| rdfs:comment | - Cold... That's all there is to think about. The cold... and how bleak life is with it always whispering in our ears.. Somewhere in the frost, a crow cries out in anguish. Freezing wind, bones of ice... Cold. Like a leathery wing made of icicles and bits of lifeless fur, it casts a dark shadow over the endless hills of snow before us. Yet still, we force ourselves into this lethal march, even as queens, kits, and elders fall dead with each burning pawstep. But I don't wonder long; there is no time for wondering when you're dying inside. Darkness, Air, Water, Sky
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| abstract | - Cold... That's all there is to think about. The cold... and how bleak life is with it always whispering in our ears.. Somewhere in the frost, a crow cries out in anguish. Freezing wind, bones of ice... Cold. Like a leathery wing made of icicles and bits of lifeless fur, it casts a dark shadow over the endless hills of snow before us. Yet still, we force ourselves into this lethal march, even as queens, kits, and elders fall dead with each burning pawstep. Every so often, you'll hear that final thud. Another mouth, silenced, felled by the cold, tripped by the wind. And that same wind will sometimes carry an agonized wail, maybe a mate, a father or mother, or just a close friend. But the cruel, merciless wind will continue to blow, never stopping for anything, never even pausing to think twice of the victim's end. It knows nothing of a mother's love. It knows nothing of sadness. It might as well be dead itself for all it cares. It's nothing at all like a final breath. There's nothing sweeter than a final breath to carry you away forever, to the loving paws of StarClan. But has StarClan followed us this far? Do they still watch us? Can they even see us through this blizzard of shadowed white? I can't see the stars, only brutal snowflakes as they cut through the air like tiny claws. I wonder if they truly have abandoned us all. But I don't wonder long; there is no time for wondering when you're dying inside. The dull orange creature at the lead of our sorry group looks back at us, wind-battered eyes once warm as summer now full of despair. "Keep going." He orders weakly, his own bony legs shaking under the weight of his body. Great StarClan, he hasn't eaten in days... his ribs jut out dangerously far from his clingy skin, and his appendages are so horribly frostbitten that he seems more like a bloody, scabbed little monster than a cat. Yet still I see faded determination sewn into the weathered threads of his being, despite the damage that had been done to us all, even more so himself. How does he do this, how can he press on with his own death following after him oh so very closely? "The light must be ahead... we can't give up hope." As our leader speaks, another cat topples over in the snow, never to arise again. No cat rushes to his side, no cat stops for him, he barely receives a glance. We keep going, with or without him. It's what we've done since the start. Darkness, Air, Water, Sky
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