Loonkit's Apprentice Ceremony

WindClan seemed to be teeming with more life every time Finchstar walked the grassy fields. Not long ago, he had been so wrapped up in his grief, that even little miracles right in front of his eyes would have been passed off as rubble. And yes, the leader still grieved, but his eyes were open, and he was healing. Graybriar's litter was not the first to grace the nursery. And in fact, before that, there were singular kits who seemed to roam, brave, little things against the wide sky. Aspenpaw spoke of one of those vagabonds, a Loonkit. Finchstar was not close to her parents, nor had he ever conversed with the kit herself, but even just the thought of a new soul in his proximity gave him enough excitement to smile. Six moons, since her birth. And the leader had been absent for most of them. Grief was a heavy thing, and yet as he weaved his way to the Tallrock, the hope that fought it was stronger. WindClan would spin around the sun just as it always had. And Loonkit would be one of thousands to become a student. Ever special, and yet a strong knot, to tie history together. "All cats old enough to run the moors, gather beneath the Tallrock for a clan meeting!"

So many summons lately! Barleytuft was grateful for the change in pace; it had been slow when they first returned, and upon Brookclover's death the Clan seemed to freeze. Now, however, the gears seemed to be wheeling on again, and Barleytuft's kits with his mate Graybriar had arrived, apprentices were receiving their full names, and kits were receiving their apprentice names. The lean WindClan tom was delighted about so many young new cats learning about WindClan. No, he thought with a half-smile, they're not just learning. They're helping rebuild. They're living by being. He waited eagerly to see what Finchstar was going to proclaim now.

Goldenkit fumbled her way out of the nursery, stumbli g a bit with her first couple of steps out. She shook her head and a stray strand of grass brushed against her nose, eliciting a small sneeze. Shocked momentarily, she blinked for a moment before taking a couple more exploring steps away from the nursery and taking a seat, turning her startlingly blue eyes, so similar to her mother's, towards where Finchstar stood, then to her father's back.

Gray ears swivelled in sudden interest as a beckon rang through the camp. Loonkit's head shot up, tearing her attention away from the stray feather she had been batting about. Squinting, she could make out Finchstar's form against the sun. And, after sheathing her claws, the young she-kit began to quiver with excitement.

As most kits did, Loonkit had begun to countdown the days until she would turn six moons old. The days had sped by at first, at such a speed that she could blink and the sun had set, but then, those same sun sets had approached all too slowly. After a moon of waiting, she now knew - she was positive - that this was her day. The day when she would get the chance to leave the confines of camp. To see the territory! The idea of it, the prospect of glancing the moors the apprentices bragged of, to be old enough to run on the moors as Finchstar commanded.. it sent a slow, burning tingle up her spine. And in those heart-beats, there was nothing in the world that Loonkit longed for more.

Her gaze returned to her paws as she skipped towards the Tallrock. She nearly bumped into a tall and lanky tom. She recognized his cream pelt from stray moments in the nursery. She was certain that he had come to visit kits there, but his name eluded her, so she only offered him an apologetic smile. Her eyes grazed past Goldenkit, lingering long enough to wave a tail in greeting, before she settled near the middle of the gathering toms and she-cats. Her amber eyes glowed with excitement and her breath caught in her throat as she found herself staring up at Finchstar. This was it.

Finchstar's whiskers twitched as he watched both Barleytuft's daughter, Goldenkit, as well as the solitary Loonkit bumble to the rock. The latter being the bolder of the two, who plopped down right in the middle of the crowd. She was a stark little thing, standing out against Finchstar's clanmates, and he wondered for a minute how she had possibly managed to elude his gaze during his time of grief. But the veil had been torn, and Finchstar saw clearly. In a way, Loonkit reminded the leader of his late mate, Brookclover. And perhaps it was selfish of him to impose personalities on innocent kits who were still forming theirs. But it was no surprise to the tom, he saw Brookclover in everything, in every tussock of grass, in every cloud, in every soul that walked through the camp. And in the one who mentored her, Barleytuft. They still had yet to make amends, and while things were getting easier for the leader, he hadn't yet fully apologized to the cream tabby. "WindClan, if you haven't yet noticed, our nursery is full, and it seems thousands of kits now roam the camp." His whiskers twitched as he came to a decision, a mentor for the bold kitten before him. "We gather here today to apprentice Loonkit, she has reached the age of six moons and is ready to journey out for the first time." The orange and white tabby meant her amber gaze with a wink, a sly grin on his maw. "Loonkit, from this day forward, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Loonpaw. Barleytuft will be your mentor. He has mentored many before, the first being Brookclover, whom he taught wonderfully. I trust he will pass on all he knows to you." The leader gave the cream tabby a knowing nod, wondering if he would feel the same way about Loonpaw as Finchstar did. An apology, perhaps. But they had begun the road to heal.

When at last the crowd had gathered, Finchstar's voice picked up again, calling his Clan's attention to his words. The ginger and white tom commented on the nursery's fullness and Barleytuft chuckled, knowing that four of them were of his own making - his and Graybriar's. He glanced back towards them, expecting only to look towards the nursery and think of them inside; instead, he glimpsed the bright tabby pelt of his daughter, Goldenkit. He was startled to see her, and for a moment he wondered if he ought to nudge her back towards the nursery so she wouldn't disturb the meeting. That'd be more of a nuisance than her quietly watching, I think, he thought as Finchstar continued speaking, and besides, there's no harm in her seeing Clan life and what's to come for her.

He turned his dark hazel eyes back to his leader to hear him give Loonpaw her name. "Barleytuft will be your mentor," Finchstar said, surprising the warrior. Still, he sat up straighter and smiled. The WindClan leader continued speaking, praising Barleytuft's prowess as a mentor - especially in helping to guide Brookclover. Bittersweet. The pale tabby tom's eyes softened as he gazed into Finchstar's eyes, and he offered a smile. No, it wasn't an apology, but it was an acknowledgement. The rift between them wasn't ready to be tested, but it wouldn't last forever. This was enough until Finchstar was ready.

Instead Barleytuft turned his head to his new apprentice, Loonpaw, a pretty pale tortoiseshell cat. Immediately a flush of warmth rushed through the lean tom's pelt as he stood and padded to greet the young she-cat with a welcoming touch of his nose. This feeling was different from when he had received Brookclover, and even Gingerpaw; he had his own kits now, though not nearly of apprentice age, and seeing this once-a-kit growing and growing to new heights and strengths only served to feed his paternal joy. "Welcome to apprenticeship, Loonpaw," he purred in a warm voice as he stepped back. "It's a pleasure to get to know you. I'll do my best to teach you everything I can."

Swiftstep couldn't help but grin as his former apprentice was once again mentoring. Barleytuft was a talented tom and helped train apprentices that would soon become warriors for Windclan. Loonpaw would be in good paws. The deputy got up from where he was sitting to offer the youngster good wishes.

"Congrats Loonpaw! You'll become a fine warrior under Barley's training. Make sure to give him a bit of a challenge 'kay darlin'?" Swiftstep had a playful glint in his eyes when he spoke the last sentence. The brown tom-cat then offered both the Loonpaw and Barleytuft a warm smile before padding away. He shot Barleytuft a grin before fully disappearing from view.