Long Lost Relatives (Closed for Prince Smokey)

The vastness of the moorland seemed to stretch out in a never-ending expanse of long grass and dry earth; broken only by the cloudless sky and the burning sun that hung heavily in it. The young kit continued to scramble up the gently rolling hills, the cracked pads on her small paws scraping painfully against the rough soil of the moor. The small silver-brown she-cat’s shoulder screamed with each movement, the dull throbbing spreading from the scrapes in the tender flesh of her shoulder down to the tips of her small claws. Sitting down among the long green stalks, Brindle’s belly rumbled as she lifted her small head to stare up into the bright sun with narrowed eyes, the scents of strange cats on the grass causing her to wrinkle her nose.

Walking through the territory in an insouciant sort of way, Smokepelt let out a yawn. He'd been recently getting over his father's death and starting to feel like his normal self again, so the deputy decided to go on a noon patrol. He assumed no one was up to trouble and crossing the borders at a standstill time like this, but he knew that anything was possible and he should probably check just in case. So far, Smokepelt had marked the Thunderpath border and was making his way to the Gorge border. It wasn't as if any cat could possible cross the gorge, but every once in a while there was an uncalled for death that needed to be dealt with.

Padding across the moor, the tom let out a sigh. The cool breeze that ruffled his fur, the wonderful scents of prey, why couldn't life always be this perfect?

Before he was able to day dream any more, the sour scent of blood crossed paths with him and he stopped dead in his tracks. The blood was distinguishable cat blood, and although it was an odd scent, it smelt somewhat... familiar. Looking around the tall grass, the grey tom wasn't able to see anything from where he stood but knew someone was watching him. "Hello?" the soft voiced tom meowed, ready for anything and unsheathing his claws.

The strange scent of another cat was suddenly stronger, and Brindle's ears pricked up when another voice suddenly called out. Brindle's fur fluffed up as the scent of another tom invaded her nose, the dull ache of her wounds and the hunger in her belly vanishing as adrenaline filled her veins. After weighing the situation for a few moments, Brindle stepped out of her hiding space between the long stalks of moorland grasses, her fur fluffing up even more as she jumped out in front of the large, grey and white tom. Peering up with wide blue eyes, Brindle tilted her head up to peer at the strange smelling cat.

"Do you know where I am?" The small she-cat questioned quietly, her ears going flat as she gazed at him. The scent of fresh prey still hung in the air and faint traces of rabbit still hung on the tom, causing her belly to rumble quite loudly.

Smokepelt was a bit surprised when a kit jumped out from behind the brush and stood in front of him, but the tom soon sheathed his claws when he realized the little cat was no real threat. Titling his head, he noticed the blood on the small cats side and wanted to say something but stayed quiet, not wanting to make the kit panic.

"You're in WindClan territory," he replied softly, sitting down. Was its mother around somewhere? And how did a kit make it this far into the territory? Questions raced through the deputy's head as he examined the kit. Something about her was oddly familiar, but he couldn't quite put a pin on it and shook the thoughts away, not thinking anything of them.

"Might I ask where you're from, little one?" Smokepelt meowed with a smile upon his muzzle. He knew that some kits were scared of bigger and older cats, so he needed to show this little one that he was no danger to her.

Noticing how the tom sheathed his claws, Brindle cautiously sat back down on the hard earth, most of her bubbling anxiety fading to a soft tingle along her spine. Brindle's ears pricked up at the mention of Windclan territory, a burst of pride and relief warming her chest as she realized she had followed her mothers instructions. Brindle's tail nervously flicked at the mysterious tom's question, her pupils dilating while she peered up nervously at the grey and white tom.

"I live on the farm," Brindle meowed, turning her head in the direction that she had traveled from, "that's just outside of moorland. My mother's named Berry and she told me to come find the moor cats cause every other cat really is really, really sick." Brindle nervously recalled, her memory slightly jumbled. "She said that they could take care of me until she gets better- oh and I was supposed to find her dad I think." She quickly added, her nose wrinkling as she recalled the foul stench of sickness that had clung to her mothers fur.

The tom listened intently to the kit and his ears perked when she mentioned a cat named Berry. Could it be? His Berry? A sudden feeling of happiness and sadness overwhelmed Smokepelt as he thought about his daughter but turned his attention back to the kit, so many questions on his mind. The fact that Brindle said that she was supposed to find Berry's dad gave him an extra glimmer of hope. "I think I know who you're talking about," Smokepelt said softly, feeling his throat get a bit choked up.

"I'm Smokepelt, Berry's father," he added, a soft smile upon his muzzle. Yeah, there could be multiple Berrys, but something about this kit told him that her mother was his daughter and he was so happy that she was still alive.

"What do you mean they're sick?" The kit's words echoed as if they were bouncing around in the air around him. Was she in trouble? So much that she sent a kit to get help? Looking to Brindle, Smokepelt waited for an answer, worried like a father should be.

"You're Smokepelt? That's a funny name. But I'm glad I finally found you- I've been looking for you for what seems like forever- this moorland is really, really big!." Brindle exclaimed, her ears perking as she looked up at the tom curiously, her whiskers twitching. "Since my mom told me to stay here, do I have to have a funny name like that? Do all the other cats have funny names like that?" Brindle questioned, frowning anxiously at the thought of changing her name.

"Anyways, they're just sick," Brindle shrugged as an exact explanation evaded her, " All the cats who got sick smell funny- almost sour-, and when they're not coughing and can actually take a breath they sound like they've got a frog stuck in their throat." Brindle informed, remembering the odd, painful rasping noises that some of the other rogues had made. " My littermate Whiskers was sick too and he must of been so tired from being sick, when he finally went to sleep he didn't wake up for a long time! He wasn't even awake when I left two sunrises later!" Brindle purred, the burst of eagerness in her chest that came from the affectionately mentioning her younger sibling causing her to relax finally.

Smokepelt listened to the kit and couldn't help but chuckle. The kit was definitely his daughters and he knew that rouge kits who weren't accustomed to clan life thought their names were odd, and although some cats would've been offended, he took no hard feelings. Unfortunately the happiness in his mood didn't last long, for Brindle started talking about her other siblings and the tom felt as if a rock was in his throat. In pained him to see that the kit didn't know what the eternal sleep that her brother slept was but he kept quiet, realizing it wasn't his place to tell her the true meaning of death.

Trying to rid himself of the sad and depressing feelings, he forced a smile upon his muzzle and looked to Brindle. She seemed so happy for the life that she'd been living and he was glad that such a kit could be so optimistic. She'd asked so many questions that Smokepelt didn't know where to start. "Yes, clan cats have names like this and it defines who we are," he meowed, trying to sugarcoat it in a way that the kit could understand. "And I'm sorry to hear about your brother, I-I hope he gets better," the tom added, starting to get chocked up from thinking about the sicks cats. I hope Berry is alright...

"Your names define who you are? That's weird- you shouldn't let a name shouldn't define who you are. Clan cats are weird." Brindle wrinkled her nose at the odd words Smokepelt spoke. Lifting a small paw up, Brindle gave a quick lick at her sore pads- the ache in her chafed pads dulling slightly as she licked her paws. As Smokepelt mentioned her brother, Brindle noticed a sudden glint in his amber eyes- one that her mother's eyes had when she told Brindle that Whiskers was simply sleeping- and a glimmer of suspicion arose in her. "He'll be fine. Whisker's always gets sick. They'll be fine."Brindle reassured Smokepelt, her eyes cautiously watching the grey and white tom, finding her own words to be reassuring. "While I stay here do I have to be Brindlepelt? Or do I least get my own name?" Brindle questioned, her whiskers twitching in amusement as she thought about all the cats in this land having their name end with 'pelt'.

Smokepelt nodded at the kits questions and waited for her to finish her thoughts. "It's not that we are weird, it's simply that we have a different life style than rogues," he informed the kit, understanding that it was a bit odd, but as a clan cat, it was all he'd ever known. Although she wasn't his kit, he was so proud to see how optimistic she was even when she had no clue what her family's fate would be. I hope they'll be alright, he thought to himself. Smokepelt hadn't seen Berry for some time and the last thing he wanted was for him to know she was alive but have her pass before he was able to see her. Maybe I'll visit her sometime. The thought of going to the barn where his daughter lived sounded oddly pleasant, but being Deputy, the tom doubted he'd be able to find any time to go see her. And even though she was his daughter, she'd chosen a life of her own and he had chosen his, so he knew that showing up might be a bit odd.

Focusing back on Brindle, he laughed when she asked about her name. "Not all cats have Pelt in their name, and usually the leader chooses it for you," he started, but realized that he might need to explain a little more in order for the kit to understand. "Here, let me explain," Smokepelt meowed, sitting down. "In a clan there are different parts of names for different ages. As a kit, you'd be called Brindlekit, as an apprentice you'd be called Brindlepaw, and when you become a warrior, you'll receive your warrior name," he explained, hoping that what he said was clear enough for a rogue kit to understand.

"Your leader chooses your name? That must be nice- cause then you wouldn't have to worry about choosing your own name." Brindle mewed, her tail whisking slightly as she peered up at the larger grey and white tom with meek eyes. Brindle's claws absently toyed with the rough, peaty soil- tearing up the now-browning stalks of heather, her mind racing with hundreds of different questions all at once. "Will your leader let me stay? I know that clan cat's don't like any outsiders." Brindle finally nervously questioned, her belly tightening as she anxiously looked up at Smokepelt. Brindle was still surprised she managed to find Smokepelt so easily- and credited the stroke of luck towards good fortune. Brindle's claws nervously flexed into the coarse soil as she anxiously awaited Smokepelt's answer, and in a bid to distract herself from the silence- Brindle began to think about how little her mother had ever spoken of her past. Berry had never really mentioned her parents, and Brindle had always assumed that they were a pair of rough, barely-there rogues, so to find out that her mother actually hailed from the clan's was surprising and unnerving. Brindle had always heard stories from the other rogues about of fierceness that clan cat's exhibited- and how they used the fur of the enemies they had slain in battle to line their nests- so the gentleness and kindness that Smokepelt showed towards her helped soothe the anxiety that had mounted during her travel to the moorland.

Smokepelt nodded when she asked about leader's giving names and smiled when she asked if she'd be allowed to stay. "Of course you'll be able to stay. My mother is the leader and she always accepts new members to the clan, especially if they are kin," the grey tom meowed with a soft smile. He was so glad that he'd just so happened to find Brindle and was overwhelmed with joy to have the kit join him and the clan. She's just like her mother, he thought to himself, turning his gaze to the sky and then looked back down at the small cat. "So what do you say, want to come back to camp with me?"

"Your mother is leader? That must be nice." Brindle mewed, feeling slightly more comforted about the fact that she would likely be accepted. Brindle's chest warmed slightly as her anxiety melted away completely; despite not being born within Windclan, she still had family who would look out for her within. Any last feelings of loneliness quickly ebbed away as Brindle listened to Smokepelt talk. "Camp?" Brindle echoed Smokepelt's words, her ears pricking with interest as her eyes widened. Jumping to her sore paws, Brindle eagerly looked up at the grey and white tom with eyes the size of the full moon. "Yes! I can't wait! What's it like?" Brindle squeaked, her surge of excitement causing her to forget the dull ache in her pads and the stinging of her scraped up shoulder.

Glad that she was so eager to come with him to camp, the grey and white tom flicked his tail towards the direction that they'd need to travel and started heading towards camp. He remember that the kit had some wounds and her paws looks pretty sore, so he walked at a relatively slow pace, just in case. "Camp is the place where me and my clan sleep, eat, share stories, and live," he started with a smile, looking down to Brindle. "I think you'll like it," Smokepelt added as the two of them made their way to the WindClan camp, slowly but surely.

Brindle eagerly scrambled up after Smokepelt, her small claws snagging slightly against the stalks of heather as she followed the tom up a gentle slope before slowing her pace to a slow walk- too preoccupied with all the sights and sounds to be concerned with traveling quickly. "My mother used to talk about the camp a lot; she told me that a Starclan cat reached down from the stars and scooped up a big pawful from the moor and that's where the camp has been since!" Brindle informed with a purr, her tail waving proudly in the air behind her as she recited the old tale her mother told her nearly every night.

Brindle quickly picked up her pace, hurriedly closing the ground until she was beside Smokepelt. Peering up nervously at Smokepelt with large, blue eyes, Brindle analyzed the large grey and white tom, noticing the subtle similarities in both of their pelts. "Smokepelt, why did Berry leave Windclan? She never mentioned ever coming from the Clan's until everyone got sick. Brindle mewed softly, her whiskers twitching curiously as she matched the tom's stride the best she could.