Dust in Your Pocket {OPEN - WC PLOT TOPIC #4}

Aspenheart’s answer came alarmingly late. Perhaps that was why Raventail accepted it so readily. A frank assessment of Grousefrost’s chances, a restatement of the visible blood on Ploverpuddle’s fur—exactly what he’d come to expect from WindClan’s medicine cat. The words turned once, twice. No one would be waiting for them. Finchstar could have dragged himself to safety with a pawful of lives to spare; Goldengale, like Brookclover, had only one. When he tuned back in, Aspenheart’s rambling was suddenly much less reassuring. Raventail knew denial, he knew hope, and he knew the difference between the two well enough not to fall headlong into the scene Aspenheart proposed.

Goldengale, Finchstar. They were both gone. Raventail remained. His eyes found Dappleshine and stuck there, hollow and afraid as the realization of what he needed to do rumbled through him. Aspenheart and Mistystripe would keep WindClan breathing; Raventail would keep them together until Finchstar returned, or until StarClan themselves dragged him to the Moonstone in Finchstar’s place. That he had no other choice didn't set him at ease, but it did, at least, make the decision easier. No more running.

He swiped a paw across his face, smearing dirt, water, and a fairly insignificant amount of blood, and turned to Aspenheart. Somehow, the backs of Aspenheart’s ears were as hard to watch as his expression had been. ”I hear you,” Raventail said softly. By then, Crowpaw had joined him. Ploverpuddle's injuries were plain to see. Grousefrost was another matter; covered in mud and blood, of course, breathing shallow. Still, Raventail could lift him, and Crowpaw had asked. ”Thanks, Crowpaw. Can’t say I know much about that either, but as long as we're careful—”

A wail cut through the conversation. Spotpaw was curled near the first spot they’d searched, showing no signs of leaving with the rest of them. Raventail swallowed; then he approached her, letting his tail brush against her shoulder—a sincere gesture, but inadequate, as he imagined anything would have been. Her mentor. His apprentice. Unfortunately, they had no time to mourn. ”Spotpaw, I’m sorry, but we need to go home.” There was nothing more he could think to say. Withdrawing, he padded back to Crowpaw and began to maneuver Grousefrost partway onto his shoulders, careful to keep most of the silver warrior’s weight on his less-injured right side.

As Crowpaw and Ravential gingerly lifted Grousefrost, Dappleshine took a few deep breaths before carefully shuffling herself under Ploverpuddle. Finally he laid on top of her, at least enough that she could walk with him. Having miraculously avoided serious injuries, she was one of the sturdiest cats, physically and mentally, left to shoulder the injured tom. Walking quietly behind her mate, she leaned forward slightly to catch her nose on the tip of his long, fluffy tail. No matter what happened, no matter what the future and StarClan had in store, she would be by his side.