So Featherflight was gone. His grandma. Before she could see Snapdragonsnare become deputy. Her son. Trailingpaw stared at the sky. The scent of herbs still clung faintly to the clearing, faded but familiar, like a ghost she had left behind. She’d been old. Lived long for an elder. One hundred moons was an impressive feat for a cat without nine lives. But now she was gone. Before she could see her son stand tall and proud, before the clan. Before she could see him, Trailingpaw, become an apprentice. But it didn’t matter much. Not really. Her only use had been healing cats who injured themselves, patching up scrapes and careless mistakes. Not a true UrchinClan warrior like he would be. He wouldn’t be like her, but like Snapdragonsnare. He told himself that, watching the stars in the sky. And now, she, Featherflight, had taken flight to StarClan. He chuckled at that. A quiet, sharp sound. “Taken flight,” he muttered, flicking a pebble with his paw. “Guess her name finally meant something after all.” The wind stirred the ferns around him, whispering through the undergrowth like the breath of StarClan itself. But it wasn’t enough to make him feel anything. Not really. He’d never got the chance to speak to her. Maybe that was a shame, maybe it wasn’t. Now, it didn’t matter. Trailingpaw shifted his weight and glanced toward the camp entrance. Somewhere out in the forest, Snapdragonsnare could be on patrol. Still doing what warriors did; protecting borders, fighting trespassers. He would make a fine deputy. Maybe even leader, one day. Featherflight would’ve been proud. But pride didn’t bring her back. And Trailingpaw still didn’t know whether to miss her.
