Sandpaw's Warrior Ceremony

Heavy scars battered the cats who fell victim to the fox's last hunt. Cornered in the tunnels, it was by grace alone that Barleytuft and his patrol had run for safety when they did. Aspenheart laid them down in nests of moss, and yet the air was thick with tension. Sandpaw had run into the tunnels alone, leaving camp without orders, endangering the patrol. Angry glances were often cast her way as she healed, and Finchstar's heart broke for the she-cat. He had once been as fiery as the sandy tabby, spunky and brave, always up for an adventure. And while those traits hadn't left him, his experience alone kept him from endangering the ones he loved. Sandpaw lacked the experience and therefore took the blame, a terrible thing. There was no guilt to feel in good intentions, and the dedication of an apprentice was not to be frowned upon. Finchstar sat atop the Tallrock, yellow eyes narrowed in his decision. What more of a poetic way to bring an apprentice from her woes by awarding her with responsibility? Actions did not come without consequences, however Finchstar smiled, and took the bluff. Sandpaw was a wonderful soul, as were they all. She'd care for those wounded, and learn from mistakes made. But never would her spirit be dampened. Today, it would burn. "All cats old enough to run the moor, gather beneath the Tallrock for a clan meeting!"

Things have felt so... Distant since the fox tunnel. Grousefrost had made it clear that he was upset at her. Elmskip. Aspenheart. Barleytuft. Every glance seemed like an angry stare. While Finchstar's seemed less harsh, she still felt as if the tom was extremely upset with her. She was so old, and still an apprentice. Grousefrost had a mate and a kit on the way, for StarClan's sake. All she wanted was her name.... Her mind wandered to when she was Sandy Bones. Sandpaw should have stayed there. Perhaps then, Lion's Skull would be alive too.

When Finchstar gathered the clan, she hardly moved from her spot, already in the camp and close enough. Her pelt was clean- unusual because she was usually dirty. The apprentice had not dared to enter the tunnels since then, still feeling dizzy and confused sometimes and her bones still acheing. Besides, nobody wanted to go with her anyway.

Barleytuft raised his head from where he rested on his side in the dull sunlight, enjoying the soft warmth on his healing wounds. Finchstar's voice called out for a meeting. The senior warrior's tail flicked twice, and he stared for several long moments up at his leader, suspecting what this may be. He didn't disagree with what was to come, but... well, he didn't agree. Sandpaw had been reckless. She had responsibility to stay in the camp and help the Clanmates back at home, but instead she had shirked those responsibilities to charge into a tunnel - simultaneously shirking her tunneling responsibilities. The idea of providing her more freedom to shirk more responsibilities and possibly endanger more lives didn't sit well, but what choice did he have?

The answer was none. Finchstar was leader, and his word was law. This was one of the first times since Brookclover's death that Barleytuft had felt neglected by his friend, but it stung as badly as his healing wounds from the fight that Sandpaw had inadvertently caused. How the WindClan leader could believe Sandpaw was ready, given her thoughtless display, was beyond the warrior, but it was rarely much good to try to change his mind once he made it up. If she was to become a full member of WindClan, the senior warrior intended to receive her as one. It was his duty.

He rolled with a strained grunt to his paws and padded to stand before the Tallrock, dipping his head briefly to Sandpaw before looking neutrally up at the ginger-and-white tom above. With a smile, Barleytuft noticed his son, Cloverpaw, padding up to join him.

The silver apprentice's kinked tail was high over his back, still held carefully still as he moved. Cloverpaw greeted his father with a headbutt before sitting at his side. "I suppose it's not likely this is my ceremony," he teased, though a small part of him did ache for his time to come. It was his burden to bear, like his tail; even if his limb wouldn't someday straighten, at least the rest of his path was clear.

Finchstar watched with yellow eyes as the clan gathered below him. He noticed their hesitation and felt conflicted. Barleytuft's scars shone in the light. Elmskip's fur was now tattered. In the middle of it all sat Sandpaw, looking rather down. The leader's paws shuffled in a pause as he contemplated what he was about to do. He had began to pad through life and learned with the moons that harmony was a difficult thing to find. There would always be those who were upset, and yet the tom wondered how to bring the most peace. It frustrated him that circumstances prohibited a full agreement within the clan, and it stung even more as he knew the cats that would disagree with him now were close friends. Letting out a long sigh, Finchstar blinked and flicked his tail. "WindClan, we are here today to name yet another warrior. I see the hesitation in your eyes and I sympathize with your doubts, however we must remind ourselves of what we truly value." The tom meant Barleytuft's eyes and then looked away, finding it easier to rest them on the far moor instead. "Sandpaw, you will heal the wounded, and train to master your tunneling yet again. I do not hold anger in my heart for you, and I admire your good intentions. However consequences do not consider such things. They cannot distinguish from a cat that holds a bad heart, to one with a good. It will be a hard road, 'paw. However I will follow you every step of the way. Fate is merciless, but may my gift to you now give you bravery. Step forward, today you will be made a warrior."

Sandpaw's ears pricked. Her head had lowered as Barleytuft glanced her way. She didn't see the usual warmth in the older warrior's eyes. It hurt hurt, like a claw to her heart. But when Finchstar said her name, it sent a jolt through her and she listened carefully. Perhaps Finchstar wasn't as upset as she had thought? The others were though. Standing, she made her way through the crowd before standing before her leader. Finally, she would be made a warrior. Join her brother as a warrior. Join cats younger than her as a warrior. But what would her consequences be?

It should have been a happy day. One where Grousefrost relished in his sister’s joining him in warriorhood, where she shed the painful past of apprenticeship… and yet, something in him stirred uneasily. She had acted recklessly, endangered an entire patrol. Endangered herself in what had been an utterly foolish and stupid move.

“Good intentions.” Grousefrost’s ears flattened as his voice cut through the ceremony’s traditional silence. He spared a glance at Barleytuft. The old tom had barely made it out alive. He turned to Elmskip next, his tail twitched as he stood and padded to the front of the cats that had gathered. He took no pleasure in it. His heart ached at every pawstep. This was his sister. She deserved happiness… but he also couldn’t let it be unsaid. “With all due respect, Finchstar… her actions that day nearly got us all killed. ”

He paused, sparing his sister a pained look as anger warred with sadness, before he pushed it back. Forced himself to stand up tall and proud despite the aches of his back and shoulder wounds.
“It hardly makes sense to reward her behaviour with this.” He looked back up at Finchstar. “It’s dreadfully inefficient, but such a self-destructive behaviour should be a demotion.”

Finchstar's eyes narrowed as Grousefrost called out against his own sister. He could only imagine the pain Sandpaw must feel, and yet the rift now forming in the clan cut even deeper. "Sandpaw has already learned her lesson, Grousefrost. What more pain can you cast upon her, already having to deal with the guilt of hurting her loved ones? She knows now the stakes of apprenticeship, does that not qualify us for warriorhood?" Finchstar sighed and felt a rock form in his heart, wanting to heal the rip in his clanmates. Perhaps he had decided too soon, and yet his stubbornness would not allow the leader to turn around. "Sandpaw, you carry with you a burden now. Let it guide you into warriorhood, so that you may be careful, and intelligent. With this, I, Finchstar, leader of WindClan call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and will continue to learn. I commend her as a warrior to you in return." It would be done. He had decided on it and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, praying that his clan could see through his decision. "Sandpaw, do you promise to uphold the code, and protect and defend your clan, even at the cost of your life?"

Goldengale had finally managed to get herself to her paws, she still couldn't get accustomed to the weird sensation of her swollen belly. She positioned herself in the entrance to the nursery in time to hear Grousefrost's exclamation, followed by Finchstar's response. Surprise lurched through her, and her eyes narrowed. Sandpaw was becoming a warrior? After everything she had recently done? Did Finchstar have rabbit fur in his brain? A low grumble escaped her as she muttered under her breath. "She might know the stakes, but has she learned them? Does she understand them?" She hissed through clenched jaws as Finchstar continued with the ceremony despite the concerns. Shuffling her way back into the nursery, she ignored the rest of the ceremony. That rabbit-brained she-cat was responsible for how close to death her father and mate had come, and she was being rewarded for blatantly ignoring orders from the leader?

If that was the case, then why was Cloverpaw still an apprentice, despite having almost died protecting the clan's medicine cat from the jaws of a dog? None of it made sense.

As Sandpaw stood in front of Finchstar, she slowly began to slouch. All of the eyes staring at her made her incredibly uncomfortable, and she was hurting. When Grousefrost spoke, she turned her head away, unable to look at him. Every word was more painful than the fox's attack. It wasn't really her fault. How could she have known the foxes were down there? No matter what, they would have gone down there. That's where the scent was. They were all alive, weren't they? When Finchstar spoke she forced herself to look up at the leader. She searched his amber eyes for sympathy, and found some. The only solace in this dark and painful time.

What could she do? She was tired of being Sandpaw. She had been Sandpaw for so long. Her silence was drawn out so long that now even Goldengale, a typically kind cat, was lashing out at her. Her mind whirled, still foggy from the collision with the wall. Her gaze shifted to Grousefrost again. The silver tom felt foreign right now, as if she didn't even know him. An enemy to her, standing in the way of everything she always wanted.

Finchstar looked pained. Goldengale, angry. Barleytuft, disappointing. No cat in this clearing liked her right now, and she hated it. She was supposed to be the queen. The tunneling queen- the only she-cat with exceptional digging skills and knowlege, and she broke all of these "rules" the StarClan cats had given them. She had sworn to Barleytuft when she first came back that she would follow these rules, no matter how much she disagreed. She and the other tunnelers fought on every little aspect of tunneling. But that day, she almost got all of the StarClan tunnelers and herself killed. Goldengale and Aspenheart would be the only ones to keep up the program. Goldengale would have lost the father to her kit. Barleytuft's family would have lost a staple.

She glanced at Grousefrost once more, the silence of the camp deafening. Waiting for her. Sandpaw took in a shaky breath. Her warrior ceremony was not supposed to go like this.

"I do promise to uphold the code and protect the clan with my life. However, I cannot accept my warrior name. I am... must... prove myself again." Sandpaw tried to say she was sorry, she did. But her pride, it hurt too much. How could she even come back from this. Her gaze shifted to the camp entrance. The dig site could be reached in just a few days travel. She could go back...

But she wouldn't.

But WindClan didn't feel like her clan right now, either.

Sandpaw did not accept her warrior name. Finchstar blinked and ran the realization over in his head again. It seemed strange, he had handed her a chance of redemption, and now she let it go to find her own way there. At first the leader ran his claws over the stone, less angry but perhaps disappointed. Disappointed with himself. Empathy was a strong suit of the tom, as he had felt guilt many a time. He often watched Sandpaw with all her scars, wondering what plagued her mind. The worst guilt of all was of causing pain. Finchstar wouldn't let a claw hurt his clanmates, and yet when that line was crossed, he felt it too. His hope was too great however, striving for the most brilliant thing to bring Sandpaw from the abyss. In it, a rift was formed, split between the clan as he gazed upon them now. Finchstar narrowed his eyes in thought, tail flicking with each passing second. He couldn't contemplate fast enough. And yet again, he had underestimated those around him. Finchstar needn't had held the ceremony at all. Sandpaw held herself to her own morals as he did. And the tom was not the only cat to face adversity. He strived so hard to save his clan from the turmoil of the world that he forgot that they had claws just as he did. His independence was the tom's largest fault as he stood on the rock. Wanting to understand, to feel and hear, and yet in his stubborn nature, he had overlooked the minds around him, each holding a conviction such as his.

Finchstar sighed and leapt down from the rock, padding over to Sandpaw. And just as the love of the clan surrounded him, so did the intellect of his friends. Finchstar was not alone, and did not need to accommodate for the short comings of fate. Sandpaw didn't want to feel better. She wanted to learn, to grow. The leader blinked and smiled again, yellow eyes glazed. "Perhaps I am overcompensating." He spoke sweetly, dipping his head to the apprentice. "You're an adventurer. From beyond the clans themselves. Who am I to think that I could pull you from your woes? I admire your bravery and determination to improve. I am honored to have you as a part of my clan, Sandpaw. If you find you'd like a mentor in your next journey, you may take Silentgust. I am ever curious to see where life takes you, 'paw. Thank you, you have taught me much today."

Barleytuft narrowed his eyes ever so slightly as Finchstar spoke again, confirming this was indeed Sandpaw's warrior ceremony. It wasn't a look of hostility or anger but of uncertainty and disappointment and thoughtfulness. He remained still and respectful, gazing at his leader as he prepared to give her her oath to uphold.

Before he could, however, Grousefrost interrupted, stalking to the front. Barleytuft watched with undisguised pity as he demanded his sister be punished - not rewarded - for her recklessness during the search patrol. Finchstar politely disagreed, and the ceremony continued.

Then, it stopped again. By Sandpaw herself. Now Barleytuft sat up in interest, though he winced at the tenderness of the wounds on his chest near his foreleg. He turned his dark hazel gaze thoughtfully on her; some of the hardness in the depths of his eyes from earlier was replaced by a glimmer of curiosity and interest. He had never seen anyone turn down their warrior name, but the way Sandpaw had done it... well. It was something Barleytuft would remember.

Taken aback, Finchstar was uncharacteristically quiet as he considered. The ginger tom leapt from the Tallrock with a sigh and made his way to Sandpaw. Barleytuft stood to watch their exchange, feeling uncertain but hopeful. When the leader had gone quiet, Barleytuft rumbled, "This is a ceremony. An oath was made, even if it's not the one we expected, and I think it should be properly observed." The senior warrior looked around to his Clanmates and began to yowl out the she-cat's name. "Sandpaw! Sandpaw!" If she was to improve, she would need the support of the Clan, just as a tunneler in a cave-in relied on their partners and the solid parts of the earth.

---

Cloverpaw watched curiously, feeling increasingly uneasy about the tension in the air. It was true that he had conflicting feelings about Sandpaw and her involvement in the fox ambush, but, having been a victim to circumstance while trying to serve his Clan too, Cloverpaw found that he landed on the side of sympathy for her. She hadn't been given permission to leave camp, no, but she had simply been the first to enter a tunnel that the patrol would have entered on their own anyways. She was no more guilty for the fox attack than Cloverpaw was of the dog attack that had crippled his tail and left him unable to train for over two moons.

Did it still anger Cloverpaw that his kin and friends had been the ones in danger? Admittedly, yes. But how long could a cat possibly be an apprentice? She was older than him by who could say how many moons! To him, her remorse was clear. Her pride was shaken and battered like a dog's prey, and all she wanted was to be worthy.

The ceremony didn't go as intended, though, when Grousefrost interrupted and then, most shockingly, Sandpaw herself turned down her name. Cloverpaw's dark-tipped ears perked with surprise. Was she really content to stay as an apprentice...? It was her choice. I guess we've both got each other's good company for a while still. The silver tabby was surprised when his father lead the charge to give her a ceremonial cry, but he joined in eagerly, shouting, "Sandpaw! Sandpaw! Sandpaw!"