Dying Lake

You think those words to yourself, but seeing how Applepaw and Snowclaw are so upset, you think it's better to keep it to yourself. Your mentor, Blackcherry, shakes out her fur. "It's cold," She mutters to Mottledfur, her mate. Mottledfur grunts in acknowledgment. "Why are we still here? None of us are talking." He mumbles under his breath. As if on cue, Harestar stands, tail tip twitching. "We ought to go. This gathering isn't the most friendly we've seen," He mews. Murmurs of agreement ripple through the cats. "TunnelClan, let's go." He mews. The small, wide-pawed tom leaps down the great oak, landing on the ground next to his deputy, Smokeface. He leads the way out of the silent clearing, TunnelClan following. Silence fills the hollow, other than bitter goodbye's from TunnelClan cats to other Clan cats. "I suppose HighClan ought to go as well," Thunderstar grunts. He too leaps down, a heavy thump following his decent to the ground, dust puffing up around his great big paws. His fluffy tail remains high as he exits, eyes narrowed. HighClan cats follow, all shooting daggers at WaveClan. "Well, let's go, then." Streamstar rasps, glaring at the disappearing tails of HighClan cats leaving. The cats leave, and you wince at the sight of their dull, ragged pelts, ungroomed and skinny. Like Streamstar's, you can see their ribs. "MoorClan, let's go." Oakstar announces. Splashpaw stands, her fur brushing against yours. You look at the once full clearing, upset and dejected your first gathering was such a sad, angry one.