finally worn [death]

It started with a cough.

Mudfrost wasn’t sure what could have caused it—nothing she’d done, certainly. She hadn’t set a paw in the river since the day she’d woken up to find most of it had frozen over; no matter how tempting the fish underneath were, she had no interest in drowning. On top of that, she had yet to perfect her own land hunting skills; she needed to be flawless before she could begin to teach Featherpaw properly. Still, chasing skinny mice across what felt like every dry patch in the forest took much more time than fishing did. Her patrols ran longer and longer, and she came back exhausted, aching from her paws to her shoulders. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been her fault.

Perhaps she should have known something was wrong then. It wasn’t just the cold or her lack of practice that slowed her down. The shortest sprint left her gasping for air. Though she’d always been aware of her surroundings, she got lost in her own head alarmingly often. At least half the time, her coughing startled off whatever prey she managed to track down. None of it was normal, but she wanted it to be.

When she woke up with a fever, she remembered Myrtlebrook. She remembered Magpiepaw, too, who’d died not long before she would have shared a den with him; and Larkfeather’s horrific death in the middle of camp, eased only by the poppy seeds Mistleshine had given him. She didn’t want to go through that. She didn’t want to sit in the medicine den, rendered useless by something as ridiculous as a fever—and so she put all of those thoughts aside, went out hunting, and didn’t catch so much as a mousetail.

The sunups and sundowns that followed rolled into a blur of scent and sound and blinding snow. Chills left her shuddering hard enough to draw questions from her denmates. Left without a real way to fend off their concern, she simply left camp on wavering legs to patrol the way she always had. Sometimes, the cold crunch of snow against her paws proved comforting; better yet, it helped temper the boiling heat beneath her fur. When she and Featherpaw went out to train, she delivered her lessons in a strained voice with as much authority as ever, ignoring the troubling lack of space in her chest. She did not demonstrate land hunting. She didn’t demonstrate much of anything.

Late one night, just before the Gathering, she collapsed into her nest. Her stomach rolled. Each huff or sigh from her sleeping Clanmates echoed in her ears so sharp she wondered if they might wear a hole through her skull by morning. She’d caught something today—one young, scrawny water vole, too focused on its own meal to notice a cat lumbering up behind it. Berrycloud would be proud. Honeytongue and Ivybrook, too, if they’d seen it. She needed to go hunting with them again once things got warmer. That had been a good day. She was a warrior now; she could lead their patrol with confidence and catch every fish her paws touched. The calico curled tightly into her nest, letting her mottled brown tail dangle over the side. Maybe she’d feel better when she woke up tomorrow. There was no harm in getting some rest before the next hunt.

Her eyes were so heavy.

…A night passed, or perhaps a heartbeat, before she woke up. Suddenly, her mind was sharp and clear, the way it was supposed to be. Her stomach no longer ached with emptiness or nausea. Mudfrost sucked in a deep breath, allowed herself to feel the regret and sorrow and, above them all, the relief rushing in alongside the pleasantly cool night air. Then she opened her eyes and took her first step into the starlight.

There was a twitch of her ears as Honeytongue stirred from her sleep, a tired yawn escaping her maw as she slowly raised her head. The pale morning light filtered in from the reeds, some of her Clanmates' dens empty as they had already left for their morning duties, others still sound asleep. One such pelt that caught her eye was the familiar pelt of Mudfrost. She felt her stomach sink, recalling how dreadful her friend had felt the last few sunrises but she had always pressed that she would be fine. She wasn't stirring in her nest and while it was tempting to let her remain asleep - she no doubt needed it - perhaps some fresh air would do her some good.

Honeytongue silently pushed herself from her nest, weaving her way around until she reached Mudfrost's side. "Hey Mudfrost, do you want to do a dawn patrol...?" It wasn't until she gave her friend a prod that she realized something was wrong, very wrong. Her pads pressed against a cold pelt...Far colder than even the leaf-bare chill would cause it. There was no shifting, no stirring from Mudfrost...There wasn't even a gentle rise and fall of her chest. Simple...Stillness. "...Mudfrost?" she whispered softly, feeling a piercing warmth curl at the edge of her eyes as the heaviness of the situation fell on her. "No. N-No, you can't..." her breath hitched, leaning down to give her friend a rough shove with her nose. "You can't, I can't...Not another one. Please, Mudfrost..."

Nothing.

The warm tears that had been building up slide free, struggling to find the breath, the words to say something. Another one. She had lost another cat. Leafkit, Hailsong, Tigerpaw, Salmonburn, Redmask, Berrycloud, Myrtlebrook. All were gone. Why did they keep leaving? Why? Why wasn't she good enough to stay for... She wanted to sob, to release the swell of emotions that rose but she forced it down with a deep, heavy breath. She...She couldn't. She...She had to focus on the ones who remained. Torrentstar, Ivybrook, Stormbringer, Brindlepaw. She...She had to be there for them. To...To make sure they didn't leave her like the others - to make sure she was worth staying for...

A shaky breath escaped her as she took a step around Mudfrost's unmoving body, to get a good look at her face which was soft and content in its endless sleep. At least...At least she had gone peacefully in her sleep. She leaned her head down, resting her forehead on the cold shoulder of Mudfrost as she simply let the truth sink heavy in her chest so that she could bury it. She knew she ought to call out to her Clanmates, alert them of Mudfrost's death but her voice failed to find her... She just wanted to remain here until they learned the truth...Then she could focus on them.

The sun was now getting well above the horizon, and the morning patrols had just departed from camp. The freshkill pile wasn't looking the best, so the silver deputy hoped that at least one of the patrols would come back with enough food to at least feed the nursery and the apprentices. Leaf-bare spared no one, something Ivybrook had learned in her first year of life, just barely scrambling by as an apprentice. Leaf-bare took her family members, something she wasn't ever going to forget. Thankfully, though, it hadn't been too hard on anyone yet. All of the apprentices had left their dens, some of them warmer than others, but all alive. The newest litter of kits was thriving, so she didn't have that to worry about either. Looking around camp, Ivybrook couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was... off.

Though she wasn't entirely sure what it was, she wasn't going to give up. She circled around the entirety of camp, searching behind the walls of reeds and even going to the outskirts of camp, checking behind every tree to make sure everything was okay. When she finally made it back to the center of camp, she spared another glance towards the warriors den- the calico pelt accompanied by that of one of her closest friends. What in the world they were still doing in their den, Ivybrook couldn't quite decide. As she got closer, though, she realized what had been bugging her this entire time- Mudfrost's body was still, entirely too still. Her maw parted slightly as she stood in the entrance of the den, eyes glossing over as she stared blankly. No, this couldn't be happening, RiverClan couldn't be losing another warrior... Especially not Mudfrost. She was far too young, hadn't even seen the beauty of New-Leaf yet. How could this have happened?

Slowly, Ivybrook approached Honeytongue. "I'm sorry, Honeytongue..." She wasn't quite sure how she was supposed to handle this situation... The two of them had been close friends, Ivybrook recalled, so she knew exactly how difficult this was going to be for Honeytongue. She wanted to help her, to console what she knew the she-cat was feeling at that moment... But she didn't know how. Half-heartedly, she rested her tail on the shoulder of the golden warrior. "It's best that I bring her to the center of camp, so that we can all take our time to... to grieve." The words didn't sound right on her tongue, but she lowered her head to gently pick up Mudfrost's freezing body by the scruff, gently carrying her to the middle of camp.

"We lost an excellent warrior today," She said to Honeytongue, green eyes gazing at her sympathetically. "May StarClan light your path, Mudfrost." She tried her best to position her so that it appeared that she was simply sleeping, an eternal rest filled with dreams of plentiful prey and gentle rivers.

Honeytongue shifted sightly at the sound of paws approaching, the familiar and welcoming scent of Ivybrook. She drew herself away from Mudfrost, glancing toward the deputy as she felt her tail on her shoulder and words in her ear. She forced on a soft, shaky smile as she opened her mouth to respond but a single word dropped her in her tracks. 'Grieve.' She...She wasn't suppose to grieve. She had made a promise to herself that she was going to be strong for her Clanmates, be there for them when they had to grieve. She...She couldn't give up on it now. Not when they needed her to be strong more than ever to make up for their dwindling numbers.

So, she said nothing as she got to her paws and followed her old mentor from the den, gaze focused on the trailing tail of Mudfrost. She still couldn't believe it. She was gone. She...She should have made her visit Mistleshine's den. She should have checked up on her sooner. She should...She closed her eyes as she came to a stop, listening to Ivybrook say the parting words to the warrior's spirit. ...What was the point? What was done, was done. She would have to live with her regrets. She took in a shaky breath, eyes flickering open as she crossed the small area to take a seat at Ivybrook's side, gently pressing herself against her mentor. She...She wasn't going to allow herself be dragged down by this death. She was going to miss Mudfrost so much but...She would be fine. The Clan would be fine.

She just had to have hope.

Mudfrost hadn't come to the apprentice's den that dawn.
Featherpaw had been awaiting her appearance.

Her pelt didn't emerge from the warrior's den.

Where was she..?

...
...

She waded through the river into camp, ripples dancing around her. She felt the swirling gusts carress her pelt. She felt the relentless chill sharply piercing at her lungs. With a quavering breath, she saw the flurry billowing from her maw. Her mentor hadn't awoken yet, so Featherpaw had departed for a lone leisure stroll - at least, as "leisure" as something could be in this harsh environment - intending to do something useful. For RiverClan. Everyday, she found herself by the river, eyes whisking around, catching the tempting glimmers beneath the glassy surface. The river had been glazed over with a coat of ice, and yet she often found herself gazing at it wistfully. With Leaf-Bare came rather unwelcome changes - including having to redirect her focus to land prey. Mudfrost's familiar presence hadn't been with her that time. The apprentice had noticed... something off about her recently. Staggering bouts of coughs and a fatigued dullness in her eyes. Mudfrost had pushed on, though. Featherpaw pushed on alongside her.

Maybe it was because she wanted nothing as much as to please her mentor.

Perhaps as a gift, she had exerted extra effort that solitary patrol. It was with the faintest ember of triumph that she had returned with a water vole. This time, she seemed to have managed to snag its tail. What brought her a feeling of achievement was that this creature had not been bone-slick - it actually had quite a bit of mass to it. Featherpaw couldn't remember the last time she had caught a furry creature this greatly sized.

She wanted to show Mudfrost before giving it to the nursery.
Would she be proud?

...

She immediately caught sight of her pelt. Those spots were distinguishable anywhere. Her glistening mint eyes showcased fulfilment as she trotted towards Mudfrost. But, something wasn't right.

Why was she asleep in the middle of camp?

...
..
.

Déjà vu.
A sleek white pelt embellished with splashes of umber. Sleeping peacefully, endlessly; presented with their natural grace in the middle of camp. Immobile, still. Unmoving.

This was familiar.
This was all too familiar.

Something flashed in her eyes. A memory she despised. She had been naive back then. Naive and young, yet the death was still fresh in her mind. Her father...

A shiver racked her body, her glazed eyes snapping into the light of reality.
Now she realised.
She should have known.

Why hadn't she recognised the signs?

She heard a wailing cry resonate around the ring. Her maw was parted, she had dropped her catch, and yet she hadn't recognised whose voice it had been. Shivering, but not from the cold, she stumbled towards the warrior. Honeytongue and Ivybrook were already by her side. Now, Mudfrost had someone new to keep her company. It seemed the apprentice had collapsed right before the fallen warrior. It was without hesitation that she burrowed her muzzle in her mentor's fur. A brief and gentle touch. She was cold, so cold... just like the blizzard whirling within Featherpaw's stomach. Perhaps she was subconsciously trying to disguise the crystals forming by the corners of her eyes.

"...Th-thank y-you, M-Mudf-frost..." she whispered, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her, " Y-You were the b-b-best m-mentor.. I-I'm s-s-sorry..." Her blinking became rapid, uncontrollable. Her voice descended to the lowest of volumes, utters almost inaudible "...I-I promise... I'll make you proud."

Now she had to grieve all over again.

Among the grieving and commotion, a small black tom turned over in his sleep. His eyes were almost sealed shut by tears of fatigue that had formed the night before when he and Mistleshine had been hard at work sorting, memorising and using herbs. His ears twitched at a sudden loud noise coming from the center of camp, but he refused to wake up just then.
He was tired, it was probably nothing. But the wail turned to sobs, which even the deeply sleeping Spiderpaw couldn't ignore. He opened eyes tentatively, letting the morning light filter through his eyelids. As he shook out his thin pelt and yawned, he quietly tiptoed out of the den so as not to wake Mistleshine. She needed her rest, after all.

He looked around blankly for a moment, not noticing anything unordinary. Most cats were asleep, except for...
Oh.
Oh no.

His eyes took in the scene, consisting of four cats; only one of which looked content. Padding slowly towards them, he recognised Honeytongue, the cat who had played with him when he was still a kit. Ivybrook, too, he didn't know her well but had spoken to her before. And Featherpaw, he believed her name was, though he didn't know much about her. Finally, in the middle of it all was Mudfrost. Again, he didn't know her much apart from her name and the fact that he had seen her in the medicine den a few times, but seeing her dead shook him to his core. Tears of sadness and frustration threatened to escape the corners of his eyes and roll down his cheeks, which they did. He never... Thought about anyone dying. A foolish part of him had believed that--that nobody was going to die anymore now that he was Mistleshine's apprentice. A stupid thing to think, really. He pressed hid shoulder against Honeytongue's--the only cat he knew well enough to do so--and sat down. "I-I'm sorry. She was your friend, and it's all my fault... I should have known, it's my j-job to know..." He forced the words from his throat between soft sobs. It was his fault, he knew it. He should've recognized the symptoms earlier, then this would never have happened.
This would never happen again. He had to make sure of it.