in the wake of a lifetime [closed for kj]

So much had happened, too much. Paws were heavy as stone, sinking like boulders with each step. Graybird was gone. And Tigersong. Smokefeather had to retire from warrior duties. The tom had found it easier to not stop and dwell on the many things that had been lost, or changed, but with something so undeniably condeming, it felt like the trees of this very forest had collapsed upon his back. Wrenspring was weary, a sensation that soaked through his coat and into the bones that were deeply seeded underneath strained muscles. Each day, it became more of a reality that he was no longer a young tom with the hopefulness of life driving him forwards. Something had been snuffed out at the very core of his being, rendered into little more than smoldering embers. He longed, desperately so, to revive the blaze and discover some semblence of hope. But it seemed as far away and distant as the stars. Somehow, even under Asylum, Wrenspring managed to keep padding onwards. Losing his daughter was somehow worse than his culture being stripped away.

Shaking his head, in an uncharacteristically saddened manner, the warrior made his way back through the entrance to camp. Patrols had ceased to be a comforting form of normalcy; all he could think of as he wondered the territory was that he might catch a glimpse of Graybird somewhere among the leaf-studded branches. Each moment the tom thought he caught a flash of her pelt, it was a fleeting ecstacy quickly battered away by reality. A low sigh left the sides of his maw. The thought that perhaps Lion's Eye was the one to greet her provided the tiniest sliver of comfort. It had occured to him that wishing for the dead was an inherently selfish thing. something he hardly indulged in for a majority of his life, not even when Juniperlight had become lost to them. These feelings did nothing but churn his stomach and cause his pelt to feel like it was crawling with red ants, and he almost wanted to let that sensation overwhelm him, let it lull him to sleep in the comforts of a lonely nest. Or perhaps snatch a rare moment with Beechface if he could bring himself to do so...

He needed to see Smokefeather.

The thought broke through his consciousness and immediately paused his step. It just so happened the elder's den wasn't far away and it had been some time since he'd seen his friend. Renewed purpose carried his paws in the direction of the den. For a moment, he hesitated at the mouth, unsure of his own reasoning for doing so. Wrenspring finally sighed lowly from the sides of his maw and pressed on. As his gaze found the elder, there came a weary smile. It was a genuinely good feeling to see his old friend, no matter what state they were both in... at least she was still here. Right before he said anything, it occurred to him that he'd forgotten his manners and was pestering an elder without bringing any prey to offer. Surely, Smokefeather would forgive him, or he'd run off to fetch something, either way. His voice sounded foreign to him as he settled down on his stomach, "It's been a while, Smokefeather. How are you feeling?" Something about the way she held herself reminded him of his own state and he wanted to bow his head in mourning at the idea.

Smokefeather's ears twitched at the sound of pawsteps near the entrance of the den. She was half-curled in her nest, dull eyes staring at the den wall without really seeing it. Honeycomb had disappeared, Graybird had died in her sleep just like Copperfox had. Tigersong was gone too. The losses just kept piling up, and each hurt more than the last. Somewhere along the way Smokefeather had stopped crying, though she wasn't quite numb to it. Being numb to it would've been preferable to the heavy ache in her chest.

She had nothing but her own thoughts for company, and her thoughts were nothing pleasant. Wrenspring's voice drew her from them, and the retired warrior pulled herself into a sitting position. A hint of a smile crossing her lips at the sight of her friend, seemingly the only constant in this miserable excuse of a clan, but it didn't reach her eyes. Her smiles never did, these days. She wished desperately that she could go to sleep and wake up in the warrior's den curled around Bloodstrike, wished that the past season was all just a bad dream that she could shake off some hunting to clear her mind. It wasn't, though, and Smokefeather merely shrugged at Wrenspring's question. At least he hadn't brought her fresh-kill as if she was wholly incapable of doing anything for herself, even something so mundane had become an unwelcome reminder of all that had happened.

"Well enough, I suppose... You look about as weary as I feel, Wrenspring." he'd lost his kits both by blood and adopted, something no parent should have to go through. And yet, here they both were, living that grim reality.

"What brings you over to this corner of camp?" If it was elderly wisdom he wanted, Smokefeather had long run out of such to offer. Maybe she'd never had any, in the first place.

"Yeah, I probably am." Wrenspring let out a weak laugh, one that almost sounded forced from his lungs and deflated as he felt. His haunches sunk into the worn ground as the experienced warrior settled down alongside his friend. While simple enough, the question prodded him like claws. Was it selfish to admit that he'd wandered over for some semblance of comfort? The crooked tail that the tom had possessed for moons flickered back and forth, stirring up dirt into the air. Eyes drifted back to watch the moment; the event that had kinked his appendage seemed like an entire lifetime ago, had it not always been this way? It took the tom a moment to realize that he'd forgotten to answer Smokefeather and he turned back, pulling his thoughts from the depths of his own mind.

"It's strange to not people out with you on patrols anymore. Sometimes I look around and realize that we're far from young warriors and apprentices, and that there are new cats growing to take our place." It didn't need to be said, the fact that there had been many lost along the way. The wounds were fresh. Wrenspring tipped his head ever so slightly, an unspoken sympathy directed at the former warrior, "Do you miss it? As much as I miss you?"

"I miss patrolling and hunting." A unhappy glare was leveled at her injured leg. Smokefeather missed being able to move about freely, she missed leaping through the trees in pursuit of birds and squirrels. Missed being a warrior rather than the burden she had become to the clan.

"Tell me about it... I have grandkits. When did that happen?" Smokefeather still found it strange to believe, when she still thought of her own kits, Ravenclaw and Primroselight in particular, as younger. When had they grown up? When had they taken mates and became mature enough to have kits of their own? Smokefeather could only hope that none of her children made the same mistakes in raising them that she did. The thought sent a pang of shame through Smokefeather. She'd failed her kits in every way that mattered... And she didn't even know her own grandkits either. They may as well have been strangers to her, despite being in the clan and being her own family.

She ought to do something about that, but the task seemed daunting. And Smokefeather wasn't sure it would have been well-received. Hiding in the elder's den was easier... And cowardly.

"One of these days, we will have to go out, even if it is not far at all. The weather is pleasant this time of year. It'd be like old times." He stretched out a forepaw to prod her lightly in what jest he could manage. Funny enough, it was this paw that was still encircled with a scar reminiscent of one of the first times they had truly gotten to spend time together. It had been on Riverclan territory. Wrenspring's pelt had still ached something fierce from Redfall's attack and the weariness of the journey. But the strange creature he had come to a turtle had spared him no expense, rendering his paw useless for a time. This had all been before they returned home, before more lives for lost.

He had to swallow back the memories from trailing off like a flighty robin. Wrenspring found her gaze, whiskers twitching at the notion of having grandkits. Right now, it was a joyful thought, one he sunk his claws into. The warrior tried not to think about how Graybird would never have kits. Instead, he focused on Birdsong and Shadepaw. Maybe someday. After a pause, he offered, "I could bring them by sometime between patrols. We could share tongues. I'll bring your favorite prey. In times like now, that almost sounds... wonderful." It was then he realized that talking to Smokefeather had always been a pivotal thing for him. The she-cat grounded him and was a constant companion in the way that so many other things were not. He was lucky to have her.

A warm purr rumbled in his throat, a genuine joy, as he moved closer to the she-cat and pressed his head into her shoulder without reservation. It seemed that they both needed comfort in these times.

"We should." She agreed, whiskers twitching as she glanced down at his paw. "At least our territory doesn't have turtles." She couldn't resist poking at him a little bit, whiskers twitching. What a sight they must have been to the Riverclanners, having until that point been entirely unfamiliar with the angry, moving 'rocks' that inhabited their territory.

At the mention of Birdsong and Shadepaw, Smokefeather sighed. "Stars I... I hardly even know them." Or Quietpaw... Or Bramblepaw and Eaglepaw and Muddypaw... Or Tornshadow. Especially not Tornshadow. She'd tried to justify that for as long as she could but in the end, Beechface hadn't been wrong. She had been punishing the white and gold warrior for her father's sin. She'd done it on purpose, had avoided even looking in her direction for fear of being reminded of her own mistakes.

There came another twitch of whiskers, and a short laugh, "I'd be a goner for sure if there were." Wrenspring tucked the injured paw underneath him to shift into a more comfortable position. The pain had long since faded but the memory of having the paw nearly severed off was fresh in his mind, it was easy to remember the sensation, not that he ever wanted to. Pushing it away, Wrenspring relished in the warmth of her pelt and the familiar smell the encircled him. As she sighed, his heart sank slightly, noting something in the tone of her voice.

He lifted his nose to prod her lightly, voice soft but persistent, "It's not too late to get to know them. I know they would love to see you, Smokefeather. We can tell them all about biting rocks and burnt forests... none of it is all too exciting or wonderful. But it is our history and it's a part of them as much as it is a part of us." Wrenspring found himself listening to his own words as he spoke. Being busy had kept his paws from wandering in the same direction as his younger kits. Or maybe it was the prying sense of guilt. For a moment, his maw opened, longing to say something. She deserved the truth, as Beechface's mother, and as his friend. But there were those who didn't deserve the ramifications. It was selfish to consider.

"Do you mind if I stay a while?" Wrenspring asked finally, letting the question hang stale in the elder's den, "I haven't felt like this in a while." Peace. Maybe that was the word he was searching for. Rest - a sorely needed thing. Whatever it was, prying away from Smokefeather felt impossible in that moment. Between the debris of her relationship with Bloodstrike, his simming secrets, and the grieving loss of the clan... they needed this. And he wasn't about to let this be another fleeting moment.

Smokefeather's whiskers twitched in amusement at Wrenspring. The turtles had been terrifying and formidable, much to her shock in the first and thankfully only encounter she'd had with one. The turtle, the fire... Certainly stories to tell, though not particularly happy ones. Smokefeather wasn't sure she knew any stories of the sort.

That probably said a lot of things about what life in Skyclan had been like recently. It probably said a lot more about her current outlook on life as a whole.

"Alright... That's... True enough." She responded. The kits would likely want to do anything else but listen to old stories, anyways. Or maybe they'd sit and listen. Smokefeather genuinely didn't know any of them enough to hazard a guess. The only one of her grandkits she truly knew the reactions of would be Tornshadow... And that was because they each went out of their way to avoid the other. Smokefeather out of fear and regret, Tornshadow... probably blamed her for a lot of things. Probably resented her. The white and gold she-cat was well within her rights to, of all cats. Smokefeather couldn't even say she didn't deserve such from her. She wasn't even sure that it was something that could be fixed, or that she even wanted things to change.

Wrenspring's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned her head to look at him. "Oh, sure. You know you're welcome here." She responded, tail twitching.