She's Got the Knack [C]

There'd been a feeling in Webshadow's chest that he hadn't been sure how to place.

It felt certain. Not like the guaranteed rise of the moon with the night sky, or the quiet and steady march of the changing seasons. It felt heavy, cold and quiet, sitting between his bones like a pile of stones. It'd started when he learned that Mistyfalcon passed, just before his arrival. It had worsened when Nightstalker lead their gathered Clanmates to the Gathering, solid and bearing down on his lungs.

The muffled approach of pawsteps pulled Webshadow from his half-sleep, and he lifted his head as a paw came to nudge at him. Iceheart was the last cat he had expected to seek his company. He hadn't spoken to her since– a glance at his leg made him wince. And before that, only in passing, except when she'd only been a kit. Her presence alone was a shock, but there was an undeniable sadness in her voice. Even though Webshadow didn't know her well, he'd always seen her as stoic and firm. The warble of emotion bothered him.

"News from the Gathering," he repeated. What sat in his chest tightened until his breath was hitching between words. "I am not fool nor young enough to think it is good." Webshadow tried to put humor into the words, but still they shook with anxiety. He had feared the worst for some time, and StarClan had not been forgiving for many, many seasons. His mind flickered to Froststar, to Thistletail, to the family he had to have, and all at once his heart sank through to his paws. Selfishly, he prayed that if it had to be about any of their Clanmates, it was not any of them.

Pushing himself upright, the dark tabby blinked at his visitor, eyes glassy with exhaustion and a swirl of emotion. Barely above a whisper, he pressed, "I am awake, and listening. Tell me, Iceheart."

Iceheart was quiet as she lingered, looking wistful. There was a moment where they were just blinking across at each other, until she pulled in a breath and began to quietly speak. His ears flicked to attention hopefully as the younger warrior started talking. Maybe the pervasive, roiling nausea was a symptom of his recent hardships, rather than an omen. Maybe there was hope yet that the news she had to deliver would be good.

She kept talking. She didn't have too much to say, but it was enough. Enough. Webshadow felt his stomach spin and lurch. Almost, he thought the nearly-empty contents of his gut would spill out onto his paws, but a tight swallow kept it in. Frostar was–? No, that couldn't be right. He'd had how many lives before the flood... eight? seven? Either way, he was healthy. Healthy and whole and not at all the kind of cat that would have every ounce of life stripped from his body by whitecough, of all things.

And then there was the rest. Thistletail hadn't been in ThunderClan, nor had she been washed away to the distant, rocky lands Webshadow had; he could only assume she was safe within SkyClan's walls. But Iceheart had brought nothing of her– presumably, no news was good news. Surely she would have kitted by now. Were their kits morning Froststar's death alone, in an unfamiliar land? Did they know they had another father waiting on them? Had they even lived? The thought of losing Froststar was horribly painful, but of losing everything–

"You must be mistaken," the tabby rasped as he pushed himself up to sit properly. "Froststar would not have lost all his lives to whitecough. I do not believe it." There was pain in his mew, voice strained with the threat of tears. With a sniff, he pushed back the sudden stinging sensation. As much as he might want to, he would not cry in front of Iceheart. "You... he cannot be. Iceheart, surely you must have misheard. Please."