Finchpaw's Warrior Ceremony

Downy blankets of churned up snow sprawled across the slumbering territories, besieging the lands with an odd sense of irrefutable cleanliness. Decaying undergrowth and foliage wilted further under the unnecessary strain provided by the weight of snow and frost, leaving nothing but the stark white corpse of the forest lingering in the former presence of lushness. Ears and nose aflame with the scorching presence of the bitter cold, Brindlestar's features creased softly as she peered down from the raised seat of the Tallrock. Nothing more than a mere ghost against the snowy backdrop of the late hour, the molly shifted restlessly atop the frost-dusted stone. "Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Tallrock!" The cold brought more dangers than one would ever initially believe.

Finchpaw's orange tabby coat stood out starkly against the fallen snow. Even the weather seemed to speak of the new change that was to come. The apprentice had never seen snow, so the fact that it should snow now, of all times, was almost symbolic.
Finchpaw knew what was happening. He knew ever since Swiftstep had taken him on his moonstone journey. It was time... His warrior name. Something that Finchpaw had not been too concerned about until only recently.
But now, with the opportunity being almost tangible, Finchpaw couldn't be more excited. His yellow eyes were creased, as a look of... amusement found its way to the apprentice's face. I wonder how Ryecloud thinks I did, and... Brookclover... The apprentice knew he'd soon be able to face his counterpart as an equal. So many opportunities... Finchpaw thought, curling his tail over his paws as he found his way under the Tallrock.

Barleytuft had known he would dislike leaf-bare in mid-leaf-fall when his thin coat hadn't been enough to protect him from the biting frosty winds. Once snow fell he knew he disliked leaf-bare, but he also realized that the coldest parts of him were his toes. No amount of fur would protect him from that. He almost envied the forest-dwelling cats and the trees which likely sheltered them from the worst of the snows, but he couldn't imagine being cut off from the sky like that. Barleytuft was proud to be a WindClan warrior despite the cold he would apparently need to endure, and he suspected that someone else would be a proud WindClan warrior soon, too.

Barleytuft gathered in front of the Tallrock to watch his leader, and almost immediately the pale sandy warrior found the sleek, strong form of Finchpaw approaching the Tallrock. His warrior ceremony! Barleytuft thought proudly, giving the ginger-and-white tom an encouraging nudge as the apprentice passed him. He looked up to his leader, watching excitedly.

Murkpaw shivered his way to the entrance of the apprentice's den, glaring death at the white flakes dusting the ground outside. Why does this stuff have to come down from the sky now? He crouched into a miserable huddle under a branch sticking out of the bush, trying to look as dignified as possible while still keeping warm. He suspected he knew what all the yowling was about, since his friend, Finchpaw, had just come back from the strange tradition of walking into a hole in the ground to meet with dead cats.
Sure enough, the orange tabby was sitting underneath the Tallrock, looking annoyingly unaffected by the cold. Murkpaw glared once more at the sky above and then sat up deliberately, curling his tail around his paws and refusing to shiver. This should be interesting... He thought in spite of himself.

The sea of stiffening grasses that unfolded endlessly upon the moorland before them twisted and curled under the strain of the continuously brisk gales. The chill arose from both the stone beneath Brindlestar's paws and descended from the darkening evening sky. The clumps of downy snow stirred faintly within the tendrils of the cold breeze, sending flakes of brilliant white raining down upon the gathering crowd. Shifting her weight atop the smooth, practically frigid stone, the pale molly blinked as cats were gradually dusted with frost. "We gather here today to bestow the title of Warrior upon one of our Apprentices." She eventually mewed, tilting her scarred features skyward, gaze casted out towards the faint sparks of starlight that were gleaming among the richly colored night sky. "He has proven himself worthy to climb the ranks of WindClan and receive his Warrior name." Gaze slowly drifting back towards the young ginger tom who lingered below the looming outline of the stone,  the molly's raspy voice was slow and methodical as she finally voiced the highly anticipated command.

"Finchpaw, please step forwards."

Brindlestar's words rang in Finchpaw's ears as his paws removed themselves from the snowy terrain. He felt as if an otherworldly force was beckoning him closer to the Tallrock, pulling him towards his fate.
The orange tabby remembered the starry warrior that had wished him well. Finchpaw never did catch his name. But the Starclan tom had provided him with hope, and spoke of his boundless potential. It sparked a fire in Finchpaw's heart so hot, that it seemed like it would melt the snow around him.
I'm ready... The apprentice thought to himself, coming to a halt under Brindlestar's gaze. He meant her eyes, and then his gaze left her, watching the white sky. His friends surrounded him, the snow christened him. It all felt so right.

The leader's call drew her to the base of the Tallrock alongside the many other Windclan cats that gathered. Her gaze quickly darted around in order to locate Finchpaw and she gathered her tail around her as she loyally settled down at his side. Barleytuft wasn't far off and she acknowledged him with a slight twist of her head that was accompanied by a soft smile. As the flakes of ice drifted down onto the clan, her coat seemed to collect them. Although a chill began to creep down her spine, Brookclover found herself grateful of the fact that her fur was slightly longer than that of some of her clan mates. Regardless, she drew herself closer to the apprentice and relished in his warmth. Until Brindlestar called his name.

Shock was the furthest thing from the expression that was painted across her maw. Instead, the russet she-cat's warm simper grew. Finchpaw would finally be joining her in the warrior's den. It was her driven nature that was the only reason she had ranked up before him. His loyalty to Windclan and her was nearly unmatched by any other cat. The skill in both hunting and battle, alongside a general intelligence made him a perfect candidate for warrior. Even before this moment, Brookclover knew him to be more than deserving of this moment. As the elation sparkled within the depth of her gaze, she watched with a mounting interest as she waiting in anticipation for his warrior name.

"I, Brindlestar, Leader of WindClan, call upon my Warrior ancestors to look down upon this Apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble Code, and I commend him to you as a Warrior in return." Light gaze nothing more than two ashen puddles of reflective light, Brindlestar's poised demeanor carefully grazed the various expressions of those who were settled below. Downy flakes of powdery snow hung heavily on the chilly air, brushing softly against the marred surface of the Tallrock with every occasional current of a chilly breeze. Paws, rightfully numb from prolonged contact with the stone itself, shifted expectantly as she continued to gaze at the splotched young tom who sat attentively within the grey shadow of the old stone. "Finchpaw, do you promise to uphold the Warrior Code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"

"I do." The words flowed from Finchpaw's mouth like the wind itself. He had spoken them without second thought. ...to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?

Brindlestar's last words shook the tom to his core. During his moons as an apprentice, Finchpaw had been pursuing what "Clan" meant. And in this moment, the mischievous gleam in his yellow eyes betrayed his success.
A Clan is not a set of ideals... The orange tabby thought of his mentor, Ryecloud, who had since left Windclan for reasons unknown to the apprentice. Still, he held Finchpaw's respect.
A Clan is not the camp we reside in... Finchpaw thought of the starry ginger and white tom who spoke of the land beyond Windclan. Such a thought made Finchpaw's heart stir with exhilaration.
A Clan is the cats within it...all unique and brilliant in their own way... He caught the gaze of Brookclover, Murkpaw, Barleytuft. All wonderful cats who Finchpaw had come to call friend. THAT'S where my loyalty lies. And the orange tabby knew, in that moment, he'd gladly lay down his life for any of them.

"Then by the powers of StarClan, I shall grant you your Warrior name." Pale gaze directed towards the starkly colored evening horizon, Brindlestar's voice resonated softly atop the chilly air. Features momentarily vanishing within the tendrils of smoky breath, the molly allotted herself a moment or so to peer upwards at the flinty chips of barren starlight before them. "Finchpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Finchbreeze. StarClan honors your adamant and chivalrous nature, and we welcome you as a full Warrior of WindClan." Feathered tail brushing softly against the well-worn stone she stood upon, Brindlestar was quick to abandon her position atop the Tallrock and instead join the mingling celebration that bunched together around the newly-named Finchbreeze.