Grousepaw's Moonstone Journey

Briarpaw had been so busy in the past few days, tending to WindClan's wounded warriors. Constant patrols would leave the camp, searching for any spare herb, or prey. Finchstar smiled as he gazed over his friends, weaving between each other's pelts. The sun hung high in the sky, lighting their resolves with Newleaf's warmth. They had faced tragedy like the rest, with Brindlestar gone, and their home destroyed. The lost she-cat was not just their former leader, but a mother. Several of WindClan's warriors knew her as such. Falconbreeze, Silverstreak, and Grousepaw. Grousepaw. Finchstar thought, apprentice to his mate. That tom carried with him a heart of steel. The leader wondered how he would deal with his mother's death, but could never find enough time with him to ask. Busy was an understatement for how things were going, but one thing was for sure. After talking with Brookclover for what felt like many sparkling moons, the conversation eventually fell to her apprentice. He was steadfast during the flood, and strong during tragedy. Both had agreed that Brindlestar's son was ready for warriorhood. But first, his journey to the moonstone.

The last time Finchstar found himself at Highstones was during the battle of beasts. Both the dogs and Sharptooth were crushed under massive rolling boulders, but the area still could not be deemed completely safe. The orange and white tabby opted to take Grousepaw to meet his ancestors. With Briarpaw busy, and Swiftstep wounded, he was the obvious choice. Finchstar said his goodbyes to Brookclover, breathing in her scent. It felt strange and wrong to leave her again, after missing her presence for so many sunrises, but she wanted Finchstar to go. And so he would.

"Grousepaw." The tom mewed to the tall apprentice, grinning as his yellow eyes meant ones of blue. "I'm off to Highstones, possibly throwing myself into the jaws of dogs in the process. Care to join me?" The friendly sarcasm in Finchstar's voice was obvious. He wanted to walk beside the brindled tom, ask him about his mother, and offer solace if needed. While the thought of returning to Highstones struck fear in the leader's heart, the thought of walking beside another soul cancelled out his apprehension.

The long grasses of Windclan's moors swayed in a gentle breeze. The bright green colours mixing with the soft blue hues of the mountains that held Highstone. The ones he would someday journey... and it wouldn't be with his mother. His heart ached every moment her face came to his mind now. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the newleaf air. 'Moping won't bring her back. It's not efficient.' His thoughts came scolding as his eyes opened. He could see a couple pelts heading off on patrol.

He stood on his paws to join them until the bright orange and white pelt of the new leader came towards him from the camp. The ache in his chest stung deeper as he knew this tom was now leader of the clan. Though Finchstar had proven to be adequate. He picked a worthy mate, had fine kits, and would lead the clan into days as golden as the grass would soon turn. It didn't stop his ears from flattening slightly at his humour.

"That would be a most inefficient tactic." He chided as he puffed out his chest, blue eyes gazing at Finchstar's yellow ones without the same bluster his body held. The ache in his chest was more evident in his eyes than anywhere else as he looked away with a steady blink. "I suppose I should join you. I don't want Brookclover to become hindered by your wrecklessness." The words had less bite to them. He padded solemnly towards Highstones, flicking his tail towards Briarpaw as he passed.

He wouldn't take the usual herbs. Briarpaw's stock was already so low, and Grousepaw felt confident that he could manage the journey without them. Let them be used on cats that truly needed the aide of the bitter leaves.

A smile grew on Finchstar's maw as Grousepaw more or less answered his inquiry. He wondered if he should ask about herbs, but Brindlestar's son seemed determined to get to his destination. Besides, WindClan was closer to Highstones than any other clan, the two would tough it out. "Let's get going then, shall we?" The leader beckoned the apprentice out of camp, and they began their trek towards the peaks. Padding through the moors was almost surreal, large green pools sat in every dip and hollow, and bugs buzzed over the horizon. Finchstar flicked his tail to swat a couple away from his face, feeling strange. "I guess we'll have to start calling ourselves ShadowClan now." Finchstar joked to Grousepaw, wearing a smile. "Maybe I should grow webbed paws." They continued to pad to the mountains, the sun lazily rising into the sky.

~~TIMESKIP~~

It was sunset when they arrived, Finchstar felt the fur rise on his haunches at the site of the dreary place. Highstones. Cats had fallen in this rocky landscape. The leader peered over the stones to gaze at the stone avalanche that had crushed their foes. Perhaps they still prowled here. It was a brave, but naïve thing, to march back into the very place where the clans had almost lost their lives. Finchstar wondered if it could be called foolish. But this was tradition, to speak with StarClan. He knew the clans would fight to keep their rights, even if it meant death. The tom glanced at Grousepaw, and wondered what the tall cat could be feeling. Maybe he would see his mother at the stone. He wondered if it would provide him with any solace.

Mothermouth stretched before them now, unfurling into the darkness. "Are you ready?" Finchstar asked the apprentice, feeling almost whimsical. This place was certainly a profound one. Its effect on others was an interesting thing indeed.

Grousepaw padded out of the camp swiftly behind Finchstar, allowing the new leader to lead him as he looked over the moorlands on their way. It was strange. The grass still grew and swayed in the wind, but a single misstep could land a cat deep into a hidden pond. It was quite trecherous, still, Finchstar's remark wasn't missed.
"Don't be a rabbitbrain. It'd be terribly inefficient once the ponds dry up. You'd be thumping around like a big pawed shadowclanner and scaring off all the prey." He pointed out with a dismissive huff. Though, the thought was amusing. Seeing a Shadowclan cat trying to catch a rabbit was akin to seeing a frog try to catch a mouse. There weren't many places to hide, swiftness was key.

~~Tiii-me ski-p ~~

As Highrock drew closer, Grousepaw grew more quiet. His head dropped low, ears back as he picked up his paws more through habit. The moonstone... would he see his mother? Would she be proud of him? It hurt to think he might not see her. There were many cats in StarClan, what if they thought it would be too ineffective to send a familiar cat? No cat really talked about their moonstone after it happened, so how would he know what was typical. He glanced up at Finchstar, tempted to ask but immediately decided against it.

He was almost a warrior. He couldn't be seen asking such a weak question.

"I'm ready as I'll ever be. Let's get this over with." He retorted, waiting for the tom to head into the darkness with a wary eye into the cavern. The idea of following into complete darkness was concerning, but he didn't pause to ask pointless questions. Many cats had travelled through this cave, and he hadn't heard of a single one that was harmed more than a pricked paw.

The huge cavern it opened up to made his eyes widen. A large piece of rock lay in the center. The well worn stone around it told him clearly that this was the infamous Moonstone. Even without the pawsteps, the moon's glow on it made that quite clear. It was almost as thought a piece of the moon itself resided within the cave walls. With another glance at Finchstar, he lifted his head proudly and laid next to it, shoving his nose at it a little too hard and wincing at the impact, as his conciousness fled him he felt a bit of embarrasment.

He was welcomed to the starry field by a stinging on his nose. He brushed his paw over it with clenched teeth as he looked around the large seemingly empty field. Well, wasn't that so efficient?

Despite the empty appearance of the starry field, there was a cat who sat just a few paces behind Grousepaw. It was a tall gray she-cat, whose fur fluffed and filled out her thin frame. Long, graceful limbs were arranged in a comfortable sitting position, and a large tail was swept around her paws. Despite her slightly imposing height and scars- a long one across her shoulders, then one more on her cheek- the calm, kind look in her spring-green eyes made it apparent that this cat didn't wish any harm. Stars shone through her fur, and as she gazed at the apprentice, there was a light smile on her face that softened her features. He looks kind of like Smokepelt. A paw reached out to nudge the tom who looked so disgruntled. "Welcome, Grousepaw," the she-cat purred, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was light and warm. "I'm Ashstar. I was the leader of WindClan before your mother. What's got your tail in a knot?"

Grousepaw's critical stare finally met Ashstar's green gaze. She looked unimpressive to him. Like a silver tuft of grass that had grown a little too long and was now trying to be imposing. The scars broke that image. 'Well, she's obviously a fighter, but she's still not mother.' His mind pointed out sharply. He looked around for any sign of his mother, for Brindlestar's familiar pelt. Yet, he didn't see her. His jaw tightened, heart stinging as Ashstar spoke.

"Well, I guess it would have been inefficient to send mother. I suppose I respect that." He gritted out, sitting down pointedly in front of the silver leader. His thoughts churning constantly. If it was Brindlestar, how much of the conversation would have been what he needed versus what they would talk about? His mother was brisk, but he had no desire to simply waste time. He'd see her in StarClan eventually, even if he had to miss her the entire time. Even if he could never make her proud enough.

"I just want my clan to be as efficient as possible. Is there something wrong with that?" Grousepaw asked after a couple seconds. His head tilted upwards proudly. "There's hardly any time for emotional attachments when we could simply get a job done. Hunting rabbits is hard enough as it is without the unknown factor of random greetings."