Dying Lake

It might not be wise to get involved. The six of you pad down a somewhat steep hill, and your nose twitches as you get closer to the border; the smell of fish is fading, but the smell of sickness is strong. "Let's just mark it and go," Blackcherry announces to the cats. Jumpfoot nods his head politely, turning and bounding to a different part of the border to do just that. Snowclaw hisses. "Me and Applepaw are gonna sniff for those mange-pelts's scents, to see if they crossed our border." He says. Applepaw nods in agreement. Together, the two begin sniffing around. Blackcherry sighs, then looks at you.