Cats were huddled against one another as harsh winds billowed through camp. The air was white with snow and all the formerly thickly leafed trees were now bare, reaching toward the sky like sickly claws. The snow banks were thick, filled with holes and paw prints where young Apprentices and even Warriors had been playing in them when the weather was better. Now, cats dreaded having to leave their dens and brace the snow. The prey pile had been heavily stocked up before the first winter storm, and had brought the clan this far into leaf-bare, but now it was running low and hunting was scarce.
Ghoststar had been rather enjoying herself at first. Her pure white fur blended perfectly with the glistening scene and she had hunted a good amount of plump weasels and mice just before they went underground to wait out the season. Even she prayed for the frigid weather to lighten up now. Cats came to Scorchtooth constantly, complaining about a cough, stiff limbs, or frozen paws. The sarcastic old tom hadn't lost his swiftness of the tongue despite the dull scene, but it could be seen in his eyes he too was worried. He'd already been unable to save one life.
Deep in the forest, his grave now covered in at least a tail length of snow, a newly appointed warrior had given his last breath only a few sunrises ago. His thick orange tabby fur had been groomed, the scent of green cough lifted from him, and he had been mourned for. Scorchtooth wasn't too worried any other cat would catch green cough. He figured it was the young tom's distinct flat face that had made him more susceptible to the sickness. Still, the death of Talonpaw gave him reason to keep his catmint carefully stocked at the back of his den and away from frost. The black tom had Silverpaw on over time looking for herbs close to camp, the young apprentice did her best.
That wasn't the only loss the clan had experienced. Boulderclaw and Snowpaw had mysteriously vanished after the first few snows. Ghoststar had a search party sent out, but their tracks were already covered by the powdery flakes, and no bodies were found. The white she-cat wasn't surprised. She had heard them mumbling to each other often: this clan is weak, I'm starving and they feed the worthless elder and Queen first, its too cold here and we have to sleep on the edge of the dens. She summed it up to the others that they weren't fit for clan life and probably left by choice.
Ghoststar was concerned she would have more cats abandon Twilightclan as the sweetness of green-leaf faded from their senses, and the hopes of it returning grew more and more dim. Her greatest suspicions were cast toward Silverpaw, Spade, Featherpaw, and Spottedpaw. The three apprentices for the reason that she knew they all had kitty-pet roots and was uncertain they would hold up in the new harsh environment. Spade for the reason that she was still unsure where his loyalties lied. Despite her worries, now other cats had left. And thankfully, no other cats seemed to be ill enough to join Starclan.
Despite these losses, Twilightclan had gained two members. Shadowpelt and Whitewhisper had been lost in the storm and taken refuge in camp. A half moon later, they decided to become permanent clan cats.
As the clan's spirit dwindled with the icy breeze, Ghoststar had decided something needed to be done to keep them united. She had made Featherpaw and Owlpaw both new warriors. Featherpaw was now Featherstorm and Owlpaw was now Owlflight. Snakefang had beamed proudly and cheered the loudest at the ceremony. Ghoststar was supremely proud of her Apprentice, Owlflight, as well. That had temporarily brought the clan to a pretense of happiness, but as the cold winds blew this soon faded.
Ghoststar was in her den, her bushy tail tucked up over her nose as she tried to stay warm. All the patrols had attempted to go out, but the blizzard was too much now. They would have to wait until it quieted down. The white she-cat was surprised when Darkmoon stumbled into the den, almost unrecognizable with her black fur plastered with white snow. "What is it?" Ghoststar was on her paws, her ears pricking. She could tell something wasn't right.
"Two strange cats are here. They say our clan is going to be slaughtered."
(So that was a lot. I had to sum up what had happened since I haven't been on in forever and I had to refresh somethings. So there you go. Now the plot is moving again and we can all role-play! Yay! You can have your cats do whatever (trying to hunt or patrol, sleeping in their dens, checking out the strange cats and whats going on, ect). Whatever you think will be most entertaining. 3,2,1 go!)
