[Fawn]

It had been several sunrises since the NightClan deputy had left them for StarClan. Snowlark was...adjusting. There was nothing more unsettling, in her bright blue but ever-expressive eyes, than walking past their once proud leader and seeing her so broken. Nothing more saddening, then walking past Boneshadow's old nest, his scent still lingering in the moss bedding that had yet to be removed, none of the apprentices wishing to disturb that which carried the brave deputy's scent, nor had Ravenstar assigned them to such a task. Out of respect for Boneshadow, none occupied his old space in Warrior's Den, and it wasn't likely to happen any time soon, not while every time a cat looked around the snowy campsite, they were reminded of what had been lost.

Starting to come out of her own quiet, respectful grieving period, Snowlark was at last, ready to walk around with her head held high and her tail held even higher, trying to be a beacon for cheerfulness in these dark, very depressing times. It was interesting to think that a season bathed in the bright pristine whiteness of snowfall could look so dark, poetically speaking. Having already hunted and had her meal for the day, Snowlark traipsed through the thick snowdrifts, leaping over a fallen branch and letting out a faint hiss of surprise when she nearly landed face first, her back foot having snagged a piece of the protruding bark she had not seen at first.

Managing an awkward righting of herself, the pretty dappled she-cat shook the snow off her cream-based coat, looking around in a brief moment of self-consciousness, wondering if anyone had seen her entirely unappealing fumble.
Right. Let's try and a be a little more graceful this time.

On her way to Ambush Pond for a quick drink, Snowlark's pace slowed, as her thirst was not so great she needed to hurry, and she was feeling a little...nostalgic. The dark, dense foliage of NightClan's pine trees looked so stately in the season of Leafbare, after all. They were one of the few plants, Snowlark had noticed, that continued to look wonderful despite such a harsh time of year.

---

Word Count: 383
Notes: I hope that was an okay opening!

[Deleted]

One hundred words to tell this story
about a girl, and the boy before me

There was something about the ice that became redundant after it had engulfed the land in a frozen sleep for so long. Something about all the white that became dull, and boring. The snow was nothing, it seemed, but trouble. Nettlefur was not so closeminded as to share that opinion, but he likened the snow, bringing first starvation and later flooding, to tragedies. After a while, cats became numb to them. One after another, a never-ending blanket of hurt, until a cat's own soul was so stunned that it lost sensation. All that pain put them to sleep, inwardly.

Boneshadow's death was devastating, but Nettlefur hadn't quite felt the trauma, the anguish that he should have.

Nettlefur was treading through the snow, the ice cold against his his pads. He'd seen the other pawprints, but hadn't bothered to figure out whose they were, or how old. His mind was loud, today, filled with a downpour of thoughts that echoed like rain in his head. Upon sighting Snowlark, the deluge in his head ceased. It was clear to Nettlefur that not all were numbed to the tragedy as he was.

Approaching her, he was filled with compassion at the pain which she so clearly felt. Falling in beside her, he laid his tail across her, seeking to comfort the dappled she-cat. If he could just show her that she was not alone, that she was cared for... Silence, filled with a muted bewilderment, followed. Nettlefur spoke first, his voice soft and incredibly gentle, speaking carefully, as if any misplaced word would make the sky fall. "Hey." His words were simple, but not hollow, tender and still.

these hundred steps that lay before me
I'd walk 'em all if you could see what I see

Character; Nettlefur
Words; 275
Notes; That took far too long to write.

[Fawn]

The sudden presence of comfort and compassion had taken Snowlark by surprise, the startled she-cat almost spinning around to see who had approached her, but Nettlefur's soothing, singular word forced the tension from her shoulders.
"Hey."

Had it really been that obvious? Could the whole world tell she was terrible at hiding how she truly felt? Could everyone see just how much she hurt? Unable to say no to such friendliness, the warrioress let out a soft, amiable "Hey." in response, returning his gentle tone with one that was slightly stronger, though a lump had formed the instant someone had recognized her internal turmoil. Leaning forward, Snowlark realized that she had never truly been alone with this particular NightClan cat, and the fact that he was here, despite them not being close, made her that much more grateful to him. "Thank you, Nettlefur, but I am...getting by." Eloquent of speech and lady-like of tone, though Snowlark was not Clan-born (her original home having been StoneClan), she was considered a pleasant member of NightClan in spite of this, her grace and naturally eloquence what set her apart from the other she-cats.

Nettlefur too, was rather philosophical of mind, was he not? The age gap between them had, Snowlark realized now regretfully, prevented them from being friends in the early days, but now that they were both warriors, there really was no reason why they couldn't converse like two intelligent cats should.
"Out hunting, Nettlefur? Do you mind if I join you?" mewed Snowlark, fixing azure-blue eyes upon the younger tom, hoping to wash away the sadness there with her usual amiable, chatty nature.

---

Word Count: 294
Notes: ^^ None!