A Whisper to the Mourning Dove

The inevitability of the twin powers of Time and Fate was something that Morningdove had, eventually, come to terms with- not out of desire, but simply necessity. Time was the wind - it could be gentle and kind, or harsh and biting; it could be learned, and adapted to, and travelled with; but it could not be stopped. To stand against Time was to stand against the wind: impressive, but ultimately futile. And to oppose Fate, simultaneously comforting and foreboding, just out of reach no matter how far a cat jumped? That was to stand against the stars: not just futile, but actively dangerous. And yet, she'd done just that. Morningdove was only in this predicament because she'd chosen to fight against the stars, to oppose the highest powers and put her life on the line for the noble, naive cause of peace and love.

It had taken her a long time to adjust, but that was the one thing she had plenty of. Moons had passed since the events of the Gathering, each day merging with the last to form a monolith of events in which, no matter how much she might plead to the stars, Morningdove had no part to play. Kits she had never laid eyes on had grown into full-fledged warriors (under the mentorhood of the new deputy, no less), cats she had known since birth had left or joined Silverpelt's ranks like withering flowers, and even the forest itself had begun to change, tall plumes of smoke allegedly rising from the south under the sweltering heat. While the warrior slept in her own private Avalon, the world continued to breathe. For what else could it do? Refuse to turn until one cat rose from her grave three moons after her heroic sacrifice?

At the very least, she hadn't given up her future for nothing. And she hadn't been forgotten, even so many moons later, even despite her lack of contribution to the Clan. Even so, that she was still being kept dormant, alive but not living, worried her; not for herself (for trivial things such as self-concern and self-worth had faded long ago), but for WindClan. In fairer times, perhaps it made sense to spare those resources that could be spared, and offer care to those that could be cared for. When prey was plentiful and skilled healers were abundant, it was little concern to keep the fallen warrior in that interstice between the stars and land, where only the wind - and those with a paw in both worlds - resided. But as news of Aspenheart's death and the troubles that plagued the forest eventually made its way to Morningdove, she couldn't help but wonder one simple, piercing question: When will this end, one way or the other?

It was unusual. The blandness in which Softbreeze whispered. It had become her new normal. Although Morningdove could not see, the evident sorrow in her voice was enough to tell Softbreeze was not well. Far from it, actually. All of WindClan knew this day would come, it was inevitable. And yet, Softbreeze wanted more time. Was that selfish of her? To beg, and plead, and wish for more time with the deceased? How was it fair that some lives could be cut too short? Was their a point to life, if you were to eventually die? And if all your achievements were never enough? What could be done then? Would you be remembered, or forgotten like a mouse abandoned in the forest for a juicier piece of prey? Forgotten like memories of bad times? Forgotten just like all those cats who'd lived so long ago nobody knew their names. Did the Righteous Few do what they did to be remembered? So they wouldn't fade? Did wanting to be important make them bad?


Questions like these filled the molly's mind daily as she went about her everyday life. Should she strive for the stars? Even if she fell miles down from the sky? Was there a purpose? A reason, a trick to living? Or was it just a game? You enter, you play, you die, you leave. It was the same for every cat, what made her special? Was she special? She watched as WindClan moved on. It was unnerving, really. How the death of a beloved cat seemed to be so ineffective. Yet, here she was, stuck in the past. Unable to cope. Swamped with memories she didn't want.

There was a price to be paid; an expensive one. What would it take to be remembered? Did she want to be remember? She.... She wasn't sure. Cats like Morningdove and Finchstar would go down in history, willing to sacrifice everything for what's right. She'd joined in. She'd fought back before Morningdove was even born. And yet.... They claimed her. They claimed Finchstar. They'd claimed cats who'd only been loyal to vows they'd made.

(this takes place the morning after olive's leader ceremony)

Having continued to keep true to her word, Olivestar had visited her first apprentice every day as she lay comatose in the medicine den, usually just chatting idly about mundane things about hunting patrols, chasing off predators and trespassers, and the like. The last big announcement had been that Zinnia was now her mate, and the new leader was sure that if Morningdove ever woke up, that she'd keep a watchful eye on Zinnia for a little bit.

She chuckled as the thought crossed her mind, and with the news that she had in mind, she half expected that they would shock the comatose she-cat right back to wakefulness. That earned another chuckle as she padded into the den, settling down beside that cat that she considered a daughter to her, and tucked her paws underneath her, giving Softbreeze a respectful nod. The shiny green stone she'd found several moons ago had been kept near Morningdove, which Olivestar was grateful for, and with a smile, and the lives thrumming with power within her, she began to speak.

"Hey, Morningdove, it's me, well... Olivestar now. I had this whole elaborate thing to give you the news about what had happened, but then I realized that when I introduced myself, the jig would be up, so..." she paused to chuckle. "Long story short, I'm the leader of WindClan now. Raventail decided to step down and return to being a warrior, and now it's my turn to take the lead."

She paused for a few moments to let the information sink in, watching the sunlight fall through the entrance to the den and shine off of the stone sitting by the apprentice's chest, and off of her fur, so carefully groomed and well kept.

"Raventail took me aside a day or so ago to tell me that he was stepping down, and it was pretty straightforward after that. We went to the Moonstone, Raventail returned his leader lives, and then I received mine. I saw Elmskip and Arcayus, my fathers, who both died before you were born, Cobaltfire and Wolftrot, the StarClan cat that healed you at the gathering, and her brother, Larkflight, you knew Larkflight, she was Wildflower's mother and Smallbean's mate. I also saw Dacedream, Dappleshine's daughter in ThunderClan, Aspenheart, Barleytuft, and last, but certainly not least, I saw Finchstar."

She paused for a few more moments, flicking her tail as she gauged what Morningdove's reaction would have been if she'd been awake.

"He keeps a close eye on the moor, and certainly hasn't forgotten about us. He loves us as much as he did in life, if not more. I don't think he blames anyone for his death, especially not you."

Olivestar fell silent once more, instead opting to spend a few moments grooming the fur on Morningdove's head, tongue rasping over the scar that ran between the apprentice's eyes. In the beginning, there had been hope that she'd wake up after being healed by StarClan themselves, but that hope had dwindled as time progressed. The new leader refused to let go of that hope, and when she'd finished grooming her almost-daughter's head, she murmured,

"Please wake up soon, if you have any say in when. We all miss you."

With that, she stood, giving another respectful nod to Softbreeze before padding out of the den and into the sunlight.

If her ancestors had granted her life (or what little life she had), then it was the living that had provided Morningdove with something far more vital: a tiny spark of hope, flickering and wavering in the wind, but strengthened by it, not weakened. Sometimes, a guardian angel was not a celestial figure sent down from on high, but simply a cat with a kind heart and loving soul; and sometimes that was all someone needed to hold on. (Not that Morningdove had much choice in the matter, of course- she couldn't join StarClan's ranks even if she wanted to. She'd simply have to wait, for one ending or another.) There were some problems, of course, that a shining spirit alone could not solve, some poisons to which the only remedy was time, not simply hope. No matter how brightly one burned-- Let's not take that line of thought any further, given SkyClan's circumstances. Best not to play with fi-- best not to tempt fate. But at any rate, Morningdove could attribute not just her continued survival, but her continued sanity, to the near-constant visits of Softbreeze and Olivestone, who both undoubtedly had better things to be doing with their lives than this- so that they chose to spend their days talking to a cat who hadn't so much as twitched for moons was touching.

If ever there was a cat more kind, more sweet, more gentle and more loving than Softbreeze, then Morningdove had yet to meet them; WindClan's medicine cat had always had been so much more than she gave herself credit for. Morningdove knew it; Downtuft knew it; even Aspenheart, may his spirit run freely, had eventually seen the pure, unceasing radiance which Softbreeze possessed, which shone through with every word she spoke, every moment she lived. The molly's presence was one of the few constants in Morningdove's life, one of the few things which she could be sure of even despite her circumstances. She'd added it to her mental list of immutable facts: the sun rose each morning; the wind blew through the moors; and Softbreeze was near, a guardian angel in the shape of a cat. Without Softbreeze, Morningdove wouldn't even have been alive; she had nothing to apologise for, nothing to atone for, and yet... The two of them were kindred spirits, in a way. Both lived to bring kindness to others, to make the forest a better place in one way or another; but as far as Morningdove was concerned? Her dormancy was simply a reverberation of her own choices, an inevitable consequence that not even the stars themselves could remedy; so Softbreeze had not failed her, but had succeeded, time and time again, in what mattered most. Not the resurrection of an almost-dead martyr, irrelevant outside of the echo of her actions, but the furtherance of the cause, the flying high of the banner. Softbreeze had done enough and then some.

Morningdove had always tried to be a beacon of hope, a brilliant symbol of inspiration in a time of uncertainty; and yet, a beacon was nothing without light and warmth, and it had always been Olivestone who excelled at those, her visits piercing through the monotonous haze of each passing day like the sun itself breaking through the clouds and warming the wind. Her presence truly was a remedy, a comfort immeasurable even in times like these; especially in times like these. Olivestone was wise, and kind, and far stronger than she ever gave herself credit for, and of every cat in the Clan, in the whole forest? It had always been Olivestone who would be the most likely to bring that hope to others, to nurture it and let it grow into a Clan that not just existed, but flourished. Perhaps Morningdove had once been a luminary, but even then, like the echo of a beautiful songbird, she'd learned from the best, and her mentor was that and so much more. Olivestone had always been the guiding star by which Morningdove had plotted her course through life, so when Raventail had chosen Olivestone as his deputy, it was not with confusion or irritation that her apprentice reacted, but simply approval and pride; and when the deputy ascended to Olivestar just a few moons after? WindClan could ask for no finer leader. And that she made time to visit her former apprentice so often despite her ever-increasing duties, to share tales of her escapades and break the news of her elevation to leader before even the Clan knew? Morningdove could ask for no finer friend, and if appreciation could be measured in prey, then Olivestone would be fed for all nine of her lives and beyond.

She'd make it through this. If not for herself, then at the very least, for her Clan, and for those who shared their light with her even still. For Olivestone, and Softbreeze, and all the others who still cast their hopes and thoughts her way. And perhaps it wouldn't be as simple as that, but if it made no difference how high she flew, then Morningdove would soar with the wind, lifted by the wings of those who, somehow, still believed. After all, a shining spirit alone had gotten her this far, hadn't it?