A sheet of white blanketed the camp, unbroken except for a trail of pawsteps leading from the warrior's den to the camp entrance. From behind a snow-laden thicket, Silverjaw was twisted over her back, lapping at her spine while she waited for Wishfern's final check-up.

        Being out in the cold for too long, turns out, had its consequences. Silverjaw had been wracked with a horrific illness for a quarter-moon now, and at last, she was feeling more like herself. During her time in the medicine den, however, her mind had been stuck to its own devices. She relived the deaths of Owlpaw and Sorrelmouse countless times, nearly every moment she shut her eyes. Particularly, though, her thoughts had lingered on the rogues and Pinestar's speculation that they had hidden their scent. She shuddered, her claws scraping at the mangled edge of her nest yet again.

    What motive could they possibly have? Yes, they were evil, but there was no way in StarClan that they'd have wanted a cat to follow them into the forest... right?

    She shook her head and pushed the thoughts into the deepest crevices of her mind. Fortunately, Lichenpaw, Mistpaw, and most often, Toadpaw accompanied her stay—at a distance, as Wishfern proclaimed her illness might be contagious. Having other cats to talk to had been her saving grace. Otherwise, she was certain she would've gone mad.

    Shuffling around in the far nooks of the medicine den, Wishfern shoved a bundle of herbs into the shelf. She turned around and leaped carefully over a small sheen of ice; the once bubbling stream now frozen over. She moved forward a few more paces and touched her nose to Silverjaw's.

    "Your fever has subsided," Wishfern declared as she pulled away. "How's your voice feeling?"

    "My throat doesn't hurt anymore," Silverjaw mewed clearly.

    "Good." Wishfern's feathery tail flicked thoughtfully. "You may return to your duties, but I suggest you take care of how long you're in the cold for. You're lucky you didn't catch whitecough."

    Silverjaw nodded agreeably. She was glad she hadn't introduced whitecough—the lesser version of the more deadly greencough—to the Clan. Her stay in the medicine den had made her painfully aware of their lack of catmint, the only cure to the terrible ailment.

    "Thank you again, Wishfern." Silverjaw brushed past the white-furred medicine cat, casting her a small smile.

    Wishfern twitched an ear. "Don't bother thanking me," she dismissed, returning to her herb store. "I'm just doing my job."

    Silverjaw flicked her whiskers in amusement at the now-familiar phrase, slipping out of the thicket and into the  clearing. The air was crisp and cold, stinging at her lungs as she inhaled, but regardless of the piercing bite, the smells of leaf-bare refreshed her after her long stay in the medicine den's stale atmosphere.

    Her eyes flitted about the clearing. The camp was mostly empty. Salmonskip's ringed tail disappeared just beyond the camp entrance, a small patrol trailing him. Nearby, Paledusk nosed his way into the warrior's den, before backing out with Robinleap at his rear.

    "Feeling better already?" The light gray tom mewed, approaching the silver warrior.

    "As healthy as a kit," Silverjaw replied with a smile.

    "Perfect. Would you join us on a hunting patrol? An extra set of paws would be helpful."

    "Absolutely," Silverjaw purred. "I really need to stretch my legs."

    Paledusk nodded. Swishing his tail, he led his fellow warriors out of camp. Beyond the protection of the walls, the air was much colder. Silverjaw fluffed out her fur and shivered, her eyes straying to the river.

    The shore had developed a light sheen of ice, broken where paws had stepped, but otherwise suffocating bits of grass and reeds that struggled to break free. The river, still much higher than it should be, had shrunk by a few margins since their first snow, the water no longer reaching inside the camp. Still, the height at which it had settled made Silverjaw wary. Would it rise again after the first snowmelt?

    The cats swiftly crossed to the other side of the river. The snow was light and powdery where dozens of paws had already trampled it down. The patrol diverted from the typical path, falling into deeper, untouched snow as they slipped away from the river. It took a serious effort to push through, and Silverjaw began to dread the sore muscles she'd be greeted with in the evening.

    "What are we hoping to catch?" She inquired. "Land or river prey?"

    Paledusk thought for a moment. "River prey," he decided. "I'm sick of eating fur."

    "Maybe we'll catch something big," Robinleap piped in, rasping his tongue over his lips with a glint to his eyes. "Perhaps a bass."

    A river gradually came into sight. It was the same one Silverjaw had crossed with Toadpaw when she had been ordered to test the rogue scent. It was still overwhelming its banks, but it was much calmer than before, gliding along at a sluggish pace while slabs of ice lazily drifted downstream.

    Paledusk reeled the patrol to a slow stop on the bank. He swished his tail and waded in. Silverjaw followed quickly after, her heartbeat rising in eager anticipation. This was her first hunt as a warrior!

    Her paws crushed through the fringes of ice. She winced as the freezing water swept over her paws, gritting her teeth.

    "Wishfern is going to kill me," she muttered, recalling the medicine cat's warning against the cold.

    Paledusk tossed a sly grin over his shoulder. "Not if she doesn't catch you."

    Silverjaw let out a soft mrrow as she waded deeper. She pushed against the shore, her feet flying aloft. Her paws paddled as water washed over her spine, clutching her in its ice-cold grip. She clenched her teeth against the biting chill.

    "Do you see any fish over there?" She called out to Robinleap, who'd walked further upstream.

    "Not yet, but I see something that'll be worth our while!"

    The reddish tom splashed loudly into the river. Silverjaw's ears flattened against her head, and she squinted upstream. An alarmed squawk cut the air. With a lithe kick, the silver warrior pushed forward to see what it was.

    Bobbing along the surface of the water was a duck, streaming straight for the shallows.

    "Coming your way!" Robinleap shouted from behind, rapidly losing ground on the swift bird.

    Lowering her head, Silverjaw kept her nose and eyes hardly above the surface, paddling quickly towards the shore until her paws barely skimmed the ground. She slipped forward, ever-so-slightly, until her feet were solidly pressed against the earth. Her ears flat and chin in the water, she watched the duck as it fled nearer to her.

    Just a little closer, she prompted, adrenaline rising to a pulsing beat in her veins.

    Then, Silverjaw lunged.

    The duck shrieked and wildly flapped its snow-white wings as the silver tabby appeared from the river, her claws outstretched and closing around its feathered body. It was a fierce struggle, and the two rolled underwater. Silverjaw fought the wild bird, pushing through the pain as its wings battered her head and its webbed talons slashed against her skin. Eventually, in a stroke of luck, she overpowered it, her teeth closing around its windpipe. She held tight as its life bled away.

    At last, its struggles ebbed to nothing. Silverjaw used her hindlegs to propel herself from the ground, bursting to the surface. She drank lungfuls of air into her aching chest. She dragged the limp bird to the shore, dropping it onto the snow-covered bank. She stepped away, dropping to her haunches to survey her catch, a bird nearly as large as her.

    My first prey as a warrior! She thought happily, lifting her head. Her heart twisted as she regretfully thought of her brother, but for once, she found a sliver of warmth as she recalled his face.

    She stiffened as she caught the faintest whiff of his scent, brief enough that she couldn't tell if it was real or not. Was he enjoying the moment with her, watching from StarClan? Maybe, just maybe, he was happy for her.

    "Nicely done," Robinleap praised, nudging her side. She jolted, whipping around to face him. "I was certain it would escape."

    Silverjaw blinked, losing her train of thought. "I was able to catch it thanks to your heads up," she argued, flicking her tail against his flank.

    Robinleap shrugged dismissively, dipping back into the river. Once she'd caught her breath, Silverjaw followed suit, and the patrol continued on their hunt.

❀

    The duck bumped against her legs as Silverjaw struggled to drag it back into camp. Her lower fur was battered with light scratches and dried blood from her tussle with her prey, but it was nothing she couldn't survive. The bird itself was wet from its journey across the crossing stones, but still remained fresh, the lukewarm blood teasing her tastebuds. She dropped it into the fresh-kill pile with a sigh. It was monstrous among the rest of the patrol's feeble catch of the day; a minnow and a small salmon.

    Although the rivers provided well during the cold season, it was clear that fish was more populous during new-leaf and green-leaf. If the hunting patrols remained so disappointing, Silverjaw was certain her Clanmates would grow noticeably thinner.

    "Robinleap and I are heading out to hunt some more," Paledusk mewed, as if reading Silverjaw's thoughts. "Would you like to join us?"

    Silverjaw brightened, but hesitated and shook her head. "I'd better warm up a bit, lest I catch a cold again. Wishfern will rip my tail off if she finds me with another cough."

    Paledusk chuckled. "Suit yourself."

    Silverjaw turned to study the camp as the two toms swiftly left.

    There were few cats occupying the clearing. As was becoming the new usual, the warriors were run thin and tired, giving them little time to relax. They were either sent to mark the borders to keep rogues and ShadowClan at bay, or to hunt for their scarce prey-pile. In fact, Dappledfang had collapsed from exhaustion just the day prior, and was now dragging a scrawny fish to the warrior's den where Wishfern had condemned him. Heatfur, the only other warrior in camp, sat guard at the entrance, visibly comfortable in her solitude.

    After a moment's pause, Silverjaw meandered over to the elders. Ravenfire, Sandytail, and Nightfur chatted softly near some bulrush by their den, discussing the 'good old days' from under the rule of Bubblestar. Silverjaw found herself enjoying the conversation, wishing she had lived in their times where there was no war against ShadowClan, no harsh leaf-bare, and no "flea-bitten rogue scum", as Sandytail put it.

"My grandkits will be joining you soon enough," Ravenfire purred with a gleam to her eyes. "Toadpaw has been talking my ear off about how excited he is to share a den with you again."

Silverjaw offered a soft laugh, unsure of how she was meant to respond.

    Eventually, she bode the talkative cats farewell, fetching a small trout from the fresh-kill pile to portion with Heatfur.

    "What's Finchpaw up to? Has her training been going well?" She asked.

    Heatfur nodded, taking a bite out of the fish. "She's doing wonderfully. She's full of energy and is a quick learner, but she sprained her paw this morning, so we're taking a few days to rest." Her whiskers flicked brightly. "I already caught her a few times trying to train, so now she's confined to Wishfern's care."

    Silverjaw purred in amusement. "Wishfern lets nothing slide."

    "Exactly," Heatfur mewed passionately. "And we're lucky it wasn't a break. She'd be devastated."

    Silverjaw nodded. "Especially so early into training. How'd it happen, anyways?"

    "She slipped on some ice at the Training Pool." The ginger warrior's tufted ear flicked, and she tilted her head. "Did you hear that?"

    Silverjaw pricked her ears and held her breath. After a heartbeat, the pounding of frantic pawsteps greeted her ears, following by little splashes as a cat flew across the crossing stones. She inhaled deeply. The iron tang of blood filled her lungs.

    "What—"

    Lichenpaw exploded through the reed barrier, her eyes wild and frantic. Silverjaw stepped back to avoid the apprentice crashing into her, but she darted a paw forward to catch the black she-cat's attention. Stumbling to a halt, Lichenpaw's blue eyes spun to the silver warrior.

    "Great StarClan! What's the matter, Lichenpaw?" Silverjaw exclaimed, her gaze roving over the panting she-cat. Lichenpaw was covered in bloody scratches, and her ear was entirely missing, blood oozing into her wide blue eyes.

    "Rogues," Lichenpaw hissed, fear dripping like acid from her tongue and spreading venomously to Silverjaw. "Our patrol was ambushed. We need reinforcements, and fast." Her eyes flickered around the vacant camp. Only the elders stared back at her. Ravenfire was already moving towards the group of warriors.

"Where is everybody?" The apprentice pressed.

    "They're... they're all out patrolling," Silverjaw realized with growing dread.

    "Lichenpaw, are you all right?" Ravenfire demanded, giving the apprentice a quick sniff.

    "No, Ravenfire! My patrol needs help!"

    "I can't go," Heatfur said quietly. "We need somebody here to guard the camp."

    Ravenfire snorted, whisking her tail towards Sandytail and Crowspots. "We may be old, but we're not helpless. We can defend the camp just fine. I'm not letting my granddaughter run into battle without an experienced warrior by her side." She bared her teeth, tilting her head up so she could glare at the towering warrior.

Heatfur dipped her head.

    Lichenpaw blinked gratefully, then turned her attention to Silverjaw, her tail lashing anxiously. "And you?"

    "Of course she's going," Ravenfire snapped indignantly. She turned her wise old eyes to Silverjaw, the ferocity of her gaze softening ever so slightly. "Isn't that right?"

    Silverjaw's mouth bobbed, suddenly at a loss for words. An active fight with the rogues. Her mind flickered back to the night of Owlpaw's death—the innumerable shapes writhing through the shadows. The agony of dozens of claws piercing her flesh. She sucked in a swift breath, realizing she had been holding it.

    "I—" She struggled to calm her breathing. There was a patrol being ambushed. She might be the tipping point between life or death. "Y-Yes, of course I'll go. Let's get Wishfern, we'll need her."

    Lichenpaw nodded and darted off to the medicine den. Moments later, Wishfern bustled out, a bundle of herbs already swinging from her jaws. She curtly nodded at the gathered she-cats, and with a lash of her tail, Lichenpaw led the haphazard party out of camp.