[closed] Old Friends in Older Tunnels

The day was muggy and overcast, the air thick with electricity. A greenleaf storm was on its way; perhaps it would arrive that afternoon, or perhaps not until the evening, but either way it was coming. Barleytuft had considered postponing his tunnel patrol with Elmskip until after the rains had fallen, but it was now well into the afternoon with no sign of a single drop of rain. The tunnels needed patrolling whether it would rain or not, and they couldn't put it off forever.

The cream colored tabby stood from his resting place in the grassy clearing of camp and padded over to Elmskip where he was waiting. The senior warrior smiled at his friend, greeting warmly, "Hey, Elmskip! I don't think we'll be getting that break in the clouds that we expected. Might be better to just get on our patrol instead of trying to wait it out. What do you think?"

Elmskip raised his head as his good friend Barleytuft approached him. He rose to his paws and limped out to greet him, giving the sandy tom a friendly smile and a wave of his tail. "I was just thinking the same thing, Barleytuft. It's smelled like rain all day but not even a drop has fallen. I think we should just head on over there and get it over with." The warrior looked up at the gray sky as he spoke, studying the clouds. "...Anyway, I'm ready whenever you are."

Barleytuft nodded at his friend's response, having mused the same thing several times during the day. The thought hadn't done any good, so it was time for action. Elmskip agreed, and he offered for Barleytuft to lead as he gazed at the sky. Barleytuft found his own eyes drifting up, but it looked the same as it had all day: dark, and stormy. He nodded agreeably and turned to bump his shoulder amiably against Elmskip's more stable side. "Sounds good. Off to the river run," Barleytuft declared, referring to one of the longer stretches of tunnel that ran alongside the Gorge. With that, he departed, taking only a little care to adjust his pace; Elmskip didn't need special treatment to traverse the moors and Barleytuft had always felt such.

Elmskip followed just behind his friend, easily keeping pace with the more abled warrior. All of his moons being a tripod had shaped him into a well-rounded and well-adjusted warrior despite his missing limb and he was grateful for all the support he had received from the Clan. Once they reached the opening of the river run tunnel he let Barleytuft go ahead of him down into the darkness before going in after him. He felt oddly...safe in the tunnels. Not that they were without their own dangers of course; Barleytuft himself had already lost one of his own kits to a tunnel. Now that he thought about it, he was impressed that the grieving father had wanted to go back so soon.

"So...How are you faring with everything, Barleytuft? If...If you need to stop and go back or anything, I understand, what with your...I mean, considering recent events--..." Elmskip rambled a little, unsure how to approach the subject. "...What I'm trying to say is, I'm here for you if you need anything."

It had become so much easier to use the tunnels since Barleytuft had received StarClan's blessing, but he was not comfortable in them truly - not yet. He could feel pride in them, for he knew all of the time, strength, and effort that had gone into mapping and marking and, slowly, reviving them thus far; however, he struggled to truly love them. He had a deep respect that he often suspected was laced with fear. Fear, and loss. Every time he entered them he thought of Brookclover and of Quailpaw, and every time he said nothing. This is my duty. My responsibility. I owe this to my Clan... They need me. I need to do this. He would be a tunneler until StarClan changed his path themselves.

The pair of WindClan cats slipped seamlessly into the tunnels, and the sound of Elmskip's uneven steps in the darkness behind Barleytuft immediately pulled him into a sense of strained comfort - of familiarity, and routine. As they wound their way through the shadow marking the path and areas of note - such as crumbling walls or seemingly new offshoots being started by rabbits and hares - Elmskip's voice sounded, echoing through their path. As his first question rumbled in Barleytuft's ears, the senior warrior felt the uncertainty and mourning surfacing. His companion continued a bit awkwardly with words of friendship and comfort; he hadn't always been the best with words, but stars it was so natural and easy to be around such a genuine cat.

When Elmskip went quiet, Barleytuft smiled slightly from his place at the head of the patrol. The tom felt a web of roots brush his face and blew out his nose and mouth shortly to dislodge the dirt, and he held his tail up purposefully to try to hold the tangle out of his companion's way. "Thanks, Elmskip, I.... that really means a lot," Barleytuft replied with a genuine but heavy voice. He meowed, "It's been hard. For me, for Graybriar... For all our kits. Goldengale and Mistystripe and Cloverpaw are such gifts, StarClan bless 'em. They didn't want to let him go - to believe what we found." He let out a dejected sigh and bedgrudgingly corrected, "Or... what we didn't." He shook hois head and turned down a corridor, taking in a deep breath and saying more clearly, "We just have to keep going, like the tunnels. If I have to deal with the dirt and the terrors to help keep them safe and give them peace of mind. I'd strip off my pelt stripe by stripe and rip out each of my claws if it meant I could take their fear from them."

Having StarClan give him his own special purpose in the Clan had given the disabled warrior a new kind of hope, that he had something he needed to do, something to keep him going. He was still plagued with the dark clouded mind that had been present since he was very young but every day he could feel himself getting a little better. Having apprentices helped, getting his warrior name helped, being active in his Clan helped. He finally felt like he was good for something, that he was needed and wanted. Elmskip had finally grown into the strong warrior he had fantasized about as a kit. He never thought it could actually happen at the time, but despite all odds, here he was.

The tortoiseshell tom inhaled deeply, letting the breath out as a slow sigh. He listened to his friend's words closely, heartstrings pulled as the sandy tom spoke of his loss. He let him finish before speaking again, his voice soft. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Barleytuft, it was truly a great tragedy and I hope your family can heal in time. You're right, we do have to keep going. I need to keep going for myself. Honestly, I...When I was a kit, I thought I wouldn't even make it to warriorhood. When I ran away from the Clan I thought I would be happy with just dying out there, or throwing myself off the Gorge, or...or something like that. But I didn't. I wasn't. Something in me wanted to keep going, and I returned to the Clan, and...I've far surpassed everything I thought I could do. And now that I'm here, I can't give up now, you know? I have responsibilites and friends and cats that care about me, and you do too, so...We both have to keep going." Elmskip hesitated, surprised at himself for producing such a speech. He let out an awkward chuckle, then crept forward and nudged Barleytuft's flank with his shoulder. "Sorry, I got kind of serious there...How about we talk about something happier?"

When Barleytuft's heavy words had fallen in the air of the tunnel, a short moment of silence followed. The tom heard his friend sigh compassionately behind him. Elmskip spoke, and again he apologized, speaking with deep sympathy and condolences about Quailpaw's death. The patched warrior's quiet voice continued from the rear of the patrol, explaining how hard Elmskip had found it to carry on when he was young. Barleytuft felt his chest tighten with sadness at the thought of his dear friend not making it to warriorhood, or worse to have barely lived at all. He explained how he had once run away, thinking that perhaps he'd never come back, and Barleytuft felt himself make a soft murmur of sorrowful understanding.

Elmskip wasn't finished speaking, and Barleytuft had suspected so: after all, the tom was still here. Still alive. The tom went on to say that he had kept going, and now he had made it far beyond where he had ever expected. Despite the hardships, Elmskip had stayed, and he had fought and he had won and he had earned respect and discovered love and the joy of life, as unpredictable as it was. From the head of the patrol Barleytuft found his lips creeping up with a bittersweet smile. "I have responsibilites and friends and cats that care about me, and you do too, so... we both have to keep going," the voice behind the patrol leader proclaimed, and Barleytuft found himself smiling a little more, though he could tell even in the darkness that tears misted his eyes.

Barleytuft's friend nudged him slightly, apologizing for the dark topic and asking for something lighter. "That was well said, Elmskip, and much needed for us both; nothin' to be sorry for," Barleytuft replied mildly, and he led the way down another corridor, feeling the air shift with a little more moisture. "Not sure if this is "happier", but it's getting a little humid. I think there must be a section up ahead with some rainwater or something; keep your whiskers sharp. We'll have to make sure it's not sludging up the walls. Let me know if you figure out where it's coming from"

The tom felt a small weight lift off his chest. Trusting Barleytuft with information he had never really told any cat before felt...good. It felt good to talk about it. Maybe he should do that more often instead of bottling it up like usual. Barleytuft spoke up, warning him of moisture up ahead. Elmskip felt it too, his whiskers slowly growing wet with the added moisture. He grunted softly to show that he had heard, moving to brush his tail against the walls as best as he could. If the texture of the dirt changed, he would know.

He kept his ears peeled, flicking them back and forth. He thought he could hear the drip of rainwater, but it could just be his imagination. The warrior frowned, thinking for a moment before he spoke up again. "Do you hear that? Water dripping?" Water leaking into the tunnel would mean something very bad; they both had to be on guard in case something happened.

The quiet lingered until Barleytuft thought he could hear dripping water. He, like his companion, was uncertain; it had come so gradually, but when Elmskip broke the silence to ask if he heard it too he knew it was really there. "Yep - I think we need to go aside and find a route to the surface; I think there could be a tunnel or two between us and the moor, and if one of 'em filled with rainwater it's only a matter of time before the soil soaks through. We don't wanna be under it." Though there wasn't urgency in the senior warrior's voice, the tone was serious and his desire for an easy talk of happy subjects was overwhelmed by the need to get away from the likely compromised tunnel.

Fortunately there were many forks in the paths near the river run, and not two tail-lengths father Barleytuft was able to turn to the right, immediately feeling the echo of the dripping water dampen. "Well, hey, at least it's just back there," Barleytuft noted, his voice easing up a little. "We have to try to figure out which tunnel crosses over that part back there. You know much about this part of the River Run?" he asked his companion over his shoulder as he made his way up the gradually sloping tunnel.