Easy as the Breeze [Closed]

With leafbare unfolding before the eyes of all the forest cats, things had become wrought with a combination of misery and exhaustion. As hunger gnawed at bellies and nagged minds, most were busied with the task of feeding others. There were seldom times that Brookclover held contempt for her way of life, and even now it hardly troubled her, but it would have been nice to stave off the constant demand that her body be fed. At least momentarily. The russet she-cat had filled her days with duties and the training of her new apprentice. With such a high need for things to be done to ensure the survival of the whole clan, the warrior had very little time to spend with her best friend. It was in the short hours of the night that she found solace in his warmth. Usually, both were ready to sleep the moment they return from whatever patrols or training had busied their paws. And so it was an unbreakable pattern. Hunt, fight, rest, and repeat. Today she longed to break that cycle.

"Finchbreeze?" She nudged his shoulder with her nose a few moments after she had stirred away. He looked so peaceful, she hated to wake him. Besides, eventually, the tom would make it up to her in some way, likely waking her up earlier than necessary. The pair had grown up side by side and had a knack for playful humor with each other. Brookclover especially was known for her relentless teasing of Finchbreeze. But, whatever quick-witted comments left her mouth, one thing was always sure- it was because she loved him. As sure as the Windclan blood that ran through her veins was the tom at her side. Every night and every day, when they were able. Looking down at his sleeping form, a soft contented smile broke across her maw and she nudged him once more, "Come on, sleepy mouse, we've got hunting to do before Swiftstep assigns us separate patrols again."

A grin stretched across Finchbreeze's maw as Brookclover's voice reached his ears. The tom's eyes remained shut and he tried his best to imagine the she-cat's slender figure above him. When he was prodded again, the orange tabby finally rolled over to gaze at the russet-furred warrior. He lay on his back, yellow eyes creased in a wide smile. If any other cat were to wake him this early, Finchbreeze's reaction would've been that of annoyance. But the sight of Brookclover standing over him, her hazel eyes boring into his, gave him the energy of a thousand moons.
"I swear you're trying to send me to Starclan." The tom chuckled, rising to his paws. There was a playful sarcasm in his voice, "One more early morning and I might crumple into dust." Finchbreeze nudged Brookclover gently to signify that he was teasing. They had grown up poking fun at each other since kithood, it was always sarcastic and witty, and over the course of time, they had become better friends than Finchbreeze knew was possible. But it was more than that, an underlying feeling. Something unseen and yet undoubtedly there. It presented itself in a glance. Staring into Brookclover's eyes, Finchbreeze knew he'd do anything for her, it made his pelt hot and his breathing faster. She was his everything.

He fell into place by her side as they padded out of camp, an icy wind cutting through their pelts. Finchbreeze fluffed out his fur in attempt to warm up, ears flat against his head. The tom was glad to finally catch a break from regular patrols. From training with Aspenpaw to checking the borders, life as a warrior hadn't proven itself easy, but Finchbreeze enjoyed his status. His life was rewarding and he couldn't ask for a better one.
Traversing Windclan's hills was always enjoyable, but there was something off this time. The orange tabby turned his head to see Brookclover padding a ways behind him. The tom stopped to wait for her, a look of concern on his face. It was well known that Brookclover was one of the fastest cats in the clan, usually she could easily outrun him on patrols like these, but today her behavior was off. Strange.
"Are you alright?" Finchbreeze inquired, head cocked to the side. "You're falling behind a little..." He ran his tail over her shoulder as she approached, thinking that she may be sick. "Should I have Briarpaw take a look at you?"

"Oh, come on, the mighty Finchbreeze fallen from a few early mornings? I hope it would take more than that to take you down." Brookclover nudged him with her nose playfully, allowing the purr to build up in her throat as they rose, "Otherwise all our hard work and training has been for nothing." Once the tom was up and both were thoroughly stretched, muscles warmed for facing the numbing cold outside, Brookclover took charge in her usual way. Trotting ahead of him and flicking her tail affectionately across the bridge of his nose. Although the snow that covered the ground slowed her pawsteps and threatened to turn her pads into ice, the russet warrior couldn't have been more contented than she was with Finchbreeze in step next to her.

Once they entered the territory, leaving the sleeping camp in their wake, Brookclover took off as usual. She wanted to cover as much ground as possible. Her legs welcomed the feeling and it helped to warm her. Her green gaze glanced up to see Finchbreeze in front of her. In front of her, how? There was a soft snort of frustration as she realized he'd managed to pass her. A lug like him? No way. She was supposed to be one of the fastest cats in the clan. The sinking feeling in the she-cat's stomach only grew as she realized her companion noticed it too. Inadequacy was not a feeling she enjoyed, nor sought to practice much. As he approached, her ears tipped back slightly and she shook her head in an attempt to dispel the worries, "I'm fine, Finchbreeze. Don't worry about me. I think you've just gotten faster." Without waiting for much of a response, she tried to charge ahead once more in an effort to cover ground. Each footfall felt heavier and slower than the last.

Finchbreeze turned his head as Brookclover raced past him. His brow was furrowed in a worried stare. He should've know not to ask the russet furred warrior about her health. In all their many moons together, the tom had rarely seen Brookclover in a state of weakness, and didn't want to put her in one now. She was a cat with dignity and sophistication, not one to be pitied or worried over. A grin made its way to Finchbreeze's face as he picked up pace to follow his partner. It was a pursuit he'd never get tired of.

Overtaking Brookclover once again, the orange and white tabby skidded to a halt in front of her, giving her room to stop. He said nothing and instead padded forward a few steps until the two were only mouse-lengths away. It was a quiet silence, the leaf-bare sky a stark white, and the dry grasses of the moor rippling together. He could hear her breath, every exhale just a cloud of white smoke before evaporating into the freezing air. Finchbreeze placed a gentle white paw on top of her russet one. A silent gesture saying don't leave... He searched her hazel eyes, seeing himself there, his livelihood, his future, his everything. But he was searching for something else as well. Sickness, maybe. Attempting to find the root of her troubles.

Maybe it was instinct that spoke the word to him, subtle signs gave it away. Finchbreeze took note Brookclover's rounded belly, heavier breathing, and labored movements. The realization came to him quickly, he felt his heart beat faster, warmth growing over his features. Brookclover didn't have any sickness, she was going to have "Kits..."
The tom breathed the word as if it was sacred, even the sound of it sent a shiver down his spine. He watched her with interest, afraid to speak the word again, but desperately wanting an answer. It made Finchbreeze's heart swell, his yellow eyes creasing in the smallest smile. Brookclover...

Her determination willed her to press on despite the fact that each breath became more labored than the last. Instead of soothing her throat, the breeze seemed to settle in the back of it like ice, making it even more difficult. Regardless, Brookclover pressed on. Finchbreeze stopped her not but a few moments later. Annoyance built up at the back of her tongue. While she loved him, the fact that he was trying to stop her bothered her. He knew well enough that she could take care of that. She had proven that when she faced the trespassing Thunderclan tom before and on several other occasions. Why should that change now? Eyes narrowed in displeasure, she met his gaze, fully prepared to chastise him for his actions. But staring into his gaze that all melted away and she let out a resigned sigh.

It seemed he was just as intent on studying her gaze as she was his. Brookclover found herself unable to tear away from his eyes. So long ago the ridiculous little tom had caught her and Swiftstep's attention with his youthful spirit. Since that, she had been unable to look away. As the frustrations within her chest died away with the gentle resting of his paw, her heart beat faster. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see their breaths fogging up the air around them. While the chill of the day threatened to send ice up her spine, the warrior didn't notice. She was enamored by the tom standing before her. He was everything a warrior should be and more. Most of all, he was her best friend and closest ally. Even in her moments of frustration or disappointment, Finchbreeze was her constant support and friend.

Kits. Her ears pricked, eyes growing wide with disbelief, "W-what? You really thing so? I-I can't! I'm a warrior. How can I fight with kits?" In all her moons of life thus far, the elegant she-cat had never once stumbled over her words. Now, they stuttered uneasily over her tongue as she sputtered out the protest. With a glance back at her sides, it was obvious how her normal lean frame had begun to disappear. The fact that she hadn't noticed bothered her. Brookclover gasped with realization. He was right. There was a great deal of emotions swimming through her gaze at that very moment and the deadpanned look overtook her expression as what was happening truly dawned on her, "Finchbreeze... we're having kits."

The tom exhaled heavily at Brookclover's realization. He felt a stirring form in his chest, not from dread, but something else. Finchbreeze gazed at his partner with more awe then ever before, she never ceased to amaze him. Her own lithe body had taken part in bringing fourth something beautiful... Kits
"You... are... amazing..." The tom breathed. As the final word left his mouth a sheepish smile found its way to his maw. The stirring in his chest grew stronger until it threatened to overflow. The orange and white tabby was left speechless, mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to say.

"Brookclover…" Finchbreeze finally mewed. He hesitated for a minute, and then found his confidence. "You will always be Windclan's greatest warrior, and I admit it... You'll always be faster than me." The tom's voice had taken a teasing tone, hoping to bring some comfort to his counter-part without being obvious. "And if it makes you feel better I'll stay in camp until you're ready to resume warrior duties. That way I don't surpass you..." Finchbreeze snorted, grinning, knowing deep down he could never outrun the swift she-cat. The tom padded over to Brookclover's side, sitting next to her so that their pelts brushed up against each other. The feeling was still there in his chest, not fully acknowledged yet. No amount of jokes could save the warrior from his fate.

Finchbreeze sighed, head tilted high to gaze at the white leaf-bare sky. He leaned in to his partner's side, yellow eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He felt a new sense of duty. Stronger than his first hunting patrol, stronger than when he was first assigned Aspenpaw. It was a calling to fight, to protect, to die for this new life. Not just the kits but Brookclover as well. He had felt it first all those moons ago, when that cheeky russet furred kit first teased him. Finchbreeze had been infatuated with her ever since, and every day the feeling grew stronger. It now came in waves, crashing upon the tom's heart like the waterfall in the gorge.
A serious setting had fallen across the moor. Finchbreeze's jokes had been swept away in the wind. The only things that remained were the heavy words yet to be spoken. "I will never let any harm come to you... I promise..." He gently rested his muzzle on Brookclover's head, fate sealed and heart bound. You're my everything...