Dovewing’s Silence

Dovewing woke to find pale dawn light filtering through the leafless branches. She was bitterly cold, and her breath hung in clouds in the still air. All around the clearing, her Clanmates were stirring from where they had slept beneath the sky, huddled around the fallen warriors. Sorreltail’s body had been brought out of the nursery during the night and laid next to Mousefur, a splash of light color against Mousefur’s soft brown pelt. Brackenfur crouched beside his dead mate, his eyes closed, though Dovewing doubted he had slept for a moment.

A dark tabby shape moved through the clearing, gently rousing each cat. It was Purdy, his muzzle looking grayer than ever and his pelt ruffled with lack of rest. “Our vigil is over,” he meowed quietly to his Clanmates. “These cats must be laid in the ground.” When Molepaw responded with a grunt of protest, Purdy told him, “I am the only elder left. I cannot bury them alone. I need your help.”

Abashed, the young brown-and-cream tom scrambled to his paws and followed Purdy across the clearing to where the dead cats lay. Others joined them: Graystripe, Rosepetal, Blossomfall, and Bumblestripe. Dovewing fell in behind them, stumbling on paws that felt as cold as stone. As she passed the tangled remnants of the elders’ den, she heard muffled squeaks, loud enough to suggest that Daisy and Brightheart had made room for Sorreltail’s kits in there as well and were keeping them away from the clearing for as long as they possibly could.

Bumblestripe headed for Firestar’s body, and Dovewing watched her sister pad up to Hollyleaf, her shoulders hunched with grief. Dovewing followed and gently took one side of Hollyleaf’s scruff in her mouth. From the corner of her eye she saw her father go up to Ferncloud. Icecloud and Spiderleg stood beside the little gray body, their heads bowed and their flanks hollow with exhaustion. As Birchfall approached, Dustpelt stepped forward, blocking Ferncloud from view.

“We can manage, Birchfall,” he mewed.

The tip of Birchfall’s tail twitched. “She was my mother. I want to carry her on her last journey.”

Dustpelt flattened his ears. “You gave up that right when you betrayed your Clan,” he growled, so softly that Dovewing could hardly hear. She let go of Hollyleaf’s scruff and shook her head impatiently, trying to sharpen her senses.

To her surprise, Birchfall didn’t argue. Instead he turned and walked back to the warriors’ den. Dovewing opened her mouth to call after him but Ivypool caught her eye.

“Don’t say anything,” she warned. “Let’s get this done first.” She bent down and took hold of the other side of Hollyleaf’s neck fur. Poppyfrost and Cloudtail gripped the loose skin on her haunches. Their eyes were dark with sorrow. Dovewing noticed Thornclaw, Mousewhisker, and Blossomfall following her father back to the den. Had their help been turned down as well? A prickle of alarm stirred beneath Dovewing’s fur. Are they being shunned by the other cats because they trained with the Dark Forest? She was distracted as the others hefted Hollyleaf off the ground, and she had to splay her paws to take her share of the weight. Hollyleaf wasn’t heavy, but her cold, stiff form was awkward and unwieldy to move, swinging between the four cats and knocking them off balance. Dustpelt and Spiderleg carried Ferncloud between them as if she weighed no more than a piece of thistledown. Icecloud walked behind with her mother’s tail draped over her shoulder. Bumblestripe, Lionblaze, Cinderheart, and Purdy bore Mousefur among them, the old she-cat silenced forever, her jaws hanging slightly open as if she had something more to say. Firestar was carried by Sandstorm, Graystripe, Squirrelflight, and Millie. Dovewing heard the gray tabby she-cat murmur, “We were born as kittypets, but look at us now, my precious friend.”

At first Brackenfur seemed reluctant to let anyone else touch Sorreltail, as if they might disturb her. Gently Rosepetal, Berrynose, and Whitewing pressed around the queen’s body and lifted her as carefully as if she were a newborn kit. Brackenfur stooped to cradle Sorreltail’s chin on the back of his neck. His grief clung like mist to his ruffled pelt and Dovewing had to look away.

Leafpool led the sad procession out of the hollow and into the oldest part of the woods in ThunderClan territory, between the camp and the lakeshore, where oak trees grew twisted and silver with age. The ground here was soft and thick with moss, making it easier to dig. The cats laid down their precious burdens in a row and stepped back to let Leafpool stand over each fallen warrior and send them on their journey to StarClan.