A soft sigh floated like a whisper on the breeze, followed shortly thereafter by a dainty calico. Herbs flecked her pelt and as she moved the scent of mint drifted from her figure. Frostrose had spent much of her morning cleaning and sorting her stores in preparation for the coming leaf-bare. There was still time, to be sure, but the young medicine cat had always liked to be prepared. And there was a certain peace to be found in the sorting of herbs, a peace she’d sorely needed.

The mysterious death of Rainstar still weighed heavily upon her shoulders and thoughts of his final, rattled breaths had haunted her work for days. But it wasn’t simply his death giving the she-cat sleepless nights - it was how he had died. For days she’d labored to bring him back to health but everything she’d tried had only served to make the tom worse. And, as she'd worked, a terrible little suspicion had begun to run 'round her head.  

Poison. Her mind had whispered. It must be poison.

But who would do such a thing? The very thought of it made her sick. Rainstar had been popular enough among his clanmates and he’d had no recent trouble with either of the other clans. And besides, who would do something so horrible? Frostrose had struggled with the nasty little suspicion as she’d watched the tom’s health steadily decline until his very last life was drained away to nothing.

What else could it have been but poison?

She didn't know. 

Frostrose gave herself a little shake as she padded softly up the side of the crater towards the leaders’ den, her brow furrowed in thought. She had no proof Rainstar had been poisoned and would refrain from bringing it up outright. But… she needed to know the other leaders’ thoughts on the matter before she went making wild accusations.

The little she-cat drew pause outside the den of woven roots. “Is there anyone here?” She called softly, peering forward into the den’s darkness.