Right There With You {open}

The leafbare chill had settled in, wool had been woven into WindClan's nests. The smell of herbs and poultices drifted over the air, a minty smell to cling to the white sky. Finchstar lay in the sand, watching the great expanse of clouds above. Snow was on the horizon, he could tell by the scent. It had occurred to the tom that he was growing older. Perhaps it was his experience, or perhaps it was the aching in his bones. However that could be shoved off on account of the beasts who had ravaged their clan a few sunrises ago. Finchstar's shoulder had taken quite the hit, wrapped with cobwebs, yet his muscles were still sore. His friends had suffered worse injuries. Aspenheart himself was battered and bruised, brave in the face of death. Goldengale was shaken, paws cold as the leafbare ground. In better spirits, Spotpaw had recovered from her battle, and Grousefrost had awoken from a long slumber. Finchstar was stunned to hear the tom had been in a coma. The leader felt out of the loop as he returned to his clan, yellow eyes slits as he took in all the sights. Raventail was steadfast and had lead his clanmates through his absence, the deputy's impulsive determination was unshakeable. Finchstar smiled and watched his friends, dry stalks of rye and heather in their jaws. Slowly the apprentices wove branches around the elder's den. The warriors brought in prey as they stocked for leafbare. Life continued on, WindClan recovered like a newleaf flower.

The gathering had revealed the tension between SkyClan and ShadowClan, a fight over lost deputies and maimings. Finchstar frowned at his discovery and flicked his tail. He felt more distant from his neighbors over the border than ever. War was their way of life, but what barbaric cause prompted them to fight amongst themselves when things far more dangerous roamed their lands? Finchstar stood painfully and winced, pushing the thoughts from his mind. There was a time he had probed Tinystar with his knowledge. Was that any different from ShadowClan and their tree-dwelling friends' situation? Finchstar had never been a cat to judge, his mind was vast yet his claws scuffed the sand at the thought of all he had missed.

Slowly, it was explained to WindClan the travesties they had faced. Cats dressed as dogs, raccoons, and worse. They had flayed the pelts off of lesser beasts, wearing them as armor in battle. Perhaps the fact that they shared a species made it even more terrifying. Was it possible for a mind to stoop so low? No lives had been lost in the final battle. And the intruders of camp had been dealt with accordingly. It seemed all of WindClan remained on edge for a few days following the incident, Finchstar was no exception. Each day his dreams of Brookclover grew more realistic, and he yearned for that release each day. However his life on the moor did not come without a tug as well. The leader grinned as he limped over to an incoming patrol, offering a friendly nod as he traded their rye for gratitude. "These will serve Aspenheart well." The tom mused, carrying the long stalks over to the medicine den. "We can't have ourselves a frozen medicine cat this leafbare."

Raventail doubted a cat had ever faced leaf-bare with as little apprehension as he did. Maybe it was because he’d never lived through it before, but a bit of snow here and a bit of cold there seemed like nothing compared to what WindClan had been through. As long as Aspenheart drew breath, leaf-bare couldn’t take Finchstar or Goldengale from them again. Nor could it creep into their camp and rip them to mousedust before they had time to blink the sleep from their eyes. If it threatened WindClan’s prey, well, Raventail was no stranger to long walks. The wounded were healing, the dead had returned, and while memories of the beasts were fresher than ever after the stories Finchstar and Goldengale had told, their scents weren’t.

All was not well. War had broken out on the other side of the forest, and Leaftwirl… The distance between them hadn’t changed the fact that she’d been one of Raventail’s first friends. Now she lay beneath the earth. Another friend he would never speak to again. He grieved when he had time for it, but there wasn’t much to spare. As one of WindClan’s less-injured warriors, he’d volunteered for whatever he could. Moons ago, he’d ignored his Clanmates as they’d rebuilt their home; he worked as hard now as he should have then, and harder still as nests and dens took their proper shapes and Aspenheart’s herb stores filled.

The dark-furred tom entered camp behind the rest of the patrol, careful not to let the rye he was carrying snag on the gorse. A thoroughly cobwebbed Finchstar met them. A moment late, Raventail returned his grin. Once his mouth was free of rye stalks, he meowed, ”I know it's for a good cause, but I’ve never tasted so many weird plants in my life. It’s like going to the Moonstone all over again.” As Finchstar limped toward the medicine den, Raventail trailed after him. Dropping his voice to just above a whisper, he said, ”Are you doing okay? That”—with his tail, he gestured vaguely toward his friend’s shoulder—”doesn’t look too fun to walk on.”

It had taken days, but Grousefrost sat in front of the medicine den. His silver and white tabby pelt no longer dirty and covered in moss from laying in a nest, but his expression spoke volumes. Eyes that were once so critical, were dulled as he gazed at the camp he could now see… but he couldn’t hear.

Not so much as a whisper of sound gave him company anymore. There was a distinct void, an absence of something he had always relied on in the tunnels and on the moor. His hearing was so critical to his ability to defend the clan and feed it. He could only imagine sound now. Remembering sounds, such as Goldengale’s tender voice… his heart lurched in pain.

He’d never hear it again. He’d never hear her, or vinepaw … or crowpaw… the echoes of voices he remembered rang in his head. The only thing that he could hold onto. A sob wrenched from his chest, his head jolted up in surprise. He hadn’t heard himself, but he felt the horrible ache of a breath held for too long, and released painfully. He shook his head, then stuck it in the snow for a moment.

Grousefrost could not let the clan realise his sorrow. It wouldn’t be efficient… and he couldn’t hold the clan back that way. He tried to make himself feel better by hoping that his hearing would return… but the only sound he ever heard was a dull ringing that he could focus on if he really tried. Then it made his head ache, and he felt even worse. It wasn’t an option. He brushed the snow clear from his face and took up his position once more. Feeling at a loss… how was he supposed to interact with a clan he’d never hear again?

Elmskip limped into camp with a couple fresh mice in his jaws, the spoils of a successful hunt in the growing Leaf-bare. He braced his short fur against the breeze that blew across the moor and set the small kills in the pile. With a heavy sigh, he noticed that prey was running rather scarce in camp. Another patrol would be needed soon. The tortoiseshell warrior stopped to gaze around at his Clanmates, taking in the healing, hopeful energy as the forest raced towards another long Leaf-bare. It was horrible timing, the battles WindClan had waged recently; the Clan now had the task of healing in the dead of winter. The cold was a killer. His thoughts wandered to his first winter, alone, lost on the moor. It was a miracle he had survived at all. He shuddered, pushing the thought from his mind. Now was not the time to dwell on the past, he could do that later.

He padded over to where Grousefrost was sitting and laid his tail across the tom's back. He was grateful that his friend was alive, he was a formidable warrior and a prominent member of the Clan. His sorrow for Grousefrost's hearing loss was written all over his face, however. He managed a soft smile as he nudged the gray tabby with his shoulder as a sign of companionship, silently promising his support. And then he padded away again, paws light, as if he was some sort of dark spectre among the white snow.

Elmskip spotted Patrick near the nursery and his gaze lingered on the loner. To his surprise, he found himself picking a plump mouse from the fresh kill pile and then carrying it over to him. He felt awkward but he set the mouse down at the tom's paws before looking up at him. "Uh...hi. I thought you...might want this. Or maybe we can share. It's up to you. How...how are you?" He wanted nothing more than to sit with Patrick and just talk, but unfortunately he wasn't very socially skilled.

Goldengale padded out of the medicine den, waving her tail in a solemn greeting to Finchstar and Raventail. Grousefrost sat just outside the entrance, and she came to his side to gently press her muzzle to his, bringing her chest to his shoulder to purr. It had been increasingly clear that Grousefrost couldn't hear, at least, not as well as he used to. She had watched helplessly as his eyes dulled, losing their luster and confidence. She did everything she could, staying at his side as much as possible, but... Well, she could only imagine what he was going through. Sometimes she would go sit in the middle of camp at night, the moon and stars her only company, just to try to get an idea of what he was experiencing to help... But so many small noises she took for granted still sounded in her ears. The wind through the grass, blowing the tufts of fur at her ears. The shifting of warriors in their nests, one apprentice's snoring. 

Finding her mate's eyes, she licked his head and smiled, eyes full of love. No matter what, she would be at his side. Whatever it took, she would find a way.

---

Dappleshine padded into camp with a rabbit and a bird hanging from her jaws, bushy tail high even as her eyes gleamed with tiredness. Spotting the group at the medicine den, she paused before making her way over, setting the bird down in front of Grousefrost and his mate, Goldengale, offering the two a small nod before turning towards the others. Her tail brushed Goldengale's side sympathetically, a silent offer of companionship that received no response quite yet. The next couple steps were a bit lighter, as she stopped before Finchstar and Raventail and set the rabbit down finally, working her jaw a couple times. "Great StarClan, these things are heavy." She shook her pelt out and smiled at the two cats in greeting. "We can't have a frozen medicine cat, and we also can't have a starved deputy and leader. Here, eat, I'll take over here for a little while, then go back out to hunt some more. The prey is slowly coming back out after, well, everything. Besides, you've been working all morning. You need to rest your shoulder, or you'll have Aspenheart keeping us all up at night scolding you."


She teased the leader lightheartedly, pointing her tail towards the rabbit before gathering the rye stalks from the leader, not taking no for an answer and beginning to weave the rye stalks into the holes of the den with deft paws, ones used to reeds and river grasses.

Barleytuft had chosen to stay in the camp with the apprentices to help fix and reinforce all of the dens in preparation for leafbare. He was larger and stronger than the apprentices, making it easier for him to manipulate some of the thicker, more stubborn branches and boughs of gorse. When he wasn't directly helping, he was happy to supervise and guide his Clannmates and keep his eye on Grousefrost and Goldengale near the nursery. The supply of den-weaving material was wearing a bit thin, but the senior warrior knew a patrol had gone out for more a while ago. He bided his time until they returned, and as soon as he heard Finchstar's voice calling to the patrol, Barleytuft turned to look at them with interest. The WindClan leader met Raventail, deputy and head of the patrol, and relieved him of his burden with a hearty "thank you" before turning towards the medicine den. The tabby tom's dark hazel eyes found his son.

Clovertwist strode in proudly before Raventail, who had taken up the rear of their patrol, bearing his supply of a few hearty sticks beneath his chin and his chest. Barleytuft quickly approached him to help take some of the weight in his teeth. The young warrior purred awkwardly and said from his awkward position holding the rest of the branches, "Oh, thanks dad - my neck was getting cramped!" He chuckled a little, and the father and son pair made their way back towards the elder's den. Clovertwist dropped off his bundle and stood straight, rolling his head around with a sigh. "That's much better. That was a good patrol, Barleytuft, everyone found something," he said with a pleased smile, quickly looking to survey what was now happening in camp.

Barleytuft sat the portion he'd taken beside Clovertwist's, and he, too, turned to look over the camp. Finchstar and Raventail had both disappeared into the medicine cat den, and the senior warrior waved his tail in a light hello as he saw Dappleshine padding in after them with some prey. Once she was gone his eyes landed on Grousefrost, an endless blank stare gazing out across camp despite Goldengale's presence at his side.

Downkit marched out of the nursery and up to Barleytuft and Clovertwist, his short tail raised proudly in the air. He prodded the tom with a soft paw to get his attention.. "Barleytuft!  Softkit and I want to help!" The young tom proudly exclaimed, puffing out his chest. "Right, Softkit?"

Softkit peered over her brother's shoulder and shyly nodded. "Yes.. T-that's right..." She mumbled, glancing at the ground. She was faintly smiling. It was true, she did want to help, she was just to shy to ask for it. Softkit was glad for her brother, he always said what was on his mind, so she never had to worry about talking much, which she was grateful for.

A soft poke in his hind leg made Barleytuft quickly turn his head, and as the small pale tabby tom yelled up the senior warrior's name, his dark hazel eyes landed on the kit who had prodded him. "Well, hello, Downkit," the tom greeted with a bright purr, immediately lowering his head to greet the kit with a gentle nose-touch. Downkit mentioned his sister, and Barleytuft's head rose and turned to see her just a step behind, crouched meekly. She nodded confirmation, and Barleytuft replied, "You want to help - both of you? Well, that's absolutely wonderful. I'd love your help." He waved his tail to beckon them, bumping Clovertwist's flanks in the meantime.

The younger silver tabby immediately looked at the kits, his own face splitting with a bright grin. "New team members! Alright!" Clovertwist cheered, bouncing a little and looking between them. "Have you ever seen how to weave sticks into dens before?" he asked Softkit and Downkit, his friendly amber eyes glimmering.

The little she-kit nodded, a noticeable bit of enthusiasm that she lacked before. She was helping warriors! She looked up at the two toms, noticing the bundles of sticks beside them. Her sky blue eyes twinkled in admiration, warriors were so strong! Would she ever be as strong as Barleytuft and Clovertwist? Her tail twitched, showing she was deep in thought, until a gentle prod snapped her into reality.

"Of course we have! Is that what we'll be doing? Great! The other kits will be so jealous, don't you think, Softkit?" The sandy-ginger tabby turned to look at his sister. He gently prodded her in the side when he noticed her tail twitched, a sign she was thinking. Once she looked at him, he turned back to the warriors, "Softkit and I will be a big help! We'll be done with this in absolutely no time!" The proud kit boasted, tail raised proudly. His green eyes gleamed with excitement. This must be what it's like to be an apprentice! He thought happily.

Barleytuft remember fondly when his own children were still kits as he watched Softkit and Downkit. Downkit especially seemed to rival their energy and enthusiasm while Softkit seemed to have their wonder. The older kit nudged his sister after Clovertwist's question, and Barleytuft chuckled. "With confidence like that, I'm grateful you decided to come and help us," the senior warrior told the young tom with a grin, stretching slightly at the scar on his muzzle.

"Yeah, I bet Barleytuft and I would've been here until moon-high without you," Clovertwist added, his kinked tail batting a bit awkwardly but playfully at his father's flanks.

The senior warrior snorted, shaking his tabby head with a smile. Barleytuft looked again at the kits. "Alright. There are a few sticks here I believe some strong young cats like you can use," he said, turning to the pile and beginning to drag out a few of the lighter ones that would be easier for their little paws to manipulate. Clovertwist joined him. "If you notice a place in this den" - he flicked his tan tabby striped tail towards the elders den just before them - "that seems bare, or like you could stick a paw through, then we will make sure it gets covered! We want to make sure every cat stays warm and has a sheltered place to sleep when it starts getting colder. That means no breezes blowing through!"

Softkit's eyes shown at the prospect of helping the older cats. She firmly grasped a smaller stick in her jaws and dragged it over to a hole the size of two times her tiny paws. With skilled paws, she weaved the stick into the den, turning to glance at the older cats, "Like this, right Clovertwist?" She mewed, making sure she was doing it correctly. She didn't want to mess up, the dens needed to be perfect!

Downkit nodded, "No breezes!" He agreed before trotting over to the stick pile. He grasped two by the ends in his tiny jaws and dragged them, with a bit of a struggle, to the hole Softkit was working on to help her. It took a good minute for him to drag both, but he was determined to do it without help! And he did. After dragging them over, he took one of them and weaved it in above Softkit's, with just a bit of guidance from her, since his paws were bigger and a bit clumsier than hers. He looked towards Barelytuft and Clovertwist, hoping they were doing it correctly.

As soon as the instructions were given, the two kits moved directly to the piles. "That's the spirit," Barleytuft praised. Over their heads, the two warriors' eyes met, and a look of amusement and affection was exchanged. Downkit enthusiastically dove for two large sticks - certainly bigger than he had intended for the little tom to heave around - but the warrior left him to it. After all, he'd feel quite accomplished when he was done. Barleytuft grabbed a stick of his own for a hole higher up in the den, close enough that he could still easily supervise from the corner of his eye and lend a paw to the little ones - and his son, if the tom got overwhelmed.

Clovertwist's ears pricked up, and he turned attentively to Softkit as she looked up at him with her big, beautiful sky blue eyes searching for affirmation. The silver tabby leaned in slightly to examine it with a gentle scrutiny. "Just like that," the young warrior praised Softkit. At last Downkit joined them, and quickly the tom-kit set to work. The two kits made a good team, and Clovertwist thought wistfully of his kit days with Mistystripe. His heart ached for her absence, and all he could do was pray that the cat-beasts hadn't claimed her, too. As soon as Downkit had finished weaving his own branch in, Clovertwist caught his gaze and grinned.

"That's great! There's just one more thing to make it perfect," he told the young tom. The silver tabby reached out a paw and grabbed the end of the branch, which was sticking out a bit far, and tucked it underneath another branch. "There - no one will get their pelt snagged."

Barleytuft looked down at the two, having finished his own branch, and nodded at them deeply, meowing in a rumbling purr, "You're naturals - WindClan is lucky to have you, and so am I."

The young she-kit purred, happy of her accomplishment. She was eager to please, so the fact Clovertwist and Barleytuft had complimented her and was proud of her warmed her from whiskers to tail tip. "And we're lucky to be in WindClan! I wouldn't want to be anywhere else!" the light cream she-kit trilled, then turned to her father, purring loudly. She was feeling so much warmth and love at the minute, she just had to share it. "And I wouldn't want to here with any other cats for family." She pressed her cheek to Barleytuft, then turned and padded to Downkit, stopping in front of Clovertwist to press her furry cheek to his as well. After padding up to Downkit, she touched her muzzle to his and purred, before licking a stray tuft of kitten fur down that was sticking up.

Downkit proudly stood there and gazed into his father's eyes, a soft purr in his throat, barely audible. He leaned down and hauled up the second branch, tucking it into the hole they'd been working on. The whole was no more. Making sure it fit it in perfectly, he proudly gazed at the den. A couple more holes and they'd be able to start on another den. Downkit was proud of his clan. They'd suffered much loss at the cat-beasts Crowpaw told them about, yet they were quickly rebuilding. When Softkit proclaimed her love for her family, his pelt itched awkwardly. While good at most things, Downkit didn't know how to express affection without being awkward. When Softkit touch muzzles with him, he purred, thinking about just how polar opposites the two were. He ducked his head in embarrassment when Softkit licked a stray tuft of fur back into place on his pelt, and he quickly hurried to get back to work.

Barleytuft's proud gaze only softened further with affection as his gaze met Softkit's deep, round blue eyes - oh so much like her mother's, truly - with his own deep hazel ones. His purr strengthed at his daughter's declration of joy and pride, and, recognizing the desire for affection on the little tabby she-kit's face, he leaned down. "Neither would I, kitten," he murmured lovingly. A moment later her cheek was brushing his, their purr-quivering whiskers tickling against each other's for a moment before they pulled apart again. Barleytuft's heart was gushing with adoration for his little girl, so gentle and kind. So far she didn't show any of the fierce stubbornness that her older sister, Goldengale, possessed; the place she held in his heart was all her own and loved as fiercely.

He watched her pad away to her brothers, his tail flicking with contentment. Clovertwist was next to bend his head down, rubbing his cheek on hers and giving her a short lick as she pulled away. Barleytuft chuckled with amusement as Downkit, not quite so verbal about his more vulnerable emotions, shuffled. Ah, but he loved his sister nonetheless; she groomed him briefly and he couldn't help but purr. Quickly, however, the young tabby kit lost his nerve and rushed to get back to the serious work. Barleytuft began to stride after him, ready to fetch another stick for himself as well.

Clovertwist gently batted Softkit's shoulder with his paw, meowing playfully, "Okay, Softkit, are we here to get snuggles or sticks?" His kinked tail waved as he took a prancing step towards the pile of sticks, looking back brightly at the little she-kit. "I like both, but I have to finish this den before I can start fawning over my favourite little sister!" The young silver tabby purred with delight at himself, hoping Softkit found him entertaining as well.

The young tabby she-kit blinked her sky blue eyes affectionately at her older brother. Snuggles or sticks? Oh, yes, that's right, the den. Temporarily pushing aside her love for her family, she embraced her love for her clan. Of course they had to finish the den- her clanmates didn't want to be cold! She tilted her head when Clovertwist called her his favourite little sister- she was his only little sister. Goldengale didn't count; she was his littermate. She purred to let him know she found him amusing as well before trotting after the silver tabby tom whom she adored so much. She grasped a stick from the pile made for the kits in her jaws. Determined to do even better than last time, she grasped a second one and held in under her neck, right above her scruff.

Flicking her tail in triumph, she hauled her small load over to the den. Another smaller hole was at her eye level, so Softkit began to patch it up. She stood back after weaving it in and noticed on end sticking out slightly too far, "Hmm, no good." She murmured, half to herself as she readjusted the end of the branch under another. She purred contently, proud to help her clanmates.

Downkit dove into the pile and found a huge branch. Barleytuft and Clovertwist would be so proud if he brought that over to the den. Grasping an end firmly, he proceeded to drag it over to the den, tiny paws scuffling in the ground. He hauled it about two tail-lengths before he dropped it, panting. Giving himself a good shake, he dove back for the branch and grasped it once more. He could do it! He just knew he could! If only Graybriar and Goldengale could see him now, they'd be so proud! The sandy-ginger tom's fluff was still kit-like, but he had the makings of a great apprentice, if he just learned a bit humility; he was still too arrogant for his own good.

That was Downkit's biggest issue; he thought he could solve every problem single-pawed. Softkit thought she caused every problem single-pawed; just one more way they were completely different.