twisting path [solo]

The full moon hung above the camp, casting a ghostly haze over the grass, sand, and gorse structured throughout. There was a clamor of excited voices chattering away at the entrance of the camp; a full moon meant a Gathering for the Clans, and WindClan and its warriors were huddling together preparing to depart for the meeting. Clovertwist saw Aspenheart and Softpaw waiting near Ravenstar and Olivestone. Both the leader and deputy looked more confident and prepared for this meeting than the ones prior; repetition was often useful for that kind of thing. The warrior himself sat at the edge of the camp near his waiting Clanmates, fidgeting anxiously. His pale amber eyes sought the deep yellow of Ravenstar’s, waiting uneasily for the signal to depart for the Gathering. He wasn’t waiting for the signal for himself, though - he wasn’t going to the Gathering. He’d already told his leader as much, and as always Ravenstar was understanding. The warrior didn’t intend to attend any more Gatherings… or any Clan meetings, for that matter. At least not for a while. As Clovertwist silently begged for Ravenstar to look his way, his gaze sought more than a sign: it sought understanding.

He didn’t mean to put the weight of his choice on Ravenstar’s mind right before he left to face the other Clans, but somehow Clovertwist didn’t think he could - or should - keep his final choice wholly secret. His leader understood what he was going through. Hopefully, then, he wouldn’t take what his warrior chose to do too personally. When at last Ravenstar looked his way, the tom’s breath caught in his throat for a moment. Clovertwist stared intently and meaningfully into Ravenstar’s eyes; the white-chinned black tom stared back for a long moment before he blinked softly in response, slowly letting his gaze shift to his followers again. Clovertwist’s breath left him in a slow, deep exhale as his leader looked away. He wasn’t sure if he had conveyed what he intended to, but it was all he could manage. He wouldn’t be able to put it into words now. The WindClan leader waved his tail and turned, signaling the Clan to leave at last and leading the way.

Clovertwist watched as his Clanmates filed into the gorse tunnel leading out of camp. His kinked tail twitched erratically, his expression distracted and sad as he watched the cats he loved leave into the night. When the last cat had trickled out of sight, the silver tabby tom immediately turned his head away, gazing out across the much less populated camp with a sharper somber expression. He looked at the ones who had remained at home with him, the rest of his Clanmates who chose to avoid the Gathering - because they were frightened, or tired, or sick, or injured, or whatever else. A part of his instinct warned that it was irresponsible and dishonorable to leave such a sparse camp even more empty; another part cautioned that it was dangerous and reckless to leave a protected camp alone for the unpredictable dangers of an open moor at night. A greater part of him, though, recognized that he couldn’t think here - he couldn’t decide here. He didn’t know how to be a warrior, and he didn’t know what the code meant, and The Righteous Few and the murder of Finchstar had made him realize he couldn’t just go back to normal.

His talk with Ravenstar had helped, but mostly it had made the tom more certain that he needed to leave to get a better perspective on Clan life and get a grip on himself. And so… tonight was the night. Clovertwist watched as his homebound Clanmates began to disperse, chatting among themselves or departing to rest - or attempt to rest, if their excitement for the return of their kin didn’t keep them up. His kinked tail twitched more. He took in a deep breath and stood, and immediately it felt like a stone had dropped in his stomach as his heart sped up. This is it. I’ve gotta leave and figure this out. Ravenstar will understand. The dark tom was the only certainty. Aspenheart, Goldengale, Softpaw, Downpaw, Ploverpuddle, and Ferretdance were… well, their feelings of anger or disappointment or grief were too frightening to consider. They wouldn’t help him make up his mind tonight. They still understood their value as warriors. They wouldn’t understand why Clovertwist needed to go.

The silver tabby tom slowly moved towards the camp entrance, staring out into the darkness after where the Gathering party was disappearing towards Fourtrees. His heart pounded in his ears, heart heavy with anxiety, as he watched them disappear once more, familiar friends and family who he might not see for some time. It was better this way, though. Clovertwist turned back towards his Clanmates in camp, finding them all quite content with their personal distractions. No one looked towards him; no one seemed to notice him. Somehow, that gave him a sense of peace. ”I’m gonna see them off,” Clovertwist voiced mildly to no one in particular. No one acknowledged his statement. That felt fine, too. The lean scarred warrior turned and slipped through the tunnel, shielded for a moment from the moonlight.

When he emerged on the moor again, his heart was still practically all he could hear. His pale paws felt heavy all of a sudden. Clovertwist hesitated, and a gentle, warm breeze picked up, gently heating his fur. It was soft; it was soothing. His tail stilled ever so slightly. The silver tom let his eyes sweep the moor. The Gathering party was out of sight already, but not unreasonably far away. They wouldn’t hear him, but he could catch up if he wanted. And the rest of the Clan… Clovertwist refused to look back to peer through the entrance tunnel. No second-guessing. He forced his feet forward, and the breeze seemed to carry him. One step. Another step. Two more steps. Clovertwist moved slowly at first, ears flicking back as if expecting someone to burst through the tunnel and catch him in the act, but when no one came he picked up speed. Five steps. Ten steps. The WindClan cat was a few fox-lengths away from the camp when he broke into a sprint…

… and broke his warrior vow, a WindClan cat, for now, no longer.