Rockfoot, Whispersong, Panthersong, and Emerald padded bleary eyed back into Ashclan’s territory. Rockfoot was put slightly at ease to feel the familiar rough stone of the volcano that they made their home. Her paws ached after walking on it after a little while of trekking, but she didn’t mind. They had been always for so long; it felt like walking on clouds. Very sharp clouds, but clouds nonetheless. However, as they approached camp, Panthersong began to sniff the air worriedly. “What is it?” asked Whispersong, gently, but with the trace of fear in her voice. It was then that Emerald put in. “I feel like when I first came here…It was a lot nosier. Maybe it’s because Pantherclan left you guys alone finally?” Rockfoot shook her head, now noticing too how faint the familiar, busy smells were, and how quiet the area around camp was. And they hadn’t seen any patrols on their way in to the camp either. Only now did she realize how strange that is. Panthersong dropped into a half-crouch as they padded towards the camp entrance, while Emerald's footsteps became lighter. They walked through the front entrance of the camp, and were instantly flooded with the fear-smell and death, with a sickly tang of sickness. The camp was a mess. The entrance to the cavern that held the nursery had crumbled around the edges, and to get in a cat would have scraped their shoulders to the sides. The mossy lichen overhang over the leader’s den was dry and would crumble at the slightest breath. And the cats; they were gone. Not all gone, of course. The whole Ashclan population hadn’t just picked up and left. Instead, it had been defeated in its very own home, by someone. Actually, by something. A sickness, to be exact. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the cats piled together for warmth while sniffling and sneezing, weren’t in that state just for kicks. It seemed, while the patrol had been gone, a terrible plague had swept Ashclan. The four cats stood there, dumbstruck, as Flickerkit raced up to them. His eyes were wider then their own, and he stumbled repeatedly. “Come quick!” He stammered out. “Emberstar!” Panthersong was the first one to snap out of it, followed by Ember, then Whispersong, and Rockfoot, as they raced towards their leader’s deathbed.”
When they ran to the foot of the highledge, many of the sickly cats wearily raised their heads, giving little excited mews when they saw who it was. Emberstar was lying on her side, her belly exposed and a terrible scent hanging around her. She gave a hacking cough, and tried to roll over. Whispersong quickly led the group around Emberstar's side so as to not put their leader into any additional pain. When they could properly see Emberstar's face, it was nothing like the previously familiar, kind face. Her eyes were clouded, and half shut. Her parched mouth would open every so often to take a raspy breath. When she saw the four, she tried to smile, but she was in too much pain. It was then that Blizzardkit ran up. "Can you--" she broke off with a cough, wracking her entire small body. "Can you help her? Can you help us?" She sniffled loudly. Rockfoot glanced around for Birdsong, but when Blizzardkit saw her do this, she spoke again. "Birdsong was--The first one to go."