nobody's worried [closed]

Half a moon later, the kits were still missing. Raventail hadn’t wanted to blame the other Clans, and thankfully, the post-Gathering whispers he’d overheard proved him right. But that left its own problems. No single predator could be quick or coordinated enough to invade all five Clans without dropping so much as a hair; the odds of so many kits deciding to venture out of camp, and in the process leaving less of a trail than a patrol of experienced warriors, were even lower. Though he wasn’t a leader, the missing kits were as much his responsibility as they would have been a season ago. One of them was Zinnia’s. As for the other two… The whole Clan had seen how Deerhawk’s demeanor had changed when he’d heard he was going to be a father. As wonderful a feeling as it could be, Raventail had seen the other side of it. If he had his way, no one else would have to.

Leaf-fall’s sun set early. As the sky shifted from blue to brilliant orange, he headed through the gorse tunnel and out. Before long, the Lone Stump loomed ahead of him. He no longer had the stamina to investigate every nook and cranny of WindClan’s territory the way he would’ve liked to, but his eyes were as sharp as ever; there were ways to search the moor without crossing it. Crouching low against the withered grass, Raventail sprang. His leap fell the slightest bit short. He buried his claws in the ancient bark and, grunting, hauled himself up the rest of the way. At the top, he stretched out his aching legs, letting his tail dangle over the stump’s edge. By dusk's muddled light, the moor looked the same as ever. No wandering shapes, predator- or kitten-sized.

"Raventail!" Downtuft called, worry edged into his rock sharp voice. He'd seen the agile tom nearly fall off the stump from afar, and had dashed over. "What do you think your doing?! You nearly fell! Harebrain!" He hissed, green eyes wide in fright. Though his voice was harsh, it was clear it was that way out of worry, not spite.

"With kits missing the last thing WindClan needs is for me to drag our injured former leader into camp because his old bones couldn't keep up with him!" It was this moment, perhaps, Downtuft realized he'd said something wrong. Oops. His eyes went wide and he recoiled, green irises laced with fear and regret. "Oh my Finchstar-- I didn't mean!- Raventail, I'm!--" Downtuft gulped, ears pressed against his tabby fur. Oh Stars, he'd just called Raventail old and weak and incapable of making a jump. He was doomed.

A voice cut the air, filled with such anger and fear that Raventail’s heart leapt. A predator—no, he realized as he turned to see a striped, sandy pelt, only Downtuft. From the horror on Downtuft’s face, one would’ve thought he’d insulted a dog only to watch it break free from its leash. Raventail’s first thought was to reassure him; as much as it pained the senior warrior to admit, Downtuft’s concern wasn’t without merit. His second thought was something else entirely. Harebrained, reckless, perfect. With a glint in his darkening eyes, the fluffy tom flattened himself against the stump; then he sprang. Ancient bark flew under his paws (steady, this time). On flat ground once again, he charged headlong into Downtuft and sent them both head over tail into the heather.

Once they stopped rolling, Raventail took a moment to catch his breath. “How’s—that for—old bones?” Satisfied he’d proved his point, he flipped onto his paws, wobbling only a little as he straightened up. Of course, his legs ached even more now, but he didn’t regret it. It’d been a glorious sprint. His worries about the kits, WindClan, his impending retirement all lagged behind him, stuck on the prickly bark. “Don’t worry about it, Down,” he said, laughing outright. “After all those times I went up and down the Tallrock, I’m not about to let some old stump get me.”