bloom; blossom (c)

Her night had been surprisingly restful.

Rose woke sharply, as she ever did, starting awake with a sudden jerk of her head that threatened to send her falling to the floor far below. One downside of sleeping in precarious places. The silver tabby slowly pulled herself to her paws, cleaning her long pelt of the grass and dust it had collected over just one night’s stay. This grass smelled odd, strange, like endless days spent out under a hot sun, and it looked odd, too, yellow and brittle instead of green and soft. Yet another sign of how far she had wandered, that even the grass smelled strange. It had been too long since she’d scented snow.

With a stretch and a soundless sigh, Rose silently made her way down from her lofty perch, careful to minimize the noise her paws made on the brittle grass. The night had passed uneventfully, but it was the least she could do, to try and be quiet, let the others sleep a little longer. She reached the door, slipping outside effortlessly, and watched the sun rise.

Another miracle; the way the frost vanished into the skies, the way the clouds were turned to rose gold amid a backdrop of faint pink. Though it was early, she could not so much as see her own breath; the cold was little more than a slight nibble along the edges of her ears. Winter would come to this place, as it did to all others, but its natural state was one of warmth and plenty. The prey was indeed somewhat scarce, somewhat scrawny, and yet there were burrows and dens aplenty, unused for now but promising the return of an abundance she had never so much as dreamed of.

…it was with a start that Rose realized she’d almost thought of staying. No, no no no. She could not give up her mission because of one night spent warm and full. That would be more than foolish; it would be the foolishness of a fool. She might stay another night, if Bracken Wing and Whisper Ear allowed it, but then: onwards. Ever onwards, ever to the south, until she came to the place where the sun met the earth and never set.

Absorbed in her thoughts, gazing out towards the moorlands, Rose still flicked an ear at the sound of pawsteps.

The mornings at the barn were quiet, peaceful. Brackenwing awoke to the soft sounds of another cat moving about, one green eye cracking open, to find the loner she-cat she had met earlier exiting the barn. Brackenwing chose to remain in her nest for a few moments, not quite ready to move just yet from the comfortable bed of moss and feathers. Slowly she stretched, jaws parting in a yawn. Her leg felt stiff, and much as she would have liked to stay where she was, Brackenwing had long since learned that getting moving, even a little, helped. Carefully, the marbled tabby stood, taking care not to disturb Whisperear as she made her way down to the floor of the barn. Her leg protested a bit, but this morning didn't seem like it would be too terrible.

Quietly, Brackenwing stepped toward the entrance of the barn. The sun was rising, bathing the rolling moors beyond in pale light. Moors she had hunted and fought for, once. She found that the nostalgia she felt for her birth clan was diminishing with each passing day, the sense of relief she'd felt upon first stepping into the barn with Whisperear still the dominant emotion to replace the strife that was Windclan's home.

"Morning," Rose sat nearby, and Brackenwing offered a quiet greeting, for now not willing to break the silence with more.

So far, Bracken Wing had shown no hostility, nor any motive for aggression, and Rose was reasonably confident in her ability to escape a fight with a stiff-legged tabby, and yet she still turned her head to keep the other in her peripheral vision. Caution was a virtue of the seal, who tested the ice and the air alike before committing to either, and trust something as painful as it was valuable. It was best to know others, to understand their motives and therefore their actions. Bracken’s gaze was turned towards the moor, the rolling sun-stained fields Rose had yet to explore, and there was something… familiar in her eyes. Not quite wistful, not quite relieved, not quite reminiscent, the same feeling that lingered in the silver tabby’s own heart; the memory of both the good times and the bad.

After a couple minutes’ pause, once the sun had fully risen, Rose cleared her throat. “Are those fields unclaimed? They look like they might harbor prey.”

A question for a question: an unspoken understanding Rose almost wished the other cat did not know. Perhaps Bracken Wing would not have any questions or know any answers, comfortable in her own existence. There was something worn, well-traveled, weary in the other’s eyes, however, the look of a cat who had known much through her long life and did not know what she regretted. Familiar. Rose flicked her tail, forcibly stopping herself. The other molly was an acquaintance. Untrusted, untrusting, as she should be. There was no need to misattribute feelings that were not there; she could not throw herself headlong upon the first cat to show her basic decency. Rose wanted love, love blind and naively trusting, but she would have to wait until death to once again receive it.

Rose maintained the silence for several minutes, and Brackenwing was content to leave it be. Eventually, the loner's question split the morning air, and Brackenwing's head turned from gazing at the familiar fields she'd been born into, green eyes settling on the other she-cat.

"Windclan." Brackenwing nodded at her question, "You'll smell their scent markers at the edge of their territory. They patrol regularly, or should." She hadn't seen hide nor hair of her former clan since leaving it, and Brackenwing was... Happy to keep it that way. She only hoped that they might begin to recover from one disastrous misstep after another that was Shrikestorm's leadership. She didn't hope for their recovery enough to stay, however, and the former elder viewed keeping away as the better option. She did miss Sootstorm and Tigerdance, but too much had happened between her and the clan for the marbled she-cat to want to go back, even just to visit.

"Their territory stretches to the thunderpath that runs along those marshes, and to the gorge on the opposite end." She added, pointing with a raised paw in the direction of the foul gray path, thankfully silent and unassuming from such a distance.

“Wind… Clan?” Rose echoed, flicking an ear. She did not wish to prey, to wear Bracken Wing’s patience down, and yet she had too many questions, knew too little to remain altogether silent. “If you do not mind me asking… Wind Clan? A group of cats that live on the moor?”

How many, how skilled, how territorial, how lenient, how accepting? Surely a group of cats numerous enough to be termed a “Clan” must be the predominant power in the region, and as such, Rose needed to know more. She did not want to taste their claws.

Thunderpath? The road, Rose assumed, and that meant a rather small territory, as far as a group went. She judged it would be sufficient to support, say, herself and a few others, but surely… and yet the prey here ought to be plentiful, the land was used to abundance. Perhaps there was no limit to those who could live within a day’s walk of each other. How strange.

By the way Rose spoke, it was evident that she wasn't familiar with the clans. Brackenwing wondered what a life without them must have been like, she had only ever grown up among the clans and their way of life, never wandering far. Even having left them, she had not gone far, claiming the barn with Whisperear.

"Indeed," Brackenwing nodded at Rose's words. "They're one of the five clans, though the only one that lives on such open territory. They're a small clan, but a difficult lot. More foolish than violent, I would say, but none of the clans take nicely to their territory being trespassed." She shrugged, "Riverclan has the, well, river. Shadowclan make their home in the marshes, and Thunderclan and Skyclan share the forest. I'd stay away from the marshes, if I were you."

Five Clans? Rose’s ears flicked back as she stifled a gasp, mind swirling. Five? Bracken Wing went on, pointing out the distant landmarks that each Clan called home, and… they must be starving, she realized suddenly, eyes wide. There was absolutely no way any number of cats could live on a territory they could cross in a day. Her own colony back home had been… oh, thirty cats? Their territory had been so vast, so enormous, that it took weeks to fully cross. Even in this land of abundance, with how skinny the prey was, it- this was simply impossible. Surely. She supposed cats from the River Clan could fish, aye, but… how odd. Such a different way of life. Perhaps they even had permanent dwellings, instead of being constantly on the move. That, she would have to admit, was a benefit.

“Stay away from the marshes,” she echoed, wrapping her tail around her paws. “That is… a lot of cats in a very small space. Gods. I, um, uh… how many cats? How could they possibly survive? I mean, this whole territory cannot be more than a day’s travel as the crow flies. They must be constantly fighting for prey,” she mused aloud, still struggling to comprehend just how many cats that must be.

Brackenwing listened as Rose stumbled over her words, asking more questions. She truly wasn't familiar with the clans then, but Brackenwing had more than enough experience to share and explain. "They aren't the largest, I suppose, but there's enough prey for clan cats on their own territory, for the most part. They work together, with the warriors and apprentices hunting for those that can't, like queens and kits and elders." She explained, whiskers twitching in amusement at the other she-cat's evident surprise. "Windclan is small. Fights over prey don't usually happen, so long as cats stick to their own territory while hunting. Fights are usually over more petty foxdung." It was with a disdainful snort that she recalled all the drama with Shadowclan, and some half-remembered kithood stories of foolish deputies and dangerous exiles. Brackenwing actually wasn't sure she could recall the last time Windclan had fought over prey specifically, but they must have at some point, surely.

Rose’s head swirled with all the new words Bracken Wing was using, from “apprentice” to “foxdung”- although she could hazard a guess at the meaning of the latter. There was no impatience in the other she-cat’s gaze, merely slight amusement, as if she had somehow expected every cat in the world to know about these… Clans. Perhaps she had closer ties to them than she let on, or maybe all loners were simply sensible enough to know and understand the predominant power in the region. At any rate, Rose felt brave enough to push on. “Apprentices? Warriors? I- these Clans seems quite structured.”

It made sense, she supposed, for without strict structure so many cats in so little land would soon starve, even if they were small… though by whose standards, she did not know. Territory- ah. Territorial cats. She had encountered them before on her journey, and all too often they had not granted her the courtesy of a warning before descending upon her, claws out and teeth bared.

"They kind of have to be structured. Even with it there's infighting over petty nonsense half the time. I shudder to think what a mess the clans would be without it." Windclan was a mess even with the structure of the code, it was pathetic. And much of why she had left. "You've traveled here from somewhere far off, I'm guessing?" She must have, to be unfamiliar with the clans, right?

Infighting? Judging by Bracken Wing’s tone, the other molly knew quite a lot about these… Clans. Perhaps she could be helpful? Talking about them certainly did not seem to bother her, so she had certainly not left them in disgrace, and likely never joined them at all. It was simply common sense to know about the region’s predominant power. If Rose wished to stay here any length at all (and she might, for the prey here was less scarce, and yet she needed to go on) she would have to do the same. It was simple to decipher what her words meant; warriors would defend the Clan, apprentices likely train under them? Hunters would more than likely catch the prey, and elders probably ensured that an apprentice’s training went well.

Bracken Wing’s question did not take her off guard, exactly. She knew it was coming, and yet…”That is true.”

Although she felt guilty for leeching off the other cat’s knowledge and contributing none of her own, there was no point in telling her about the land of the grinding ice. No cat with a stiff leg could travel so far, and Rose honestly doubted she herself could find the way back at this point. Besides, that place was vicious, and its gods strong enough to travel. There was no point in living there.

The reply that came to her question was short, and Brackenwing was content to leave things be, with a nod of acquiesce. She could imagine, just as Brackenwing didn't care to mention that she was once a Windclanner, that the lone she-cat wanted to let her own past stay in the past. She would not pry, and it wasn't her place to. The marbled tabby's gaze shifted once more to the rolling moors, letting the silence sit between them.