frondpaw's warrior ceremony

Frondpaw followed Mottlestar’s pawsteps, half-convinced this was all a dream. Their conversation had taken such a sudden turn, one he never could’ve expected- and yet not one he regretted. Mottlestar, he decided, staring up at the Highrock, had given him a second chance he hadn’t known to ask for, and for that he owed her a debt he doubted he could repay anytime soon. He was going to be made a warrior today, after only a few minutes’ conversation with his leader, and somehow, somehow, he felt the excitement he’d dreamed of as a young kit. He was going to be made a warrior today, and it felt like it might really mean something.

Frondpaw sat under the Highrock, tail-tip gently beating the ground. He’d made himself a warrior, he decided. It wasn’t to his mentor’s credit that he’d made it this far. He’d somehow clawed his way back to ThunderClan, and after his conversation with Mottlestar, he felt like it might come to feel like a home someday.

Frondpaw stepped forwards at Mottlestar’s call, whirling emotions churning under his pelt.

He didn’t exactly know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this- words spoken to him, not just the ceremonial speech worn into rock and stone. This meant something. This was a ceremony for him and him only, something more than a simple change of name, a new beginning, a fresh start in a way he hadn’t ever imagined. Dark green eyes met Mottlestar’s own as he stood under the Highrock, tail-tip twitching, the words she spoke burned into his mind as he well and truly considered what his answer would mean.

He would die for his Clan, in battle or in the elders’ den many moons hence. He would die for cats he might barely know. He would die for a Clan that had come before him and followed after and, if he had any say in it, would persist, brave and loyal and strong, during his lifetime and after his death.

And-

He would come back. He knew that now, as he stood under the Highrock, paws planted solidly on the ground his ancestors had died for. He would come back, even if his path took him away. ThunderClan was his home; his family. When the tall old oaks hanging over camp were yet acorns his ancestors lived here, and when this leaf-fall’s acorns were towering old oaks, his descendants would call this place home. It was his, and it was theirs, and he knew what his answer would be.

“I do.”

"Ridgecrest, Ridgecrest!" Firefly didn't know the backstory of this cat who had come to them as Frondpaw other than he had been here before. She no longer had any right to complain or ask who had full ThunderClan blood, so she would instead celebrate that they had received a new warrior.

Padding up to Ridgecrest she mewed, "We should spar sometime. Or even go on a hunt when your vigil is done. Welcome back to ThunderClan."

Frondpaw lifted his head to look Mottlestar in the eyes for the last time.

It was Ridgecrest that held her gaze, Ridgecrest that sunk his paws into the sandy earth and exhaled with a smile, Ridgecrest that stood under the springtime sun and swore his loyalty to ThunderClan- and to Mottlestar, the molly who seemed to know him better than he knew himself, who cared for her Ckan through every obstacle. He was, indeed, truly grateful.

Right. His vigil. The ordinary practicality of such a thing brought him back down to earth even as he turned to dip his head to- Firefly, wasn’t it?- with a slight smile. “Thank you. We should.” This was the first step in cementing himself back into ThunderClan, making instead of finding a place for himself.

His home would forever-after be under these spreading oak trees, Ridgecrest vowed silently to himself. Forever-after and always.