something else was lost [solo]

The rich red-violet of the setting sun illuminated the ghostly shape of the near-full moon as evening began to overtake the moor, washing the grasses in scarlet and slowly darkening them as the sun began to disappear. Clovertwist's silver pelt glistened in the shifting light, washed out with a dull bronze. His pale amber eyes gazed sightlessly into intangible thought, his expression somber as he stood staring towards the moon, seeing without seeing. His kinked tail was aching this night, but it wasn't the ache of his tail that kept him from seeking his nest - or any resting spot. His heart hurt more deeply than any injury he'd ever faced from the dog that nearly took his life as an apprentice. The moon reflected in his eyes, a painful memory of the moonlight that had washed over the deaths of his loved ones; he blinked and drew it into focus, staring at it sadly. Another Gathering would begin tomorrow. What would it hold?

The previous Gathering had held the murder of Ivystar, Flintstar, and Oakstar, the near-murder of the now comatose Morningdove, and the death of elderly Graybriar to the plague of the Righteous Few. The Gathering before that had consisted of Finchstar's execution. Before that was a warning. It seemed that the full moon held nothing good. Even when The Righteous Few was barely a flicker of rebellion in StarClan, it seemed, the forest-wide meeting of the Clans seemed to result only in anger and accusation. Clovertwist wasn't sure he wanted to attend Gatherings anymore, but his Clan would... would need support at the next one. All it could get. Who knew what the other Clans were feeling after everything? Would hostilities be higher despite how they had all been required to work together to avoid execution? Based on everything he'd experienced in the past, he guessed so.

After a long while of standing still, Clovertwist moved out, padding off across the moor. He needed to hunt... to think, to clear his mind. The past moon since the battle had been full of sorrow he couldn't place. He'd been a meager warrior, barely hunting, barely succeeding when he did hunt. Border patrols were fine, but he somehow felt he did little to help. His siblings and nephews and nieces - save for Morningdove - were all fine even in the wake of Graybriar's death. Why, then, did he feel so alone? He wasn't alone - not with kin and Clan around him. He did his best not to face the darkness alone - something his father, Barleytuft, had once expressed a deep sadness for - yet the darkness had found him nonetheless. He and Morningdove and Ferretdance and all the Clans had bound together to face the oncoming storm, but the storm had found them nonetheless. He was so powerless... as powerless as his ancestors had been, while other ancestors tried to tear everything he loved apart.

Clovertwist found himself in the flower field after some time. He hadn't realized he'd traveled all that way, but flowers washed in the dullness of night were surrounding him when he came to his senses, gazing around. His eyes softened immediately. Goldengale and I were going to take more walks here... She's not really in any shape to now, is she? Her poor tail had been injured in the battle; he knew all too well that only time could reveal the extent of the damage that had been done. Besides, she was mourning the loss of their mother, too. There just... wasn't time for things like this in a Clan. The siblings had hoped, naively made the promise, but they should've known better. Clovertwist could've guessed that the plans would fall through by the intervention of... well, Clan life.

There was a sudden rustle, and Clovertwist's claws were out immediately, head twisting towards the sound. No threat had found him; a hare bounded obliviously into the open. Instincts took over Clovertwist's movement as his body seamlessly twisted and launched in the creature's direction. In the same heartbeat it had twisted to see him. It scrambled away from him with a panicked huff of air; however, it was unable to recover from its blundering entrance. Clovertwist rocketed towards it and slammed his paws hard into its shoulders, sending it rolling. It scrabbled for a second, but the skilled WindClan warrior was on it immediately, grasping it by the neck and biting down hard. There was a satisfying click and then the creature went limp in his teeth. Panting only slightly through its fur, Clovertwist stood for a moment listening to the underbrush as it settled around him. The light of day was gone now; the moon was slowly rising higher in the sky, but it was long before moon-high. Clovertwist found a spot for the hare and buried it, rubbing against the stalks of grasses near it and noting to come by before he went back to camp.

Clovertwist attempted to catch a hare and succeeded, using 3 stamina.

Clovertwist
80/80 HP
237/240 SP (-3)

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

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'Hunting Dice' : 2

With the fresh-kill placed in hiding, Clovertwist turned back to the flower field stretched out in a vast expanse before him. He felt a little better with the success of the first happenstance hunt of the night, some of his sour mood already lightened. Still, things were unchanged. A nearly full moon hung over him, as did the obligation of attending the Gathering to ensure WindClan presented itself with strength despite the hardships of the last two moons. Surely the other Clans would expect the leader to be named "Ravenstar" regardless of what StarClan - or, seemingly, some part of StarClan - had recently done. The words that the ThunderClan leader, Leopardstar, had spoken had brought no comfort to Clovertwist whatsoever. How could their heavenly ancestors have been so... so wrong and corrupted? They were meant to always know the path, to say what was right... If The Righteous Few had won, would the Clans have been expected to follow their Code? Would the Clans have eventually come to believe they were right?

It was so much power - so much power Clovertwist had never realized they'd given StarClan - and it terrified him to think that the Clans could be twisted by StarClan as much as by themselves. He had known his whole life that their ancestors weren't infallible, but this... this had wounded his heart. The fragility of the Clans, even amid their steadfast victory against The Righteous Few, had been made clearer than it had ever been before. Not only could living cats be twisted by themselves and their own morals, but they could be convinced by the ancestors they were made to praise that they were right to act in deceit and corruption. The WindClan tom trudged through the flowers, trying to let that moment of peace he'd felt while hunting return to him again, but tumultuous thoughts pulled it from his reach. He sighed, missing the peculiar wisdom of his short-lived companion, Mink.

The tom had died of illness in newleaf. It made no sense; it was unfair. But it seemed that was Clan life. Clovertwist had pulled him in, assuring him companionship and acceptance, and he had died even in the paws of their capable medicine cats. Mink, the loner kit, had helped Clovertwist recover from his father's death... He'd had no one to help him recover from Mink's death, but he had clung to both his father and the young tom's wisdom and tried to carry on. Then Graybriar died, and Morningdove was maimed. It didn't seem to matter if he was there for others - if others were there for him: they all fell, together or alone.

Clovertwist snorted coldly at the dark thought and abruptly changed direction, his pale amber eyes glinting in the deepening night. He knew he should be happy to love and protect his Clan and kin, but the constant loss despite his best efforts was wearing on him. Defiance against injustice was becoming just as draining as acceptance of it. Clovertwist thought of his life, and his Clan, and the code, with a sad, thoughtful expression. The forest had fought to defend the right to enforce the code the way they saw fit, and what would they do with it? Would they continue to fear StarClan? Would they shun kittypets and loners, half-Clan cats and lovers? Even Clovertwist didn't know what he should do anymore. Finchstar - his mentor, his dear friend, like a second father - had died, a martyr for love, but the warrior code hadn't changed. Leaders would change... Opinions would change. Some would support the code above all else. When a leader expected him to shun the impure, would he be expected to follow? Would he be able to?

No. He wouldn't.

For Graybriar, his mother, whom StarClan themselves had sent to WindClan only to be struck down by a corrupted fragment of the ancestors seasons later for obeying their will. For his siblings and nephews and nieces who all bore SkyClan blood for her actions. For Dappleshine and Raventail, who struggled against stigma and loyalty to strive to be better. For Zinnia, an intelligent traveler with skill and honor. For Ploverpuddle, who had been borne to two Clans and made to choose between them. For everyone else in WindClan - past, present, and future - who had found their place, Clovertwist would never be able to obey a leader or deputy who demanded him to be loyal to the code above all else.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Clovertwist worried what such a thought meant. He remembered his warrior vow: to uphold the code, to protect and defend the Clan, even at the cost of his life. Was simply thinking these thoughts breaking that vow? No... but he would act on the thoughtss, he knew, if the chance arose, just as he had acted the past few moons in Morningdove's revolution. He felt his eyes stinging with tears and scowled, blinking against them. If he was a warrior that would not uphold the warrior code when told, what sort of warrior did that make him?

There was another rustle, and Clovertwist ducked slightly, eyes widening to gaze intently into the shadowy clumps of grasses and flowers around him. A slip of silver showed between two stalks of tall daisies. The warrior recognized a mouse. Small, but still food, and a welcome distraction from his concerns. He dashed forward, bolting through the grass stalk in which it hid, to slam his paws on the earth over it. He felt it crumple beneath his paws, snuffed easily. He removed his paws and stared down at it, heart beating in his ears.

Clovertwist attempted to catch a mouse and succeeded, using 3 stamina.

Clovertwist
80/80 HP
234/240 SP (-3)

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

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'Hunting Dice' : 3

The death of the mouse wouldn't mean much - not really. There were others scattered throughout the forest, truly countless in any number of lifetimes. Sometimes there were more of them... sometimes there were fewer... but there had been mice in the forest since before even the Clans settled there. It seemed unlikely that the Clans would ever eliminate them completely if they hadn't after all this time. Would the same prove true of the Righteous Few - of StarClan? Or WindClan? The strict enforcers of the code had been curbed, living and dead, but at what cost? For how long? The Clan cats had worked with their ancestors to crush the ancestors that would oppress them - murder them for "honor" - but a movement of that magnitude didn't just disappear with the turn of the moon. A few vile killers had been banished to darkness, but how many cats had seen the dark light on display and been attracted by it? How many living Clan cats were burning slowly for the same sort of wretched justice now?

Clovertwist rolled the mouse over under his paw, considering it with heavy limbs. If he was a warrior that would not uphold the warrior code when told, if he were demanded to choose the code over love, what sort of warrior did that make him? His leader would never ask it of him, he knew, and yet... He shook his silver head, a tear dripping to disappear into the mossy soil. The silver tabby lifted the fresh-kill and returned to the hare he'd taken down earlier, unburying it only long enough to drop the mouse in with it. Then he turned, looking to the sky. It was a deep, dark blue now, glistening with starlight that was dulled by the near-full moon. "Dad... Mom... How do I do this?" he asked quietly, barely audible over the wind rustling through the grasses. "How do I serve a Clan I'm not strong enough to protect? H-How can I keep anyone safe? How... How do I keep me sane?"

He turned his head from the sky, looking down at the flowers around him. They whispered and said nothing at all, but the sound soothed him. More tears fell from his eyes. "When... When I went to the Moonstone, grandmaw Amberheart said to me that healing takes... time. I'd heal someday, but it would take time. That I was enough for WindClan... That I should be enough for me." He shook his head slightly. "But I'm never enough for me. Or WindClan. I-I... I don't think I ever will be." He went silent, drooping his head and closing his eyes against the sadness. I can't uphold the warrior code if it will hurt my Clan, and if I can't uphold the warrior code then... then I can't be a warrior. Was that it, then? Was that the answer? Was it better to fail his Clan now, when peace had found them, rather than when chaos had descended upon them once more?

Clovertwist shook his head again, gazing towards the full moon and the pale stars beside it. This wasn't the sort of decision to make in a night. He had discovered within himself that somethig was lost long before the battle, but he hadn't identified the loss until nearly a moon after the war was won: Clovertwist had lost his faith. What room did any Clan have for a faithless cat? Even after everything, there were good cats in the heavens, and some cats would continue to follow them blindly... Maybe once Galestar had been a good cat, too. Clovertwist would be a hindrance to WindClan's faith and fortitude if they knew how little he believed in the stars and his vow and himself.

This wasn't the sort of decision to make in a night. The silver tabby tom sighed and bent over, unearthing the hare and mouse and scooping them up. He'd had enough fresh air. He didn't like where his thoughts had taken him - he couldn't tell if they were insecure and frightening, or enlightening, or... or both. He couldn't tell if he felt better or worse. He just didn't know. With the furry fresh-kill clamped in his teeth, Clovertwist turned back towards camp, his kinked tail low. At least he'd have something positive to contribute when he returned home. He realized with mild surprise, and a little warmth, that he'd had more success hunting alone than in the patrols of the last moon. Without thinking about it purposefully, some part of him noted that he'd need to be good at hunting alone if ever he were to leave the life of a warrior. He felt a twinge of shame in his belly and tucked the thought into hiding, swiftly making his way back across the moor to the WindClan camp - the only place he'd ever called home.