A Visitor, A Vagabond [open, Finchstar needed]

The walk back was largely uneventful, much to Aspenheart's relief. He did not tell this stranger about the foxes or the omens that spun around his frame like flies. It was nice to sink into a rhythm, walking through the territory like he didn't fear for his life. After all, this "Patrick" character seemed like he could hold his own.

Patrick was older; the medicine cat guessed that he was around Barleytuft's age. He held himself well, and he carried scents of places that Aspenheart couldn't dream of recognizing. It was intriguing. Alas, Patrick also seemed to be a cat of secrets. Aspenheart didn't pry.

The gorse tunnel wasn't far off when the medicine cat quickened his pace. He was giddy with a chance to rest in the safety of camp. With a flick of his white-tipped tail, he led Patrick into the narrow entrance and poked his head through. A brief mew alerted the warriors to his presence.

"I'm home!" he nearly chirped, "I'm not mousemeat!" Squeezing his frail torso through the rest of the tunnel, he turned to show Patrick in. "I got a little help. Would somebody get this loner something to nibble, please? I'd probably still be stranded if he didn't rescue me. Or whatever."

He scoffed the ground with his paw quite bashfully with his last mumbled phrase. The embarrassment was still a little fresh in Aspenheart's mind. It wasn't every day that you were so weak with exhaustion that a total stranger had to carry you down a cliff side.

Cloverpaw immediately rushed forward from where he'd been pacing nervously near the entrance, listening for the return of one of his closest friends. Maybe it was odd to be friends with the cat who was tasked with healing the whole Clan. He didn't think much of it, though; he'd saved Aspenheart's life, and Aspenheart had saved his. If that didn't qualify them to be friends, Cloverpaw didn't even know what friendship was for. When he'd realized that Aspenheart was missing, he'd searched as far as he was allowed before returning to pace camp.

The silver apprentice had made his freshly-healed tail jolt with pain more than once during his anxious wandering. That didn't hurt nearly as bad as the thought of Aspenheart being caught by those wretched foxes. The sound of his return was noticed instantly, and the apprentice bounded forward as he saw Aspenheart. "You're okay!" he proclaimed hoarsely with delight, yet he immediately pulled short as the medicine cat spoke about the second cat who suddenly appeared.

"Oh, you're... new! Hi!" Cloverpaw greeted the loner with a cheery awkwardness before he turned his head back to Aspenheart with a raised tabby brow. "I'm sorry, real quick, did you just say you were stranded? Where? What happened?"

Goldengale rose, her belly swollen with the kit that would be coming soon. Her gaze landed on Aspenheart, relief evident in her expression, before falling on the cat behind him. Unasked questions littered her mind at the sight of the stranger, but she turned and made her way over to the fresh-kill pile slowly. Selecting a rabbit from it, she made her way back to the medicine cat and the loner who had accompanied him. Warily, she set it before the stranger and backed up a step, turning her attention back to Aspenheart. "It's rare to see you embarrassed, Aspenheart. What's going on? Are you okay? And who is this?" She sat down, looking rather uncomfortable at the roundness of her figure.

(OOC: mobile oop)

The lean tortoiseshell tom had recently come back from a hunting patrol, his muscles sore and his battle scars aching from the run in with the foxes. He felt stiff and awkward, moreso than ever. Perhaps I'm finally feeling my age, he mused to himself, limping heavily over to the fresh-kill pile to grab something to eat. Elmskip picked out a small rabbit and was limping back towards the warriors' den when Aspenheart made his triumphant entrance.

"Glad to have you back, Aspenheart," he called, setting his rabbit down momentarily. It was then that he noticed the other cat with him, a heavyset gray and orange tom. His ears pricked, his natural curiousity piqued. Who was this? He looked so...interesting. Elmskip couldn't put his paw on it. He just needed to know more about this strange cat.

"Stranded, Aspenheart? Your paws truly take you to wonderful places." Finchstar padded through the crowd as his friend was ejected from the gorse tunnel, pelt looking somewhat ragged. He wore a smile on his maw, yellow eyes warm as he gave the medicine cat a lick over the head. A nagging ate at his fur however, thinking for a moment that a fox could have snatched up his friend. It hurt to live with the constant chink in his optimism, but even his stubborn resolve wouldn't remain ignorant. Having knowledge of the enemy didn't stop them from possessing hope, Finchstar told himself. He shook the thought away and instead let his eyes rest on the curiously-pelted loner that Aspenheart had brought into camp. "Hello there, traveler. You have my gratitude for saving our slippery-pawed medicine cat. He is a very valuable asset to the clan and I'm sure we'd all be quite sad if he was to remain stranded, away from home." Finchstar offered Aspenheart a wink, tail flicking with mischief.

"Never have I seen a pelt like yours, cat. I must say it is quite stunning." Finchstar's eyes flickered with a glance over the gray-and-orange tom. "Would you care to eat with us tonight? It is the least I can offer for your services, perhaps you carry a story or two. All I ask for is your name." Finchstar smiled and wondered of Raventail's location. It was a stray thought and yet he found he reminisced of the deputy during times like these. A new soul, and his friends to enjoy it with. And yet the black tom had been gone on a rather long patrol. Finchstar knew the wind carried him and wouldn't dare prohibit his wandering with the excuse of a fox, however dangerous. But the thought did toy with his mind.

Every step towards this clan cat's home, his teeth had clenched to tightly, he swore they threatened to break through his own maw. It was as if he was walking in the direction of his own condemnation. The thought of being around any cats, no matter how big the group, was absolutely petrifying. His paws quivered. Every now and then it appeared that he suffered from the same affliction as Aspenheart. But he managed to make it to the moorlands without bolting away, like every fur on his pelt craved so desperately for him to do. The idea that he had to make sure this cat was safe became a mantra in his head, looping on repeat, and driving his steps in the strange path that was carved out for him. He cursed the caring desire that had been beat into him since his birth. Love for life, passion for healing. The Oasis was a wonderful place, and yet he had sought to cast it away. He deserved no part of it. Not even an ounce of the beautiful compassion his homeland possessed should have been allowed to leave with him and...

...and he was here.

The scents of so many different creatures washed over his senses as he realized he had blindly followed after the herb scented tom. Maybe it was the many herbs that bled through his stuffed snout that prevented him from realizing it. Or perhaps the anxiety that had long since clawed away at his soul until it became the very being which stood here now. The guise of Patrick could not shake away who he was at his core. What he had said to Amberdawn had been meant as words of comfort, but now he hardly found solace in the identity he had created for himself. Somethings couldn't be whisked away with a flick of the tail. All at once, there were many figures around them with pressing questions. Each demanded an answer, whether it be of him or Aspenheart. Claws dug into the ground. His ears flattened uncomfortably against his skull and he just barely suppressed the urges to press himself to the earth or flee. The thought never crossed his mind. But he probably looked as unfriendly as they would expect in a stranger. Although it was merely a gripping fear that clutched him.

Finally, something caught his eye. There was a tom ahead. Tortoiseshell coat. He found himself to be enamored by the other cat's pelt and his gaze subconsciously traced the scar patterns on the coat of the three-legged tom. Arcayus didn't even notice the missing limb, instead, the curious eyes of the stranger. And he felt himself breath. One gulped breath of air was followed by a calming one. The loner found himself centered enough to pick through the torrent of fretful thoughts flitting through his mind all at an instant and demanding an answer. It was just in time to catch Finchstar's words. There was an almost inaudible short laugh, which was hardly seen with a flicker of his whiskers. That was an unusual remark. He was almost proud of his ability to form a coherent thought in that moment. Maybe clan cats weren't used to loners who groomed themselves frequently. It was a tradition, almost, in how Oasis cats prided themselves in pristine coats. But there was something to be said of a dirty coat as well. It told stories, tales, of the journey a cat had endured. Many adventurers had come back far less tame than when they left.

Thinking about his origins was a peculiar thing. While he sought to toss away the life he had once lead as Arcayus Odan of the Oasis, moments like this, he found solace in thinking of the path he had came from. It took another deep breath before he managed out a shaky response, "My, uh, my name, sir? My name. Well, uhm, I'm Patrick, I guess." Golden eyes betrayed his uncertainty at the response provided. As cat as brilliant as Finchstar was likely able to catch the turmoil in his gaze. It was what the tom decided to do with it that he was curious about. He studied the warm features of the tom. This leader possessed a youth that escaped Arcayus many, many moons ago. And yet, there was both wisdom and experience that shone through. That was a comfort, in more way than one. Another breath, and he straightened up ever so slightly. Here he was. Arcayus, deserter heir of the Oasis, a loner for moons. He had loved and lost, he had condemned others and fled, he had aided cats that he could not refuse... and now he stood in the middle of a clan with a heavy thought over his head. He could die in an instant at this other cat's command. But something seemed to melt that thought away as he flicked his gaze back to the tortoiseshell tom. And he straightened up ever so slightly.

Maybe, here, he could be Patrick.

Here, he could cast Arcayus into the dust.

But... did he want to?

Rabbitpaw, though he spoke not a word of his distain, crinkled his nose and turned away from the scene before him. A rogue, openly welcomed into the clan was wrong. Though his heart softened at the knowledge that he'd rescued Aspenheart, whom he was rather fond of, a darker voice within whispered that Aspenheart should have been smarter. That to need a rogue to rescue him, that was a mark of weakness.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he skulked back to the shadows of the bushes that surrounded the camp, roughly brushing past another apprentice on his way.

The curious stranger met his gaze after a moment and Elmskip felt his heart leap into his throat. All of a sudden, his head felt clear, his heavy paws lighter, his sore muscles pain-free. It was as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He straightened up a bit, eyes widening. This cat was like a breath of fresh air and he didn't know why. He felt his paws shift and realized he was limping closer to them, only half-hearing Finchstar's words. This tom's name was...Patrick? What in StarClan's name was a "patrick"? On second thought, he was a loner, it was probably a made-up name or something of the sort, but it still struck him as odd. He'd never met a non-Clan cat before. Elmskip sat down closer to Aspenheart, Patrick, and Finchstar, his rabbit forgotten in the dust. He'd pick it back up later. For now he was utterly and totally enraptured in this mysterious loner.

"Alright, alright," Aspenheart groaned as a crowd began forming around them. He set himself down on his hind and wrapped his tail as delicately as he could around his splayed back legs. "I may - or may not! - have forgotten to eat some herbs before I went to the Moonstone last night. I felt that I needed to. Dumb decision, I know, but there's more: I am so insufferably unlucky that I didn't even make it up before the wiggle sticks gave out. I basically got carried down. Happy?" He shot a teasing look at Finchstar: don't you say a word, the look warned.

His eyes landed briefly on two of Barleytuft's runts, both of which were recently in his den for very different reasons. "Cloverpaw, be careful, or you're going to give that thing an extra bend! And Goldengale, how's the nausea? Little fella eating you out of camp and nest?" It then dawned on him that the crowd wasn't entirely for him, and Patrick was still awkwardly shuffling his paws.

"This loner isn't from our neck of the woods," he explained. "Though I'm sure you can describe what it's like over the mountains by yourself, right?" He nodded to the strange-pelted loner with a curious glint.

"The mountains?" Ploverpuddle echoed as he stepped into the space that was Windclan's camp. On his journey back he passed near the mountains but didn't quite go over them. He didn't want to join the crowd pressing the loner for answers but maybe they had similar journey experiences. The fluffy tom sat towards the back of the gathered cats. "I guess he is another traveler like me." He said, mostly to himself. He was curious as to what the cat had seen. He wanted to know if they encountered the same things, if they took the same path at one point. If he hadn't maybe then someone to relate to about long travels.

Other Clanmates gathered by the moment, all bearing questions of their own, and it was easy to see Aspenheart becoming ever so slightly flushed with embarrassment at everybody's concern. Goldengale had come and brought a rabbit to the stranger at the medicine cat's request, but Cloverpaw noted how the cat's face darkened with worry, looking overwhelmed. He sure doesn't look too comfortable, the apprentice noted, observing the odd gray-and-tan cat curiously. He'd never seen such a nervous cat before - but then again, he'd never seen a loner before, either. Some of them just didn't like being around others, from what he'd heard. It was why they were loners.

At last Finchstar had arrived and greeted the guest as well, speaking his charming and eloquent words as he always did. Aspenheart finally sat shakily, waving his tail dismissively before he curled it around himself. He explained how he'd forgotten to take his herbs before departing to the Moonstone; he'd collapsed, and this stranger - who warily gave their name to Finchstar and the others as Patrick - had found him and helped him back to solid ground and safety. At Aspenheart's teasing, another casual attempt to dismiss his friends' worries, Cloverpaw rolled with pale amber eyes playfully and smirked at the older tom - though he did put forth a conscious effort to hold his tail a bit more carefully behind him now that he wasn't so anxious.

At last Aspenheart gestured to Patrick, this strange cat from "over the mountains" who had been shuffling anxiously the entire time. Cloverpaw looked at him curiously, trying - rather unsuccessfully - to hide the bewilderment on his face. He didn't seem that heroic. He seemed like he should be an elder.

"Patrick?" Finchstar echoed, head cocked in curiosity as he contemplated the loner's name. He had witnessed strange names before, first the daring Starlord, and most recently the Zinnia that slept in flowers. But perhaps they were as strange to the loner as the loner was to them. Finchstar caught on to his hesitation and felt it reminded him of Murkpaw, his kit-hood friend. It was interesting how some cats liked to spend their time alone. Raventail often preferred to sit and think. Finchstar himself was isolated after Brookclover's death. Patrick seemed uncomfortable with the leader's clanmates, perhaps not used to such a multitude of cats. But Aspenheart broke the tom's train of thought as he went on to explain how exactly he got himself into his stranded state. Finchstar's whiskers twitched at the story, but his smirks were soon silenced by a cheeky glare from the medicine cat. Even in the darkness they found hope.

Finchstar's interest was caught again as Aspenheart explained the loner was from beyond the mountains. At this, the leader wished to scoop up Elmskip's abandoned rabbit and ask Patrick about all of his long ago journeys. Finchstar remembered his days in the mountains as a younger cat, barely a leader. The sun had rose even then. To think that there was land beyond even those jagged peaks was a whimsical thing indeed. "It is a good name; 'Patrick.'" Finchstar smiled, dipping his head to the gray-ginger pelted tom. "You must be tired, having quested even past the mountains. We all have many questions, yet it would be rude of me not to offer you prey and a nest first. You are not obligated to stay by any means, however WindClan holds no prejudice against loners. If you find the moor speaks to you as it does us, then may your heart roam where it pleases." Wanting to ease Patrick's seeming anxiety, Finchstar sought out a cat to take the loner elsewhere. Aspenheart had already had enough frights for one day. And Cloverpaw and Goldengale both remained injured. But on his closest side sat Elmskip, gazing at the loner with entranced eyes. "Elmskip, have you seen the wool by the fresh-kill pile? Some apprentices snagged it on a patrol today, perhaps Patrick would favorite it over the usual moss nest." He casted the three-legged tortishell tom a wink, hoping to entice Patrick to stay for a while.

His gaze shuffled between the gathered cats. It was when Aspenheart spoke again that his simply nodded along. There were plenty of stories to tell. Many fantastical places were scattered all over the world that few cats saw, and most adventurers craved. Perhaps he would tell them about it later but for now the words stuck at the back of his maw and decided they ought to stay there until a breath of fresh air was more readily available. There was an audible sigh from the edges of his maw when Finchstar suggested the questions happen another time. Currently a nest and prey sounded far more appealing than a chat with what felt like thirty cats at once. He dipped his head in return, a gesture he hoped came across as genuinely grateful instead of simply out of necessity. As the leader gestured towards the tortoiseshell, Patrick felt his gaze linger perhaps a second too long once again. He waited for the other tom to join them, lapping anxiously at the fur on his chest, ready to be away from this madness and rest for the night. Before morning, he would be on his way once again.