Even In The Darkest Of Times

Lynxtail's tufted ears twitched as he forced himself to his feet, every joint in his body groaning in protest. "Oh, Starclan..." The tabby warrior rolled his shoulders, trying to force feeling back into his paws. What... what happened?
He shook his head, gently placing the kit he had been holding on a nearby boulder. "Hey, little guy," His voice was rough and grating, but a relieved smile lit up his face all the same. Despite... well, despite everything, they were alive. They were safe- for now, at least. "We made it."

The tom turned his gaze towards the steep rock wall, searching for any way up. The only alternative was to swim either upstream or downstream and hope for the best. Still, if the fluffy tom craned his neck he could see around the cliff face where it jutted out from the rock wall. There could be a way down- perhaps a narrow path that lead to... something? No matter what the tom chose, he had no way of knowing where he would end up. If he tried to scale the cliff he could fall, if he swam he could easily sink or be overtaken by the current, and if he tried to follow the path he could end up trapped, unable to turn around or keep going forward. Lynxtail sighed, staring into the water below.

Under a shallow, crumbling overhang, lay a lump that seemed more mud than animal. The only sign that it was something alive was the steady rise and fall of breathing. This creature, despite all outward appearances, was a clan cat. Beneath the muck and grime was a pelt of red and white. Though they appeared to be sleeping, blank olive eyes stared straight ahead at the wall of rock. During the night Poppypaw had washed up along this unforgiving shore, finding himself below the meagerest of purchases for his tired form. For a few sporadic hours he slept. Though now he was awake, his mind and heart empty. For much of the time he thought he was alone, for he was the first of his Clanmates to be swept away and knew not of what had happened to anyone else. Maybe he'd been the only one. Maybe he'd be considered a disgrace if just a little water could defeat him. Maybe they wouldn't let him be a warrior.

For a few moments, the apprentice didn't realize a new voice floated in the air. Someone he knew. Someone who annoyed him. 'Great StarClan, I've been stranded with one of that litter of idiots.' Finally turning and rising from his place of rest, he glared in the direction of Lynxtail further down the waterline. Was that a kit with him? 'He'll get them killed.' With an almost audible groan he moved his way closer, catching a glimpse of himself in the water. 'I look like some stupid ShadowClanner.' Or a swamp monster.

"You."

Minkpaw woke gradually, one piece at a time. Almost the first thing he became aware of was that he wasn't moving. The second was that he felt like a piece of torn-up prey. Groaning, he cracked open his eyes, squinting against the dull light beaming against them to see a mess of sticks and other debris practically in front of his face. The thing he had somehow managed to haul himself up onto in the middle of the flood felt hard underneath his aching body as he attempted to raise himself into a sitting position, and he noticed that it appeared to be a paw off of a monster. The barely detectable smell of it that lay underneath the stench of all the other junk around brought back unpleasant memories of being stuck in a monster for a moment, and he felt almost like he had back then - alone, afraid.

Around him, as he gingerly eased his battered and bruised body off the tyre, everything was ominously quiet, not a cat's mew or even the sound of something moving disturbed the quiet. There was only the subtle sound of water lapping at the shore, and as he turned, he saw a vast expanse of gentle waves stretching across the horizon towards a distant place wreathed in mist. All of it was dirty, and it stank. Yeah, not great for drinking. He turned back towards the shore, picking his way over twigs and branches that bad touch at his pelt, trying hard to avoid odd hanging bits of twoleg rubbish that stank. Eventually, his paws touched a narrow strip of relatively free ground, that although rocky, wasn't as bad.

For a moment, he sank against a rock, leaning his numbing form into its solidness as he tried to collect his thoughts. RiverClan. Are they here? Where are they? Littlestream? My littermates? He closed his eyes, feeling the cold seeping through his pelt. I have no Clan now. This isn't anywhere near the territories. Even if they're alive, they've been flung somewhere I have no idea how to get to. Squeezing his eyelids shut even tighter, he let out a slow breath. Staying like that for a moment, he let the sound of the waves soothe him. He could almost imagine that he was back in camp, simply lying in the shade somewhere while he listened to the burbling river. When he finally opened his eyes, the illusion vanished, and he was back in this strange place, away from everything he'd ever known, cast away from everything he'd ever loved. For the second time in his life, no less.

He nearly curled up in a ball right then and there, ready to just go back to sleep and let the darkness take him. Are you just going to stay here? Sitting in a little puddle of misery, missing everything and making no effort to get back to it? Loners do this all the time, they're alone in the wild, no Clan to care for them, no one to tell them what to do. You're a loner's son, coward. Son of Starlord. You going to let this get you down? Forcing his eyes open, he set his jaw and stood, ignoring the protests of his aching body as he started walking down the shore. No more Minkpaw. He was a shivering mess. For now, I'll just have to be Strom. The loner.

He walked for what seemed like an infinitely long time, his body exhausted, his mind wandering strange paths.

So when he heard a voice that he recognized, he was almost ready to pass it off as a delusion. But no, that sound.... He pricked his ears, moving into a shambling trot towards where he'd heard it, more coming into his ears, the words making sense now. Lynxpaw? He broke within sight of the tom just as another cat stumbled down into view, an incredibly annoyed look on his face as his glare focused on the big tabby.

You

He heard the single word the apprentice snarled, and though his first immediate response was to leap in front of Lynxpaw, he quickly backed off the idea. A fight in his condition would end really badly. So he grinned at the tom instead. "Hey, hello to you too. At least, I assume you're not talking to the kit over there?"

A small she-cat raised her head up out of the muck, blinking hard as she took her first good look around at her surroundings. Wherever she was, it wasn't pretty. There was a stench of rot and sour decay in the air, with bits of Twoleg garbage strewn about and bobbing in the water. She pulled herself up to her paws, her muscles aching from the hellish struggle of the night before. Her long fur was heavy with mud; thankfully the stream that had carried her there was much calmer now. With a small groan, she waded into the water and let the current wash away the mud, making sure to keep her paws squarely grounded in the bottom of the bank below to keep herself from floating off again. As she stood there with her eyes closed, remembering the events that had brought her to this ugly new territory, the sound of voices met her ears. There were other cats here? It was a welcome thought that she wasn't all alone here.

Myrtlepaw stepped out of the water and wandered towards the voices, keeping her body low. Soon, three cats came into view. A large tabby tom and two smaller toms, probably around her age. The light tabby crept closer, her pawsteps delicate. The situation seemed tense already. Honestly, she wasn't surprised, it seemed as if the whole forest had been washed away last night. Of course that would make emotions run high. Although she didn't recognize the other two cats, it occurred to her that one of the apprentices was Minkpaw, a Clanmate. She came up beside him, brushing his flank with her tail to say that she was there. After a quick look around at the other cats, she opened her mouth and mewed softly, "I don't mean to interrupt...but I don't think fighting at a time like this would be a good idea. We're all in the same situation, I think we should work together so we all get home safe."

A gentle sound touched Magpiepaw's battered ears...water, the calm rippling against the shoreline, it had been one of the first sounds he had ever heard...

The sound of home.

Maybe it had all really been a dream, nothing more than a pointless nightmare sent to scare him back into his mother's nest, but as the young tom's eyes began to open - dried mud and river grime cracking off his eyelids like a mask - he knew that his optimism had been pointless.  Laying on his side almost half-buried in a mix of pebbly sand and sludge, the cloudy sun beamed onto his face from between the drifting clouds, big and fluffy as they always were after a rainstorm.  His limbs lay curled to the side, as if in his unconscious state he had still tried to sleep comfortably, and he could feel something cold touching his tail-tip...something wet.  With a gasp alike to a cat coming back from the dead, the black and white apprentice sat bolt upright, fur weighted by all the dirt caked onto his pelt, and looked down.  Water, more water than he had ever seen stretched out before him, and the waves were dragging at his skinny tail, just as they had the night before.  With a whimper, he crawled away backward from the newfound threat, golden eyes wide and terrified.  W-what...what's g-going on...  His neck popping painfully as he twisted around, the RiverClan tom felt a startled shiver run down his spine as he caught sight of those steep, intimidating walls above, extending across all sides of the giant riverbank.  T-this isn't camp...

Where am I?!

A dark pit of anxiety tugged at his belly, setting his heart racing.  I-I need...I need Mama, I need her!  I need to find her!  Pure fear the only strength he still possessed, Magpiepaw drug himself to his paws shakily and looked around, shrinking into himself more with every passing second.  I h-haven't even been out of camp yet...this is t-too m-much!  His ears were ringing, both from panic and disorientation, but his adjusting eyes still worked...and they came to rest on something horrifying.  Oh...oh no.  No no no no no...NO!  "C-C-Cloudstone!"  His high-pitched voice was rough and gritty and painful, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as his soul did.  Just a mere few fox-lengths away lay the black-pelted elder's body, his fluffy white tail patched with the same dirt and slime as his pelt until it didn't even look the same color anymore...and his eyes were closed.  Magpiepaw's feet trembled ever more fiercely as he limped over to where his mother's friend lay slumped and waterlogged, and he bent his muzzle to nudge the larger cat's shoulder tentatively, only to be lashed with a rancid scent he had rarely encountered.  Like when a fish was left on the prey pile for too long...rot.  Death.

"No...please, sir, you h-have to wake up!  Y-You have to!  I can't keep my promise...I c-can't find them all m-myself!  Not without h-her...not without Mama!"  His words began quiet, but gradually became louder as a familiar lump rose in his throat, and hot tears bubbled behind his lonely eyes.  His claws sank into the mud as he fell into a sitting position, bowing his head over the elder's battered body.  This wasn't fair...none of this was fair!  It could've been avoided...maybe if he had braved the water instead...if he had for once been the warrior his mother wanted him to be...maybe they would've survived!  A sob breaking free of his parched vocal cords, Magpiepaw's words were little more than a whisper through gritted teeth, a message delivered to the stars themselves.

"Y-You shouldn't have died for m-me...you wouldn't have d-died for me if I hadn't been so...so...useless!

I just cowered there, waiting for someone to save us who never came...so they had to be our heroes.

I'm pathetic...aren't I?

Lynxtail turned as a familiar scent reached his nose. He turned with a grin that quickly faded as the cat spoke, their voice sharp. "You." "Poppypaw," He mewed, his lip lifting to show his teeth for a brief moment. The apprentice was as venomous as ever- something that was tolerable in Thunderclan's camp, but would quickly grow tiresome under the right conditions. Better put a stop to it before it became a problem. "Look, I don't know who else survived the flood, but if we're going to stay alive then you're going to need to-"
Just at that moment, a familiar voice reached his large ears. "Minkpaw?" He shook his head, his green eyes bright as the tom approached. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." He shot Poppypaw a quick glance before stepping closer to the ginger Riverclanner. It was strange that they wound up together, far from home once again, but he had to admit that he felt... well, not safer, but definitely calmer now that he was here. They survived Twolegplace together; surely they'd be able to find their way back home.

The tabby warrior opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment a small, rather pretty she-cat approached. "Excellent idea," Lynxtail blinked, sitting down lightly. Assuming that the she-cat was an apprentice, it looked like he was the only warrior. He sighed softly. If he were to take charge, that would mean that he would be responsible for all their lives. He had barely managed to keep the kit alive- how on earth was he supposed to take care of three apprentices?
"I'm Lynxtail, and this is Poppypaw." The best thing to do now was to get to know each other. Hopefully, they'd all stick together. More cats meant more hunters, and although he meant well, Lynxtail knew that he wouldn't be able to take care of the kit alone. Sure, he had seen queens in the nursery, but he'd never really given it much thought-

Suddenly, a distant wail reached the tom. "Great Starclan!" The tom exclaimed. Instantly he was on his feet, rushing towards the source- it sounded like the cat was in pain. The warrior gritted his teeth as his paws thudded against the earth, sending pebbles and rocks into the water. What if he was too late? He skidded around a jagged stone that obscured the path, splashing through the shallow water and sending waves in his wake.
The tom skidded to an abrupt halt. A small black figure was crouched on the narrow beach, it's head bowed. "Hello?" He called, his flanks heaving. "Are you alright?"
The cat wasn't alone. As Lynxtail stepped closer, he saw a thin, black tom lying in the mud. There was a brief pause. "Was he your father?" The tabby's voice was soft. The two cats looked similar enough, although he didn't want to assume too much about the tom. He glanced back the way he came before sitting beside him, far enough away that their pelts wouldn't touch, but hopefully close enough that he would be able to provide a bit of comfort.

He felt a shred of worry prickling in the back of his mind. Were the others alright? Did they follow him? He didn't speak, but he couldn't help flexing his claws nervously. He wanted to give the tom time to mourn his father's death, but the sooner they were all together again, the better. What of the kit? Was he alright? If they followed, did they remember to bring him, or was he alone on the rock in the sun?
Was this how Leopardstar felt? It was exhausting.

Beartooth's head swam, making up for his lack thereof. His massive paws had initially churned against the water as he desperately tried to keep hold of the unconscious frame that was Flintfang. However, they had been ripped apart by a particularly strong wave, one lined with debris that had battered against his maw until he relinquished his hold on his clanmate. After that, and another few moments of a pointless struggle for control, the warrior had given in and allowed himself to be carried by the waves. Wherever they might be decided on taking him. The fact that he was slipping in and out of awakeness only made the sensation that wracked his brain that much worse. All of him was worn from the constant dragging and tugging of his hefty pelt. He just longed for the peace of sleep, the ignorance of the non-waking world. There he did not have to worry about his lost kin, his clanmates, nothing.

It was finally when he was washed to shore that some sense of relief came to the tom. No more was the unending tossing and turning that threatened to drown him. Beartooth parted his eyes ever so slightly, wincing at the seemingly harsh sunlight. It took quite a bit of effort to turn himself over and latch his many claws into something akin to solid earth. The rocky shore was unforgiving and dug into his pads as he hauled himself onto the stone-clad soil. His sides heaved from the effort and his gasps for air were short and raspy. After a few moments, it appeared that his lungs had once more accepted oxygen and the sun had evaporated the dragging water from his coat. Moments later he found the drive to sit up and study his surroundings. To his surprise, there were cats nearby, cats of all clans. There was relief almost immediately as he recognized several pelts and their voices. Thunderclan cats have lived. The idea that some he loved were still lost was pushed to the back of his mind. For now.

Thankfully, the massive warrior was further away from the commotion. He sat on the far side of the Riverclan apprentices that gathered together near Lynxtail. It was only the picking up of the breeze that revealed their clan to him, normally his dull senses would not have noted such a thing. Beartooth considered for a moment whether or not he should rush over to his former apprentice, well, as fast as he could. But hesitation took over when it finally occurred to him how out of his element he truly was. There were no borders here. Leopardstar and Marshstorm were not yet in sight. No leader had given him a command to follow. This situation demanded that Beartooth think for himself. It demanded more of him than the monotony over the past few moons, the very same that had allowed a choaking numbness to sweep through his chest. And now, none of that security was here. The thing that had afforded him the luxury of his own depression had been ripped from beneath his paws. Beartooth had to do something.

He blinked as the realization came over him. The demand seemed too great, but he was literally backed up against a wall. Claws gripped the stone beneath, allowing it to dig into his pads once more. His shoulders had been slumped forward but after a sharp exhalation of breath, the tabby straightened up. This was about more than himself. Those things that weighed over him paled in comparison to the grander scheme of what was unfolding before him. One thing was evident, cats would be dead, plenty of them. The thought that Pricklebush could be one of them was overwhelming, as much as it would have been with Bushfang or Hailpaw, or Ridgepaw. But all he could do for now was assume they were out there. Sitting here would not save them. He had to find Thunderclan cats and make sure they were all okay. At the heart of being a warrior, wasn't that it? Underneath all the duties?

He wasn't sure whether to address his growing thirst first, given the condition of the water, or find a way out. Neither seemed like an easy task. With a glance upwards, Beartooth took in the sheer rock face. Up was the least likely option, at least from here. The sparse and deadened shrubbery to the side would provide for better pawholds. Another cat might have considered the logistics of all these things but given Beartooth was not another cat, he set to work at attempting to haul his heavy weight up the stone. As his claws dug in, the pads only grew more aggravated. It barely seemed to bother him as he moved only slightly upwards while crawling further down the shore from the others. Perhaps some cats were there, and a creeping determination dictated he find them.

"Hello? Are you alright?"

Magpiepaw felt himself freeze, his usual instinctive reaction to any strange cat trying to speak with him, but in this horribly surreal moment he felt oddly numb to everything, including the threat of an unknown cat quickly approaching, his pounding pawsteps thundering against the shifting shore.  All he could see was the cat lying before him, his mother's friend who had sacrificed himself for the sake of kits he barely knew...because of Magpiepaw's own incompetence.  Magpiepaw's shivering form didn't turn as the older figure stopped a few tail-lengths away, only bending closer to Cloudstone's unmoving pelt, and in the long moment of silence, he prayed for the cat to just go away, to leave him alone in this vulnerable moment...he didn't think he had the strength to even speak.  The other cat's words finally broke the silence.

"Was he your father?"

His golden eyes opened wide.  What?  That's a dumb question, of course he isn't!  Well...actually, it probably isn't normal to see an apprentice mourning an elder.  Plus he doesn't know me...StarClan this is such a mess!  Paws quivering fearfully, Magpiepaw couldn't face his questioner, but barely managed to push out a stuttering answer.  "N-n-no, he w-was just a f-friend of my mother's...he...he s-sacrificed himself to s-save m-me...a-and my siblings...we don't have a father."  He trailed off to a whisper, something within his words sparking a hint of rare introspection; how did an old retired medicine cat become friends with Finchstream?  Why did he choose to jump off the raft when he could've saved himself?  He had never bothered to ask his mother why their father didn't visit them as other fathers did...she could've at least told them his name.  For a moment, he looked down at Cloudstone through new eyes, noticing through the caking of mud and slime his black and white pelt and short-furred slender figure...  No, I've been out in the sun for too long, that's all!  It's impossible!  I don't have time to make up crazy theories...  Even as he pushed his thoughts aside though, they still tingled menacingly at the edges of his mind, a nagging fly buzzing in his ear.  But...what if?

In his moment of recollection, he hadn't noticed that the tom had sat down close beside him, and the skittish young tom nearly jumped out of his skin, trying to get to his paws but failing and instead stumbling backward.  He looked up at the stump-tailed brown tabby stranger with seemingly the same fear one would feel towards a badger, and couldn't hold back a nervous whimper.  "Y-y-you're not from R-RiverClan..."  His eyes flashed around, trying to catch sight of any other clanmates but to no avail.  He had landed in a fairly secluded spot.  "I-I'm sorry...if I'm i-intruding then I-I can leave s-sir...p-please don't hurt m-me!"

The aggressive mud-covered cat confronting Lynxpaw backed off as Strom made himself known, and the short-tailed tom turned to him with surprise in his eyes, but also a genuine happiness to see him. It was... pleasant, actually, especially after all the craziness of having come back to a bunch of suspicious Clanmates who suspected his every move. Here was someone he knew, someone he'd faced the terrors of Twolegplace with, someone who knew him. Probably the only cat besides his own family who did. He eyed the other mud-covered apprentice, noting the ThunderClan stench underlying the smell of everything else. ThunderClan has Clan issues too, huh? He nearly said it aloud, but Lynxpaw didn't give him an opportunity as he stepped closer, warily eyeing his Clanmate.

"Minkpaw? You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

He started slightly as the tom used his other name, a slight sense of loss echoing through him for a brief moment. They still see me as Minkpaw.... Was I... was I wrong to say I shouldn't be like that anymore? Mentally shaking his head, he gave up the line of thought as a tail brushed his flank. One of his Clanmates, Myrtlepaw, came up, gently interrupting any chance of the situation becoming more heated.

Relaxing his slightly tensed up muscles, Strom glanced from one to another of his companions as Lynxpaw - no, Lynxtail - introduced himself to the she-cat along with the grumpy apprentice. He opened his mouth to congratulate his friend, letting a smile spread across his maw again. But a wail of grief broke the still air, and the words died in his throat as he whirled around to face the source of the sound. Lynxtail was faster, his large form racing across the marshy ground before he ducked around jagged rock that obscured Strom's view. The orange tabby nearly send a cascade of mucky pebbles in his friend's direction as he fought to skid to stop without banging into him or the smaller tom crouched beside still form.

Strom stared as he recognized the little apprentice crouched there, grief radiating off him as he huddled as small as possible on the shore. For several moments, he couldn't speak, the sight of his Clanmate huddled there pricking something inside himself that he fought to ignore. In the meantime, Lynxtail's questions made Magpiepaw's form stiffen with surprise, and Strom listened to the small tom's stuttering sentence, his eyes flicking from the still, frail form lying in the muck to the young cat. He never said who his father was. Could it be Cloudstone? He sourly considered his own parentage, looking past the Clan biases drilled into him for a moment. Anything's possible.

Magpiepaw seemed to be some thinking of his own, and it was a few heartbeats before he looked up to see Lynxtail sitting not far away. The young cat nearly jumped out of his pelt as he glanced wildly around, missing Strom standing behind him and partially obscured by the debris scattered over the spot. He hastily stepped forward, giving the young tom a reassuring grin as he came into view. "Hey, Magpiepaw! You're uh, you're doing okay?" His eyes slid over the limp form lying in the mud, and he nearly slapped himself with his own paw. What kind of stupid question is that?! He waved his tail back in the direction of the others, adding, "Myrtlepaw's here too. No one's going to drive you away from this place."

Oh. Lynxtail nodded, trying his best to look as unintimidating as possible. It was foolish of him to assume that the two were related, although it was clear that the dead tom was someone very dear to the apprentice. "He must've been a very brave cat." The Thunderclan tom mewed softly. He wanted to shift closer to the strange apprentice, but the poor thing was trembling from head to foot and he didn't want to frighten him any more than he already had.
Suddenly, the apprentice recoiled, falling backward. Lynxtail leaped to his feet. "Are you alright?" He cried. The Riverclan tom- if Lynxtail recognized his scent correctly, hidden under mud and water as it was -seemed terrified out of his wits.
"Y-y-you're not from R-RiverClan..."
Oh dear. Lynxtail was clearly wrong to assume that the apprentice was alright. He shook his head, trying to find words that might reassure the tom, but before he had a chance to speak the stranger stuttered again: "I-I'm sorry...if I'm i-intruding then I-I can leave s-sir...p-please don't hurt m-me!" "I won't hurt you," He mewed quickly, trying to cut off the cat's train of thought. "I'm from Thunderclan, but please understand that borders are the furthest thing from my mind right now. A-and I'm not alone, either. Minkpaw- you know Minkpaw, don't you? -Minkpaw's with me, along with... err..." He'd left the others in such a hurry that he didn't yet know the she-cat's name. The stump-tailed tom took a small step back, casting a quick glance behind him. Speaking of Minkpaw... Where were the others? He'd left them behind, but surely they weren't that slow.

Suddenly, a familiar pelt caught his eye, and he let out a sigh of relief. It was as if he'd summoned the orange tom. "Hey, Magpiepaw!" Oh, thank Starclan. Minkpaw (Or was it Strom? That was the nickname he'd told them about in Twolegplace. Surely it would make sense to call him that now that they were so far away from the clans once more) would be able to smooth things out. With any luck, they'd have the tom calm enough to accompany them back to the others, and from there...
From there. What would they do? They couldn't all swim, and climbing the cliff was certainly out of the question. Perhaps, if they walked out along the shore? Falling would be dangerous, but... The fluffy tom shook his head, forcing himself to return to the present. One step at a time. He reminded himself. They wouldn't get anywhere if Magpiepaw didn't calm down, and clearly that would take quite a bit of focus.

Poppypaw raised a nonexistent eyebrow as Lynxtail was about to chastise him, letting out a snort. He wasn't stupid, just very much over these younger warriors lording their power over him. 'I'd leave your oh-so high and mighty tail behind if you didn't have that kit with you.' Though the apprentice wasn't fond of the little scraps, letting one come to harm was against the code. It would be a surefire way to the Dark Forest to willingly let Lynxtail take care of them by himself.

His head whipped around at two unfamiliar voices, both of them just as grating as the tabby tom's. His fur tried to flare up, but the muck held it down in most places. The stickiness and stench was getting to him, yes, but from the unnatural sheen on the surface of pretty much everything on the shore, he wasn't too keen on licking himself clean. Yet another voice - great StarClan, how many cats were here? - made Lynxtail practically sprint just out of sight. "He's got the brain of a dandelion." Whoever it was, he didn't know them. The dead weren't his priority right now. Practically dumbfounded, Poppypaw's tail lashed as he moved to where his Clanmate once stood, nosing the bedraggled kit before bending to pick them up. Movement caught his eye, and for a moment he just stared at the ground. Being around this many cats was going to drive him up this cliff.

The tom's green gaze found another familiar form, the biggest idiot in all of ThunderClan. That was saying something. "Beartooth. Where are you going?" He lifted his head and called to the very recognizable, gigantic form of the warrior heading away from them. He held the kit firmly between his front paws, keeping them from falling back into the grimy water.

...ThunderClan?  For a moment, the warrior's words only worked to make Magpiepaw shift even farther away; he had overheard tales told by his clanmates about the forest clan's unsavory deeds, and seeing Icepaw's gruesome injuries had only worked to strengthen the validity of those rumors.  Despite everything though...this cat seemed friendly, kind even.  His worried expressions and humble words conflicted with the bi-colored tom's innate suspicions and fears, and for a long moment he couldn't speak, jaws hanging open as wide as his golden eyes.  But then...Minkpaw?

"Hey, Magpiepaw!"

His heart beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings, Magpiepaw turned his head swiftly towards his denmate, and felt a great wave of relief wash over him.  He...he wasn't alone!  It was no matter now to worry about speaking correctly or being teased; as the scrawny apprentice scrambled to his paws and dashed over to press his head against the older tom's shoulder, he almost felt as if he was home again.  A familiar voice, a familiar scent...it was all he needed.  "M-Minkpaw, thank S-StarClan!"  His eyes pricked with tears for what felt like the thousandth time, and he failed to keep his voice from choking.  "I-I thought...I thought I was a-alone...that everyone died!"  Peeking to the side as he wiped his face with a paw, he glanced skeptically at the bob-tailed ThunderClanner.  He had said that he and Minkpaw knew each other...and apparently Myrtlepaw was with them as well.  He had never spoken to the pretty she-cat, but nevertheless, hearing another familiar name was like medicine to his soul.  Finally stepping away from Minkpaw, he tried to meet the warrior's gaze but failed, to end up shuffling his paws in the pebbles.  "I...I n-need to bury C-Cloudstone...can you...h-help me?" I should be doing it myself...I'm the reason he's dead after all.  I just don't think that...I have the strength.