Vulturepaw's Warrior Ceremony

"Let all SkyClan cats old enough to climb a tree gather before me for a clan meeting!" Beechface's voice rang out over the camp as she stood atop Wolfstar's den, gaze sweeping over the cats as they assembled. Wolfstar was on bedrest, though he wasn't happy about it. Beechface wasn't happy about it either, though the situation was done and there was no changing it. They'd both agreed that she should be the one to take on ceremonies while he couldn't, and whatever Beechface's panic over being thrown to the proverbial wolves, she would do this. The very thought of Dawnhawk performing the ceremony left a sour taste in her mouth, and she was sure it would for most of the clan, too.

And... It was a warrior ceremony. It was a far more joyous thing to do than treat injuries, and Beechface couldn't help but be a little excited about this particular ceremony, either. Yellow-green eyes scanned the crowd, hoping to see the familiar shape of the apprentice that would receive their name and rank today.

Awash in the watery light of the chilly Leafbare sun, Vulturepaw's pale coat was softly fringed and illuminated with the faintest remnants of a halo when caught in the direct path of the sun for any portion of time. Rounded chin lifting upwards at the... unusual spectacle of Beechface seemingly summoning the Clan, despite the distinct lack of Wolfstar or Dawnhawk apparent. Abandoning her previous station sprawled out alongside the Apprentice's den with a few of her peers, and exchanging a few curious glances in the meantime, the speckled young molly was quick to wriggle her way to the gradually-gathering crowd, wide gaze unblinking and upturned at the commotion.

At her words, it wasn't long before cats started to gather. Beechface quickly picked up her younger sister's face in the crowd, looking just as curious as the rest of her clanmates on why Beechface had called the meeting. Smokefeather sat in a spot closer to the nursery, looking tired and worn, expression one of wary curiosity. Beechface had to wonder what her mother was making of this, and part of her was afraid to know the answer.

"Vulturepaw, step forward." Beechface wasn't quite able to hide her smile, though she was... trying to remain as dignified as she could possibly be standing atop Wolfstar's den. About as dignified as a medicine cat could be, taking over the responsibility that surely belonged to the clan leader and sometimes-deputy alone. Pretender, a voice whispered in the back of her head, you'll never be a real leader.

Beechface waited for Vulturepaw to step forward, and took a breath. She'd heard the words spoken dozens of times, had once expected to hear them directed at and spoken of herself. She'd never thought that she would be the one saying them, however.

"I, Beechface... medicine cat of SkyClan, call upon our warrior ancestors to look down upon this apprentice. She has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn. Vulturepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code, and to protect and defend your clan, even at the cost of your life?" Her voice waver slightly in uncertainty at the start, though Beechface forced it to remain level as her words rang across the clearing.

Beechface offered her sister a quick, genuine smile then, her careful composure cracking for just a second as she did so. Wolfstar had told her it was time, and in that much she felt that she could trust him.

Rounded jut of the shoulders roiling sharply under the wild pale mane of her unkempt coat, Vulturepaw's sudden and disorganized attempts to hurriedly rise to her paws and scamper forth from the depths of the crowd were clumsy at best- quick movements setting her silky coat trembling against the chilly backdrop of the ceremony. There was a wild pulse in her chest, a simmering mixture of anxiety and excitement, at the realization that it was finally her ceremony, evidently free of the hindering weight of her lackluster training. Fine point of the chin lifting skyward in an attempt to appear calm and collected, it was difficult to dampen the prospective joy she currently felt at the unfolding events; the unwanted onlookers, sharp features dusted with contrasting expressions of curiosity or boredom, hardly quelled the apprehensive little shiver that curled through the young molly's veins.

"I do," Vulturepaw eventually eeked out, soft voice threaded through with equal parts conviction and delight, pale gaze alight like an early season storm.

Beechface watched as her sister stepped forward, the realization of just what this meeting was for dawning on the mottled she-cat as she did so. Her gaze flicked briefly to Smokefeather, watching the tired queen break into a warm smile at her words.

"Then by the power of Starclan, I give you your warrior name: Vulturecry. Skyclan honors your empathy and kindness." It was, Beechface realized, much harder to keep a straight face than she thought it would be. Leaping from the rock, the medicine cat broke into a grin as she rested her head briefly atop that of her younger sister's, a loud purr rumbling in her chest.

"Congratulations, sister." Beechface said, tone cheery.

"I'm proud of you, Vulturecry." Smokefeather had risen from her spot near the nursery, padding over to affectionately bump her head against the newly-named warrior's shoulder.

Silky pale edges of wispy fur catching sharply against the mute light of the rather unconventional evening, gentle ripples of pale light heavily framed the occasional, yet gleeful, movements of Vulturepaw; a familiar and comical mimicry to the flighty and uncertain nature of the birds of which she shared a name. Gently rounded lines of the cheekbones ridging sharply against the delicate curves of her soft face, the young molly's wide eyes were awash with a palpable tinge of excitement, the dull presence of unwelcome onlookers hardly impacting the delight currently curling around her fluttering heart.

Vulturecry. Perhaps it was a strange name, she couldn't help but muse in the ensuing minute heartbeats of silence, and perhaps Pansyface was currently wreathed in starlight and snickering, but she quite liked the sound of such a name. Birdsong was always beautiful, even when sung by the cruelest. Twisting softly to meet the gentle motion of affection on behalf of Smokefeather, Vulturecry was quick to tuck a cheek against the familiar hollow of her mother's throat, purring softly as she did so. "Thank you!"