sunset; moonrise

After her conversation with Finchstar, Zinnia had lingered on WindClan's territory for a few days. Something kept her from leaving the moor, when usually her paws itched to wander - it could have been the flowers, reminding her of home. Or it could have been the warning of danger, perhaps; the faintest hint of a challenge she didn't dare to back down from. Or perhaps it was simply the risk of danger to innocent strangers, the cats that called this place their home.

She had, after all, never been taught to stand idly by while others put their lives at risk; and this was a place that felt so much like home, as different as it was. She would never be able to live with herself, consider herself a respectful or respectable cat, should she do nothing. And so it was that she had thought over Finchstar's words for the past days, finally arriving at a decision.

And it was that decision that, as the sun set on the third day since their meeting, led her paws toward what she could only hope was where these cats lived (or at least near enough to it that they could hear her voice), calling out the only name she knew. "Finchstar...?"

The morning had risen into day, sun sitting high above the moor as WindClan gathered their rabbits together, not for eating, but for killing. The kits had been ushered away by the queens, hidden in the nursery as careful warriors planted deathberries into the carcasses of hares. Finchstar padded between huddles of cats, their frames arched over the prey, paws stained red. Aspenheart's idea had been brilliant, rallying the clan together in this time of darkness. However Raventail's disappearance hung over each of them like a shadow. Finchstar would often find his eyes subconsciously drifting to the gorse tunnel, wondering if he'd catch the black tom padding back through, as if he had just been out hunting. But the frame that now appeared was not that of the deputy, but of Zinnia. Heads rose from their work as her voice carried over the bushes, silver pelt padding outside.

Finchstar smiled at the sound of his friend, and yet gazed around with a wince, not wanting to scare off a loner by their current state of affairs. Poisoning rabbits did not look good for those who didn't understand the recent situation. Of course, Zinnia was very intelligent and would find out either way. But Finchstar padded out of the tunnel and meant her where she stood, yellow eyes shining. "Zinnia, it's been quite a while. You've found our home, although I'm not surprised. Nothing seems to get past you, cat. I admire your intelligence." Finchstar dipped his head in a greeting, gazing at his berry-stained paws in apprehension.

"Perhaps it is good I've found my way from camp. I've been meaning to wash up. You see, we are in the business of tricking these foxes from our lands, you remember the ones I warned you about, of course." Finchstar flicked his tail for Zinnia to follow, leading her along the outside wall of the gorse bushes, to the stream that rested behind camp. The gurgle of the water was soothing, and for a moment, the leader wondered if it reminded Zinnia of her home. Her face appeared and now he was thrown back into their long-ago conversation before Raventail had left. It seemed a good distraction, and peaked his interest all the same. If given the time, Finchstar would sit for hours and listen to Zinnia talk of her home. Loners seemed to carry the most interesting of stories.

"What brings you to WindClan?" He asked with a smile, dipping his red paws into the stream, watching as the water licked up the juice of deathberries from his claws.

Swift and to the point, Zinnia observed. Much like the wind from which this society seemed to take its name. So, then, she supposed her answer should be swift as well. "I find it fitting that you should mention the foxes, Finchstar," she began quietly, pausing for just a moment before she continued at a more normal volume. "I have found that I cannot stand idly by while innocents are in danger. And so, it seems, my choice is made for me. I have come because I wish to lend my paws to your cause... If you'll have them, that is."

And so she stood, tall and proud, keeping her eyes on Finchstar. She had offered all she had to give, after all; and it was up to these WindClan cats to take or leave it as they chose. Though she had to admit, she did wonder how they made their decisions - did they take votes, like the Garden cats did, or did they have some other way of doing things she'd never considered before?

Finchstar smiled, eyes creasing at Zinnia's decree. A warrior at heart, he told himself. He grinned at her desire to lend herself to their danger. It took a special cat to do such a thing. Free, as she had been, and yet Zinnia stood here now and gave up the very wind itself. She wished for glory, for heroism, and the music of battle. Finchstar chuckled, yellow eyes glowing in happiness. "All four of them, Zinnia. WindClan will appreciate your service, I'm sure. I am in awe of your desire to service a group of cats you have only heard of. Now, I know too, the ways hope can carry ones heart. You follow the wind with more hope then I have seen, cat." Finchstar dipped his head, finding his respect for Zinnia only grew.

The red began to wash from his pads as water flowed between them. It was cold on their breezey day. Finchstar sighed contentedly and smiled. "I must ask however, where does this self-less soul of yours come from? What stories have made you into the cat you are today? Forgive me, I find you interesting, cat."

"Who I am is shaped by many things, I suppose," Zinnia replied after a moment. "But the ones that have had the most impact, I suspect, are my mother and father. They both taught many important lessons to my sisters and I. It was my father, in particular, that taught us the value of helping others - that if you can offer something to help, you always should. I would follow him around the Garden when I was just a kit, as the other cats asked him for help with all sorts of things. Some cats wanted help decorating their nests, or the healers wanted help with their flowers, or his daughters wanted to ride on his back," she relayed the last one with a hint of amusement to her tone. "He never ignored a request for help, and he'd often do things when no one requested it. Smaller things than this, mostly, but... My home is a peaceful place. Things such as foxes are only stories to us; and so he occupied his time with finding flowers and other pretty things to give to us, or to our mother. If he were here, I have no doubt that he would be fighting harder than anyone. Since beginning my travels, I've tried to follow that example."

She paused, recalling there was something else she needed to do. "However, if I am to stay on the moor... This place you call WindClan... There is something I must do. It's nothing alarming," she added a moment later, feeling the need to clarify. "Though it may seem strange to you. We simply have a custom of speaking to our ancestors. Asking for guidance, sometimes... Or informing them of a choice. Such as the choice to remain somewhere that is not where we began. I don't wish to offend, however, so I can do it elsewhere if need be."

"No! No... you may speak." Finchstar dipped his head, shocked at the pressingness of his own voice. He strived so hard to make Zinnia feel welcome that his gentleness seemed to become fierce. Curiosity wasn't out of the picture either, and these ancestors Zinnia spoke of didn't seem like StarClan. Finchstar smiled as he raised his eyes to Zinnia once more, ever intrigued by the gods she must worship.

"Do not let me impede on your traditions, cat. I have much respect for you." The leader smiled and stepped back, ready to witness such an interesting thing. His thoughts swirled with the air as he thought of this new visitor. Hopefull WindClan would be well finished with poisoning the rabbits when she did end up following him into camp.

Zinnia nodded (despite being slightly started by the sudden sharpness; for Finchstar had shown her nothing but kindness), and sat patiently as she turned her eyes to the sky. As far as she knew, there weren't often witnesses to Garden rituals outside it; but to share a piece of her home with others was something she was always glad to do. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight she hadn't felt before as she thought of the cats that watched her now, from wherever they resided. “Ancestors! See the path that I have traveled. See the place that I have found. See the choice that I have made. See me now and hear my voice! See that I will stay where I am needed; and until the winds call my name once more, I will call this place my home."

A moment passed, then another. As the third moment passed and nothing happened, when she was satisfied that her ancestors had accepted her choice (for Zinnia had never completely shed her belief in the kit's tales of lightning striking with disapproval), she returned her gaze to her companion. "...So it is said, so it is done. For now, at least, I will wander no longer; and my paws are yours to guide as you see fit, Finchstar."

"Then welcome to the clan, Zinnia the flower-cat." Finchstar purred, tail raised high. He smiled as the she-cat had spoken with ancestors he could only imagine. It was naïve of the tom to believe that only one ethereal force could govern the whole world. No, that wouldn't be brilliant enough. Zinnia's version of life however seemed to tell more tales of adventure and acceptance, it was a path Finchstar desired to walk so fiercely. But now this wandering heart was a warrior of WindClan, and he'd listen to her as the stars did. "I wish not to impede on your traditions. A clan name is only for those who desire it. Stay in our camp, talk with your clanmates, and be free as you are. I am honored to have you in my ranks, cat." Finchstar dipped his head to the silver she-cat, a grin on his face. Flicking his tail, he led the way to camp, wondering how he'd explain the rabbits and the berries. But that was a tale for another day.