WindClan's Deputy Ceremony {2}

The sun that sat high in the sky preached hope, even as uncertainty rocked the clan. Finchstar sat atop the Tallrock, watching as cats milled about below. There were some familiar pelts missing from the group, and the patched tabby winced as he reminisced over their bad strokes of fate. Quailpaw had gone missing not but a few sunrises ago, another cave-in found near his scent line. WindClan could only assume the worst, and declared the poor scrap dead. Finchstar had lost his own second life to the tunnels not too long ago as well, although that loss was kept a secret, and the large cut that trailed along his stomach had been said to be mundane. Only Aspenpaw knew of what really happened, it was best if the rest of the clan were kept ignorant to Finchstar's own trials. There was already so much tragedy to go around. Swiftstep caught illness and fell on the line of death, thankfully the tom's drive was strong, and he remained alive, clinging to the light. Finchstar made sure to visit both his deputy and his apprentice, Cloverpaw in the medicine den each day, stopping in to greet Aspenpaw as well.

However Swiftstep had approached Finchstar, wishing to step down from his duties. It was an admirable thing, to admit one's faults, and find one's limits. But the brown tom would be sorely missed. Finchstar remembered resting his tail over his shoulders, thanking him for his service to their clan. Swiftstep was there when he was only Finchkit, and Swiftstep remained here now. His presence had always been a comfort, and his wisdom had not once been taken for granted. But as the sun climbed higher into the sky, so would WindClan. Time kept marching on, and with it, hope. Finchstar needed to chose a new deputy. A new cat to lead them into the future when all his lives ran out.

He had been shocked when chosen by Brindlestar to be her successor. It always seemed Brookclover would have been best for that role. And even as he rose to leader, she had always been his true queen. No choice was made without her input, and had the flood not separated the two, she would have been made his deputy. His confidant. But Finchstar always found himself intrigued and surprised by the other souls that walked the moor. Swiftstep had been a good and wise deputy, and even though Brookclover sat waiting in the stars, Finchstar knew whoever he'd pick now would be a good and wise deputy just the same. All the lives below him held merit, and he loved each and every one of their hearts, as Brookclover did. He knew she was watching now, and he knew he'd pick the very cat to bring honor to her name. "All cats old enough to run the moor, gather beneath the Tallrock for a clan meeting!"

A pawful of sunrises had passed since Goldenpaw had woken to the cold, empty nest of her brother. Another couple sunhighs before that, Cloverpaw had come home severely injured by the jaws of a dog. The apprentice had tried to keep going, taking on her brother's shares of chores without complaint. She had used to enjoy naps in the sun between patrols, now she volunteered for them or took care of the elder's voluntarily. In any lulls in activity she watched the entrance to camp, sure that Quailpaw would come padding through it. The cave-in couldn't have taken him... She was sure of it. It was at one of these moments, as she stared intently towards the camp entrance, that Finchstar's summons reached her ears. Her head turned slowly, meeting the WindClan leader's eyes before she stood up and walked stiffly over to sit under the Tallrock. She wasn't sure what this meeting was about but she knew that she couldn't afford to miss it, no matter how badly she wanted to be out searching for her lost brother.

The day he’d been “caught” by Baykit and Vinekit seemed like it had happened moons ago. As the moon grew rounder, tragedies began to pile up. Cloverpaw and Quailpaw, to start. Then Swiftstep got sick, and Raventail worried. He wasn’t close to Swiftstep, but he had taken a better opinion of the older tom as long ago as his Moonstone journey; had Raventail not been grieving at the time, there might have been a chance to find common ground. Not to mention Swiftstep had been deputy as long as Raventail had cared who the deputy was. It was hard to imagine losing another fixture of WindClan life—so Raventail tried not to imagine it at all even as he lingered by the medicine den on his way in and out of camp, occasionally asking questions about Swiftstep and Cloverpaw from the den’s entrance, more often remaining silent.

And Cloverpaw. Poor Cloverpaw. His tail would never be the same, and his silver pelt was littered with injuries that would almost certainly scar; Raventail privately wondered if his courage, too, was damaged. Whatever had led Cloverpaw to fight the dog, Raventail admired him for it. Of course he did—he’d done something similar in his own apprenticeship, and had gotten away without a single mark. Maybe that was something worth mentioning to Cloverpaw.

Having gotten to his paws once he’d noticed Finchstar climbing the Tallrock, the dark tom sat near Goldenpaw, leaving plenty of room for her family to surround her should they so choose. After losing Quailpaw (for, between the dog and the still-treacherous tunnels, Raventail couldn’t make himself believe Quailpaw had survived, though he would never say as much) and almost losing Cloverpaw… Really, it was best he didn’t get in the way. He was here if Goldenpaw or Barleytuft needed him; removed from the situation as he was, he could offer nothing more. Raventail wrapped his tail around his paws and looked up at Finchstar with his head slightly tilted. Hopefully this was good news. A new apprentice, maybe. That was what WindClan needed.

In the medicine den, Cloverpaw raised his head, ears perking at the sound of a call outside; a small twinge of discomfort went through his sides at the movement, but they were nothing like the pains he had been feeling the first few days after the dog attack. The silver tabby tom was laying on his belly and rested his head back down with his paws on either side of his face. His sides were wrapped and coated in so many herbs and cobwebs that he felt he must have a second pelt of plants by now. He longed to answer the summons and join the Clan meeting that Finchstar had called to order. He was bored in the medicine den, yet his location had a special perk that gave him an inkling of an idea what was going to be declared.

Swiftstep, WindClan's deputy, had been in the medicine den much more frequently lately. The apprentice suspected the meeting would have something to do with that. He still hurt too much to try walking around, so with a shallow sigh that sent another pang through one rib, Cloverpaw accepted he'd merely need to hear secondpaw news to confirm his suspicions.

---

Barleytuft was doing his best not to lose his momentum, stumble, and fall. The days since the discovery of the cave-in had slipped by slowly, at an aching pace. The tom could hardly believe that his first litter of kits had been alive for less than a full season and already one had perished - most likely. He had not found Quailpaw's body; the thought made him sick. He felt too sick to, at that moment, consider how there was still hope, that maybe he had only gone by that area and the cave-in was unrelated. As much as he wanted to believe it, though, Barleytuft knew in his heart: Quailpaw was gone.

But that day was not about Quailpaw. Finchstar's call drew him from his thoughts, and with quiet, thoughtful eyes Barleytuft drew himself up to head towards the Tallrock. He spotted his daughter, Goldenpaw - who had been on a vigilant watch for Quailpaw's return since his disappearance, though she never said so - and nearby her mentor, Raventail, his friend. The senior warrior padded to sit between Goldenpaw and Raventail, brushing his daughter's flank with his thin tabby tail and giving Raventail a quick lick on the shoulder in greeting. Then he turned his attention to Finchstar.

Puddlepaw's ears twitched as Finchstar's voice reached her. Another ceremony- perhaps it was for her! After all, she was definitely due to become a warrior.

mobile~

Mistypaw looked up at the sound of her leader calling. For a moment her heart leapt out of her chest. Had they found Quailpaw? Was her youngest brother safe? But when she didn’t see the tom next to Finchstar,she almost cried. She was not taking either of her siblings’ situations very well. She might have lost Quailpaw,and Cloverpaw was badly injured. Their deputy was ill. What else could go wrong in her life? Her Clan was like family to her,and it was falling apart before her eyes. Putting on a brave face,she went to join the meeting,hoping they mentioned Wuailpaw. She had to know if her little brother was alive. That,and whatever else the meeting was about. She was curious about that too.

Aspenpaw was quite worn down with all that was happening in the generally quite calm medicine den. The small scratches and sore throats he usually treated had become broken rib cages, lost lives, and a terrifying sickness that had taken over Swiftstep's body. Though he and his mentor were diligently bringing him back to health, he made the decision to step down. Aspenpaw tried not to take it personally. It was a hard thing to do, admitting that nothing could be done. Only time could heal their former deputy now. 

His face was rather gloomy with the lack of rest, and with all of his own physical problems, rest was he one thing he couldn't get enough of. He sat down among his clan and tried to rid his mind of the herbs that he couldn't stop reciting in his head. Finchstar was looking well. It was incredible what StarClan was able to do.

Grousefrost padded over to the tall rock, his eyes on Finchstar’s orange and white pelt with curiosity. His blue eyes bright as his pale body settled down next to Goldenpaw’s and Mistypaw’s. He head tilted down towards where the deputy should be, as well as the medicine cats. ‘Wonder what this one is about?’ He thought dryly to himself.

‘Perhaps Finchstar is going to assign some apprentices to those of us who went to the moonstone for lessons.’ The thought made him nod, as he glanced down towards Goldenpaw with his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I’d hate to see her golden coat in dirt though. A strand of wheat doesn’t grow in a dark place like that.’

The clan gathered around the rock and Finchstar grinned widely. He knew this act of hope could bring a new spark of joy into his friends. It seemed WindClan so badly needed it. The sun flashed into the leader's eyes as he mused for better days. His resolve had been shattered before, but today it would fly. Brookclover waited for him in the stars above, as well as the rest of the souls that had been stolen too early from the moor. WindClan would prevail as they always did. Finchstar's kit-like optimism would not be crushed by life. "I admire each and every one of you. Your spirits burn as bright as the sun in the sky, and it inspires me." He blinked slowly, squeezing his eyes shut for just a moment as Finchstar confirmed what needed to be done. "As you all may know, our deputy, Swiftstep has fallen very ill in the past few sunrises. While both Aspenpaw and Mintwhisker have worked wonderfully on the tom, he has opted to step down from his position." Finchstar found Swiftstep in the crowd, giving him a meaningful nod, hoping to convey all the nostalgia he felt. The memories with the brown tom would never be forgotten.

"WindClan owes you a debt we can never repay, friend. I cannot offer you a perfect retirement, nor can I promise you calm winds of fate. However I will give you clean bedding, plump rabbits, and all the company a cat can desire. Soon, Swiftstep, we will find our peace. I thank you for your service in our search for it." Finchstar swallowed the lump in his throat as a wave of bittersweet feelings flowed through his heart. What a legacy the brown tom had. Finchstar still wished to hear his stories. However expectant eyes were waiting now, and a new stroke of excitement jolted the leader to his paws. The circle kept on turning. And as the old faded back into their graceful solace, the new bloomed a new flower. "As tradition goes, I am to name a new deputy in Swiftstep's place."

There was one cat who had harnessed the very wind itself. One cat who shared memories with Brookclover even Finchstar didn't know. His frame sat below, black in the sun. This was a cat whom Finchstar considered a friend. And while he didn't share Barleytuft's experience, or Grousefrost's efficiency, he was perfect. Finchstar remembered speaking to Raventail up atop Outlook Rock all those moons ago, and while they had both been cast away to different places by the flood, his eyes still held adventure. A careful soul, one not tied to WindClan by obligation but of choice. And perhaps that was the truest form of loyalty. One that stemmed not from bloodlines or guilt, but of one's own willful desire. It was rare one cat should weave more stories than even Finchstar could muster, but Raventail was a cat of quests, a cat of whimsy and adventure. They had spoken together in the grasses, talking of the lake and the mountain. Telling tales of RiverClan she-cats and dogs. Oh, the dogs. And Brookclover, dearest Brookclover. Finchstar knew how close the black tom laid to her heart. And in being her apprentice, he had became a half-son. No, Raventail never received her nest in the nursery, nor was he raised from her belly. But he learned to hunt and fight by her claws. And to Brookclover and Finchstar, that was as close to a son as one could get. He would never be claimed as one, but he knew her spirit. That black windy tom would lead WindClan someday, and with that, Finchstar had no quarrels.

"I say these words before StarClan, so that they may hear and approve my choice. Raventail will be the new deputy of WindClan." Legacies and legacies passed down through the generations, thousands of cats standing where Raventail stood now. Finchstar gave the tom a large smile and immediately leapt from his rock, meeting Brookclover's apprentice in the middle. "You have done great things, friend. Are you ready for yet another adventure?" Finchstar grinned as the clan erupted around him in cheer, shouting the name of the new deputy. "She is watching, Raventail. And believe me when I say she is proud." The orange and white tabby rested his tail on his friend's shoulders, blinking in compassion before lifting his maw to the sky. "Raventail! Raventail! Raventail!"

WindClan, reliable as ever, began to gather. As Barleytuft sat between him and Goldenpaw, Raventail gave him a gentle brush with his tail. It didn’t convey half the sympathy he felt, but for a greeting, it would do…especially since the meeting was starting.

Swiftstep, stepping down? The shock passed quickly—Raventail wasn’t sure he’d want a massive responsibility to WindClan hanging over his head while he was sick in the medicine den, either—but an odd sorrow replaced it. Adjusting to Swiftstep as not-deputy would take some time. At least he would still be around. Twisting around where he sat, the young warrior located Swiftstep’s familiar brown pelt and offered him a faint smile. Though it was a less-than-ideal thought to have immediately after someone’s resignation, the hopeful part of him whispered, Maybe we’ll have time to talk after all. After such a long deputyship, Swiftstep had to have plenty of stories.

Finchstar thanked Swiftstep for his service, then moved on. A new deputy. Of course. This was one of the parts of the warrior code that Raventail didn’t care about one way or the other, but he remembered learning that the deputy position wasn’t meant to sit empty past moonhigh. His ears straightened, and excitement sparked in his eyes as he went through the list of candidates. He hadn’t met many of them beyond exchanging polite greetings in the camp; still, he was eager to see which one Finchstar would choose.

”Raventail will be the new deputy of WindClan.”

The dark warrior’s tail froze mid-swing. However his Clanmates reacted, he could no longer hear them. Much like it had during his warrior ceremony, the world stepped back, and his doubts stepped forward. Finchstar knew how Raventail felt about the tunnels being reopened. He knew that Raventail was young and inexperienced, for fighting a dog or a badger was quite different from facing down an angry leader at Fourtrees or a friend when war placed them on an opposing side. He knew about Dappleshine. Raventail had never aspired to be anything greater than a warrior, and Finchstar knew that, too. But there was no denying that, despite their many differences in opinion and personality, Raventail had been raised and trained by the finest warrior in WindClan. Her spirit shone through with every swipe of his claws, every long stride he took over the hills.

Besides, Finchstar had always—always—seen him as an equal.

A blur of motion brought Raventail back. Finchstar was walking toward him. As he padded forward to meet his friend, his leader, Raventail stared, a hundred questions in his eyes, each and every one of them boiling down to two simple words: Why me? He could have refused. There was time, in the brief moments before everyone started calling his name, to explain that there must’ve been a mistake—but Finchstar reached him first, and spoke.

In the end, this was what swayed him: not the cheering, not the grin on Finchstar’s face, but the assurance that Brookclover was watching. Through the tightness in his throat, he answered his friend’s first question. ”I guess we’ll find out.” Then his Clanmates’ voices began to break over him, and he raised his head to look out over the crowd, searching for the cats he knew best, a shaky grin as wide as the forest overtaking the uncertainty in his expression. For Brookclover…he could give this deputy thing a shot. He had to.

Goldenpaw leaned into her father's shoulder briefly as he sat down, not daring to look up at him. She had shed enough tears when she thought no one was looking, and she couldn't imagine what her father had endured. He had led the patrol, the day that Quailpaw went missing, and had discovered the cave-in beside herself. She brushed against her sister as she joined, recognizing the look in Mistypaw's expression. Another body settled next to them, and she looked up to meet Grousefrost's eyes, and tilted her head as they narrowed. Something was on the tom's mind, but what was it?

The meeting was brought to order, and she turned back to look at Finchstar. A small frown grew on her face as she described Swiftstep's condition, she had known he had fallen ill, but never once did she think he wouldn't be able to continue as he had. A pang of worry cut through her - if Swiftstep couldn't recover, could Cloverpaw? No, Cloverpaw was young, and if she knew her brother at all he would spring back in no time. But, as Finchstar continued, she realized fully what was happening. It was time to name a new deputy, with Swiftstep's stepping down. The WindClan leader didn't keep them waiting long, and it was announced that Raventail, her own mentor, would be the new deputy. She blinked in pleasant surprise before looking over at him, flicking her tail to his hind leg as he stood to pad forward. Once the ceremony was finished, she stood, running forward to him. "Raventail! Congratulations!" She purred, happy for her mentor. She suddenly got serious, a worried expression on her face. "Does this mean I'll have to get a new mentor?... Will you be too busy?..."

The mention of Swiftstep’s ailment, wasn’t wholly surprising. He hadn’t seen the tom in a few days, and it was good to know that Finchstar had noticed this. What was surprising is what it meant. As the older tom carried on, Grousefrost straightened his posture. Head lifted up and proud. His mother had been a leader, so surely that meant that he was well suited.

Why wouldn’t he be? He was efficient, hard working, effective and confident. He had all the makings of a great Deputy. For a moment his gaze flickered down to Goldenpaw, then towards Raventail and others who had been apprentices with him. None of them were as good of choices, he was certain.

As Finchstar began speaking about shared memories with Brookclover, he licked his paw and ran it over his face in the briefest wash. Straightening his whiskers to present a good image, when Raventail’s name was called. Raventail… not Grousefrost. His blue eyes blinked, then he turned his head to the black tom’s. A gust of air was huffed from Grousefrost as he watched the new deputy take in the information. Eyes narrowed in confusion and disbelief.

What did Raventail have that he didn’t? He wasn’t as effective. Sure they shared the same mentor, but that was all they had in common. He turned his head dismissively, but his gaze fell to where the deputy usually sat at Tallrock. The position wasn’t his. Not this time. It would be a waste of energy and time to convince Finchstar otherwise. His blue eyes watched Raventail levelly for a long moment, before he dipped his head in acknowledgement with a small mutter of Raventail. Trying to ignore the disappointment that clawed at his chest.

Somehow, he had failed. He padded away from the ceremony with the unwelcome feeling of guilt and dismay at his inability to be good enough for his clan. Unable to follow in his great mother’s pawprints.

Graybriar sat under the Tallrock by her family, only half paying attention. Her life had been a sort of haze lately, what with Cloverpaw in the medicine den and... Quailpaw... Quailpaw. Quailpaw. She knew that Finchstar was talking, something important, but she was having trouble focusing. Every time she tried to think of something else, her mind went spiraling back down into the depths she'd known since Breezekit had been lost to greencough. Absentmindedly she intertwined her tail with Barleytuft's, searching for some form of comfort. Whoever's ceremony this was, she knew that she wasn't doing them justice by not paying attention. However, she was stuck in a reverie, a halfway point between awareness and heavy sleep. Her sons... one injured by a predator, one gone forever from the tunnels she'd been uncertain of. But life went on. This was evidence of that. The other cats sat here, maybe a little saddened by the occurrences, but the looks of surprise and excitement on their faces at whatever Finchstar was saying spoke volumes to the fact that it hadn't shaken them to their core like it had her. And that was right- she wouldn't want anyone else losing sleep over the horrible circumstances. But she had always been too deeply, too emotionally invested in her family and the cats she loved. Death was what she feared most. The death of her loved ones. And every time it happened, the ground of her safe and secure seeming Clan life was unceremoniously ripped out from under her, leaving her sprawling in the darkness of grief with barely a lifeline to hang onto.

A few words floated through the buzzing in her ears, words that she knew would have meant something if this had come at any other time. Retirement. New deputy. Raventail. The young black tom stood with shock and surprise, then a large smile on his face. Cats were cheering his name, including her daughter Goldenpaw. Graybriar wanted to join in the rejoicing, to feel a spark of happiness for something. But she sat unmoving, her eyes in a glazed stare, barely registering what was happening around her. A dark swirl of jealousy, an almost unfamiliar emotion, wrapped tightly around her crumbling heart. All her Clanmates who could partake in this celebration, who could feel joy... and she was still stuck in the starless, soulless pit of grief, as much as she desperately wanted to climb out. Maybe, in the moons to come, she might be able to climb some glimmer of hope out of this hole. But given that she still awoke in the night crying for Wolfkit, for Breezekit, for Badgerthorn... she didn't know how she could recover her happiness again. The normally bright and caring tabby she-cat sat as still as stone despite the commotion around her, clutching desperately to Barleytuft as if he was the last star in a pitch black night.

Barleytuft was aware of Graybriar beside him; as her tail wound tighter with his, he felt his heart fracture a little more. Oh, Graybriar... If Barleytuft was grieving and struggling after Quailpaw's disappeareance and presumed death, how must his mate feel? He was not the first child that she had lost, and worrying for her other child, Cloverpaw, who was not the first child who got badly injured, certainly put more strain on her than she would ever say aloud. Barleytuft needed her support as much as she needed his; in this moment, she needed more from him than he needed from her. He had grieved recently. Perhaps his heart had already become calloused and hardened towards sorrow.

When the meeting began, however, Barleytuft's stomach tightened again. Finchstar had signaled for quiet and begun to speak, and instantly the senior warrior knew what it was about. Swiftstep. It was Barleytuft himself who had discovered the ill Swiftstep out on WindClan's moors during one of his usual hunts. He brought the unconscious deputy back to camp and placed him into the medicine cats' care and keeping. Over the last few days, Barleytuft had been distracted, but whenever his thoughts had flickered to his former mentor he found himself rocked with a different concern, hoping that his beloved friend would recover. It seemed they would find out.

The news was revealed, and Barleytuft's heart sank. He leaned against Graybriar at that moment - though her thoughts were absent, scarcely registering the contents of the meeting through the fog of sorrow - and felt the wind lost from his lungs for a moment. "Oh, Swiftstep," he murmured, casting a glance over his shoulder at the medicine den with tired eyes, "my friend..."

Finchstar had continued on, declaring - as every Clan cat knew - that he must select a new deputy before moon-high. Barleytuft watched the tom, and a passing thought of "What if Quailpaw had become deputy someday?" made his heart ache again. Still he listened, and a name was revealed: "Raventail will be the new deputy of WindClan." Barleytuft immediately looked aside at his friend, dark hazel eyes blinking with processing emotions; Raventail's own face was doing the same, from confusion to denial to joy and pride and overwhelming uncertainty. Finchstar approached and spoke words of confidence, ceremoniously touching noses with him before stepping back again.

The Clan began to cheer, but Barleytuft could not find his voice. The lean cream tabby warrior leaned sideways to bump into Raventail, and when their eyes met Barleytuft nodded his head shortly and with conviction, mustering all the warmth and pride he could into his eyes. "I've got faith in you, Raventail," he finally managed, and then he let himself be drawn close by Graybriar again, resting his head on her shoulders. I always have faith, at least.