, the four of them had disappeared in the woods.

Catmint was scarce in the forest, but there was one place where it was common: Twoleg's nests. With the dogs, it was too dangerous to look around the ones that bordered the territory. But according to Pricklesong, there was a nest, farther after the Thunderpath that, if not abandoned, was at least dog-free. It was their last chance, so the only thing to do was cling onto the tenuous hope that they would find what they were looking for.

Four cats might seem like a lot to send out just to pick herbs, but they also hoped to find food – there was no other Clan who would take advantage of their momentary weakness to claim a portion of their territory anyway. The most important thing wasn't to look strong but to have everyone in good health.

Sadly, the nest was too far away for them to be able to reach it and make it back before the night. Whether the trip was successful or not, they would have to have to sleep in the woods.

How Pricklesong knew exactly the location of the nest was beyond him though. He pondered it as they separated to hunt an evening meal. He had been certain that she hadn't left the territory during the first moons – she was always there when someone needed her after all. But Snaildapple hadn't exactly been monitoring her, except for the few times he had asked her to go on a patrol so that she wouldn't lose her edge. Maybe StarClan had sent a sign, but it would have been oddly specific…

All four of them came back to their meeting point with something to eat, and it almost felt like they had a real feast in front of them, no matter how hard the meat was. He looked forlornly at the remains of his meal, hoping that the Clan's situation would get better soon.

Despite a plan to take turns watching their temporary shelter and his faith in his Clanmates' vigilance, the deputy struggled to fall asleep. Next to him, his apprentice breathe slowly – Firepaw was losing his dandelion-like fluff, but still, seven moons old was way too young to already be starving – and he couldn't help but feel a bit envious.

It was with a light throbbing behind the eyes that Snaildapple roused the ginger tom when their turn to take the watch came. He tried not to see it as a bad omen.

Their goal couldn't come into view fast enough, and he held back a sigh of relief when the smell finally confirmed that they were on the right track. Uncomfortably wet leaves squished under their paws as they approached. The nest seemed inhabited, but was it really?

"Springpaw, Firepaw, you're going to hunt. Do not get close to the nest and come back here when you're done. Also, do not kill more than you can carry back to the camp, alright?"

"But the catmint…" the light brown tabby began before letting her mouth click shut at the lock he threw her.

"It might be dangerous so I'll go with Crookedflight who is a trained warrior. If there is time, we'll let you look around after we're done."

"Yes, Snaildapple," they chorused before disappearing in the bushes.

The apprentices left to their own devices, he nodded at the she-cat and they made their way on opposite sides of the nest. There, the Twoleg scent was present but stale; the place was definitely empty. He searched his side, despairing at not finding anything when he heard his Clanmate's voice.

"Snaildapple, comme here!"

Joining her as fast as possible, he looked at the patch of grass she pointed. At first, he couldn't see anything. Then, Crookedflight brushed away a few dead leaves and he noticed a few sprouts, and even fewer bigger plants with tender green leaves. Now free from the blanked of soggy leaves, il smelled heavenly and Snaildapple could already feel himself salivating.

The trip back went by in a haze, busy as he was trying no to munch on the small but precious bundle of plants he held between his jaws. It was akin to torture yet, for his friends and family, he kept finding new ways to distract himself.

As for the others, they each held a fresh kill – all destined for the Clan as they had shared a mouse and a squirrel before leaving. Even the Thuderpath was calm enough for them to cross it in pairs, and the satisfaction of being back in their own territory was almost palpable.

Of course, the dread of not having done enough was there; but rationally, he knew that they had done their best. The rest was up to Pricklesong and Baypaw's remedies, and to fate. Mostly to fate, if Snaildapple really thought about it. Medicine cats were still cats, and against whitecough, it was unfair to await miracles from them.

All the more so when the white and brown she-cat shook her head at him as they found themselves alone to discuss the situation.

"It definitely is greencough. Even with what you brought, we won't have enough catmint now that Blossomstar is also sick. And…" she sighed, shoulders slumping, "honestly, Flipspot and Heatherrump are very weak. Age is catching up to them, I think."

"So it doesn't look good."

Eyes closed, her whole demeanour transpired an air of defeat.

"No, it doesn't."

Funerals never got easier to bear. This time, he wasn't the one pressed up against a cold body, yet it wasn't less heartbreaking. It wasn't losing his kit or his mate, but it was losing lifelong Clanmates.

Grasslilac and Flipspot had always been together; it seemed like a rule of the universe: birds flew, rabbits hopped and they loved each other. And now, she wouldn't be there anymore, not to laugh at her mate's bad jokes, not to mock everyone with her dry wit. Not for anything.

Heatherrump had done so much so quietly, and he would also be dearly missed. Springpaw and Baypaw's wails echoed in the camp, and he regretted to have no spared them the guilt of failing to help their last family member left, this quiet uncle who had brought them to safety.

Overseeing the whole thing as usual, Blossomstar had stayed with her head bowed for a long time before disappearing again in the medicine cat's den. The whole Clan had realised during her speech that she was actually quite weak for now – her light cough, dull eyes and still visible ribs clear testaments of her poor health.

Pricklesong was almost certain that she had also died during the night, but their leader hadn't said a word and the grief was too fresh, too heavy still, for either of them to muster the energy to interrogate her.

Snaildapple couldn't help his worry, whether she had lost a life or not. Even if it was always with good intentions, the light grey tabby took too many risks. He wasn't ready to lose another friend – and even less to replace her.

He wouldn't let her throw her remaining lives away.