//Un//marked

// chapter 30 //

The weight on her shoulders slowly lifted, but Lightpaw had no strength to get to her paws. Her mind whirled with images, of blood on a tabby pelt and blank, staring copper eyes.

"Lightpaw?" The voice sounded far away and the cream face in front of her was hazy. There were others too, a splash of brown and grey and black.

"Lightpaw, I'm going to help you into the medic's den." Cinderblossom's voice was soft, the brush of her tail over Lightpaw's back almost comforting.

The tortoiseshell shook her head. "No."

"Lightpaw, I know Reedpaw was your friend," Sprucetail cut in, her voice more firm. "But I can't let you lay here for the rest of the day."

"Please, let me help you," Cinderblossom said, pushing her shoulder to Lightpaw's own in an effort to help her up. Still, the tortoiseshell refused.

"He's in there." Her words dripped hatred.

They all paused around her. She let her eyes wander over them, vision clearing slightly. Sprucetail looked torn, while Cinderblossom's face held a heartbreakingly sad expression. Behind them, she could just make out the worried forms of Oats, Crisp, and Robin.

"Let's move you somewhere more private," Sprucetail decided. "I'll get Mothpelt to check on you there."

Lightpaw found herself in a pseudo-den with bramble walls, their branches intertwining slightly overhead. The snow was still able to sift its way through, but the ground remained mostly brown beneath her paws. Outside the bramble thickets stood Killian, who seemed to be sitting guard. A twinge of annoyance at being treated like a prisoner joined the grief and shock swirling inside of her.

Mothpelt found her by sunhigh, herbs clamped tightly in her mouth. One sniff and Lightpaw felt the grief well up inside her, threatening to spill. The lavender was too much.

"Eat them, they'll make you feel better." Mothpelt's insistent gaze never wavered as Lightpaw fought back the sadness. She thought of the den Reedpaw occupied – had occupied – in DarkClan and the way it had always smelled of lavender. If she'd had the strength, she would have gotten to her paws and run as far away as possible.

"Lightpaw, I need you to eat these. They'll help, I promise."

Lightpaw's eyes met Mothpelt's and the sob broke past the constriction in her chest and throat.

"He always smelled of lavender."

Mothpelt's eyes softened and the grey she-cat sat down. "Was he always sorting herbs?"

Lightpaw shook her head. "No, but he was always doing something – collecting herbs, sorting them, talking to the cats who visited him, healing them."

"Did you speak with him often?"

Lightpaw twitched her whiskers bitterly. "He was one of my closest friends."

Mothpelt nodded in understanding. "He sounds like quite the friend."

"He is." The scent of lavender ebbed slightly. "I mean, he was."

Reedpaw. Her friend, her confidante, the cat she went to with everything. She remembered his worry over being a good enough healer for the Clan, remembering the correct herbs and their uses. He tried so hard, for so little reward.

And now, he was gone.

Mothpelt remained silent, letting the younger she-cat grieve. When she finally spoke, her story was of sorrow.

"Wrenflight was my littermate. For moons, she had also been my closest friend, and Nightchaser's too. She kept both of us believing that the rebellion would work, that we could fight against Dawnstar and the ideals DarkClan tried to thrust onto us. She believed we could all have a better life after it was all over.