windkit dies
"—Windkit!" Mosspelt called. He whined, the cold dragging his energy away from him.
"What's wrong with him?" his sister said. "He's so quiet. Like Patchkit."
Patchkit died last night. Mosspelt had slept around them, with the WindClan kits and queen against them, but Patchkit's body had been still and cold in the morning. Mosspelt had called out, wailed for the lack of a river, but after barely moments, Windkit had found himself scooped up in her jaws.
"He's fine," Mosspelt said, running her tongue along his back. She purred, and Windkit purred back, his eyes feeling heavy.
Willowkit pressed her nose to his shoulder. "Don't die," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone."
But Windkit felt like his eyes were being held shut, and his mother's purr quieted. If this was dying, it wasn't the worst thing.









