vigil for two apprentices
Cresspaw's jaw felt tight. He was sitting between his surviving brothers, their sister and last brother's bodies laid in front of them.
"They died like warriors," Berrypaw said, his voice softer than usual.
"They died." Watchpaw said.
Cresspaw sighed, looking towards their mother. Applefur had her tail wrapped around her, in some last effort of comfort. She hadn't pushed them away, but she hadn't not, and they had agred, silently, to give her space.
"Cypresspaw, Sandpaw," she murmured. "May the stars recieve you well."
It was not her role to perform a funeral rite, but she was grieving. They were only barely apprentices.
"We could have died," Cresspaw said.
"We didn't." Berrypaw's voice was cold. "So don't say that."
"We could have," Cresspaw repeated. "They did."
Berrypaw was silent.