Barren Hills [Open; Windclan Return Topic]

Never before had the russet-coated warrior allowed herself to feel defeated. Her kits had passed before they were even able to taste the air in their lungs; she'd been driven from her home in an act that could have only been allowed by the will of Starclan's mouse-brained devices, and the cat who she loved more fiercely than possibly even the clan had been torn away from her. Stubborn denial and possibly ignorant hope kept Brookclover believing that Finchbreeze was out there somewhere, that he hadn't been lost to the wreckage and the waves. Now all that was left was the fraying edges of kitlike dreams. From the front of the bedraggled group of Windclan cats, what was left of the once great clan of moor-dwellers, padded the she-cat. Head high with stubborn refusal, her green gaze was glazed over as she stared straight ahead. This was their territory. All around them the once beautiful sloping hills were torn in several places and the earth was sodden with what had been soaked up from the flood.

"We're home." She breathed, mostly to herself. The words were flat as she drank in the sight of their camp. What had once provided a sparse, and yet comforting, shelter around the shallow dip that comprised their camp still stood for the most part. But even from a distance, she could see the wreckage. Without a doubt, all the nests, herbs and other parts of camp had been swept away.

Shaking her head ever so slightly, Brookclover turned her head to look at the other warriors around her. Thankfully, Barleytuft was still here. She had found herself doubting her own strength for the first time. Between the support of her former mentor and the duty she had to both Ravenpaw and Goursepaw, Brookclover had managed to keep her steps from wavering and her head high. She stopped short just outside the camp entrance, peering inside as she did. It felt wrong to step back into camp without him at her side. Her own voice sounded foreign and hallow as she spoke, "We need to rebuild the dens and gather prey. Any able-bodied apprentices can help rebuild in camp. Warriors, let's hunt." She swallowed as she almost said allowed that Brindlestar and Finchbreeze would give more direction when they returned. But that wasn't guaranteed. Brookclover clenched her teeth and stepped to the side to allow the rest of the clan to return to their home. She would put that off as long as possible. For now, they needed to hunt.

Ravenpaw set foot on WindClan’s water-scarred territory, and all the wonder went out of his eyes.

Last time he’d been here, he’d been a tiny, sheltered kit. Since then, he’d grown into a slightly undersized, slightly less sheltered apprentice, but the moor was still so much bigger than he would ever be. In his eyes, it was unchangeable. Invincible. Even the dogs they’d fought back on the shore (strong enough to kill a warrior, he thought with a shudder) couldn’t have left a mark on it. Through Amberdawn, StarClan had said they could return. That the ground had dried and the prey had come back. How else was he supposed to interpret that? Looking at the outer edges of the moor for the first time in his life, he recalled how the flood had roared through unimpeded and had to question how he’d ever believed it would leave their home undamaged. It stung like a betrayal.

He had never been clingy, but as they approached WindClan’s camp, Ravenpaw drifted closer and closer to Brookclover. Their group was so much smaller than before; Mosspaw, Leafpaw, and Dapplepaw had all gone; and really, that was just an excuse, because he knew some of his Clanmates and wasn’t walking by them, either. Brookclover was…consistent. More than that, she was his mentor, and he’d grown used to her since she’d found him on the shore. Whether he admitted it or not, being near her in this empty, flood-torn land comforted him, so near her he remained until they reached the camp itself. Then he rejoined the crowd and stood on tiptoe, the barest scraps of hope in his heart, to peer over the heads of his Clanmates for the final time.

Seeing the territory destroyed had been shocking, but the camp… He’d never known the camp to be empty, yet here it was. Abandoned. As if WindClan had never been there in the first place. There was no Brindlestar waiting for them, no deputy, no... Brookclover's next words ("...can help rebuild in camp. Warriors...") were lost to the static rising in his ears. Ravenpaw shuffled back, further into the crowd; then he turned, tail low enough to brush the ground, and started off in the other direction. Anything to not have to look.

A small orange kit wandered through the remains of the Windclan camp. He kept his head down, glancing up as he searched through the returning cats. His white ears perked as he listened to any carrying on conversations. Panic filled his vibrant blue-gray eyes as his pace grew faster and faster, until he was running around as fast as his short legs would carry him. He was frantically searching for his parents in this place that was supposedly home.

Whisperkit was born during the crazy events that had occurred during the last few moons, and this was his first time seeing the clan's home. He remembered little from the flood and following situations, all he remembers is being split from his family during this time and his mother telling him that they would meet at the home for all cats.

So the young kit ran around, desperately searching for his parents. This was the home for the cats wasn't it? Upon his search proving fruitless, Whisperkit rushed to a nearby secluded area and silently cried.