The wind howled across the open plains, bringing with it the promise of snow. If not for the shivers that racked his body every time a gust blew past, Nightpaw might have been excited by the prospect; he had only ever seen snow once in his lifetime, back when he was just a kit. All he remembered was its pristine sparkle, much too bright for his young eyes, and the way it seeped into his fur and weighed him down after a day of playing.

    Snow wasn't the only thing leaf-bare would bring, the apprentice reminded himself as he padded after Cedarheart. Leaf-bare also meant less freshkill and weakened cats; wet paws during the day and long cold nights full of shivering; sickness and death.

    The smell of greencough reached him through even the strong scent of the herbs in his mouth, making Nightpaw wrinkle his nose. It smelled like rotting freshkill and the foul scent of ragwort and wild garlic, a heavy cloud hanging over Cedarheart's patients.

    "Strange to see the truth-teller's apprentice helping the healer," Goosepelt's rasp rose to greet them. The sick of the Clan were kept away from camp to prevent the illness from spreading, given shelter in one of the caves along SeaClan's old cliffs. The wind blew bitingly cold here, tangling in Nightpaw's fur and leaving the scent of the sea.

    "Obedience is a hard-taught skill," Cedarheart replied, setting down his share of catmint. Nightpaw did the same.

    Goosepelt and Birchfrost lay on one side of the den, the she-cat cradling her sick kit against her. She licked at Crowkit's small body once in a while in an effort to keep him warm. Across from them, Maplefeather and Whitenose looked much worse for wear, their bodies turned thin and frail by the sickness. Maplefeather's coughs sounded thick and came often, while Whitenose remained so still Nightpaw feared she was dead already.

    "You're looking well," the healer observed as he divided the herbs into piles. Nightpaw noticed three portions looked significantly larger than the others.

    "I hope to be out of here soon," Goosepelt replied. "My first and foremost duty is to protect the truth-teller, which I have been neglecting lately." He nodded to Nightpaw.

    "How's Webkit?" Birchfrost asked suddenly, looking to the apprentice with her mismatched gaze. Goosepelt cast her a curious glance before turning to lap up his share of catmint.

    "Webkit is well," Nightpaw replied, his own curiosity sparked by the hopeful light in the she-cat's eyes. "I've been telling her stories to keep her occupied and Snowdapple keeps her entertained with games of moss ball."

    Birchfrost nodded, face blank once more, and leaned down to help Crowkit with his portion of herbs before eating her own. Nightpaw watched her, noting the way she whispered assuredly in Crowkit's ear as his face screwed up at the taste of the catmint. He had never seen the guardian be so gentle.

    "The Clan is doing well?" Goosepelt asked. The apprentice nodded, unused to speaking with the guardian; he was the most silent of all of them, except for perhaps Spiderthorn.

    Seeing the pressing look on the grey tom's face, Nightpaw added, "There's enough freshkill to go around for now and the pairings for the next season have been announced. DarkClan will most likely have a fruitful season ahead."

    The tom nodded, coughing softly before speaking again. "I heard of the pairings. Oakshade and Thistleshade - now that's a smart match. Oakshade was my apprentice before I became a guardian, you know."

    Nightpaw remained silent, not sure how to respond to the guardian. He felt awkward speaking to a cat he knew nothing about - come to think of it, he hardly knew anything at all about some of the members of DarkClan. Their apprenticeships, their battle feats or hunting abilities, their familial ties: it was all a black hole in his mind.

    "And Dawnstar mating with Spiderthorn, I'm sure that caused quite a stir," Goosepelt continued. "And... Swallowstorm and Sleetfur? How are they?"

    The tom's voice dropped in volume as he asked about the final pairing and Nightpaw glanced over at Cedarheart to see the healer watching the two of them intensely. Turning back to the guardian, he saw an almost protective light in the tom's green eyes and wondered where it could have come from.

    "Dawnstar seemed eager for the match, and Sleetfur as well," Nightpaw replied carefully. "As for Swallowstorm... She is as strong and loyal as ever."

    The tom's eyes widened for only a moment before his expression became blank once more. "I thought so. She was always a fighter, that one."

    With that, Nightpaw said his farewells and, once again, departed with a thousand burning questions.

    //

    The first snow fell a quarter moon later, coming down in single flakes and coating the High Rocks with white dust. Then, all at once, the air was alive with their flurry and everything turned white in a matter of heartbeats, the sky so thick with clouds DarkClan could see neither the moon nor sun.

    When the storm stopped, the world looked very different to Nightpaw. Everything seemed more bright, more safe, more wonderful. The snow appeared to sparkle in the cool morning light, the powder soft and inviting. Repressing the urge to jump into the drifts, Nightpaw instead busied himself with watching Webkit and Crowkit paw at the expanse of white.

    Crowkit, Birchfrost and Goosepelt had returned to the Clan only that morning, cleared by Cedarheart to come back to camp. Maplefeather and Whitenose, however, remained in the cave by the SeaClan cliffs. The healer predicted the two she-cats would not make it through the next few sunrises.

    Remembering his visit to the cave, Nightpaw thought again about Birchfrost's motherliness towards Crowkit - a stark difference to her usual strength as a guardian - and Goosepelt's talkativeness as compared to his usual silence. Watching Webkit and Crowkit prance around in the snow, leaving clouds of white in their wake, he realized how little he knew about even Webkit, who he spent quite a lot of time with.

    Scanning the camp from his vantage point near the apprentice den, Nightpaw saw Goosepelt greeting Pebblefur and Mousetail with a flick of his ear. Nearby, Newtfang, Lionmask and Shadowpelt sat with their heads close together, tails lashing as they debated one topic or another. The remaining two guardians - Birchfrost and Spiderthorn - sat separately, the she-cat observing her kits from the nursery, while Spiderthorn watched the Clan from atop the Speaking Rock, Dawnstar at his side. The sight made Nightpaw narrow his eyes.

    Swallowstorm emerged from the warrior den, shaking out her black and white pelt in the harsh leafbare light, Sleetfur following her closely. Outwardly, the she-cat looked the same as always, responding to the deputy with one-word answers and nodding respectfully as he gave her an order to lead a patrol. Only when he left to speak with Dawnstar did Nightpaw see her lower her head for a moment and exhale sharply, breath rising up in mist around her.

    Skunknose, Oakshade, Bramblepaw and Shadepaw soon joined her, their border patrol heading out at a brisk pace. Another, consisting of Rowanstorm, Flintmask, Marshclaw, Dapplepaw and Cinderpaw, gathered right afterwards, moving off in the opposite direction.

    The hunting patrols came next, the Clan's best hunters banding together to provide for everyone. Willowtail beckoned over Duskwhisker and Pigeonfang, Cherrypaw and Wrenpaw joining their mentors with excitement in their eyes. Sprucetail rounded up her littermate, Thistleshade, along with Snailwhisker and Blackstrike for her own patrol, challenging them all to a race as they set off for the old forest of RockClan.

    Smoketalon and Jaystrike, two identical grey toms, sat by the entrance to High Rocks, guarding the camp with matching blank expressions. Neither spoke to the other and Nightpaw wondered why the two seemed so distant with each other. Next to them, fixing part of the wooden barriers were Minkfur and Flamepaw, both equally as silent.

    Sighing, Nightpaw caught sight of Cedarheart and Mothpaw, two cats he thought he might know better than anyone else in the Clan. He had been spending a lot of time in the healer's den lately, usually asked by Hailwatcher to help Cedarheart with his duties. He spent more time with the healer and his apprentice than even his own siblings and the other apprentices.

    The cat he spent the most time with, however, was one who continued to be shrouded by mystery. Hailwatcher, though he held the post of truth-teller, seemed to have the most to hide, dodging Nightpaw's questions expertly and only telling him what he wanted him to know. With a jolt, the apprentice realized his mentor might have all the answers he was looking for.

    Shaking out the stray flakes of snow that settled in his black fur, Nightpaw padded over to his mentor's den, approaching it carefully. Lately, the old tom had taken to sleeping until just before sunhigh, leaving Nightpaw to training or hunting with the guardians before giving him a specific task or taking over his training himself.

    The black and white tom lay at the back of his den, face turned towards the entrance. His eyes were closed and his flank rose steadily as he dreamed.

    No, DarkClan cats don't dream, Nightpaw reminded himself. Looking at his sleeping mentor, he turned to leave all the same, deciding against waking the truth-teller.

    "Hungry for knowledge, I see." Hailwatcher's voice called him back.

    Nightpaw looked over his shoulder to see his mentor's blue eyes staring back. "I guess that's the way to put it." The apprentice padded back over to the tom's nest, settling beside it.

    Hailwatcher rose to his paws, shaking out his spotted pelt. "What have you been wondering about?"

    The black tom, trying to hold back the tide of questions, shrugged. "Ever since we decided on the pairings, I've been wondering how you remember all of the relations within the Clan. I don't know many of them."

    The tom nodded. "That's true. But it's a long list, and I doubt we can get through all of it right away. Are there any pressing ones you would like to know about?"

    Nightpaw hesitated. "Well, my own." He shuffled his paws.

    Hailwatcher's eyes narrowed. "You know your father, Spiderthorn. And your siblings, Flamepaw and Cinderpaw. That's more than many in the Clan can ask for."

    The apprentice's throat went dry, but he pushed his question through all the same. "What about my mother?"

    Hailwatcher turned away. "She was a single kit and yours was the only litter she mothered. There is nothing more to say about her. We will not speak of her again."

    "Why not?!" Nightpaw asked before he could stop himself. Even to his ears, his voice sounded whiney and disappointed.

    The truth-teller rounded on him. "We. Just. Don't." He spat each word out between his teeth, eyes blazing. "Now off you go. Take Goosepelt and Mousetail with you and take a walk through MoorClan's old camp. Perhaps it'll remind you why some parts of history are better forgotten."

    Snarling, the tom left the den, leaving Nightpaw to stare at his empty nest.

    //

    His paws burned as he raced through the freshly fallen snow, leaving behind trails of pawprints in the otherwise unbroken white. The two guardians followed but Nightpaw payed them little mind. Storm clouds above echoed his gloomy mood.

    With the old MoorClan camp just up ahead, he finally let all of the repressed thoughts go, letting them fill him up until he felt he might explode. Why was everyone keeping things from him? He was the truth-teller's apprentice, he needed to know the truth!

    Why would neither Cedarheart nor Hailwatcher tell him of his mother? Was she meant to be forgotten, a traitorous member of DarkClan who did not deserve a place in their history? Or perhaps she was still alive, living somewhere far off and wondering what had happened to her kits? What if she continued to live within the Clan but his mentor refused to give him answers for fear of Nightpaw knowing too much?

    "Some parts of history are better forgotten," Nightpaw muttered under his breath, glancing about the old camp. How could this place possibly remind him of forgotten history? MoorClan stood for everything that was wrong with the Old Life and the reason why DarkClan existed in the first place; they were a central part of their history.

    Head spinning, Nightpaw lifted his head to the sky and let out the loudest, most frustrated yowl he could muster. The storm clouds rumbled far above, as if in response, and the apprentice wondered if Sootstar might give him the answers he craved.

    Shaking in anger and exasperation, the apprentice lowered his head, staring down at his paws in an effort to calm himself.

    Next thing he knew, his back hit the ground. Staring down at him was a scarred tabby muzzle, the stained yellow teeth bared against his throat. Her strangely familiar amber eyes shone with malice.

    "You're one of them damned Clan cats, aren't ya?" she growled, her voice accented.

    "I am," Nightpaw hissed back, his previous anger making him brave. "And I suggest you let go of me before my guardians return." A new feeling raced through him, something he had never felt before, and his claws slid out of their sheathes.

    She snarled. "Not until I find out where you've put my littermate." Her claws pressed into his shoulders and throat, eyes glinting once more and, suddenly, Nightpaw realized why they looked so familiar.

    "The prisoner cave," he replied, letting his body go limp.

    The she-cat tilted her head sideways, clearly surprised by his cooperation. She leaned away from him, as if debating whether she should let him up, before clambering off of him and regarding him suspiciously. Nightpaw sat up, brushing his dirtied pelt off. He felt neither worry nor relief, just a frustration that he could not shake.

    "Who are ya?" she asked, staring at his white-rimmed eyes.

    "Doesn't matter," he replied. "Now go before the guardians find you. I may not lay a paw on you, but I know for certain they will." Whatever had come over him in that brief moment, it was gone now. He had seen too much death in his short lifetime already.

    She remained still. "You're different than the others."

    Though he longed to know what she meant, Nightpaw refused to ask more questions. His curiosity had already caused him enough trouble that day.

    "Not everyone in DarkClan thinks the same way," he responded. "Now go."

    Somewhere off in the distance, he could hear Goosepelt and Mousetail's mews growing louder as they approached the old camp. The she-cat heard them as well, ears pricking at the sound, and turned with a flick of her tail.

    "Roxanne," she whispered before she left, leaving behind a couple of stray pawprints and the smell of smoke. It lingered in the air for only a moment before the wind took it away.

    All of a sudden, Nightpaw realized how tired he felt. His insatiable thirst for knowledge seemed to exhaust him more and more lately, and the tom wondered if he would ever know the answers to some of his questions, or if they would weigh his mind down forever.

    No more questions, he told himself.

    But, as the wind blew past him and the faintest scent of smoke hit him, he wondered if there were others out there, outside of the Clans, that might have the answers.

// To everyone reading, voting and commenting: thank you, thank you, thank you! I really can't thank you enough for all of the positivity (despite the darkness of this story) and the support you've been giving me.

I recently joined the WattyClans Writing Contest, which means I will soon have a one-shot book of some sort on my page that will house all of the contest pieces I write - for this contest and others. If you want to read more stories by yours truly, that would be the place to be!

Until next week (: