Efficiency.
It was something Grousefrost had always strived for. He strove for it, no matter the weather, the time or the things that happened. WindClan could be covered in lengths of snow, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would find a way through. Find a way to work with it, to make it work for him and his clan. He wanted to protect them, honour his mother Brindlestar in the only way that he truly could.
All of that left him when his hearing was taken.
’I’ve become a disappointment.’ He thought silently to himself. In the distance, rabbits stirred in the leaf fall air. He had dropped fresh dandelions and leaves from the forest border into their little dip in the territory. Sticks tangled together in a chaotic mess but the rabbits stayed within them. Their little patch of grass grazed down, but they didn’t look thin. In fact, they looked a little plump.
They probably knew a way out. Maybe they jumped over the sticks or found a tunnel. His tail flicked, gaze lowered in silence. It didn’t matter. Very few things had since Goldengale… he heaved a hard, shuddering breath. Tears dripped onto the golden grass beneath his silver paws. Efficiency wasn’t everything. Goldengale had taught him that. Clovertwist, Barleytuft, Vinepaw, Crow…-stars, he didn’t even know his own son’s warrior name.
He never got to hear his warrior ceremony. He didn’t even know half of his clanmates names anymore. How was he supposed to be efficient if he didn’t know their names!? It wasn’t everything… but it had to count for something...
Didn’t it?
Grousefrost felt as numb as the cold frost of morning. Like it was a different cat altogether that reached out and pushed over one of the largest sticks and sent the whole side of them crashing down. The rabbits ran, some past him. He didn’t pursue. The clan was probably hungry, but those rabbits would live till leaf-bare. They would need them more then. It was better, to make sure they didn’t starve from not being fed. He could hardly tell his clanmates that they were here. No cat would understand. He wasn’t even sure he made sense when he spoke anymore.
If anything even made sense. If anything ever had. Grousefrost stood in silence, pelt flat against ribs that were visible now. The moons without Goldengale had been the roughest he’d ever faced. The worst thing was, he didn’t think he had the strength to continue. He wanted to go back to being efficient, but his recent hunting attempt ended with him gaining a new scar and endangering a small apprentice. WindClan deserved better than him. They deserved warriors that could do their jobs. Elders who could actually tell stories.
He stood at the edge of the moor. A warrior… a cat, with nothing to offer. Nothing but a burden, that would stress and hurt the clan he loved more than a single cat was worth. He swallowed, it felt like a mouse was stuck in his throat. It was time. He turned from the moor. Backlit by the orange light of a setting sun. Coat glowing from the rays while he padded further and further away. He’d see if StarClan had anything to tell him… go to mother mouth, then follow the advice of ancestors long passed.
He would have.
He never made it there.
