Grow Old Along With Me... {closed}

The morning sun was white with the comings of leafbare. It rose modestly into the sky, afraid to break the cloud cover, yet illuminating the moor with a soft glow. The chill was not yet bitter, Finchstar even imagined it to be refreshing, a good contrast from his hot days in the den. Dawn patrols had left for the day. Guards stationed at the front of camp, fur fluffed up against the coming snow. Nests had been woven, wounds had been healed, and WindClan now faced leafbare as they did any other season. The cold moons couldn't scare them any longer. They were above that now. Finchstar picked his way over stalks of drying rye, weaving through the hollow moor grass as he came to stand above a sleeping Barleytuft. His old friend still carried his same cream tabby pelt. His legs were still WindClan's standard length. And his frame always resembled a swift cat with a swift heart. Finchstar smiled bittersweetly and touched his friend's shoulder with a long tail, noting all the new scars, the faint gray hairs around his muzzle. The leader began to question whether he possessed any as well. However Barleytuft was older. Forever a mentor and a guide. While he himself had not mentored the leader, he served as a teacher in Ryecloud's absence. Guiding not only Brookclover, but Finchstar as well. Where would the seasons take their dear Barleytuft? Forever a WindClan staple. "Do you remember the early morning hunts you would take me on as an apprentice?" Finchstar crooned, grinning widely. "Why not relive an old memory once more?"

It was rare for Barleytuft to sleep past sunrise; the pale early morning light shone down like an intangible blanket over his lean WindClan body, and slowly his mind became aware of the sound of birds - not the birds of dawn, but of day. He felt a gentle brush against his shoulder, and his eyes flickered open from where he lay curled on his side. Barleytuft raised his head, dark hazel eyes blinking sleepiness away as they landed upon a ginger-and-white patched face that slowly came into focus. Immediately the senior warrior smiled, his paws curling habitually with contentment at the sight of his dear friend. "Finchstar," he rasped in greeting, and he yawned wide.

The leader spoke then, speaking wistfully of the days of young Finchpaw, and their hunts long ago. Barleytuft immediately knew what he was going to ask, and before the words had finished leaving Finchstar's mouth the pale tabby tom was getting his paws beneath him to stand. He arched his back and answered with a bit more energy in his voice, "Gladly. It's a good opportunity to make up for sleeping the dawn away." He flicked Finchstar's shoulder good-naturedly before making his way towards the entrance of camp, glancing over the clearing for his kin before dipping his head and slipping out of the tunnel with his hunting partner.

Finchstar smiled at Barleytuft's retort, following the tom out of the gorse tunnel and onto the moor. The gusts of wind were cold but brought promise of a vast plane. Finchstar found the urge to run nip at his legs, and he looked at Barleytuft slyly. "I don't know how the forest clans do it, Barleytuft." The leader smiled and padded down a hill, tail high. "If I had ferns in my path every time I had the itch to run, I'd have more than a strained shoulder." He chuckled and bounded onward, splitting the rye grass, eyes closed in bliss as the gales swept over the long grasses. Finchstar scented the air, yellow eyes glowing, content. He had waited for this for a long time. A perfect hunt in the glades with his good friend. There was much to think about, but Finchstar found it easier to lay it all down in the name of hope. Today, he would simply hunt.

A warren resided farther down the moor, one of Finchstar's favorites, ever since he was a 'paw. The sight of the tunnels still made his pelt itch, but he had no intention of venturing inside. The leader guessed the rabbits would take these last few dry days to gather up all the food they could find. It made his mouth water. Finchstar smiled and gazed at his friend warmly, purring at the sight of Barleytuft, healthy on the moor. Oh how far they had come. A flash of brown interrupted his nostalgia however, and Finchstar turned to the warren farther downwind to see a small bunny find its way out of the den. The tom caught Barleytuft's eye and nodded. The senior warrior was an exceptional hunter, and Finchstar would be sure to give him the opening he needed. Quickly weaving into position, Finchstar crouched upwind of the furry creature, exploding from the heather with a playful yowl, startling the rabbit towards Barleytuft.

Perhaps another warrior might have held back for their leader to lead the way on the patrol, but the memories of early hunts made it clear that there was no call for traditional formality. Barleytuft would be hunting with Finchstar not as a warrior with his leader but as a tom with one of his dearest lifelong friends. As they drew onto the moor, Barleytuft noticed how his leader's shoulder still bore a significant but healing wound and how the ginger-and-white tom still limped faintly, but Finchstar's face showed no signs of pain. The tom was known to push himself, but the clarity in his eyes indicated no threat to Barleytuft. He decided simply to keep an eye on Finchstar and say something if it became necessary. He turned his gaze back to the hills, shivering lightly at the bitter leaf-bare breeze that tried to cut right through his thin pelt.

Barleytuft's ears flicked at Finchstar's words, and he nodded with whole-hearted agreement. "I could see the appeal in dodging a bramble here and there," the tom decided, "but if I wanted to follow the same trails over and over I can just visit the tunnels." His pelt itched ever so slightly with discomfort at the mention of the tunnels, which he knew he had been neglecting; fortunately, however, Finchstar was not thinking of the tunnels or paying mind to duties and obligations. The lean ginger tom was bounding across the rye grass now, a spring in his step despite the darkness which they had all so recently endured. Barleytuft felt a smile tug as his lips, and without another moment of hesitation he, too, descended the hill and began to hare across the grasslands after his friend.

The two raced for some time, but when the goal of fetching prey for the Clan surfaced again, the pair began to make their way towards promising hunting grounds. The cluster of warrens stretched out before them, and Barleytuft observed them with a contented sigh. Perhaps it was kittish and naive, but he felt some semblance of safety again. No beast-cats with gruesome pelts would burst from the tunnels; the tunnels, with the grounds frozen and the nearest tunnel system buried so deep, were not likely to crumble beneath their paws. The sight of Finchstar's nostalgic, satisfied golden gaze caught Barleytuft's eye, and the senior warrior looked his leader - his friend - in the face and smiled.

Their short moment of reverie was interrupted by the soft scuffling of tiny paws among the shrubbery. Barleytuft's head turned as Finchstar's did; they spotted the rabbit, and without having to do anything but give a wordless nod the two toms became a team as Finchstar began to slink away to herd the rabbit in Barleytuft's direction. The senior warrior himself set off in a low prowl, stalking over the earth to ready himself for the explosion to come. With a yowl, Finchstar burst from the grasses, and with a startled squeak the rabbit was scrambling over itself to race for a burrow. Too late, though; Barleytuft had already begun to dash the instant he saw Finchstar emerge, and the WindClan cat's slender cream paws slammed on the rabbit quickly, pinning it to the ground while he made the killing bite.

Barleytuft raised his head, licking his muzzle once before meowing proudly, "You have always been a natural at setting up the perfect hunt, haven't you?" He glanced down at the prey and then picked it up, moving it over to a burrow to deposit it just inside. The senior warrior looked back at his leader. "I'm glad that you're alright. After everything that happened, you're home and I... I'm grateful. WindClan wasn't the same without you."

The member 'sumashira' has done the following action : Dices roll

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'Hunting Dice' : 5

"Wonderful, Barleytuft!" Finchstar mewed proudly, bounding the rest of the way to his dear friend's side. The thrill of hunting sang in the leader's blood, and showed on his face too. A wide smile was gracefully stretched across his maw, yellow eyes light with joy. Barleytuft praised his hunting skills, calling the tom a natural. Finchstar sat back on his haunches and let his smile fall to a grin as he followed his friend's eyes. "I have only you to thank for that, friend. After Ryecloud's disappearance, you were the closest thing to a mentor I had." The tom flicked an ear and gazed off into the white sky. Barleytuft hinted at the near past, the beasts, the terror. The cream tabby was talented in his pointers. Able to gesture to events or ideas without bringing back the memories. "--I... I'm grateful. WindClan wasn't the same without you." Finchstar turned his head to face his friend, ready to respond to his statement. "Someday it will have to be." The leader crooned, toying with his own mortality. It was no secret WindClan had aged. Generations had passed, and now the kits of kits resided in the nursery. Finchstar was older, but he was not old. Barleytuft possessed gray hairs around his muzzle, ones that Finchstar had begun to notice fondly. Life had been graceful with them. Despite the battles and the disasters, they still stood together in the rye, possessing the same souls they had when Finchstar was just a 'paw. The leader butted Barleytuft's head with his own, a soft purr rumbling in his throat. "Oftentimes I wonder what WindClan will be like when I'm gone. When we're gone. I suppose death is just another adventure..." Finchstar's voice was wispy as he pondered things beyond his understanding. "There was a time I would have given anything to join Brookclover in StarClan. But love resides here as well, in the moor. I'll miss it, Barleytuft. I'll miss you. Growing old is a difficult feat. Somedays I wish I could stay young forever."

Though Finchstar's praise didn't fall on deaf ears, Barleytuft simply laughed and brushed it off. Perhaps they were both too kind and easy-going for their own good, but it never hurt to build up a Clanmate - especially when they made such a good team. It was always for the good of the Clan to support and uplift each other. That was what Barleytuft had done with young Finchpaw, but now as they had both aged it was more. They were like brothers. As Finchstar responded to Barleytuft's sentiment with almost cynicism, Barleytuft snorted and answered, "Oh, no, no - it won't be the same WindClan forever. It's never quite the same when any of our Clanmates leaves us. But it is always WindClan." Finchstar leaned forward, and they butted heads at the sentiment.

Barleytuft listened, sitting beside Finchstar and the burrow in which he'd rested his prey. His ginger-and-white friend was purring, and Finchstar questioned the future - the "after". The senior warrior hummed with sympathy and understanding as his friend spoke of joining Brookclover in StarClan after she'd been taken by the moors. Barleytuft had nearly lost them both that day. It had been devastating enough to lose his first, his best, apprentice, but to have nearly lost Finch as well would have been unbearable. He had seen the way Finchstar receded; he knew what the leader was referring to. His dark hazel eyes narrowed slightly with thought, listening to his friend's voice. He chuckled slightly at the final comments.

"It can't be newleaf forever; there'd be no room for any new blossoms on the heather bushes," Barleytuft mused. "There'd be too much rain for all the forest to hold. It can't be greenleaf forever; the sun would burn up the river, and the prey, and the forest and ourselves. Nor can it be leaf-fall forever - there are only so many leaves which can fall - or leaf-bare forever. Everything must change, building upon the past to support the future... but there's always a future. We can see some of it when we watch the apprentices, and the kits. How they grow and learn and become strong, and they nurture and teach and help others become strong, so they may be supported when there's nothing more for them to learn and the strength of the moor leaves them." His striped tail flicked thoughtfully. "Do you see the strength of the moors in us still?" he asked, regarding himself and Finchstar. "If so, then we are young enough."