Is Home even Home anymore? [Open]

He had done it.. He had finally returned home... Though with how long the tom had been gone was it even safe to call it that? Was his mother Gustpuddle even still alive? What was there for him to return to other than a code he was bound too? The gray and white tom padded forward, a limp in his step, his paws stopping just short of the border. The scent of it brought major relief to him but at the same it caused fear to settle into his chest at the unfamiliarness of it all. The last time he was here he was young, and just getting a feel for his home thanks to Brindlestar welcoming him, but now.. He was fully grown. His fathers blood as well as his mothers both apparent in his appearance. His striking yellow eyes, his build with strong back legs for jumping came from the old skyclan leader Crowstar. His gray coloring, his slightly smaller stature meant for running and his personality all from his mom. If anything he shouldn't exist but yet he did because of a one time fling.

The warrior sized apprentice let out a small sigh.. Not daring to step over the border. Instead he would wait. Sitting and waiting with his tail curled around his paws. He didn't want to risk angering any previous clanmates or even new ones for that matter. He would bid his time, and hopefully get accepted back into his home.

The small border patrol had been out since before sun-high, and slowly the sun had been starting to slide from its peak in the sky. Barleytuft and his companions had nearly finished their route, skirting far along the outside of the abandoned barn and then following the Thunderpath towards Fourtrees. Soon they would be changing their course, angling back towards camp and away from the freshly marked edge of the territory. However, it seemed that the patrol was not destined to return quite yet. Barleytuft, among his companions, spotted the figure sitting at the edge of the border from several fox-lengths away and raised his tail to signal to his patrol as they continued moving a bit more swiftly towards them.

"Unusual... There's someone waiting," Barleytuft informed the patrol, in case anyone else hadn't seen the stranger yet. "It certainly looks as though they're expecting us; stay on your toes." They likely didn't need his warning or instruction. He felt a hint of suspicion at their presence, but he was mostly filled with curiosity as he closed the gap between himself and the waiting cat.

Goldenpaw followed behind her father as they patrolled along the borders. It had been a long day, and an even longer moon that had held so many hardships, especially for her family directly. At Barleytuft's signal she paused, following his gaze to the lone figure in the distance. She stared intently at the figure but couldn't make out any details and a flower of hope bloomed in her chest. Trying to conceal her excitement she stepped to stand at Barleytuft's shoulder, whispering to him. "Do you... Do you think it might be Quailpaw?..." Her excitement grew as they drew closer and closer to the unknown cat, only to be dashed as they got closer and she could see the cat clearly. He was far larger than her brother had been, and the smell he carried was foreign and strange. Her tail slipped from her father's shoulders as she narrowed her eyes, head drooping. She didn't know who this strange cat was... And no matter how much she hoped, begged StarClan, that Quailpaw would come home, she knew deep down that he would never do so. The scents of freshly turned dirt and his stale scent had ensure that, even if they had never truly found him.

Trailing back to stand behind and to the side of Barleytuft as they approached the cat, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of betrayal and anger to this stranger for raising her hopes before dashing them against the rocks like the water in the Gorge.

Ploverpaw's nose caught them before he saw them, but it didn't help that he had gotten distracted by a bird for a moment. The thought of actual fresh prey had his stomach rumbling and as much as he wanted to hunt he steeled himself so he didn't set off the approaching clan cats. His usual dull yellow eyes brightened as they settled on the approaching warrior and apprentice. He decided to speak first, and go ahead and set a friendly non threatening tone.

The somewhat large gray and white cat dipped his head respectfully to the two cats before standing to speak. "Greetings." He said pausing for a moment to collect his next words. "I am Ploverpaw. I was an apprentice with your clan many moons ago before I got taken by twolegs. I managed to find my way back." He wasn't exactly sure what to say next.. He hoped that the others would catch on to what he wanted or if they would press for more answers.

”Taken by Twolegs?”

Having gotten sidetracked only to find Barleytuft and Goldenpaw had gone on ahead, Raventail had finally rejoined their patrol, somehow looking even more disheveled than usual as he stopped on Goldenpaw’s unoccupied side. His eyes found the stranger quickly. There was no skepticism in them, only interest. Between Ploverpaw’s explanation of his absence and his name—an apprentice older than Raventail!—the small tom had plenty to be curious about. But those questions would have to wait.

In all his wanderings over the moor, he had never encountered someone trying to come back. Assuming Ploverpaw was trying to come back; the moor wasn’t the safest place, but it had to be better than being around Twolegs. Raventail took in Barleytuft's curiosity (more cautious than Raventail's own) and Goldenpaw's disappointment. Then he turned toward Ploverpaw. ”Sorry, sorry—my name's Raventail, nice to meet you,” he meowed brightly. ”That doesn't sound like a fun trip, you're probably exhausted. You...said you used to live here, right?" Once again, he glanced at Barleytuft. "Finchstar might let you stay a while, then! I mean, if that's what you want." It was as close as he could get to asking permission. Finchstar had never been the type to turn away a stranger, but Raventail wasn't sure this was his call to make.

Barleytuft continued along their route with a purposeful, yet not threatening, speed, for the path they were taking already would naturally intersect with the tom who seemingly waited for them. Goldenpaw leaned up to him, whispering something hesitantly. His heart sank at her words, a naive hope that it was her brother Quailpaw returned from some unknown adventure. Grousefrost and Barleytuft may not have recovered his body, but by now they knew what the scent of a buried cat was like. Barleytuft shook his head, slightly shocked, and answered neutrally, "I don't know, kitten." I doubt it, he added silently. Such words weren't necessary.

They closed the gap, and it became apparent that Goldenpaw had realized the cat was a stranger as the drew near enough to make out distinct markings. The faint stirrings of recognition flickered in Barleytuft's brain at the bulky gray-and-white frame seated so passively and patiently on the border. When at last they reached him, the cat stood, dipping his head and looking back up again with kind, familiar yellow eyes. The stranger took the initiative, speaking first. "Well met," Barleytuft responded evenly as the tom greeted them. The senior warrior's ears perked at the tom's explanation. The name Ploverpaw was startlingly familiar. Could it really be...?

Raventail had caught up with them and spoken his surprise at the statement. Barleytuft himself frowned at the knowledge that a WindClan cat had been taken from their home. "The same happened to my kithood friend, Oakberry," Barleytuft responded. "It always sounded like a nightmare, when she spoke of it." Coupled with the inkling suspicion that he knew Ploverpaw, and the knowledge that the tom had been through so much, Barleytuft observed the tom with sympathy and interest. Raventail greeted Ploverpaw, introducing himself and offering to bring him back to camp. The senior warrior nodded in affirmation of Raventail's suggestion and looked to the patiently waiting gray tom for his answer.

The apprentice remained at the back of the group silently, refusing to look up at the tom. As this Ploverpaw spoke, another pang of grief and anger shot through her, but as he shared his story she began to wonder - what if that's what had happened to Quailpaw too? At least then he would still be out there somewhere, and she'd search to the edges of the horizon to find him. Finally turning her gaze up to him, she was mildly surprised at the friendliness in them and looked away quickly as her father and mentor responded in their turns, inviting the stranger back to camp. There was a moment of pause, and she broke it with an unnaturally soft voice. "I can run back to camp... Let Finchstar know while you make your way there so he's ready for you."

It was concerning to hear that another one of their warriors went through something similar as he had. No cat should have to ever go through that. At least not the clan cats. "I would love to stay if your leader would have me. I am disappointed to hear that Brindlestar has died, but I know she rests with Starclan." The tom stood ready to move back to the camp with the warriors, even if he knew the way he still wanted them to lead him. He was still somewhat considered an outsider at the moment. He would have a proper talk with Finchstar later and see if he could claim his place among the clan again.

"Twolegs are a nightmare.. The food they give you is disgusting.. The fake prey.. It is all rather unsettling.." He mentioned. He didn't like being trapped in their nests.. Not to mention having to ride in the belly of a monster... He shuddered at the thought. Ploverpaw looked towards the ground. Thinking over all the changes he might encounter once they got to the camp... Was his mother still alive? He wanted to hold his tongue but he needed to know.. He didn't want to get his hopes up.. He didn't want to walk into the camp expecting to see her only to be told the bad news then.. "Is.. Is Gustpuddle, my mother, still alive?" The gray and white tom asked hesitantly.

Barleytuft’s nod was all the assurance he needed, as good as the approval of Finchstar himself. Bringing Ploverpaw back was the right thing to do. "I'm sure he won't mind. Just warning you, though," Raventail said with a slight laugh, "it's a little crowded." A quiet voice rose from behind: ”I can run back to camp.” Sending a warning couldn’t hurt, and…and Goldenpaw would probably prefer it, judging by her unwillingness to look ahead. Raventail surveyed her over his shoulder, then sighed. ”That’d be great.” She would reach camp faster than Raventail could, at least.

From what little he knew of Twolegs (a two-pronged stick and round stones, a pair of bruises on his side), it wasn’t hard to imagine them doing something so terrible as taking a cat from the forest; imagining was very different from hearing someone talk about it. Raventail’s ears flicked back, but he said nothing. Though Ploverpaw hadn’t explained much, it was enough to make the small tom wonder whether he really needed to know what else Twolegs were capable of. He opened his mouth to ask—

Not fast enough. Ploverpaw had a question of his own. Raventail's chest tightened at the hesitance in the gray-and-white tom's tone. ”Um…” Gustpuddle. Even as he strained to remember in the hopes that he’d somehow missed her, he was all too aware that he had never met her. Whether she’d been lost to the waters or something else before he’d left the nursery, he could only guess. If Ploverpaw had been around when Brindlestar was, chances were, Gustpuddle wasn’t the only cat he’d be mourning. The young warrior’s ears fell once more, his gaze with them. ”I don’t think so," he meowed. "I’m sorry.”

Raventail's offer was received graciously by Ploverpaw, though Barleytuft's heart, too, was saddened by the loss of the great WindClan leader who had been a pillar of life in WindClan since before his kithood. The senior warrior dipped his head slightly at the stranger's certainly Clan-learned prayer to StarClan. There was a soft moment of silence as they considered Brindlestar's memory - or lack thereof, he realized, as only he and Ploverpaw seemed to have lived to know the she-cat - before Raventail offered a reassurance about their offer to bring him to camp. Barleytuft chuckled at his joke; WindClan certainly was crowded as of late, wasn't it?

Goldenpaw's voice broke in. Barleytuft turned his hazel eyes, watching her with a soft admiration and pride as she spoke, dutifully offering her services to run to camp and inform Finchstar of the new arrival before they simply appeared before him. When did you get so grown up and wise...? he wondered to himself with a deep love, but he said nothing of that. Raventail spoke approval of her words, and Barleytuft gently brushed his tail over her shoulders and smiled, murmuring, "Run well, dear, I'll see you soon."

The topic became dark again, talking and wondering about twolegs and their strange, wicked-seeming ways. Barleytuft had a guess what Raventail might be remembering. The senior warrior himself had been inside the barn trying to protect the sick and elderly cats when the two dogs and their twoleg had appeared, but he had watched the battle and seen the aftermath. Ploverpaw spoke again, this time asking about a name that Barleytuft hadn't heard for moons. Not since.. He shook his head softly; Raventail spoke first. Barleytuft met Ploverpaw's gaze with his head dipped respectfully, confirming in a remorseful voice, "All of WindClan's skilled, revered elders joined the stars in the wake of the flood. Their memories, however, cannot be taken."

At that, Barleytuft turned, leading the way back. He flicked his tail to gesture the other two toms to come with him. "Swiftstep remains, and Elmskip and Deerhawk and Graybriar... but things have changed. I hope it won't feel too strange to you," he called over his shoulder to Ploverpaw.

Giving a small smile back to her father, she flicked his shoulder with her tail and pressed her nose to her mentor's shoulder briefly before looking once more at the cat before her, still feeling the bitter taste of disappointment on her tongue. Lowering her gaze in a nod, she spun and dropped into position, claws extending into the grass under-paw as she stretched her legs further and further, racing against the wind back to the camp. Out of breath, tears staining her cheeks from the wind - or was it her grief? nah, surely it was just the wind. Her eyes sought out the familiar pelt of Finchstar as she caught her breath, and she padded over to him, head dipping respectfully. 

"Finchstar, we found a cat on the edge of our territory while on patrol. He says his name is Ploverpaw, and he was taken by twolegs many moons ago while he was an apprentice. Barleytuft and Raventail are guiding him this way now, but I ran ahead to let you know and prepare for his arrival." Having delivered her message, she kept her head lowered and waited for the response to come.

Ploverpaw nodded silently as he listened to the news of cats that were taken by the flood, and the confirmation from Raventail was all he needed to know his mom wasn't among the living anymore.. Only a few cats that connected him to Windclan were gone, but his loyalty remained. He could have gone back to Skyclan. He could had join and lived in the ranks that were formally under the control of his father but he chose Windclan those many moons ago and that is where he wished to stay. That is if the leader would let him.

Finally he broke the silence. "I see.." His yellow eyes lowered to the ground as the walked the path back to camp. He couldn't help but wonder how many names had joined starclan in the time he was gone. How many of them did he know? How many friends were gone now? "So what is Finchstar like?" The apprentice asked hoping to change away from the dark topics. It shouldn't be much longer til camp right?

With a flick of her tail, a nose to his shoulder, and a nod, Goldenpaw headed for camp. Raventail watched her until she disappeared over the hills, then turned back to Ploverpaw, letting Barleytuft’s somber words drift over him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how much the flood had cost them all—he himself had lost as much as he’d gained from it—but he’d never thought of the cats in the elders’ den, the older warriors he’d never spoken to. Brindlestar was the only one whose name he remembered, and that much was only because of her rank; if she’d appeared before him during his Moonstone journey, he wouldn’t have recognized her.

Much to Raventail’s relief, Barleytuft took the lead, allowing him to trot along beside Ploverpaw. They weren’t moving quite as fast as Goldenpaw, but camp wasn’t too far. At Ploverpaw’s question, the dark tom tilted his head. How to describe Finchstar… WindClan’s leader was a lot of things: impossibly charismatic, an adventurer, a near-fearless warrior, a friend of Raventail’s. What would a cat who didn't know him as well want to hear? ”Interesting,” he decided, nodding. ”He has, uh…a way with words. You’ll see what I mean. But he’s pretty open-minded, easy to talk to…” With a shrug, he trailed off. "He might ask you about the Twolegs, though."

Goldenpaw was little more than a speck in the distance by the time the three toms began to make their way back towards camp. Barleytuft listened over his shoulder as the returned Clan cat, Ploverpaw, asked about Finchstar. The senior warrior smirked slightly, and chuckled. What was there to say about the WindClan leader? The better question was, where would one start? Raventail spoke first, describing Finchstar in a way that made Barleytuft's heart warm. "He has, uh... a way with words," the black tom began, and Barleytuft laughed and added, "He certainly does." Raventail went on to explain that their leader may ask, and Barleytuft nodded in agreement, stating, "He's very curious; he loves to learn everything he can from every cat in ever walk of life."

After a short bit camp was in sight, and Barleytuft called back, "Looks a little different, huh, Ploverpaw? The flood did a number on the camp, but things are getting back to normal. We'll head right to Finchstar's den." Within another few moments he slipped through the narrow gorse tunnel, leading the small patrol into camp. Immediately Barleytuft's dark hazel eyes saw his leader, and his daughter beside him. Barleytuft dipped his head respectfully to his leader before moving aside to give Ploverpaw space to see and be seen.

Goldenpaw's cheeks were glistening as she appeared in camp. Finchstar blinked from under his gorse bush and rose to his paws, ready to listen to whatever ailed the sunny tabby. But perhaps the wind had carried her soul as it did his. The words that came from her maw seemed to distract the leader from the apprentice's current state as well. Finchstar blinked again before finding his grin, stretching his legs over the grass. "Thank you, Goldenpaw. Your legs are as swift as your heart." Finchstar gave the apprentice an amused smile, letting his tail rest over her shoulders for a brief moment. Perhaps they could talk later. For now, it seemed fate had brought more wanderers to WindClan. Sandpaw had arrived first, the leader was enamored with her stories. Even as his mind told him an impossible return from the lake was illogical, Sandpaw had found her way back anyway. Ploverpaw against all odds had ventured over the grass as well. It made the tom smile, that their lives should be twirled in the wind, and yet even in the chaos, there was still that steadfast heart. Oh, the hearts of those around him. Finchstar would never tire of their secrets.

"Come, 'paw. Shall we run to meet them?" Finchstar stretched in the sun once more, long tail curling. Together they weaved through the grass tussocks and rye stalks, the gorse tunnel in sight. But Barleytuft had been swift as well. A large grin formed on the leader's maw at the sight of his friend. "You've started a habit of picking up adventurers and lonely hearts. I'd call it coincidence, friend, however maybe they're drawn to your soul." Raventail emerged behind the cream tabby and the leader dipped his head, eyes sparkling. "You must tell me Barleytuft's secret, Raventail. What does he do to attract these cats? Maybe a dance, or a bird's call?" Finchstar snorted and gave his friends a friendly flick of his tail, turning to let his yellow gaze rest on Ploverpaw. While the tom bore the name of an apprentice, he held the body of a warrior. The leader's eyes widened ever so slightly as he thought of the life this cat had lived. Older than even himself, gone before the tom was even born. "You must feel strange..." The orange patched tabby spoke quietly, grin never fading. His voice was inquisitive and yet careful in its nature, recognizing the time passed in Ploverpaw's absence. "WindClan has changed over the moons... how long has it been? Are you lonely 'paw? Although I suppose I can't call you a 'paw anymore, can I? You're older than myself, perhaps most of WindClan as well. Tell me, Goldenpaw speaks of Twolegs. What are they like?"