follow the light [windclan's return, open]

ooc: takes place immediately after May Gathering 2020

---

One moon ago, WindClan had returned from the Gathering defeated, temporarily undone. Tonight, Raventail led them through the moor as slowly as he had then. None of the blood in his fur belonged to him—he’d gotten out of the battle physically unscathed—but many of his Clanmates were walking on half-treated injuries, and Olivestone carried an unconscious Morningpaw. However badly they wanted to, they couldn’t make a mad dash for camp. Just in case, Raventail kept his nose to the air in search of predators or any stragglers who might be aligned with the Righteous Few. The moor was blessedly silent. He didn’t put much stock in StarClan’s protection, especially now, but…maybe their old Clanmates who’d come to fight alongside them were still watching.

The gorse tunnel loomed in front of him. He ducked through it, finally letting himself hurry forward. The sight of his Clanmates’ nests, some empty, some full, all more or less how they’d looked when WindClan had left, greeted him. At last, they were home. More than anything, he wanted to sleep. In his own nest, beside his mate and under the clear, open sky, where breathing came easily and watching his Clan was as simple as raising his head. It would’ve been easy to sit back, let himself collapse, trust Aspenheart or Olivestone take care of things. But he’d let that happen too many times already.

Raventail flexed his paws against the soft newleaf grass, then raised his muzzle. ”The Righteous Few are gone,” he called. It hardly qualified as a yowl; his weakness from the StarClan-given illness combined with post-battle exhaustion was catching up with him, and he’d run out of reasons to keep fending it off. Thankfully, the camp was quiet enough that he was sure he’d be heard. ”They came to the Gathering, and we fought back. It’s over.” As always, there was more to the story. In the moment, though, that seemed like the most important part. They could all rest under the certainty that…that most of them would wake up in the morning. His gaze drifted over the crowd of returning WindClanners in search of his deputy and her apprentice. ”We’re safe.”

The trek back to camp from Fourtrees seemed to stretch on for ages longer than normal, the exhaustion from prolonged battle and the dead weight of Morningpaw on Olivestone's back weighing her down. Head down, she plodded along, the adrenaline of battle having long left her and the thrill of victory having worn off soon after leaving the blood-stained clearing, and she barely registered passing through the gorse tunnel and into camp. Despite her physical exhaustion, her mind raced, worry at how her Clanmates not present at the Gathering would take the news, worry about how long WindClan's recovery would take, but most of all, worry about Morningpaw, and how long it would take for her to wake up, if she ever would. That thought alone nearly made the deputy's legs buckle underneath her, and she made a beeline for the medicine cat den, and gently laid her comatose apprentice down into a nest, gently curling her up comfortably upon the moss. Tears welling up in her eyes, she gently licked Morningpaw's forehead, and whispered,
"I'm sorry I didn't protect you more."

Before her tears spilled over, she lifted her head and exited the den, nodding to Aspenheart and Softpaw when she saw them, letting them know that Morningpaw was now in their care. Raventail was opening his mouth to speak, and she caught his eye as she glanced around for her, nodding back at him. She quickly took place beside him as he spoke, giving brief news of battle and victory, and most importantly, safety. She allowed herself to smile softly at the sense of relief that she now felt, and she added on,
"Real StarClan showed their faces at the end of the battle. They fought with us, and turned the tide to our victory. Our only..." she paused, the word bitter on her tongue, "...casualty, as loathe as I am to call it that, was Morningpaw. She took what was intended to be a fatal blow, but StarClan smiled upon her, and she has been healed of her physical wounds. However, she's..." she took another deep breath to steady herself, "...she's now comatose. We don't know if or when she'll wake up. Until she wakes up, she'll be in Aspenheart and Softpaw's care. However, I will have you know that the cat responsible was struck down with my own claws, and vengeance was achieved."

With the news broken to the Clan, she looked around at her gathered Clanmates for the cat she'd grown fond of, and was relieved once more to see that Zinnia had made it through the battle seemingly unscathed. Remembering Cobaltfire's words, she steeled herself to actually seek Zinnia's presence, and to tell her how she felt, sooner rather than later. However, right now, she needed rest, but maybe she could rest beside the pretty she-cat.

Mentally shaking her head, she turned her attention back to her gathered Clanmates, watching and waiting for their reactions.

Zinnia had spent much of the battle guarding Galestar and talking down those who had approached her, and between that and the fact that she was miraculously uninjured she had little trouble keeping up with her Clanmates on the way back, despite the lingering effects of the Righteous Few's illness. Still, she trailed toward the back, not bothering to run ahead; the fight was over, and she wasn't chasing anything more than the chance to rest for a while, and perhaps think over everything that had happened in detail.

For now, though, she was content to walk behind the rest of WindClan, listening in silence as Raventail called out that the Righteous Few had been defeated. She watched as Olivestone delivered Morningpaw to the medicine den, as she returned and continued to speak. And if the words barely reached her ears, and she was a little more distracted by how pretty the deputy was bathed in starlight, then she could simply attribute it to still being just a little bit delirious.

There were so many lingering questions, but each one could wait. The immediate threat was gone, the danger passed. Now, her priorities shifted: sleep called to her in the same way as the wind often did, a metaphorical voice guiding her paws as she found her usual sleeping-space, finally feeling at peace as she curled up on the ground.

Thoughts were a powerful thing. They could be more vicious than any predator, or kinder than any queen. Wiser than any star, or (in Morningpaw's case especially) dumber than any kit. It was a thought that had set this whole chain of events in motion; a small group of StarClan's finest deciding, against all reason, that they would bring terror to the forest to enforce the Code they were above. And it was a thought that had prevented it; a single, young apprentice, realising that Someone needs to do something, -- and then the far scarier concept, That someone is me. And what started as a quiet, concerned thought had grown into a battle-cry louder than any storm. A cry to stand together against StarClan; to pursue peace for the forest, no matter what it cost; and, above all, to stand strong, no matter the odds. A protest against injustice spread like a forest-fire, catching alight all in its path. And, like a forest-fire, it had to burn out eventually, and its wrath was destructive. Morningpaw had put her faith in the cats of the Clans, and she had hopped to and fro, organising moonlit meetings and tossing the spark of hope onto the fuel of rebellion. (For what else could rebellions be built on?) And, of course, she had hoped for a bloodless revolution, but the apprentice knew that, no matter how powerful a thought might be, words alone could not solve all problems. They were warriors, after all, and to war they went, against the stars themselves (or at the very least, a small group of them). So though she had hoped none of WindClan would fall in battle, it was not something she could bring herself to expect; from even the simplest tactical perspective, the odds of complete survival were astronomically low. Most likely a handful of cats- two, three, four- would fall in battle, and be accepted into StarClan for their valor. And though Morningpaw was aware of this, she nevertheless refused to accept it; and given the odds? The least she could do was try and minimise casualties.

And so, she did. She had thrown herself at her nemesis, heedless of her own safety, and she had been fully prepared to give her life to defend her Clanmates. And yet- WindClan had, somehow, escaped the brunt of the Righteous Few's fury, it seemed. Though motionless, Morningpaw's ears locked onto her mentor's words- Our only casualty. Nobody in the Clan was dead, or even seriously injured-- she'd... succeeded. Against all odds, she'd protected her Clan, and her gambit had paid off. Everyone was fine, and everyone would continue to be fine-- except Morningpaw herself, of course, but she'd been aware of the risks, and this, it seemed, was her divine retribution- to be trapped in the shell of her body, a ghost of her former self, stripped of her words and left only with the thoughts that had nearly brought the forest to ruin. StarClan had even seen fit to reduce her pain to a dull ache, a faint feeling of discomfort all across her motionless body. This was her punishment; she had no right to complain. She didn't want to, either. She wanted to say,
"I'm sorry, for forcing you all into this position."
She wanted to say,
"Thank you for standing with me, and for taking up claws against the Righteous Few."
She wanted to say,
"I love you all."
But Morningpaw, of course, said nothing.

On the way back, she'd been silent. Silently, she padded up beside her black pelted leader.

"Raventail....?"

The tiny whisper came from the small she-cat, who, one second, had not been there, and then the next had. She looked pleadingly into his eyes, her gaze searching. "Morningpaw deserves her Warrior name. She.... She won't die; I refuse to let her, but... But if it comes to it, she should enter StarClan a Warrior, in name and spirit." Softpaw mewed gently, and didn't give the tom a chance to answer as she padded away towards her den, where Morningpaw lay.

"I'm sorry, Morningpaw. I won't let you die, I swear. We... We won, Morningpaw. We won. Ivystar and Flintstar are alive. No cat died, except the Righteous Few. Galestar... Galestar helped us. She's good. Some old StarClan leader sent her to a place called The Mist. No WindClan cats were seriously hurt. This one ThunderClan cat died, but I saw her fighting Oakstar, and then his mate retaliated, so I guess she was working against the Clans. StarClan cats came. I saw my father, and Dappleshine met her parents. It ended happily." Softpaw whispered, laying down beside the tabby she-cat. "I'll be here whenever you need me, Morningpaw. I'm not giving up on you."

As Softpaw spoke, Olivestone overheard the words that were intended for Raventail, and she found herself nodding as the apprentice left for the medicine den. She saw Softpaw curl up around Morningpaw and begin whispering to her, and she knew that she was in safe paws. In the past half-moon, Olivestone had seen just how dedicated Morningpaw was to the idea of peace, and in one of her long nights spent awake, she'd thought of the perfect warrior name for her apprentice.

While she knew that Raventail would normally be the one to carry out warrior ceremonies, Olivestone knew that she wanted to conduct this one, after all, it wouldn't be the average warrior ceremony. Turning to Raventail, she murmured, loud enough to where only he could hear,
"I think Softpaw's right. Morningpaw does deserve her warrior name. I... do have a request, though. Since Morningpaw's my apprentice, could I conduct her ceremony? I feel like it's the least I could do for her."

Returning from the medicine cats’ den without Morningpaw, Olivestone filled in the gaps Raventail had left in his explanation. Unsurprisingly, no one seemed to have questions; the majority of WindClan had been there. A small voice reached his ears. He blinked. ”Softpaw?” As she explained, Raventail returned her gaze, clearly fighting off sleep, but just as clearly listening. In truth, he’d had a similar idea. Morningpaw had rallied cats from across the Clans, even stubborn, isolated SkyClan; in the final moments before the Righteous Few’s appearance, she’d managed to win over Flintstar and Ivystar themselves. Then there was her insistence on fighting Lavenderbreeze—alone. Though Morningpaw had never formally promised her life to her Clan, she’d done her best to give it away. That duel had nearly made a martyr of her. It was rabbit-brained and reckless, and it had finally ignited the sparks of battle that saved them.

As leader, only a leader, Raventail couldn’t offer peace or healing. He had only one thing he could give in return: an acknowledgement of her courage in a language every soul in the forest would understand. Something she’d have whether she opened her eyes here or in StarClan.

Softpaw left before he could answer; he saw her tail vanish into the medicine cats’ den. His ears turned to catch Olivestone’s whisper. Another agreement…and a request. To him, it seemed simple. Morningpaw deserved a warrior’s name, Olivestone deserved to give it to her. Raventail’s eyes found Spotlake and Crowspirit first, almost as if asking for permission. No matter his rank, he hesitated to overstep his bounds; Morningpaw was still their daughter. But he’d always been eager to see bonds beyond blood, too—how could he not be?—and so he turned toward his deputy with a weary smile. ”She’s more than earned it,” he replied quietly. ”Of course you can hold her ceremony. You’ve got a name in mind?”

A small smile crossed Olivestone's face as Raventail agreed to her request, and she glanced over to where Softpaw was tending to Morningpaw. With a small nod, she murmured back, "I do."

She raised her voice and called out to her Clanmates, padding towards the medicine den.
"Before we all turn in for the night and get our well-deserved rest, I have one more thing to do. Softpaw was right in her declaration that Morningpaw deserves the name of a warrior, and her warrior name she shall get."

She paused for a moment to let her Clanmates gather, and continued to speak.
"Morningpaw has led an eventful life up until this point, and has proven her loyalty time and time again, not just to WindClan, but to the forest as a whole. While she cannot take a vow of loyalty in words, her actions have proven that she has accepted the oath in other terms."

She took a deep breath, steadying herself for the return to trusting her ancestors.
"StarClan, I ask that look down on this apprentice. She has worked hard to learn your noble code, and has proven that she is willing to give her life in it's service." she turned her attention to the comatose she-cat. "With my authority, from this day forward, your name will be Morningdove. As the dove is symbolic of peace, you've given everything to bring peace to the forest in the wake of the Righteous Few, and you have succeeded."

Olivestone stepped forward, and touched her nose to Morningdove's forehead, lingering a little bit longer, enough to whisper, "I'm proud of you."
Then the moment was over, and she stepped back, turning to the rest of the Clan. Lifting her head, she began the chant, though the words were tinged with sorrow, and came out more as a gentle call.
"Morningdove. Morningdove. Morningdove."

Morningdove.

"Thank you, Olivestone... It's perfect," the pale she-cat whispered, tears in her eyes. "Morningdove... Morningdove.. Morningdove!" Her chant started soft, quiet, but her last call of her dear friend's name was in a yowl, calling out to the stars themselves.

As if she was done, she lay her head back down beside the newly-named warrior. "Morningdove, Morningdove... I'll sit vigil with you. We'll guard the camp together in spirit." Softpaw murmured closing her eyes, her tail flicked over Morningdove, as if challenging anyone to try and separate them. Her name was symbolic. It was beauty. It was fitting of a cat who'd so strongly chased after peace. It was perfect.

Clovertwist, like a pawful of his Clanmates, had escaped the great battle at Fourtrees unscathed, physically speaking. He had sank his claws into a cat who never got the chance to sink claws back into him. He was safe. His sisters and brother were safe. His father was in StarClan, and StarClan - or at least some good parts of StarClan - had descended to defend the Clans they loved. As he entered the camp, though, he remembered the other words his father told him. His mother, Graybriar, would be dead when he went to the elders' den to see her. She was at peace and healthy in Silverpelt with his father again. The whole experience left him... numb. He saw the Clanmates who'd stayed home from the Gathering approaching with concern and alarm. Clovertwist moved slowly, certainly, but unwillingly, towards the den where his mother would now be dead. In the clearing, Raventail was explaining what had happened. Olivestone and his little sister Softpaw had disappeared into the medicine den with Morningpaw's body.

The dark-striped tabby puttered in the clearing for a short while, hearing Olivestone's proud speech, and her request. Raventail permitted the deputy to name a warrior. Clovertwist's tail, which was now drooping in a dull, constant ache, twitched slightly. Nothing would ever be the same - would it even be okay? The apprentice revolution leader was named an apprentice no longer. She would enter StarClan a warrior, if she were forced to enter it before she could wake. "Morningdove, Morningdove," Clovertwist mumbled listlessly along with his Clanmates. His dull pale amber eyes swept the clearing for his kin once more, and then he disappeared solemnly into the elders' den, the unpleasant stink of death an expected but still loathed presence. He had no intention of coming out again in the rising day.

The jubilation was short lived. It did not last the long walk home, and Aspenheart felt bogged down by the grief in WindClan's hearts. He knew, of course, that they would eventually come to accept the course of fate and continue on with their lives, but it seemed that even he had enough empathy to feel the burden of this heavy load. Olivestone addressed the camp. They were free, but at what cost?

Morningpaw became Morningdove as the battle-weary group watched on at the quite unofficial ceremony. Her issues were beyond anything Mintwhisker had taught him, and though he had been relieved to hear that she would not die, he hadn't the faintest idea of how to bring her back. He feared that she would eventually die, if not from her battle wounds, from her endless battle to keep breathing. Malnourishment was sure to be an issue. Damage, such as what Aspenheart endured as an apprentice, may prevent her from doing much more than sitting up straight. All he could really do was hope for their fallen warrior. "Morningdove, Morningdove."

Aspenheart hobbled to Softpaw's side, prodding her gently. "Tomorrow, we'll have warriors help us bring her to the den," he whispered as tenderly as he could muster without weeping. "We can discuss our options. For now, allow yourself this rest."

He saw Clovertwist make way towards the elders' den and understood rather grimly what he was going there to do. When he was ready to come out, Aspenheart decided, he'd have a delightful mix of juniper berries, thyme, chamomile, and honey waiting for him. He deserved honey.

Spotlake padded into camp walking closely to Morningpaw. She sat down where Morningpaw was laying. She listened as Morningpaw became Morningdove. A fitting name for my poor kit. "Morningdove, Morningdove."

This wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

This wasn't how any of this was supposed to happen.

What was supposed to happen was this: either Morningpaw won her battle, surviving with minimal injuries through the grace of StarClan and sheer luck- or she died, and ascended to the stars, and could watch over and protect her Clan from above. But at no point did the apprentice expect... this. For her to be struck unconscious, and- exist, in a state of permanent limbo, a paw on either side of the line between life and death. She'd thought, Maybe I'll die, and been perfectly accepting of this; for what better death could a warrior ask for than one in service of their Clan, and what better ending could there have been to her quest for peace than a heroic sacrifice? And she'd thought, Or maybe I'll be fine, - and that, too, would have been acceptable. Unlikely, but wonderful- she'd return to her Clan and continue with her duties, and her victory would have made amends for her failure to save Finchstar, her failure to find a peaceful resolution, her failure to- well. Prevent this. But at no point did she think, Maybe I'll be trapped in my own body, quite literally paralyzed by the consequences of my actions. (Honestly, before this, the apprentice wasn't even sure consequences existed for a cat like her- she'd gotten away with a lot over her moons, after all.) And once more, Morningpaw was reminded of two facts. The first, that life rarely goes according to plan-- and the second, that cats like herself get exactly what they deserve. And this... was that.

This isn't right. None of this is right. I tried to uphold the Code; I tried to protect and defend my Clan, even at the cost of my life. And look what happened because of it. Maybe nobody died, but you all suffered because of me.

She was no warrior, no matter what the kind souls of her Clanmates might think. A warrior is one who protects their Clan, who follows the Warrior Code, who brings their Clan forward into the light with every step they take. A warrior is responsible, mature, considered; a warrior does not burden their Clanmates, but uplifts them. Morningpaw was not a warrior, and she never would be; no, she was simply a fool masquerading as an apprentice, who had dared to have hope, and instead had brought wrath and ruin onto innocent cats. Cats like Dappleshine, who had lost her daughter to the stars and remained resolute; like Ploverpuddle, Raventail, Zinnia, who had all suffered through the plague and even still fought on. These cats were warriors; but Morningpaw, who had consistently displayed a reckless disregard for personal safety, a level of idiotic decision-making almost unheard of, the uncanny ability to endanger her friends and Clanmates time and time again? No, perhaps she had tried to do the right thing, but trying would not bring back Finchstar or Dacedream or the great amount of suffering her Clan had gone through. Trying would not return Ivystar, Flintstar and Oakstar's lost lives. And trying would not heal the rift between the stars and the forest - a rift which, even if she was not directly responsible for, she had most certainly widened. She had torn the silver pelt, bloodied her claws on the soft flesh of the clouds, and she had suffered for it... as had her Clan. And a warrior is not one who endangers their Clan.


I shouldn't even be Morningpaw, let alone Morningdove. I was an awful apprentice; I didn't listen, I broke the Code, I kept secrets from my mentor- I deserve exile, not elevation.

So Morningpaw, of course, said nothing- for how could she? Her body refused to respond to her commands, every muscle and bone in a state of painless sleep, the words hovering into her ears dull and faint. She said nothing, but she heard all; and Morningdove? Though it was a beautiful name - and one which, she reluctantly admitted, fit her rather well - it was not a name she had earned. In time, perhaps, the apprentice would wear it with pride - but an apprentice she remained, at least to herself. And from the somber mood of her Clanmates, from the faint aura of mirthless sorrow which had descended upon the camp even despite their Pyrrhic victory? Even they knew that this was no moment of triumph. She had given great thought to how this moment might go - to ascend to warriorhood had been her dream for as long as she had lived, after all. So perhaps Morningpaw had been naive and presumptuous to expect her name to be called out in pride and approval, just like every other warrior in the Clan. Instead? Well, this was the funeral of an apprentice, not the birth of a warrior, and her elegy had been written in blood on the grasses of Fourtrees.

I won't ask for forgiveness, or another chance, or even a mercy killing. Not that I could ask anyway. But- I'm sorry.

Ferretdance was truly exhausted as they got back to camp. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his nest and sleep, but he managed to find some energy to pay attention as Morningpaw became Morningdove. He purred, meeting Olivestone's eyes and blinking. She had made a good choice in her apprentice's warrior name. It was perfect for her.

"Morningdove, Morningdove!" His voice rose to join his Clanmates'.