hawkfeather struggled to get up from his nest. age had stiffened his limbs and covered his fur with gray hairs, but he still had some of his muscles from his youth.

many, many moons had passed since finchpaw's exile. squirrelheart was now a senior warrior, silverstar had died of greencough two moons ago during a particularly harsh leaf-bare, and grayfur had passed away due to old age.

so many things had happened over that course of time; often hawkfeather wondered where his son was, and how he was doing. not a day passed without finchpaw appearing in his father's thoughts once in a while.

clan life carried on as if the exile never happened. the old tabby watched his son sharing tongues with his mate, sleetpelt. he felt a twinge of pride for his son; squirrelheart was going to have kits, start a new life. he imagined him sitting with his mate in front of the nursery, pressing lovingly against each other, as their kits tumbled and played at their paws.

that should've been finchpaw also, hawkfeather thought bitterly. it was all his fault; he should've said "nay" during the long-ago clan meeting! he should've done something to at least support his ill fated son!

hawkfeather felt the old rage that had been locked inside for so many seasons, and, claws unsheathed, he got up, stomped out of the camp, and walked through the forest again.

birdsong filled the air; rays of sunlight touched the undergrowth, but the old cat was too furious to achknowledge it. prey scattered as he trotted angrilly through the ferns and brambles, his eyes dark with grief and anger.

suddenly a foreign scent reached his nose. it smelled strongly of herbs and the marsh that bordered the forest.

"who's there?" the forestclan elder called out, trying to keep his fur lying flat.

there was silence for a few moments, then suddenly a sleek-coated black she-cat burst out of the ferns. she let out a gasp when she saw hawkfeather, her emerald green eyes stretching wide.

"i'm sorry!" the she-cat gasped, "i chased a frog into the forest, and..."

"don't apologize," hawkfeather rumbled, "you're a medicine cat; i won't attack you. however, i recommend that you leave our territory. there are patrols around here."

the pretty black she-cat dipped her broad her, blinking gratefully at him. "thank you. and you're an elder, aren't you? i can tell. you should be in your nest."

"i know that," hawkfeather replied, "but i'm just taking a walk. always do that when i feel troubled."

the marshclan medicine cat's whiskers twitched. "i see. anyway, let me tell you something..."

the old tom tilted his head to one side. "what is it?"

the she-cat blinked, shuddered slightly, and finally murmured, "there's a dead cat not far from the marshclan border. you better be careful; it smells of diesese."

"thanks for warning me," hawkfeather called out to the medicine cat as she left, "but why tell me?"

the black marshclan cat turned around, her green eyes glowing. "my service extends to all cats."

despite the she-cat's warning, hawkfeather couldn't help but feel a little curious about this dead cat. so, he padded over to the border that divided forestclan and marshclan; it was a small tributary that ran into the river near stoneclan territory.

as hawkfeather walked along the stream, he kept his ears pricked and his mouth open in case of a patrol. encountering one was the last thing he wanted to do right now.

the old tom sniffed the air, trying to scent this carcass that the medicine cat had told him about.

what are you, a rowdy apprentice?

hawkfeather pushed the thought away and continued his search; there was a chance that it could be lying in the stream, or perhaps hidden somewhere among the reeds that lined the banks, or-

a foul stench hit his nose, causing him to gag. he heard the low thrum of flies, and knew that he was near the body.

it wasn't hard to find. hawkfeather saw the dead cat lying near the stream; he could tell it died from starvation, because the old cat could see that its ribs were sharply defined against its pelt.

hawkfeather sighed. he felt a twinge of pity for the poor cat; but he wasn't surprised, either. it was leaf-bare now, and prey was becoming especially hard to find-

his heart gave a lurch.

the carcass in front of him wasn't any old dead cat.

hawkfeather walked over to the body, and studied its face. his fears were confirmed.

finchpaw's usually luminous blue eyes was now cloudy with death, and hawkfeather let out a low, lonely wail. an intense wave of grief washed over the old tom, and he buried his muzzle into his kit's flank.

grabbing his dead son by the scruff, he dragged the body into the forest, his breath clouding the air as he did so. finally, he laid it in a small clearing among the ferns and brambles, and sat with finchpaw. hawkfeather stared at him, sadness dominating his mind.

he began to lick him; the elder didn't care what the she-cat had said. this was his son, and he deserved to be groomed for one last time.

"i'm sorry, finchpaw," he sobbed, "it was my fault that you're dead. i should've tried to persuade silverstar to give you a second chance."

after a period of grooming, hawkfeather lifted his head to the evening sky. the warriors of silverpelt were just beginning to appear, and, as a light snow began to fall, he yowled, "starclan! finchpaw! if you can hear me, i wish to christen my son with his warrior name. he shall be known as finchfeather. please, heed my request and accept it!"

his call echoed through the trees, and more snow began to fall.

hawkfeather didn't care that he wasn't a leader; he still wanted his son to live in starclan with a warrior name, so finchpaw could live the life he never had while he still lived among the clans.

soon the gentle snowfall began to develop into a ferocious blizzard, and, wrapping himself around his son as if he was sheltering him from the cold, hawkfeather closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, and drifted off into a long, peaceful sleep.