Nightfall [Sprucesnow]

Leafbare, oh how Nighthawk despised it. The cold weather, the biting wind, the relentless snowfall... And most of all, the absence of any greenery to be had in the forest. Sunset painted the sky a brilliant orange, giving way to dusky purple as the frail elder sat just outside the den. The sunset should've been beautiful, but to Nighthawk, the forest had never seemed so bleak.

She shivered visibly beneath her short, thin fur, and her muzzle, once so dark, seemed to be nearly as pale as the snow now. It certainly hadn't been that way last greenleaf, she was sure of it. The elder took a ragged lungful of frigid air, and coughed. Pain radiating from her chest at the movement. It took several long, uncomfortable moments for her coughing to subside, the coughing fits had been steadily getting worse, and the cold, bitter air did little to help. Skyclan's medicine cat was a cranky, ornery thing, but she was skilled. Yet even her skill wasn't going to be enough. Nighthawk's lungs were simply beyond it, at this point. Not that that stopped her from trying, but Nighthawk knew a wasted effort when she saw one. Or ate one, rather. The bitter aftertaste of the herbs lingered, even now.

Wearily, Nighthawk pressed into her mate's side, a rasping sigh escaping her. Dull amber eyes gazed out at the camp, deeply unhappy with the presence of the pelted cats that had become part of the shadows. That she could do nothing bothered her deeply, and she hated to admit she lacked the strength to fight. Yet, that was why she'd retired, wasn't it? The clan would need to find a way out of this, somehow, but Nighthawk knew that she wouldn't be among them to see it end. If it were to end at all. The future certainly didn't seem so promising, and the rogues wouldn't just leave of their own accord.

How she longed to be free of their presence, to wake up to a quiet, peaceful camp. To curl up in a patch of sunlight and not shiver from this stars-cursed cold. All of that seemed far away, now.

As if taunting her, the first flakes of snow began to fall for the night. Nighthawk recoiled as a cold flake landed on her nose, whiskers twitching in irritation.

"Leafbare, ugh. This stuff is vile." A complaint often heard from the elder, it was true. But it was a perfectly valid complaint.

Sprucesnow, as much as he tried to ignore it, knew what was coming. He had seen it before. The coughs, the breathing, the shivers. The elder tried not to think about it, but it was seemingly impossible to escape. He knew it had to happen at one point, of course. All cats die, move on to Starclan. It was the natural order. He had never questioned it. But now, as he was facing it head on, he wished he could turn back time, stay frozen in their youth, together. He didn’t want her to go out like this. Not with sickness. And not with the Asylum, either. The coughs started again, and he instinctively snapped his head toward the she-cat. He let her cushion herself in him, and he sighed. He almost wished that he shared this pain with her. They could get through it together, like they had for moons. He couldn’t imagine how bleak a world without her would be. The snow would have been do beautiful, if on another night. Lately the tom could be found almost exclusively with his mate. He stayed by her side as much as he could. He was scared that if he looked away, even for a few moments, she would be gone.

Nighthawk complaining made him feel better, in an odd sort of way. That was such a her thing to do. It was comforting, knowing that not everything had been taken away. "Still, it’s so beautiful. The snow, the stars," He winced. Even the word stars felt wrong.

Will I ever be able to look at them the same way? After-

He scolded himself internally. He couldn’t think like that. Nighthawk was so resilient, she could pull through. Sprucesnow repeated over and over in his head, as if that could make it true. Maybe it could, or maybe it was a waste of effort. But he was desperate.

"Not as beautiful as you." Nighthawk responded, and not as warm. The frail elder gently bumped her head against Sprucesnow's shoulder, a weak purr rasping painfully in her throat.

She could read the fear her mate carried plainly, and it was something she shared in. Amber eyes lifted to meet his, a quiet sigh escaping her. Nighthawk couldn't leave him like this. Not with the clan's future in such peril, not in the middle of leafbare. Not because of some sickness. She didn't want to leave him behind at all. Graybird, Deerpaw and Jaypaw... She didn't want to leave any of them behind.

It wasn't fair, and Nighthawk hated more than anything that there was nothing to be done about it. The only thing she could do was accept it... And that felt wrong. She had lived longer than most, sure. She'd had the privilege of retiring to the life of an elder with her mate. She had grandkits that were promising young warriors and apprentices. Grandkits she had not spent nearly enough time with. It felt like she hadn't even spent enough time with her mate, for all the seasons they'd been together, hadn't told him enough all the things she should've said sooner.

"I love you, you know that?" Another round of coughing hit her on the tail end of the words, and when it finally subsided Nighthawk could do little more than lay where she was, shivering. Death would come for her sooner rather than later, that much was obvious. For now, she'd treasure what time remained to her.