Waiting for Flowers

"Zinnia." Finchstar spoke, finding the pretty she-cat perched on a hill. "What do you think?" They stood looking down at a soft mound in the earth, where raised dirt had been patted down with care. Finchstar wished he had some flowers to put on Barleytuft's grave, but instead he could only watch. When Newleaf came, he'd visit with lavender, as he did Brookclover's grave each day. Something about the loner that sat next to him now clued him off to a feeling. It seemed that Zinnia, named after a flower, would embody one in such a way. Finchstar had spent many a time asking and discussing over her origins, and found it ever interesting, the land she came from. The tom almost wished he could have buried Barleytuft there, instead. There wasn't a place beautiful enough to hold the tom. Not even StarClan was deserving of him. Feeling powerless was not something the leader desired, but he had come to terms with the fact that some things he could not change. It took many moons to realize, and even now as he aged, Finchstar knew it was something he'd never fully be comfortable with. But now as he sat near the grave with Zinnia, he'd confide in his loner friend once more. If she embodied a flower, then perhaps she'd be here to bless Barleytuft as well, a few sunrises after his passing.

"Well, you've certainly had your taste of clan life." Finchstar chuckled in a bittersweet manner, wiping his teary eyes with a paw. "I've made a promise to myself not to become bitter over Barleytuft's death. I think being in his presence here helps, in a way. I can imagine him smiling at me in a fatherly way, you see." Finchstar smiled and gazed up into the clear sky, the sun hazy and cool. "Barleytuft was never my father, no. Nor did I ever imagine him as one. In a way, I think he may have been my counselor. Someone to cuff me over the ears when I became bitter, as I am now. Did you ever find yourself in a situation as such, Zinnia?" Finchstar let his cool yellow eyes drift to hers, fur billowing in the wind. "I do admire your spirit, I see now why they've named you after a flower."

Zinnia observed the warrior's grave - she hadn't known him that well, but she had gathered that Barleytuft was greatly respected by most of WindClan, and so she tried to offer her own respect to him now. Her way of doing so was simple, really; she sat on a hill overlooking the gravesite and wished him well, that he had peace and painlessness now. The somber air of the cats around her was strange to her, but she found herself feeling the same. Mourning the loss of a chance to know Barleytuft better than she did, to truly understand why he was so well-regarded by his Clan.

Finchstar's arrival was surprising, but not much so. He asked what she thought, and she considered the question. Assuming he was talking about the grave, or death, or something in between, she answered. "Life goes on, as it will. All we can do now is remember, and honor the memories he left us with," she said softly. "No warrior, however great, can halt the passing of time, nor can they stop death in its tracks. As for this place... It is one way to do such a thing. The flowers will wake soon enough, and perhaps some will grow over this place and the very earth he walked on will remember him as fondly as his Clan does."

It was a nice thought, at least; that this place could bloom with flowers that honored the spirit of the warrior who resided now beneath the dirt. "Illness and death, I think, are universal," she mused. "Though the ways we deal with them less so. Bitterness and a somber air... It's strange to me, though I suppose I've been swept up into it all the same. In the flower fields, anything like this was rare. The emphasis was on remembrance, on not letting memories be tainted by sadness; the sadness would fade in time, but the memories would remain so long as you kept them close to your heart." She hummed at the question of her own bitterness. "No, I don't believe I have. I have been blessed, I believe, that I haven't lost much that I didn't leave behind. Or maybe it has something to do with the way we're taught, to take everything as it comes - the wondrous and the awful alike - and that happiness and sadness alike are fleeting. 'When all else is gone, the flowers still grow' - have you ever heard of something like that? There are many ways to grieve, I suppose, and not all of them are grave."

Finchstar blinked, then blinked again. His maw widened into a kit-like grin, and the leader began to chuckle softly, wiping a bittersweet tear from his eye. "How brash of me to imagine I knew how to handle sadness simply because I've dealt with it before." The grin grew permanent as Finchstar's smile widened. His yellow eyes sparkled like the sun as he gazed at Zinnia, utterly enamored with her outlook on life. "I am ever grateful for your presence here in WindClan, truly. Never once were you in need us, but perhaps we - the windblown cats of the moor - were in need of you." Finchstar gave the glowing she-cat a small but brave nod. He respected the cat in front of him now, he always had. However it never ceased to amaze him the knowledge that he didn't hold. It would be either arrogant or ignorant to imagine one cat could know everything. Finchstar had always been well aware of this fact, yet his curiosity remained roaring like a fire.

When all else is gone, the flowers still grow. "I have never once heard such a sentence Zinnia, but now I am wondering how I lived without it. It explains your steadfast nature, even as WindClan's camp was attacked three moons ago. I do believe I'll adopt the statement into my vocabulary, as well as my morals. I'm sure Barleytuft, of all cats, understands. The flowers will still grow." Finchstar gave a few more thoughtful nods, slowly, as he stared upon his dear friend's grave. A smile cracked his muzzle as he thought of Zinnia and her whimsy. Oh, how lucky they were to be blessed with her presence. "Zinnia." Finchstar stated. "I have an idea, if you'll entertain it."

"I believe WindClan would stand tall and proud regardless of my presence, Finchstar. And, well... Perhaps I was in need of you after all. There are more ways in life than just the ones I was raised to know," Zinnia answered. Her travels and eventual arrival to this forest full of clashing clans had taught her a great deal, after all - and had found its way into her heart, much more swiftly than expected. "As for the saying, it's something I've heard most of my life. I'd imagine that it's because most of our traditions, most of our lives, circle around the flowers. The passing of time, the names we are gifted. The only things that rival them in importance are the stars," she mused, looking up at the sky for just a moment. Something sacred to Clan and Garden alike, it would seem. "Though the stars aren't quite close enough to touch. An idea, you say? I don't see why not. What is it?"

Finchstar joined her gaze as Zinnia looked to the pale sky, seeing faint glimmers of nightly blazes that would show their face as the sun set. "A plausible insight, Zinnia. The stars are far, far away." He thought of Brookclover and WindClan's lives that had passed on over the moons. Part of Finchstar wished to join the stars in the sky - as he always did. But another part of him - perhaps the matured side, knew that the stars had to stay away. To be near Brookclover was to die, and to be near the stars was to accept StarClan's wrath. There was a border between the sky and the moor, one that Finchstar crossed often.

"My idea..." Finchstar crooned, pulled away from his musings. "Zinnia, if you could hold a warrior's name, what would it be? Do not feel that I imply you need a warrior name to be part of WindClan, that couldn't be farther than the truth. However I would be blessed by the honor of addressing you at the Tallrock, if warrior names were medals of honor, then stars Zinnia, you would have many."

Zinnia hummed softly, acknowledging his words. The thought had crossed her mind, time and again, to bear a warrior's title, but each time her loyalty to her first home had held strong. Now that Finchstar himself asked her, however, she thought it over in a somewhat different light. "Well," she mused after a moment, "I suppose that would be a question best suited for you, Finchstar. From what I understand, it's typically the leader that gifts a warrior's true name, is that not so?"

A moment's silence, and no more than that, passed as she thought things over once more. "Though I suppose... If I had to think of something... Ah, no, I suppose I don't know," she admitted at last. Stars and dreams and flowers danced across her thoughts, but the stars were sacred and she held flowers to her name as it was. Dreams, perhaps, and wishes; but she held fast to her initial belief. In these clans, it was a leader's place to gift a warrior's true name. Not all of their traditions made sense, but she thought this one in particular rather sweet.