//Un//marked

// chapter 27 //

Dewpaw sat vigil for Birchfrost throughout the night. Alongside him, Jaystrike, Condor, Cinderblossom, and Sprucetail said their silent goodbyes. Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the first time he had ever seen snow, back in the cardboard camp of the alley cats, and Birchfrost's kind face as she explained what it was. It was a bittersweet memory now that she had passed.

Sitting next to Cinderblossom, he moved the tiniest bit closer. She had nearly been cleared by Mothpelt and her greencough was slowly going away, but the small coughs still rang out throughout the night until she was forced to retire to the medic's den. They did not speak to each other and, for the first time, Dewpaw felt a bit of guilt.

The following night the trainees returned from training to find a new body in the centre of camp. Quartz, the mentor they had all known and respected, looked so terribly small in death. Beside her lay another, the lilac-coloured tabby of the Junkyard Gang.

"No matter where we come from, death comes for us all the same," Nightchaser said quietly as the camp filled with grieving cats.

That night, the vigil was much larger. The trainees, in a show of solidarity, sat vigil around their fallen mentor, along with Condor, Bronco, Roxanne, and Beaver. The former gang said their silent goodbyes to Pixie opposite them. Yet, even in grief, there remained a tension in the air that Dewpaw could not explain.

After two straight nights of sitting vigil, Dewpaw fell into a deep sleep the third night. Surrounded by blackness, he remembered nothing of his dreams.

The morning after dawned cold but bright. The wind had picked up overnight and the bare branches of trees clicked together in protest. The sun continued to shine, the snow blindingly white beneath its rays. Dewpaw fluffed up his fur, unwilling to leave his nest.

The trainees had the day off today. Roxanne, Jaystrike, and Beaver were running a training session for the gang cats and any rebels and alley cats who felt they needed to brush up on their fighting skills. Nearly everyone had left camp, except for Condor, who stood guard, and the medic's, who continued to bustle around their patients. Since the deaths of Birchfrost, Pixie, and Quartz, the others had slowly gotten better. Crowpaw, in confidence, had told Dewpaw that they were all nearly healthy, and that Mothpelt insisted they stay in the den only to keep an eye on them for a few extra days.

"How do you feel about some climbing practice?" Oats bounded up the moment Dewpaw decided to leave his warm nest.

"Are my claws going to fall off from the cold?" Dewpaw asked, yawning.

Oats seemed to consider this possibility before shaking his head confidently. "Once you get started I'm sure you won't even feel the cold. You're going to be working so hard you'll forget it's leafbare!"

Dewpaw wasn't so sure, but followed the cream tom out of the camp anyway.

They found themselves in the copse of trees beside the frozen lake where Dewpaw had caught his first piece of freshkill. The trees sparkled in the sunlight, their trunks sheathed by a thin layer of ice, and Dewpaw felt the urge to turn tail. Oats dragged him on.

"Might be a little cold at first until we wear the ice down, but it'll get easier as we go along," Oats said conversationally. "Here, I'll go first."

With one bound, he had leapt up a quarter of the way to the tree's lowest branch. His paws moved one over the other, back legs scrabbling at the ice underneath and trying to catch a hold. In a few heartbeats, Oats had reached the branch.

"Come up, the view's great!" he called down. Dewpaw gritted his fangs.

He attempted a leap, as Oats had done, but his forepaws didn't find a hold on the tree trunk and he slid back to the ground.