fellow traveler (c)

Rose had wandered for a long time before she came across the barn.

The lands here were warm, even as winter approached, with trees and plants she had never seen before, stained with colours she had only seen in the most vivid of springs. Animals seemed to swarm in every thicket, every burrow, every den, voles and lemmings replaced with mice and squirrel. Thin though the prey might be (oddly thin, when it ought to be fattened for the long winter) there was so much of it that Rose could walk all day and hunt for a mere pawful of minutes in the evening. This truly was the land of plenty.

The barn smelled like sun-warmed grass and fat mice, but also of cat. Older than Rose, if she had to guess, two or three of them, and here quite often. Surely they would spare a few mice, or a single night’s rest. Perhaps she could even offer her hunting skills, such as they were in a land without snow.

It would’ve been easier to pass the barn by, but the scent of prey and promise of shelter should the night turn foul lured her to the mouth of the building. Poised to run at the slightest sign of hostility, Rose cleared her throat. “Excuse me? Is anyone here?”

The days had slowly grown colder from the blistering heat of greenleaf, the air crisp and cool as Brackenwing finished a small mouse. It was no rabbit, but the prey in the barn was suitable, as she and Whisperear had hoped. The barn was mostly quiet these days, with the occasional loner and ex-clan cat passing by. Brackenwing found that she didn't mind, provided nobody was there to cause trouble.

The scent of another cat preceded their voice, and the ex-Windclanner lifted her head, green eyes turning toward the barn entrance. "Just me, and my-" She and Whisperear had never talked formally about it, but she had followed them from Windclan gladly, "-companion." Brackenwing called, gingerly rising to her paws. With the cooler weather as of late, her back leg seemed to protest a little more than it usually did, making the not-elder's gait somewhat unsteady. "Who are you?" She called, catching sight of an unfamiliar silver tabby pelt.

It was the voice of a fellow molly that greeted her, old but not ancient, and certainly not hostile. Rose let herself relax, just a little. The stranger smelled of the barn, but also, albeit distantly, of flowers and wild grass and sun-warmed dust, a sandy-pelted green-eyed molly with a distinctive limp. She seemed kind; and if there was only one other cat living here, perhaps they could spare shelter for the night. The evening was not well-advanced, but the faint clouds on the horizon’s edge were worrying. Rain was worse than snow, soaking her through to the skin, and she had not quite mastered the art of finding shelter without snow to burrow in. Perhaps…

“Rose,” she replied, self-consciously licking back a stray wisp of fur on her chest. “I’m Rose. Do you and your friend live here?”

There was always the slight chance they, like her, had merely sought shelter for the night; but even if they did live here, perhaps Rose could offer to hunt for them, or gather fur for their nests, or anything else an able-bodied young cat like herself could do to earn a night’s stay, or even longer. She had wandered a long way, and her paws ached.

The she-cat introduced herself as Rose, and Brackenwing briefly wondered at just how common the name seemed to be. Rosepaw the troublemaker, Rose who had denied becoming a warrior, now Rose the outsider.

"We do." She nodded, "I'm Brackenwing." There was little need to state where from, she thought, this loner didn't seem like a clan cat, as Copperlark had introduced herself as formerly of one. If she was familiar with the clans and their ways, she might recognize the two-part name, but the loner's scent suggested that she wasn't from the forest and hadn't been near the forest much, if at all. Clan cats seemed a little easier to judge the intentions of, perhaps because Brackenwing had spent most of her life in the clans. She had been outsider technically for a few moons now, but found herself perhaps just as wary of Rose as Rose was of her.

"It smells of rain out there, the barn stays dry enough." She mewed.

Rose blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the other she-cat’s name. Bracken…wing? Like- bracken, the thistly bits of a thicket, and a bird’s wing? What a surpassingly odd name. Who would name their kit something like that, so hard to pronounce and difficult to explain? Goodness. What on earth did a thicket and birds have to do with each other? She supposed a foolish bird might nest in a thicket, but… well, the other she-cat didn’t seem ashamed of it, and Rose was hardly fool enough to bring it up. If… Bracken-wing was proud of her name, so be it.

An invitation of shelter already, barely five seconds into the conversation? Very suspicious indeed. Rose glanced surreptitiously around what she could see of the barn’s interior, half-expecting an ambush. No cat would just… let another into their home. She hadn’t even offered her assistance yet… but her paw still ached slightly where that horrible ermine-thing had bitten it, and if she had to spend another night drenched to the skin she might just scream. If the other she-cat thought it would rain… Rose hadn’t quite yet mastered the art of telling rain by scent. She could tell how heavy the snowfall would be, or how thick the ice would lay in the morning, but rain? Rain was oddly fickle. Already she was in Bracken-wing’s debt. Or maybe the other she-cat was just making an observation? Or showing how superior her territory was? Maybe she was reading too much into it.

”Is there any chance I could perhaps stay for a night or two? I’m a good hunter, and I don’t mind fetching moss or skinning lemmings for your nests- or mice, I suppose.” She hadn’t seen a lemming in ages, but mice were similar enough that she ought to be able to skin one. “I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

The question of staying didn't catch Brackenwing as off-guard as it had when Copperlark had asked, and much as she would like to say no to preserve the too comfortable quiet that had enveloped her and Whisperear, the barn was large enough to support more cats than just the two of them. Especially if some were only staying for a few days before moving on. The marbled tabby nodded, "You can stay, the barn's large enough. It's mostly mice out here." She mewed, "Not much to do about our nests, but thanks for the offer. There's still some dry moss in that corner," Brackenwing's striped tail flicked in that direction, "No lemmings, and my rabbit-catching days are behind me, I think. There's enough mice, though." With the colder weather the rodents had stayed, thankfully. Prey would be starting to dwindle out on the moors, but it would take longer for the barn to suffer the same, she hoped.

Some of the tension flooded out of Rose’s broad shoulders at Bracken Wing’s nod. It would be safer here than it was out there, in the driving rain with dangers around every corner, and the barn smelled homely, not like strife. If anything, it seemed a bit sad, as if it remembered things she did not, had a history stretching back into the ages. It was shelter, however, and for that Rose was greatly thankful. “Thank you.”

It would be easy enough to sleep on a rafter, up in the ceiling, where a cat with a twisted leg wouldn’t be able to reach, if Bracken Wing turned out to be an evil cat. Even her friend would probably have trouble reaching her if she slept up there, a good leap away from the loft. That would be safe, and safe would be good.

It was dangerous to say, but she had to say it. “I’m in your debt.”

The marbled tabby simply nodded in acknowledgement of the thanks.

Brackenwing shook her head, "Oh, don't mention it." She mewed. "Don't cause trouble for us and I'll consider that more than enough of a debt paid." She added. Admittedly, her expectations weren't the highest with cats who shared her name (nor were they ever, truly,) but as long as trouble didn't involve her or Whisperear, Brackenwing would be happy.