Cloverpaw placed the egg between his paws and Finchstar gave as big of a smile as he could through his rabbit. Now seeing that his apprentice was ready to proceed, the leader began to trek through the ryegrass, swishing his tail to part way for Cloverpaw, assisting him in not dropping his egg. The walk back to camp was quiet, with the leader preoccupied with his rabbit, and his apprentice busy with his egg. Finchstar found a grin was stretching across his own face, however, as they crested a hill. The sun hung high and the moor was a glorious sight. Vast, green and gray hills rolling as far as the eye could see. Pink heather, yellow gorse, and the red of their hearts, thumping to the beat of the life they lived. Finchstar was happy. He was truly happy. And while the grief never left him, today it was a small thing. Today, he soared through the air just as his namesake did. And Cloverpaw's namesake was waiting for him. Everyday she watched, and everyday she waited. Finchstar lifted his eyes to the sky to gaze at Brookclover as he often did. He wanted to run and leap and frolic in this forest she had left him in. The love he felt everyday astounded the tom, and he wondered if Cloverpaw lived a life like that as well.
WindClan was close, like a family, and while Finchstar had no more living blood, he held every cat as close as a brother. Cloverpaw was making good progress with his egg, and the leader gave him a wink, wanting so fiercely to protect the beautiful soul within him. That wasn't Finchstar's job, nor was it his calling, and any ailments that fell upon his apprentice would be his and his alone. Finchstar learned not too long ago that fate didn't handle lives as carefully as it should. But did it hurt to be optimistic? Did it hurt to believe with a passion that things truly were, and could get better? After losing Brookclover, the leader thought his time on this world was over, and yet the sun rose again. And again and again and again, until now he stood with Cloverpaw in the grass, bringing back eggs to camp as a game. And this was hope. A raw, fiery thing that hurt and raged and yet without it, Finchstar wouldn't be here right now. No sun would touch his fur, and no apprentice would be chuckling beside him. And maybe, truly, WindClan could carry on like this. Maybe they'd all live and die, stringing along a life of happiness and peace. And if not in his lifetime, then perhaps for the ones of his clanmates' kits, and the kits of those kits. Finchstar wanted to assure such things would be possible.
They had walked far and reached camp, the gorse yellow, stretching high. Cloverpaw still had his egg. He had done it. And Finchstar couldn't wait to hear him tell Barleytuft. He couldn't wait for Goldenpaw's excitement, or Raventail's intrigue. He loved this clan. And he loved Cloverpaw. And they'd live. They'd have peace. Finchstar would bring it for his friends, a meager offering when they deserved the very world, but perhaps it would do. He dropped his apprentice's rabbit onto the grassy ground, smiling as he crooned; "Cloverpaw, you've done it. A true egg catcher. I suppose I'll have to call you Cloverpaw the honorable, now. Or maybe Cloverpaw the brave. Whatever the title, 'paw. You deserve it a thousand times over. Now go and tell your mother and father what you've done today."
