Sunstorm had vomited that morning.

The scent of burial herbs had entrenched their way into his sinuses and caused the reaction.

He hadn't felt this way since his brother's vigil. This sickening, weak, frail way. It was almost as if Hemlockheart mocked him from Starclan, causing these ills.

In the twilight her lilac fur had begun to fade into Nightfall's pitch black coat. Her whole vigil, past and present assaulted his mind as unsavory memories were dredged to the surface. He stared into her blank sunset gaze and he had tried to remind himself that this was his mate, not his brother…the mate that should have been his brother's, not his.

A volcano of feeling erupted behind his stoic demeanor. He had not slept. He could not sleep. Dark merging faces haunted his vision whenever he closed his eyes.

He had fought Stoatfang this morning. The other tom dared to insinuate that Dawnclaw needed more time to process what happened. Like he knew what was best for his son more than he did. He had snapped. Dawnclaw and Duskfang needed structure, now more than ever. And if Stoatfang refused to instruct him, then he could train Swirlpaw instead. Sunstorm would not give the trauma time to sink its claws into Dawnclaw the way it had him. Sunstorm had been abandoned in his grief over his brother, then forced into his shoes. All Sunstorm seemed to have was time and it ruined him to this day.

He wasn't oblivious to the fact that his children were closer to their mother than they were him. And he wasn't oblivious to the fact that Hemlockheart had grown bitter towards him in the end. He wasn't vain enough to believe she ever did truly love him. And Sunstorm was not sure he was ever capable of romantic love. But he found himself still missing her as much as he was angry at her for abandoning him to join Starclan. She could have fought harder. He was sure of it. While he did not believe it to be solely a mother's job to rear young, Sunstorm had never wanted to be a father. Hemlockheart had mentioned before how she wouldn't mind motherhood. That was what drew Leechgaze towards her in the first place. Now he was a father and alone in it. He was furious.

With Stoatfang off with Swirlpaw, Sunstorm approached the apprentice den, his wounds still bleeding from where Stoatfang had retaliated.

He did not want to be here. Dawnclaw was paler in coloration, just like Hemlockheart, who's death mask still continued to bleed into his brother's. But he had to be, for Dawnclaw's betterment.

Halting in front of the den, he paused for a moment, listening to Dawnclaw stirr. Only when he was confident he was awake, Sunstorm spoke. "Come, boy." His voice betrayed nothing of the war inside his head, and he did not wait for his son to rise before heading towards the camp exit. Dawnclaw knew better than to make him repeat himself.

The massive ginger tom did not look back to see if his son was following him. He could feel the smaller tabby pad behind, chasing the warrior's shadow obediently.

Nodding to the guards posted outside of the camp entrance, he waded toward the forest of pine trees. Pine needles littered the floor - proving a good layer of cushioning - but still his steps were soft, quiet even, something not many expected from the warrior. But they were equally predatory, he was observing the forest, always observing.

Guiding them into the treeline and out of sight of the sentries, Sunstorm halted and turned towards his son. "Stoatfang has trained you well so far." Dawnpaw and Duskpaw's assessment had been but a sunrise ago, he had yet to comment on it since Hemlockheart stole every moment the day before. Sunstorm was not one for blatant praise, he showed his satisfaction with action, not honeyed words.

It was the backbone of Stoatfang's argument. That Dawnclaw was not only keeping pace with other apprentices, but outshining them. He deserved time to rest, to mourn. But a true warrior walked on through the pain, they did not pout. Kits pouted. His boy was not a kit any longer.

Sunstorm was given nothing but time after they had been found and Nightfall laid to rest. The morning after, Saugerleap wanted to continue training, life went on afterall. But the medicine cat forbade it, the tabby had been thrashed around in the river quite violently, and the medicine cat wanted to make sure the tom hadn't breathed in any water. Sunstorm had so much pent up anger and anguish. He was broken. Broken beyond repair, beyond the capability of even the brightest medicine cat. He longed to train with Saugerleap, to take out his frustrations. But he was left alone. His father did not visit him, his mother did not visit him. He had no one. He resolved then that he needed no one. He'd never need anyone again. It was a week before Leechgaze finally spoke to him about Nightfall's loss, but not to see how her surviving son was coping. It was simply business. His brother's death changed him and changed the course of his life forever. And he hated it. What Dawnpaw and Dustpaw needed was normalcy. Outlets. Distraction. Structure.

Sunstorm forced the thoughts out of his mind, composing himself, steeling further. "A new predator has been scented on the fringes of our territory. The elders call it a fisher - similar in appearance to a marten but they can be bad tempered like a wolverine. The queens have complained about danger to their kits, but the creature is quite elusive. What the real concern is, with leaf-bare coming and prey becoming scarce, we can not afford the competition, nor the potential for it to dig up our caches. There have already been instances of that happening."

He squared his gaze on his son before continuing. "I have chosen you to help me in getting rid of this pest. I believe you are ready. We either chase it out entirely, or we kill it and bring its body to Spiderstorm. But I do predict it will try to stand its ground…Any questions?"

“Can we eat it when we’ve killed it?”

The ghost of a grin tugged at his maw, his whiskers haunted with a brief twitch of satisfaction. The matter was settled then. He knew his boy would have a bloodlust fueled by rage in the wake of his beloved mother's death. As much as he was his mother's son, he was his as well. And fury easily rose to the surface on command - just waiting for its moment to be released like a wild dog from a two-leg lead.

"I have never tasted it. But after we bring it to Spiderstorm, yes. The elders say it is edible, if tough and somewhat bitter. Though I would rather Sootwhisker approve the creature as healthy before we call the clan to feast."

There would be injuries, of this he was sure. Especially if they chased it down even after it left Ridgeclan territory. A cornered animal fought the hardest. It would not be hard to get Sootwhisker's attention.

"Come then, I shall take you to where it was last scented so that you can begin tracking."

With that he was off, turning in a rigid about-face and padding deeper into the pines.

From the fringes of camp to their destination, about twenty minutes had passed. The were in the heart of Ridgeclan territory, and Sunstorm slowed - his maw parting to better take in the scents of the area. Locking on to his destination, he silently motioned with the tip of his tail toward the location.

He halted at the site, in front of him pine needles had been turned up and there was a small hole dug into the ground - a robbed cache.

The hardened bass of his voice was easily pulled into a whisper. "Tell me, what do you smell." There were many scents to unmask. Sunstorm wanted all of them.