Warriors: Rise of the Weather [1] : The Journey Begins (OLD/DISCONTINUED)

Chapter Sixteen

Edited ✔️
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"I don't get it." Streamflower meowed, her honey yellow gaze glittering with concern as Snowdrift explained his dream to her. The two lay in their separate nests, Streamflower's tail swishing back and forth. "Are you sure you don't need to speak to Leopardstalk or Twigpool?"

Snowdrift shook his head as frustration flashed beneath his pelt, and he gently nuzzled the she-cat's cheek. "I'm sure I shouldn't speak to them." He reassured. "I think this dream was meant for only the two of us to figure out, and nobody else." Streamflower looked at him doubtfully, but let out a reluctant sigh nonetheless.

"Alright. I'm going to go hunting. The freshkill pile is in need to be stocked." Snowdrift nodded in agreement, rising to his feet and trailing after her. Now that Firesplash and Willowbush, whom were two of the best hunters in the clan, had gotten greencough, the clan needed to send out more frequent patrols. Prey was running low and ThunderClan needed to be well fed in order to maintain good health.

The two warriors set off across the clearing, leaving the camp and heading in the direction of the WindClan border. The previous snowfall had eased to a stop, and a chilly wind whisked through the air. Snowdrift managed to catch a thrush with the help of Streamflower, before catching an odd scent drifting along the breeze.

Lifting his head, Snowdrift pinpointed the direction the smell was coming from, his ears pricked up with alarm. "Do you smell that?" He asked anxiously, his pelt prickling. Streamflower parted her jaws as she tasted the air, lifting a paw from the ground.

"Yes, I do." She meowed firmly, her eyes narrowing. She slipped forward, padding through the undergrowth as she tracked the smell. Snowdrift followed along, sniffing the trail before finally spotting a lump of gold and white fur through the low hanging branches of an oak tree.

Streamflower let out a mortified gasp, and Snowdrift darted forward, his gaze fixating on the figure on the ground.

"Littleshine!" The white tom exclaimed, dashing forward and standing before the corpse. With a strangled cry of grief, his knees buckled and he buried his nose into her cold fur.

Streamflower stood, frozen with dread as she stared at the dead deputy. She leaned forward, gently touching the tip of Snowdrift's ear. "Snowdrift," she breathed, her voice raspy with sorrow. "We have to take her back to camp."

Snowdrift met her gaze, holding it for a few moments. With a grim nod, he grasped Littleshine's limp scruff between his jaws, while Streamflower took a hold of her haunches. Together, the two hauled her back to camp, her dull amber eyes staring up at the sky and her dangling ears snagging briefly on the brambles of the camp entrance as they stumbled into the clearing. Snowdrift was nearly blinded by grief as he dropped her to the ground, nearly collapsing with her as a wave of sadness overtook him.

An eerie silence had fallen over the camp the moment they had stepped into it. Leopardstalk's head poked out of his den, and his gaze darkened as he noticed what lay at the two's paws. Darting forward, the black tom began to sniff along her fur. His green eyes sharpened, and he looked up at the two.

"Where did you find her?"

Snowdrift swallowed, his voice trembling as he answered the medicine cat. "B-By the WindClan border." He rasped, staring at the ground. Leopardstalk nodded, backing away and vanishing back into his den.

He came back out a few moments later, carrying a bundle of herbs firmly between his teeth. Dragging the corpse to the center of the clearing, he groomed the she-cat's fur, shifting her body to make it look as if she were only sleeping. Placing her gently down, Snowdrift finally processed the presence of another cat laying beside Littleshine. The tom's pale yellow and black fur was ruffling slightly in the breeze. Shimmerbranch sat beside him, paying no mind to the fact that the deputy was dead as well.