Death on the Snowfield

[Nyika]

"Zevka?

"Zevka, wake up.

"? Zevka."

A cold and shaky paw reached from where Nyika found herself tangled in a thick blanket, searching for the pine marten that lay no more than a pace away. The wildcat's claws came out, leaving their sheaths to rest on Zevka's arm, grasping her fur as Nyika attempted a feeble pull to bring her closer.

Zevka was still warm. Alive, then? Or just died? Nyika tried to watch for the steady rise and fall of her chest, the puff of fog above her muzzle, but it was too dark. Nyika couldn't see a thing. Had the wagon overturned? It would explain the pitch blackness, the cold snow that dampened her fur and chilled her to the bone.

"Zevka." She tried again, a hint of despair in her tone. Though she had met the pine marten no more than a week ago and was not yet ready to call her a friend, it was nice for once to have a companion that was not dead. She hoped she hadn't lost that. Twisting in the blanket Nyika loosened her bindings, pulling herself free and crawling to the marten's side. Her shoulder ached and her left arm dragged behind her. She paid it no mind. She was alive, and thus Nyika was unconcerned for her own well-being. Her right paw went to Zevka's throat, searching for that steady drum of a pulse. There it was; strong, not weak at all. Nyika breathed a sigh of relief, resting her head on Zevka's chest, her ear twitching at the soft exhale of breath from the marten's nose. Still alive, then. Thank the fates.

Lifting her head, the wildcat took stock of their situation. They were most definitely contained in some sort of shelter, and the cold breeze that wafted above betrayed the large crack that ran the length of the wagon's bottom. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see it. Dim light filtered through the thin opening, one spot obstructed by a large boulder that sat on top of them. Nyika shuddered. If they hadn't been so lucky?.

Dispelling such unnerving thoughts, Nyika turned her attention to Zevka, leaning over her serene features and resting her paw against the pine marten's cheek. Beasts always were the most peaceful in sleep and death. Nyika almost considered them one and the same, the only difference being that death was a sleep in which one would never wake. She didn't want to disturb her. Zevka seemed so peaceful, but they needed to move. Something had happened, an avalanche, or something terrible. Already Nyika could hear the dead stirring, the moaning in her ears growing to an unnerving pitch. They had to leave, to survive.

Placing her paw on Zevka's body, Nyika gave a small shake, hissing as she jostled her bad arm. Nothing. Despite the pain she tried it again, this time speaking her name. Still nothing. Nyika looked over her shoulder, her breath shortening, her chest tightening, her fur rising as she felt this foreboding sense of terror surround her.

"Zevka..." she whined, shaking her harder. Stooping forward, Nyika licked the bridge of the pine marten's muzzle. Then she was falling backwards, her nose having exploded in pain. A warm, metallic liquid dripped into her mouth and Nyika's paw went in instinct to staunch the flow of blood.

"What in Hellgates are you doing?" Zevka snarled.

Nyika's ears were pinned flat against her head as the wildcat arched her back in defense.

"I ... I don't know," she said. "I thought you were dead."

Zevka scoffed, picking herself up to sit on her haunches. She rolled her eyes at the cowering cat. "Wouldn't you of all beasts be able to figure that out easily enough?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know! Why did you have to hit me?"

"Because for all I know you could have been looting my corpse."

"I don't disrespect the dead," Nyika snapped back, then decided too late to bite her tongue after the words had been spoken. She winced.

"No," Zevka said, musing. Her demeanor changed as she sought to consider Nyika and her gift. "I suppose you wouldn't."

Nyika didn't notice, too busy dealing with her bloodied nose. "I think you broke my nose."

"Old habits die hard. That's a lesson: Don't grab ex-hordesbeasts while they're asleep!"

"I didn't think you were asleep." The cat's whiskers drooped, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

Zevka sighed. "Come here; let me take a look at it," she said, beckoning the wildcat. Nyika complied, slinking over to her side. Grabbing Nyika's face, she ran her paws down the length of her muzzle, checking for any bones that might be out of place. "You're fine. Put some snow on it." She gave an audible huff at Nyika's sniff. "Oh, relax. You're too soft to be a vermin. I'm helping you build character."

"Thanks," Nyika muttered in defeat, then scooped up a pawful of snow to press against her nose. She could already feel the warm crimson bleeding through.

Zevka turned to their surroundings, her head scraping the bottom of the wagon. She scratched at the wood. "Do you know what happened?"

"No, but..." She paused, her voice taking on a fevered pitch. "The dead are stirring."

"Interesting." Zevka paused at her scratching. "What makes you say that?"

"I can hear them. Wailing, shouting. Something terrible has happened."

"Well, yes, I can figure that out easily enough. We're in an overturned wagon, probably the same one we were riding in. Do you remember falling? I do. Our eyes locked, and then there was blackness."

"An avalanche?"

"I hope not. We'll never dig ourselves out. Come on, help me lift this," Zevka said, grabbing Nyika's paw and pulling her to the edge of the wagon.

It was the wrong paw to grab. A shockwave of fiery pain lanced through the wildcat's arm, crippling her. Nyika pulled back, howling as she fought the overbearing sense of agony that left her cowering at the other side of the wagon. It felt as though Zevka had ripped her arm out of her socket.

Zevka cursed. "What happened?"

"I can't move my arm," Nyika said between gasps of pain. "I think it's broken."

Zevka cursed again, this time a more eloquent phrase that would have set Nyika a certain shade of red if she was not too busy whimpering in the darkness. "I won't be able to do this by myself!"

Nyika hissed through her teeth, clutching her arm tight against her body. "There's a crack," she offered.

"A crack?"

"Above you." She gave a sharp inhale.

Nyika could hear Zevka's claws scratching once more at the wood. "Ahh," she said once she had found it. "You have good eyes."

The wildcat sat with her back against the wood. Her head was swimming; she felt like she was going to sick up. "It won't matter much," she said, trying hard to keep the bile from rising. "I think it's too small."

"Never underestimate the power of a mustelid," Zevka said. Nyika watched as the pine marten sat up on her haunches, shoving her thin head in the small crevice that traveled the length of the wagon bottom. A few twists, shakes, and burrows later and her head had cleared the crack. The rest of her body followed suit.

"That's all well and good, but how am I supposed to fit through?" Nyika called after her, a twinge of annoyance in her tone.

"Check the ground for supplies," Zevka called back, poking her nose through the crack. "We couldn't have been the only things in the wagon when it overturned. My knapsack should be somewhere about."

Biting her lip, Nyika complied, hissing at the pain in her arm as she made a blind search for anything that might help widen the crack. Zevka had set to pulling at the planks with her paws, her grunting and groaning magnified in the small space Nyika had been left alone in. The wildcat's paw scanned the ground, encountering a few scattered belongings, a tussled up blanket, and a loaf of bread. Nyika shoved the bread in her mouth before continuing the search, passing Zevka a knapsack and crying out when her paw came across the iron head of a small hatchet.

" 'Ere!" she shouted between the loaf, handing off the hatchet. Zevka was quick to receive it, and Nyika sat back chewing as the pine marten made quick work of the wagon bottom. 

"Give me your paw," Zevka said once she had made a large enough hole and hoisted the wildcat atop the wagon. "It's a good thing we were caught beneath that wagon, else we would have surely died."

Nyika's eyes glossed over the platform, the large boulder and debris that had come with it an afterthought in her mind. That was not what had caught her attention. With ears perked and whiskers drooping, Nyika's tail bottle brushed at the noise that had magnified within her ears.

"Oh, no," she whispered.

She could hear them now clearly; no more muffled by the wood, filtering through the crack. They were crying out to her, wailing, shouting, their voices surrounding her, deafening her senses. They were dead, all dead, and they were just now realizing it. It was like an angry mob, a swarm of bees, and Nyika could do nothing to quell the sound of their distress. Tears filled her eyes, coming unbidden; her paw clutching at one of her ears while the other ear twitched, her arm limp at her side.

"Nyika?" Zevka's voice filtered through like a beacon in a fog. Nyika clung to it, focused on it, the only thing that could lead her back from the brink of insanity. "Nyika, what's wrong?"

"They're dead." Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She swallowed, forcing the lump in her throat downwards, and tried again. "Zevka, they're dead. They're all dead."

"They're not all dead," Zevka said, but her voice was hollow, as though she wasn't sure she believed it herself. "They can't all be dead."

Nyika shook her head. "They don't know, or they're just finding out. Zevka, what do I do? I can't comfort them. I don't know where they are!"

"They're not all dead," Zevka repeated. "Nyika, you're shaking. Look at me. Look at me!"

The wildcat's head twisted in a sudden jerk, pain blossoming across her muzzle. Her paw dropped from pulling at her ear to rub the spot where Zevka had slapped her. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Everything?" Zevka started, but was interrupted when she found Nyika had thrown herself against her, the wildcat's good paw clutching at her back. Zevka hesitated, then wrapped her arms around the frightened kitten in a secure hug, stroking the raised fur at the back of her neck. "Everything is all right. We're alive, and that's all that matters."

"Oh, Zevka," Nyika said, her voice shuddering with her own sobs. Tears glistened in her eyes. Her claws came out, piercing through cloth and fur alike, burying deep into Zevka's flesh. The pine marten winced but she allowed it. Zevka was real, physical. She wasn't dead; she was still alive. They were both alive. So many were not. Nyika buried her face in Zevka's shoulder. "I don't know what to do."

There was nothing to say so Zevka didn't say anything, opting simply to hold the cat as one would comfort a crying babe. Her ear twitched at a faint noise, far off in the distance. "Nyika, listen. Do you hear that? Somebeast is crying."

Nyika shook her head, sobbing into the fur at Zevka's neck. "They're all crying! They don't know! They're all crying."

"No, listen. I think somebeast is still alive."

"They're dead, all of them. They're all dead?"

"Nyika, stop it! Listen, I can't hear the dead like you can. As far as I can tell, the only thing howling is the wind and one little voice off in the distance. If I can hear that voice, that means somebeast out there is still alive. I want you to stay here. I'm going to find them and bring them back." With ginger care, Zevka peeled Nyika's claws from her clothing and stepped away.

"No, please," Nyika said. "Don't leave me."

Zevka looked out to the distance, then back at Nyika. She shook her head. "Your arm is broken. I might have to scale the cliff face. You're safer here."

Nyika blinked her eyes; two fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "Don't leave me alone."

Once more Zevka hesitated, turning to the source of the crying and then back to the miserable wildcat she was leaving behind. She sighed. "Come on, then. But be careful."

Nyika nodded, following her to the edge of the wagon. Zevka stepped down then offered a paw to Nyika, which she was grateful in taking. Still, the step off was steeper than she anticipated, and the impact was jarring enough to force a whimper from her. Zevka gritted her teeth but pressed on.

They were located on a small ledge, only twenty paces below the collapsed road. When Nyika realized this, casting her eyes about in fearful glances for anything that might catch her unawares, she knew just how lucky they were. It was a sickening drop to the field below, the cliff face sheer and jagged like a torn loaf of bread. Holding her broken arm close to her side, she kept her eyes alert and her ears protected, pinning them to the back of her head as she hummed a little ditty to herself.

There were few ghosts on the treacherous path Zevka was taking them. Still, Nyika found herself stumbling, forcing the pine marten to halt and steady the wildcat as her eyes became locked on some apparition standing over their dead body, some times scratching their head, other times sitting in misery. Some times they would look at her and see her looking at them. Those were the ones that called for help, the ones clutching their legs and arms, thinking them broken and not realizing their necks were on backwards, or that the real problem was the fact that their chest had been crushed. They were also the ones that were mad, bitter that some had survived and cheated Vulpuz when their death had been so sudden and unexpected. They would rush her, screaming at the unfairness of it all, how they had a mate and kits back in Yew, demanding to know how she had survived and came out unscathed despite her broken arm. Oftentimes Nyika would halt their trek, crouching down to cover her ears in a vain attempt to ignore them, applying words to her song as she rocked back and forth in tears.

"Can they hurt you?" Zevka asked the third time she had convinced the wildcat to rise and continue walking.

"They try," Nyika said, pressing her body close to Zevka, her face buried in the pine marten's soft neck fur. "Sometimes when they're mad enough, they do."

Zevka turned her head, noticing for the first time the fresh scratches on Nyika's muzzle. Lifting the wildcat's head, she spied more that had been drawn on her neck. She looked at her paw, noting the way it glistened red, but she couldn't be sure if it was from her bloodied nose or something else.

"Why don't they attack me?" Zevka asked.

"They know I can see."

"How?"

"Because I can look at them."

Zevka pushed the cat in front of her. "Face up, eyes forward. They can't know if you don't pay them attention, aye?"

Nyika nodded. "They're following us," she said in a hoarse whisper.

"They'll leave when they realize we don't care. Come on, we're almost there."

Looking ahead, Nyika could see the small hedgehog kit cowering beside a pile of rubble. Swiveling her ears forward, she could finally hear the crying that Zevka had spoken of. "Is she?"

"Alive? Yes, I see her. Come on."

Being forced to lead and keeping her eyes glued on their destination, Nyika stumbled in the narrow path that separated them from the hedgehog kit. Strange enough, they found her hovering over the still form of a ferret. Another lay not far away.

"Hey," Zevka said. "What's your name?"

The hedgehog kit looked up, wiping her eyes as she realized she was no longer alone. "Poko."

Nyika furrowed her brow. Her voice wasn't gruff like a hedgehog's, and her muzzle was too dark to match. "You're a ferret."

"Yes," Poko said, a note of annoyance in her tone. She looked at Nyika. "You're a wildcat."

"I'm sorry," Nyika replied, casting her eyes away to the dead jill at her side. "We thought you were a hedgehog."

"Oh. Yes." Poko hunched her shoulders, the quills of her back splaying.

"It's a very good costume," Zevka said.

Poko grunted, curling up against the cold, lifeless jill.

A lump grew in Nyika's throat, her chest tightening with the sorrow that enveloped her. Her grip tightened around her broken arm and she took a shuddering breath. "She was your mother."

The ferret raised her head, her eyes narrowing as she bared her teeth in a vicious glare. Nyika was lost as to what to do. She felt compelled to comfort the young ferret, but she didn't know how.

"She's still here," she said, hoping to soothe the kit's distress.

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Are you thick?" Poko growled, her eyes glistening with furious tears. "She's dead! I've checked and she's cold and stiff and dead!"

Nyika pulled her arm, pain blossoming up her shoulder. It was something to focus on, a distraction from the horror of what she had just done. She opened her mouth to explain herself when Zevka put a paw on her and stepped forward.

"Pay her no mind," the pine marten said, stooping down next to the ferret kit and deflecting the conversation. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't think you are. Let me take a look at you."

While Zevka fussed over the ferret kit, Nyika turned to the spectre that stood off to the side; a pale female ferret with a torn and bloodied dancer's outfit and a wicked piece of wood sticking out of her leg. Nyika didn't know what to say. Tears slid down her cheeks as she stole a glance back at Poko.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset her."

"Then you shouldn't have said anything," the dead ferret said, anger lacing her words. A chill swept through the ledge, causing Nyika's fur to stand on edge.

"I didn't know what to do."

"You mock her."

"I don't mean to!"

"Yet you do."

"What would you have me do?" Nyika said in aggravation, unaware that she had caught the attention of Zevka and Poko. "Tell the kit you left her alone to die?"

"What is she doing? Who is she talking to?" Poko's voice cut in like a dagger through flesh.

"Nobeast," Zevka said, flicking the ferret kit's nose. "Ignore her. She's just muttering to herself."

Poko growled, swatting Zevka's paw away. The ferret rose in a rage.

"Is she pretending to talk to my Mati? What game is she playing at!"

"No game," Zevka said. "Settle down! Your toe is near torn off your footpaw!"

"She's lingering!" Nyika shouted, turning to the ferret kit with ears pinned back and a scowl on her face.

"What, are you saying she can still be saved? She's dead!" Poko yelled. "I watched her die! I was there!" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And she's not coming back."

Despite the harm she knew she was causing, Nyika was relentless. "But she's not at rest! She's here, watching over you!"

Poko scoffed. "And my Papa? Is he here, too?"

Nyika looked around, but it was only the dead jill standing with head in her paws.

"No," she announced.

"Then you're wrong." Poko's voice could melt the snow with the heat in her tone. "Why would she stay and not my Papa, too?"

"I don't know," Nyika said simply.

"You're a real nasty piece of work, aren't ya, cat?" Poko spat and stormed away, Zevka following in her wake.

Finding herself alone with the ghost, Nyika exhaled in exasperation, wondering if it was not too late to go running off in a different direction. Zevka was right, she never should have come. Being lectured by dead and live alike?it was too much for her.

"I loved her."

The words were unexpected. Nyika's ears swiveled to the dead jill, her head following. She hesitated. "I know you did."

"But does she?"

Nyika opened her mouth, but she didn't know what to say. "She must."

"It was always about her father. And me ? I was always second."

"You were a good mother," Nyika tried.

"Was I?"

The wildcat nodded. "You have to be. Else you wouldn't have lingered. You wanted to be sure she was safe."

"And is she?"

Nyika was not sure. "She's in good paws, now. We'll take care of her. You needn't worry about her any more."

The mother nodded, watching the pair disappear into the snowy night. "Oh, my dear, sweet Poko. If only you knew how much I cared." There were tears in her eyes.

Nyika stepped forward, releasing her broken arm to put her paw where the dead jill's muzzle would be. It wasn't solid, but the action was enough. "She does, or will. I'll be sure of that."

The dead jill stepped back. "You are a strange one, wildcat. I know I am dead, but you ? you are not."

Nyika nodded, rubbing the back of her neck with a paw. "I know."

The snow and wind were beginning to pick up. The longer she remained the less chance she had of rejoining Zevka and Poko. "I should go, and you, too. Your mate is waiting."

"Take care of my Poko," the dead jill said. "My little sprite." And with a flurry of snowflakes she was gone.

It was a long, lonely trek back to the wagon and despite Zevka's advice, Nyika found it difficult to ignore the ghosts that persisted along the route. The bitter ones had gathered into a group, blocking her path, but with eyes glued to the ground and a song in her head Nyika trudged through the masses. These were ghosts she could not avoid, the ones that knew her for what she was, and after spying what she could do to the ferret jill, they demanded she help them rest as well. With a stoic heart she ignored them. She could not help them now and it enraged them to find her so callous and unmoving. Nyika sang to herself, fresh tears in her eyes as she accepted their jeers, shuddering as she felt their claws rake her flesh.

At some point she collapsed, curling into a little ball and rocking back and forth, her paw gripping her broken arm in a vice-like grip. She focused on the pain; it kept the wailing at bay, the jeers and the cries from all the beasts that had died. She sang to herself over and over the quieting little song that the vixen seer had sung to her since she was a kit.

"Soft Nyika, warm Nyika,
Little ball of fur.
Happy Nyika, sleepy Nyika,
Purr, purr, purr.

"Soft Nyika, warm Nyika,
Little ball of fur.
Happy Nyika, sleepy Nyika,
Purr, purr, purr."

"Nyika."

The cat opened her eyes at the familiar voice, relief flooding her senses at the sight of Zevka standing over her. The pine marten offered her a paw.

"Poko's back at the wagon. Come on, you'll freeze to death out here by yourself."

Nyika nodded, taking Zevka's paw and rising with a tremor. Together they traversed the rest of the mountain pass, Nyika putting one footpaw in front of the other, her paw gripping Zevka's tight, her broken arm hanging limp at her side. It was cold, her scratches stung in dull aches, and the wailing deafened her ears. Her mind had entered a translucid state; her senses felt dulled, and time seemed to last forever. One footpad in front of the other. One footpaw in front of the other. She felt like she was swimming.

"We're here."

The words floated across her consciousness like a leaf on a river, just out of reach and drifting farther and farther away. Zevka had to repeat herself before Nyika heard her properly. The wildcat blinked. There was the wagon, right before her eyes, the same one with the boulder and debris strewn about. Sitting atop the wagon was Poko, huddled in her little hedgehog cloak and glaring at her. Nyika sighed.

"Relax," Zevka said. "I spoke to her, and we reached an understanding."

"Did you really?" said Nyika, not sure she believed it.

"No, but I tried."

"Thanks," Nyika muttered, but Poko's impression of her was not her concern. The wailing was growing worse. When before it was simply the beasts killed by the landslide, now they were joined by those who had survived it. The ones with broken bones and internal suffering, dying of cold and shock and murder. It was too much for her to bear.

"Nyika, what's wrong?"

There was legitimate concern in the pine marten's voice. She had seen the way the wildcat was shaking, clawing at her ears and pulling her whiskers.

"They're still dying," Nyika whispered. "They're still dying out there."

"We can't help them. We have to leave them be."

"I can't do that. Oh, Zevka, I can't do that to them." Turning away from the wagon, Nyika walked to the edge of the ledge. The noise was overbearing. She had to see.

Peering over the ledge Nyika looked down the cliff face, her tail bottle brushing at the sight before her. Never had she seen so much death in one place at one time. It was horrifying. The wildcat paled watching the dead wander about, discovering their deaths and seeking reasons for it. She watched them mass together like a growing hive descending upon the weak, tormenting those close to death. They were ruthless. Nyika fell back, gasping, once more rolling into a little ball and rocking. Back and forth, back and forth. What if they scaled upwards? What if they found them? What would she do? What could she do? She was losing her mind. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, the lines of her little song coming out unnerved and shaky. She was losing her mind.

Taking one deep, shuddering breath, Nyika screamed.