Pheasantkit's Apprentice Ceremony

Stars, was it strange to be up here. The brisk leaf-fall morning had left Raventail’s fur looking wilted and turned the Tallrock damp and chilly beneath his paws, yet every foothold in the stone was unchanged by the last half moon. There was something reassuring in that. Not reassuring enough to prevent him from being nervous—this was a ceremony, after all, and he had never felt WindClan’s judgment so harshly as he had in the last few sunups—but it helped. He’d done this before; it was almost easy to believe he could do it again.

Normally, he noted when one of the nursery’s residents had reached apprentice age. This one had caught him by surprise. Pheasantkit was among the kits who’d appeared in his absence (Foxspirit and Swiftstep’s, if he remembered correctly), and Raventail knew very little about him. Even so, Pheasantkit would need a new name and a mentor before the foxes arrived. They were at war. With a swish of his tail that he could only hope masked his uncertainty, Raventail cleared his throat. ”Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath the Tallrock!”

As usual, the crowd gathered—and one of the older kits plowed right through it. Stifling a laugh just in time, Raventail identified him as the day’s apprentice-to-be. Pheasantkit held himself almost like a warrior, sitting tall and staring at the Tallrock as if it was the only thing in the world; from that alone, it was obvious he’d outgrown the nursery. Raventail had to wonder if kits had a sense for these things. ”Pheasantkit, step forward.” If his voice wasn’t entirely steady, well, he wasn’t about to draw attention to it. Instead, he focused on tempering his smile and waited for the kit to obey.

For once, the ceremonial words came easily; the time he’d spent practicing them before climbing up here had paid off. ”You’ve reached the age of six moons, and it’s time for you to be apprenticed. From this day until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Pheasantpaw. Your mentor will be Barleytuft.” So saying, he searched the gathered warriors for the scarred, striped pelt of his (former?) friend. It was true he didn’t know Pheasantpaw, but he’d fought and hunted beside Barleytuft here and there for what felt like his entire life. However uncomfortable the growing silence between them made Raventail, Raventail’s trust in him refused to be shaken. There were few cats better suited to train an apprentice for the fight of their life. ”He’s got plenty of experience," he said, turning back to Pheasantpaw. "May he pass everything he knows down to you.”

It was over. Just like that, as quick as it had ever been. Raventail leapt down from the Tallrock and offered his congratulations to WindClan's newest apprentice, still avoiding Barleytuft's eyes; then he backed away to join the others in chanting Pheasantpaw's new name.

The sound of Raventail's voice calling out authoratively over the camp made Barleytuft's neutral mood go just a hint sour, yet he couldn't help but note how much more quickly the black tom had settled into the deputy position compared to the first time. The senior warrior obeyed the deputy's summon and padded forth to join the crowd that gathered before him. Barleytuft, himself, had been paying attention to the kits in the nursery; his dear mentor Swiftstep and his new mate, Foxspirit, had had their first litter together. The tom got to see them once in a while when Crowpaw had still been a kit. Now it was their turn, it seemed, and the pale tabby tom was more than happy to show his support for the little ones. The warrior sat himself in front of Raventail and looked up patiently.

A large kit raced through the crowd eagerly as the ceremony came to order, and Barleytuft watched with his ears perked and the feeling if bitterness immediately fading to be replaced by contentment. This was Pheasantkit's day, not Raventail's or Barleytuft's or anyone's. The tom was given his name, and much to the senior warrior's surprise, he found himself named as Pheasantpaw's mentor. Though Raventail looked at him, Barleytuft could tell that the deputy couldn't look him in the face. Come on, Raventail, after you were brave enough to come back, how are you too afraid to even look at me?

It didn't matter. Barleytuft looked away and gazed instead to the newly-named Pheasantpaw whose eyes were bright with excitement. "I'm looking forward to teaching you, just like your father taught me," Barleytuft purred, none of his internal displeasure present amidst the pride in his voice. He laid his head atop Pheasantpaw's to allow the tom to lick his shoulder before stepping back. "Welcome to the start of warrior life, Pheasantpaw."

Barleytuft made no efforts to conceal his own joy as the tom kit - no, apparentice now - pulled away and began to circle his new mentor excitedly. He chuckled slightly, feeling that, for a moment, the wounds he'd recently received in the fox fight didn't feel so bad. Pheasantpaw stopped and looked up at him, promising earnestly that he would make them proud.

"I know you will," Barleytuft told him, nodding confidently. His dark hazel eyes glimmered with pride and amusement as he said, "You go on and find yourself a new nest in the apprentice's den. You'll need plenty of rest if we're going to start training tomorrow - and I plan to!" His long tail flicked his new apprentice encouragingly. The senior warrior couldn't wait to show the young tom everything the life of a moor cat had to offer...

... save, preferably, for some of the horrors the warrior himself had seen. Barleytuft wanted only the best for his loved ones, and whether Pheasantpaw knew it or not, he had just been assigned part of the tom's honorary family.