Flypaw's Moonstone Journey

Another one of RiverClan's apprentices was ready to make the trip to Highstones, and Cloverheart had spent quite some time worrying over it in her den. More specifically, worrying over the herbs she had for them– two bundles of traveling herbs were already set aside, all ready for the two cats, but she'd been set on giving the young cat honey. She'd been out, though, and had spent enough time trying to make some magically appear in the reeds that they almost missed their window.

With a sigh, the medicine cat quickly swallowed her own herbs before picking up the rest, stepping outside and making her way over to the apprentice's den. "Flypaw?" Cloverheart called from outside, waiting a heartbeat before ducking in. Careful to dodge any stray limbs, she found the dark pelt she was looking for and gave a nudge. "Flypaw? Hi! It's time for your Moonstone. I'll be right outside, okay?" Her mew was hushed and gentle, and she started to back away before an afterthought caught her. Setting the herbs down where they could see, she quickly added, "Oh, and eat these. They're bitter, but you'll need them," before retreating to wait outside.

Flypaw rolled onto their side and flexed a paw, watching the webbing between their toes stretch. Despite their efforts to fish themself to exhaustion, they, like countless Highstones-bound apprentices before them, had been awake since dawn. Meeting one’s warrior ancestors was at least a big deal as the ceremony that followed. They knew they should be excited, nervous, ready to jump out of their pelt in one way or another; they remembered being those things at some point. They wanted to be those things.

Cloverheart’s voice crept into the den, followed by the sound of soft footsteps and a nudge. Flypaw flicked the ear that wasn’t pressed into their nest in acknowledgement. A mishmash of leaves and flowers appeared in front of them, and Cloverheart left as quietly as she’d arrived, and suddenly, there was no avoiding it anymore. It’d be rude to make RiverClan’s medicine cat wait. Besides, even if they hadn’t figured out how they felt about all of this, they welcomed the chance to leave the quiet darkness and stretch their legs. Pushing themself upright at last, Flypaw leaned in close to lap up the herbs.

They were still spitting as they emerged from the den, not bothering to hide it even when they locked eyes with Cloverheart waiting nearby. (She had to know—she’d said herself that the herbs were bitter.) “You have to eat those every time?” It came out quieter than Flypaw liked. They cleared their throat, shuffled their paws, and tried again. “…What d’you mean, I’ll ‘need them’?” If they were going to walk all the way to Highstones, they weren't doing it in complete silence. They'd had enough of that for at least a season.

It wasn't too long before Flypaw emerged, still grimacing and choking around the herbs. Cloverheart let out a little laugh, pushing herself slowly onto her paws and waving her tail slowly for them to follow. They had a long walk ahead, and she could answer plenty of questions on the way.

"Every time, yes," she sighed as she guided them through the reeds, pausing for a moment to take in the territory. "Usually I like to put honey on them, but... I'm out right now. I promise I tried, though." She settled into a little trot, distantly wondering how long she could keep that up before she would have to fall back into her usual limping gait. To the Gorge, probably– but then the walk back would be a drag, and she would spend most of the next day in her nest grumbling about the pain. She flicked an ear as she thought, turning over her shoulder to look at Flypaw.

"Well, Highstones is far away. That little bundle of herbs, it'll keep us moving all the way there. Not to say it won't be tiring, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced around briefly as she thought. "Well, they'll help loads. You won't feel so exhausted, hiking there and back." Cloverheart offered a smile, blinking slowly at her charge for the night. "I can tell you what's in them, if you want," she mewed brightly. It wasn't often she got a chance to, and they needed something to discuss.

"Or you can ask me questions. Whatever's on your mind. We've got more than enough time to talk!"

Cloverheart wasted no time leading them past the reeds separating camp from territory. Flypaw kept pace at her side, relieved that, for once, they didn’t have to stretch themself in half to match her the way they so often did on patrols with their taller Clanmates. At least RiverClan warriors weren’t all hulking monsters like SkyClan’s. “Ugh.” They stuck out their tongue half in sympathy, half to air out the remaining bitterness. “It’s fine, honey probably couldn’t fix those anyway.” If they’d ever had an interest in medicine, the thought of eating those herbs once for every apprentice would have put them off it for life.

They fell silent, looking over their shoulder as the camp’s walls faded into the surrounding scenery. Then Cloverheart spoke again, and they turned back to squint at her, more curious than skeptical. It didn’t seem possible that a pile of leaf scraps could get them to Highstones and back better than a belly full of fish, but she wouldn’t lie about it. “It can’t be that much harder than a patrol,” Flypaw murmured, mostly to themself.

Again, they went quiet, gaze turning thoughtful as it lingered on Cloverheart’s eager expression. Whether she realized it or not, she had offered them a branch; they dug in with every grateful claw. “If we’ve got time, then—what about both? I’m only gonna...meet our ancestors once, I want to be ready.” With their paws already occupied, the fidgeting migrated to their ears. Flypaw stopped walking to paw at them. “And I want to know how those plants work.”

The sodden grass of their territory grew springier as the pair started nearing the Gorge, its thunder a distant roll under Flypaw's words. Cloverheart nodded, letting out a little hum. She was grateful they took the offer– making this hike in silence was dreadful. Only now, she wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Our ancestors are... well, they can be difficult at times. They aren't always so clear with what the want from us, and–" Hazy images of a bloody moor and a lightning-streaked sky clouded her vision. With a deep breath, she quickened her stride and pushed on, "and I don't always understand what... what they have planned for us, if that makes sense. A lot of things StarClan does... don't make sense.

Don't let that discourage you, though! When I went to the Moonstone for both my ceremonies, the cat I saw was very helpful." With a little laugh, she added: "More helpful than when I've gotten any prophecies, at least." Turning her gaze to Flypaw, Cloverheart studied them for a while, as if expecting... she wasn't entirely sure what. Not a response, really. But... something. An argument, maybe? Ear flicking, she decided to continue talking. "I can't tell you who or what you'll see tonight. I don't know what they'll say to you. I'm sure you'll learn something, though."

The Gorge's rumble grew louder, echoing against Cloverheart's ears as she lead Flypaw across the territories. Highstones wasn't too much farther– they still had plenty of time. A dull pang in her legs made her wonder if they had time to rest, too, but she kept her pace steady, even if she was starting to wince.

"As far as the 'plants' go... Well, I put sorrel and burnet in those. Both of those give you energy, so you can keep walking without needing to stop too much." Something dark crossed her expression, but she shook it away quickly. "You won't feel that you're tired, not really, at least. And daisy helps with your joints... keeps us from getting stiff and sore. There's more, there's... well, I could probably talk about herbs all night, not just the ones in there. If you really want to know about them, you can pick any of them."

As they drew closer to the Gorge with its ever-present rumbling, Flypaw angled their ears toward Cloverheart to hear her better. Her answer didn’t surprise them. The stars hung tree-lengths above where any living cat could jump or climb; it seemed only reasonable that things would get lost in translation. With a soft “well, yeah,” they filed this fact away alongside what the stories they’d grown up with had taught them. StarClan had never been straightforward in those. Questioning that was like questioning why the river ran the direction it did or why the moon sometimes went out during the day.

Cloverheart stopped talking, then, and her gaze settled on Flypaw. They blinked back. The silence stretched on for one moment, another, yet another until they caught themself starting to fidget again. Despite her rank (or because of it), Cloverheart was a stranger; they couldn’t begin to guess what she was thinking, what she wanted. Thankfully, she turned her attention back to the road ahead. Flypaw, wilting, followed suit. Everything she said made too much sense. If RiverClan’s own medicine cat didn’t know who was waiting at the Moonstone, why would anyone else? StarClan, in their infinite wisdom, would pick the perfect guide. Had picked them by now, probably. Flypaw was just an apprentice; they didn’t get a say.

“I don’t wanna just learn something.”

Had they been capable of throwing their paws over their mouth, they would have. As it was, they went stiff as a tree trunk. “I mean, obviously I wanna talk to them, they’re our ancestors, but—” Flypaw bit their tongue, turning the rest of the sentence into a stifled yelp. They’re not the ones I want to see. It would’ve been unacceptable in camp, but on the way to the Moonstone itself? They looked aside at Cloverheart, half pleading. “Don’t tell them I said that. It’s really important, I know, I just…wish it was different.”

Now it was their turn to fall silent. The Gorge thundered through them, from their paws to the tips of their flattened ears, until they had to strain to hear Cloverheart’s voice. Right. Herbs. Sorrel, burnet, daisy. “I don’t know any.” Their voice came out clipped. Though they’d spent as much time in the medicine cats’ den as any warrior apprentice, they were usually too busy stewing over being hurt to bother with anything else. Flypaw raised their head, taking care to sound less sharp when they said, “Maybe the…coolest one? Or…or your favorite, if there aren’t any cool ones.”

Flypaw's outburst earned a sharp lash of Cloverheart's tail- not out of frustration, or anger. Surprise, more than anything else. With a bit of hesitance, she mewed, "I'm sorry, Flypaw. I wish I could tell you something more direct," there was sympathy in the medicine cat's eyes when she looked at her charge, and their withered expression made her ears lower. "I promise I won't say a word." She tried a smile, then hung her head in almost-defeat. She felt bad, that their trip to the Moonstone was shaping up to be so stressful for them. Hopefully, their guide would have something to tell them that would put them at ease.

She let out a hum, letting the subject drop after that. Talking about her work would fill up plenty of time; or, maybe it would just act as a distraction for Flypaw if she couldn't find something to talk about all the way to Highstones. Anything would be better than nothing, though. As they padded past the Gorge, slowly moving away from its rolling thunder, she was grateful she didn't have to raise her voice so much anymore. "Well, let's see... I like honey quite a lot. It doesn't do much except make things taste better, but I like using it." Her tail whisked, gentler than it had a few moments ago. "It makes it easier to give herbs to cats, when they taste better. Especially things like those traveling herbs.

I like celandine too, and marigold. Not that they're really special or anything- well, all herbs are... y'know, special, but... Well, you know what I mean. They aren't catmint, or anything like that." The springy earth was getting tougher beneath her pads, giving way to the stony earth leading up to Highstones. "I just think the yellow is nice. It's just... a nice color. Be careful up here." She hauled herself up onto the growing rocks, watching Flypaw carefully as she did. "Anyway... I hate things like mousebile and garlic. They're a hassle to work with, getting everywhere in your fur... and the smell sticks for moons. Especially garlic." Cloverheart shuddered, sticking out her tongue with an exaggeratedly disgusted look. She kept scaling the rocks as she talked, slowly but surely guiding Flypaw towards the top. Once the slope plateaued, she paused, taking a moment to catch her own breath.

"Okay, we're here, Flypaw. All that's left is to take that tunnel down to the Moonstone, then you'll get to talk to StarClan." She paused, shifting her weight as she eyed them. Nothing in them betrayed any real desire to meet with StarClan at all; almost, she suggested they just turn back to camp. "Be careful, on the way down. The tunnel gets steep in places, and it's dark in there. Stay close to me, I'll lead the way down." She gave them a slow nod, then passed through the yawning passage into Mothermouth.

As soon as the darkness enveloped her, her voice rose again, echoing around the cavern as she spoke. "Where was I... I think cobwebs, poppy seeds, foxglove seeds... all the little things like that, I think those are my favorite to use. Not really my favorites, but they certainly are easy! And most cats already know what they are, so they don't put up too much of a fight or ask too many questions." Her paws settled into the grooves into the stones, steps slow as she lead them through the tunnel. Soon enough, the tunnel narrowed to a point her whiskers brushed the rough walls, and the Moonstone's light spilled into view. Cloverheart ducked into the open cavern, nodding towards the glittering stone. "Lay down just there, Flypaw. When you touch the stone, you'll fall asleep and you'll meet St- you'll have your dream. I'll be right here when you wake up." She settled not far off, wrapping her tail around her legs and shaking away a yawn. "You're free to ask any more questions, if you have them. If not... then I'll see you in the morning."

The Gorge’s rumbling gradually faded away, replaced by Cloverheart’s steady voice as she rattled off names and descriptions, plants and not-plants ranging from familiar to foreign. Clearly, they were done discussing the stars. Flypaw tried to pry the tension out of their muscles. Cloverheart had sworn not to tell, and…they trusted her. A bit because she was a medicine cat and medicine cats (at least in RiverClan) had to be trustworthy—but mostly because she hadn’t scolded them, hadn’t brushed them aside or looked at them with suspicion. She’d listened. Like Turtlefur. It happened more nowadays than it had during their younger moons, but not so often that Flypaw took it for granted; it seemed only fair to return the favor with perked ears, doing their best to nod and grimace in the right places. The mention of mousebile, especially, made their face twist. Even a rule-abiding apprentice couldn’t get through their training without helping kill the elders’ ticks at least once.

Time passed at a crawl, then a trot. Cloverheart heaved herself onto rock after rock; with a running start—a necessity given their small size and the fact that they, like any self-respecting RiverClanner, did not climb things—Flypaw clambered after her. They slumped onto the highest stone, panting, and looked up to find darkness. There was Mothermouth, of course, yawning out of the wall in front of them; overhead, the lopsided moon floated in a sea of twinkling stars. While Flypaw had been occupied with herbs and scenery, night had crept up on them.

Yanking their gaze from the sky to Cloverheart, they shrugged. “Let’s just go.” And down they went.

Though Cloverheart launched into another list as they descended, Flypaw’s ears stayed flat. Between the claws inside their ribcage and the shards of rock that seemed to find their pawpads no matter where they stepped, they could only focus on moving forward. A beam of silvery light blazed into the tunnel, and Flypaw stumbled. They scurried to catch up, hoping Cloverheart hadn’t noticed, in time to watch the tunnel open into a cavern. In its center sat the Moonstone, gently glowing as if it had fallen out of the sky they’d just left behind. With a firm shake to clear the fog from their ears, Flypaw turned to the medicine cat, torn between wanting to get this over with and trying to come up with something that could put it off just one heartbeat longer.

But they couldn’t run. They would talk to whoever StarClan chose, they would take the advice they were given, and they would be gracious about it. And maybe, if there was time and they were allowed to, they would ask what they wanted to ask. With a heavy breath, they faced the Moonstone. “No, I…I’m good. See you in the morning.” Folding their legs beneath themself, they tucked their scraggly tail close. Their nose brushed the icy stone, and they plunged into darkness.

"I've missed you, kit." From the star-speckled background emerged a slender figure. The memory of its pelt was russet, and the large ears that perched atop her head all too familiar. There was nothing she missed more about being in the forest than Flypaw and Jaystar. They had been the very thing that grounded her - as much as she could be grounded, and provided a sense of peace and wholeness that Kitefire had never found anywhere else. Nothing ever felt like home. The closest thing the late warrior had found to a sense of belonging was not within the ranks of Riverclan or Thunderclan, no, it was tucked into the fur of her family. The one good things she had created.

But she could never protect it, not when the very thing that poisoned her wore her pelt - herself. Kitefire had unintentionally been a creature of destruction her entire life. Flypaw was the one being that spoke of something else, a thing she had created. To see them now, preparing to become a warrior, it both terrified her and filled her with pride. Tipping her head, a habit that had carried over with her to the afterlife, she drew close. She stopped just short to take in the sight of her kit. A smile crossed her maw as she looked at the apprentice. It seemed like so little time had passed since they had nursed, snuggled into her underbelly. Now, they would hardly fit there.

She closed the distance and pressed herself into their side with a rumbling purr. This special warmth, the sensation that buddied up within her being, nothing could ever compare. Between this and her brief encounter with Jaystar when he received his lives, it would have to last her for an eternity. Kitefire sighed and moved away just enough to find their features. Shaking out her coat as she remembered one of their last encounters, it occurred to the she-cat that perhaps this might not be as joyous of a reunion for Flypaw. But she hoped otherwise, "I might have been able to provide you much in life, but it seems Starclan has given me something of a second chance, huh?"

ooc; its been so long i dont remember her text color and im too tired to find it OOPS

There wasn’t time to realize they were dreaming, to take in the once-in-a-lifetime sight (for a warrior, at least) of Silverpelt’s true splendor, because the voice reached them first. Flypaw’s heart stopped cold. The only other voices they would’ve recognized so quickly were their sister’s and Turtlefur's. Still, they opened their eyes and faced this, shock, wonder, anger, grief, chasing each other in circles as Kitefire emerged from the fog.

Coming closer, she angled her head. To hear them better, they knew. She’d always done it. It was a small, familiar gesture they had never seen in anyone else, and it hit them like a stone to the chest. Kitefire stopped just short of touching them, warmth in every feature. Flypaw broke. She leaned on them, purring, before the tears really started, which didn’t help much of anything. They twisted around to push their face into her pelt, only in part to hide their hitching breaths. Though RiverClan had held a vigil for her, there hadn’t been anything to share tongues with or bury; Flypaw had accepted it, quietly bitter, then quietly angry about feeling bitter when it made perfect sense. Ivystar wasn’t cruel unless she had to be. Extracting someone from a rockfall posed too great a risk to an already-weakened Clan.

The texture of their mother’s fur was what they remembered.

They tried to collect themself as soon as she pulled away, swiping roughly at their face with one forepaw, then the other. “Something of a second chance,” Kitefire was saying. Well, it'd have to be that for both of them. “I-I’m still mad at you.” The wobble in Flypaw’s voice robbed it of its fire. That didn’t make the sentiment any less real, though time and loss had changed its shape. “I’m probably gonna be for…a while. But I—the whole way here, I thought I was gonna see someone like T-Torrentstar or Frogjaw or, I dunno, Thunderstar…” Someone from myth or an elder’s tale. An ancient, all-knowing stranger. With a sniffle, they scuffed a paw against the dirt, half aware of the stars gleaming within it. “I’m glad it’s you.”