As soon as he woke, he realized that the entire Clan hadn't really registered what had occurred.

Everyone had just stumbled around, waiting for someone else to say something. No words had been spoken about the tom, only logistics, void of the emotion that deaths usually carried. Was that because of the possible lie that Cougarstar had let drift upon the Clan? He didn't know but it didn't seem to matter. What had occurred hadn't sunk in. Not yet.

That Birchpaw was gone, and that his siblings were warriors. That he would never gain a warrior name, and he would never feel the pride of an apprentice finally growing to be old enough to be considered a warrior. Briargaze knew of it, Mudstripe knew of it, Beetlepath knew of it; all of the newest warriors knew of it.

But Birchpaw would never get to know it, and the Clan would never get to see his figure alive and furred once more. Nobody would get to see him running around the camp, ears perked, calls echoing, trying to get his siblings and his friends to do something. No longer would anything happen regarding him. And what would Cougarstar do?

Turn to the rogues. Blame it on the rogues, claim it was all because of them when it was simply his fault. His and the entire complex he'd created for himself, yet one of which he refused to acknowledge because it would diminish the power he'd cradled in paws with claws unsheathed for moons and moons. It was all unfair, all bad and all unfair.

Tears blurring the edges of his dark gray gaze, Adderheart harshly rose from his spot in the den, eyes momentarily traveling around the den, only to land upon Swallowripple. Beside her, Bumblepuddle slept, though he thrashed and turned every few moments. Finchtansy was off toward the edge, and the senior warrior's muzzle twisted.

He forced his eyes away and quickly he turned, pushing himself to the edge of the den as he slipped through the entrance. It would simply be dumb to go hunting when Cougarstar had ordered fighting training for the day, but he really didn't want to do fighting. It was like he was trying to push the fighting-against-rogues thing even more than he previously had been.

Noticing that the snow was actually still around, and very much present and causing the camp to be surrounded by quite a chill that he shivered, the lean warrior shifted uncomfortably. Leaf-bare's snows were always bad, for reasons unknown, but it didn't matter. None of it did, really, for the snow had melted a little.

The walls were growing shorter and shorter, and he could actually see over them at this point of the day, which was surprising. The ground wasn't coated in the chilly substance any longer, and in its place the snow left small chunks of such. It was unable to leave completely it seemed, and the clouds above rumbled as if threatening to spill more snow upon the world.

And in that moment, several bloodied cats stumbled into camp.

"What happened?" He asked immediately, hurriedly loping over to catch a falling Poppyfur. The she-cat's muzzle was coated in blood, and the substance spilled easily from her maw. Horror engulfed him and he stumbled back, eyes widening.

Briargaze, standing nearby, had a cut across her cheek and had a chunk cut out from her ear. She stumbled momentarily, making her way to the medicine cat's den, not wanting to wait, and before she left, she quickly managed to snag Poppyfur. The she-cat appeared tired, and as she disappeared into the den, or at least in front of it, he caught the scent of prey upon their pelts.

"Rogues," a voice coughed out, and Adderheart turned to see Dustshade. His pelt, usually fluffy and mostly white, was now stained red. Crimson red. "At the border. We were hunting."

Adderheart's ears twitched harshly as his dark gray eyes swept the camp.

The spot upon the ground, burnt and already appearing to be fading, was fresh now within his vision as he looked, and he was quick to divert his eyes. Dustshade stumbled, lifting a paw as he huffed for breath, and Adderheart quickly turned to head for the healers' den.

But both dark-furred she-cats rushed from the den immediately, holding herbs in their jaws, and he noticed that they appeared withered. Not the she-cats, the herbs; the tips of their leaves were slowly inching away, as if frost was biting them away, and they were darkened and slightly curled down toward the ground.

Sidestepping as to not get in their way, he looked around once more, ears twitching as he watched the healers quickly apply herbs and usher the remaining cats to their den. Pawsteps suddenly filled the air and he could even hear Cougarstar's pawsteps echoing throughout the air, harsh and sudden as the tom marched around.

And as he turned, he found the tom was really there, and with a huff he marched straight up to Adderheart.

"What happened?" He demanded, eyes narrowed.

"Rogues," he explained, controlling his voice with an iron grip. "They attacked Dustshade and his hunting patrol at the border."

"More rogues? Get on sorting patrols," he ordered, whipping around to stalk toward the fresh-kill pile and survey that it had only a mouse. Scoffing, he grabbed it and sprung upon the highrock, whereupon he glared down at Adderheart. "So? Get on it!"

"I'm not... I don't do patrols, I'm Adderheart," he told the leader, hating that he wanted to shiver and run off; he had to explain first. He couldn't go hunting without getting this over with first, as much as he wanted to just up and go.

"What? Go find Palewhisker." Cougarstar looked down at him as if the order had been clearly explained for him, and his muzzle twisted into an irritated frown. "Hurry up!"

The senior warrior quickly rose and surveyed the camp, peering over the snowy walls. He knew that the faster he'd be, the better, and so he was quick to hurry toward the den where the deputy was. Peeking in, he spotted the tom slumbering away.

"Palewhisker, Cougarstar wants you to sort patrols," he mewed, and immediately, the grayish-tawny tom sat up, eyes sharp as he gazed around before they, daggers, landed upon Adderheart.

"Why?" He demanded, rising to his paws as he shook out his pelt. "And why'd he get you?"

"There's rogues," he answered, and followed it up with a shrug.

The tom's expression dropped from anger to fury and he stormed out past him, and on the way out, their pelts touched, and Adderheart shivered, a cold claw running down his spine. That's wrong.

Turning, he heard Bearpatch shifting within the den, but the lean-bodied tom quickly headed out of the den, ears harshly twitching. He wasn't about to wait any longer than he already had to in order to see Bearpatch; he didn't want to see him.

Heading back out into the clearing, Cougarstar was still poised atop the highrock, and he was hovering over it like it was a kit. He watched the Clan as if he was an eagle, flying above the rest of the Clan as he watched, eyes narrowed at the cats milling around.

A lot, if not most, of the warriors had gotten up, noting the words that had been so quickly tossed across the clearing. Freckletuft was one of the first up, pelt ruffled and eyes glazed, but the she-cat still forced herself upward to get out of the den. Fernfall was quick to follow, as was Marigoldcry. All of the new warriors flooded out of the den at the same time, movements swift.

From there, most of the warriors inched out of the den, swallowing yawns or hurriedly grooming their pelts. Cougarstar whipped his tail in Palewhisker's direction, who was standing in the middle of the camp.

It was a strange feeling that flitted through the air. It was similar to a chill, yet it was calming, rather stilling, in that it took hold of Adderheart and sent a wave of tranquility upon the usually nervous tom. Was this welcome? He didn't know, but it wasn't leaving.

"We're going to be focusing on fighting training," Palewhisker announced, tail lifting as he flickered it around. His chin lifted as he looked down upon the cats around camp. "And I want a patrol to search for the rogues that injured this dawn patrol."

The Clan appeared surprised though nobody said anything, rather simply just watched and waited for him to continue.

"Adderheart, Russetpelt, Antwhisper, and Beetlepath; you four go hunting. Margoldcry, Fernfall, Pantherleap, you three go look for the rogues, and the rest of you go battle train. Galewind, stay, and you too, Finchtansy."

Upon these words, the pale-furred warrior tried to fight down a wave of relief. He needed to be updated what was going on within the camp, and going hunting wouldn't really do much to help with that. But he also didn't want to go searching for these rogues.

It wasn't like he had a choice. Russetpelt charged forward, quickly heading for the entrance. Beetlepath sidestepped after the warrior, followed by Antwhisper, and the pale-furred senior warrior had nothing left to do but follow the three departing cats.

The world around was still covered in snow. As much as it had melted over time due to the sun's light above, it was still considerably snowy. The ground still had a thick layer of the cold substance upon the floor, pricking upward at the pawpads of the cats on patrol. Adderheart watched as Russetpelt picked his way over the mounds of snow that had built up at certain parts, particularly underneath some tall-rising pine trees.

He grew confused momentarily, as Beetlepath followed as he avoided the snow. However, Antwhisper narrowed his eyes, scoffed, and simply slipped by, charing right into the snow. What was the issue with stepping in it? The entire territory was covered in it, so why were the two warriors avoiding it? He decided not to press but found that the more they walked along, the more the two warriors edged around snow, or random holes within the territory.

A burst of energy surrounded the lean-bodied tom and he quickly sprung forward, lifting his muzzle as he soared through the air momentarily. And just like that, he caught the fleeting scent of a mouse, or some sort of creature that usually was upon the ground. In leaf-bare months he knew that prey was always difficult to find, but with snow in such big amounts, it was incredibly difficult to find anything.

He figured that the other warriors had yet to scent this prey, and so he continued on and lashed his tail as if to indicate that they not follow. Antwhisper caught the meaning and he quickly swerved away so Adderheart pushed on, leaping over a mound of snow. Endlessly, his paws seemed to slam upon the ground, and snow easily was thrown up behind him in some form of white, fluffy flag.

Eventually, he came upon a clearing which seemed to hold a strange aura surrounding it. Eyes sweeping the snowy ground below, he spotted a mouse, nibbling on something underneath the first layer of snow nearby to a tree's roots. The pine tree above the little creature simply waved its branches in a hello to the warrior who had approached, and apparently, the mouse had noticed him, too.

He could almost sense the horror within it as it whipped to run off, but he took several leaping bounds to catch up. Huffing as he slammed his paws down, he lifted them and found no mouse. A curse pressed at his lips but he whipped around, quickly scenting the air, and charged after where he thought it had gone.

Supposing that it wasn't strong enough to climb a tree, and supposing that it wasn't strong enough to run far due to the cold and foodless conditions, he decided that running after where he'd thought it had gone would be good enough. The more and more he ran, he noticed flashes of what seemed like a mouse's tail ahead of him.

He reared to a stop as pain spiraled up his leg, but he gritted his teeth and continued, hurriedly rushing forward as he finally caught up to the creature. And within a moment, he slammed his paw down upon its paw, sending it through the snow.

Losing his balance, he jerked forward and fell, easily making an imprint in the snow. Quickly, he rose and turned harshly, peering down to where the creature was supposed to be.

And there it was, twisted awkwardly at being placed in such a situation. Its legs were twisted upward, but it didn't appear to be suffering all that much.

Biting down easily upon it, the mouse soon went still, and he lifted himself and it up with a quick jump into the air. Scenting the air, he caught the scent of blood and glanced down to reassure himself; there it was, splattered upon the pristine white snow. Shifting momentarily, he padded a bit away, the scent of pines wreathing around him.

He gazed around as if expecting to find the patrol running up to him, but he was alone within the pines.

Turning away, he slipped around the trees, moving his way through the pine trees as though he was a breeze. His figure was smooth in its movement, pelt hardly brushing up as he continued to weave his way throughout the territory. He had yet to scent the patrol but hoped that he was at least getting a little bit closer, as he didn't want to be wandering forever.

Eventually, after much weaving and careful wandering throughout the large number of pine trees, he caught Antwhisper's scent, caught on one of the trees, and so he took off after it.

Finally, he spotted the half-familiar reddish-brown pelt of the warrior, and instead of making a big deal about it, he simply slipped into the line of the patrol. Within moments, nobody seemed to have noticed his arrival, though he didn't say anything, and he didn't do anything.

Antwhisper eventually turned and appeared surprised to see Adderheart.

"Good catch," he commented, dipping his head to the senior warrior. Beetlepath beside him turned and nodded absently at Adderheart. Russetpelt simply flickered his tail to the tom as if to say the same thing Antwhisper had.

"Thanks," he responded, disliking how the words seemed to drop through the air like a rock through water. The patrol's dynamic was... strange, and he didn't exactly like it. Most of them seemed to be on the quieter and more goal-oriented side, meaning that none of them wished to discuss idly. But could he expect them to do so? No. It wasn't like he did.

Taking a quick glance ahead to survey the amount of prey they'd gotten, he found only one small and half-dead vole. He decided it was best if he didn't question as to why it looked as though it had been completely shredded, but he did let a few simple words escape his maw; it was only polite, after all.

"Nice catch."

"Thanks."

The reply was as simple as ever, and as much as he disliked it, at least it was something.

Silence settled upon the group as though it were a blanket of snow and they were the ground, silent and unmoving under its cold form. They walked along, quiet, pawsteps muffled by the actual snow beneath their lightly shifting paws. The walk wasn't difficult, rather it was the opposite, in that it was easy to head along.

There was no path but there didn't need to be. And as much as the silence around them was unsettling, it was familiar in its strangeness and totality. He was used to a silence that was somewhat comforting, though this wasn't similar to it in any way. But did that mean he disliked it? That was harder to tell.

Slipping around a tree, his dark gray gaze momentarily shifted to survey each member of the patrol, and all appeared content with keeping the patrol quiet and continually walking along. But his legs were growing tired, as his eyes were growing less and less focused on the things in front of him and more so willing to flit around, and his mind was growing louder as time went on, too.

"Are we going to go back to camp?" He finally asked, feeling as though he'd just taken the last piece of prey from a starving Clan.

The group stayed silent for a few moments and terror easily sparked within the senior warrior. What if they didn't hear me? Do I have to repeat myself? What if rogues are around and they're causing too much noise, or what if they're distracted too? Thoughts running, running and jumping away from him and straight out of his grasp, slipping and sliding upon the now-melting snow, caused by the shame from his pelt, heating everything up and causing all the prey to wither.

Wither and die.

"Let's," Antwhisper added soon after, and the rest of the patrol nodded.