Galepaw's Warrior Ceremony

Tallshadow twitched an ear at Tigerstar’s summons. He pulled himself to his paws in a fluid motion, shaking off the snow that had settled over his narrow shoulders in the process. The golden tom had been sitting near the edge of WindClan’s resting place, keeping an eye out for any danger. The wolf-song still rang in his ears, dripping its mournful tones into the shrill roar of Goldengale’s battle yowl, and the stuttering, awful rattle that had been her last breath. He sunk his claws into the frigid ground, but rearranged all his sloshing, raging grief into its familiar place. Tucked away to smart under his ribs, forever aching, but more manageable. He fit his face back into something less raw, less vulnerable, and refocused on the meeting. This was nothing new to him after all.

He moved amongst his clanmates as they gathered, slipping between them with a practiced ease. He dipped in head to Galepaw and Cloudypaw in passing, sending a kind blink in their direction. They seemed so young to live through something like that. To know intimately of the blood, and violence, and the broken things it left behind. He knew he was not alone in his grief, and that Galepaw had looked up to Goldengale, and she had done a fine job training him. Something that she had touched would live on at least. He moved past the apprentices and towards the front of the crowd to where Sootstorm sat.

He settled himself beside his father, the steady set of his thin shoulders betrayed nothing of the weight he felt. The tom curled his long feathery tail over his paws, protecting them from the chill. He almost felt like a kit again, with Sootstorm there to gently break his world into pieces. Now he was older, and Sootstorm was older, and the world kept turning, and it kept emptying of everyone they held close. He was not that lanky kit cowering under the close-press of death anymore. He met it with a turned cheek, wrangled it into a tight-tangled mass of bitter feeling and shoved it back into the darkness of his chest, where it wouldn’t see the daylight. Tallshadow sat beside his father, grounded and steady in the wake of everything, refusing to be broken over again, even if the world had snuffed out its brightest flame.

Tallshadow’s voice rose into the frigid air as he hailed Galestorm by his new name, WindClan’s congratulatory yowls echoed off the sheer cliffs around them. The tall golden tom purred softly to Rapidpaw as she careened into his side. He wrapped his long tail around her shoulder, eyes shining with gentle pride. “Yes he will be. It’s well earned.” He licked his sister between the ears and then glanced over at Sootstorm, amber gaze softening with a fragile joy and something close to bewilderment. His eyes seemed to ask if the tiny bundle of apprentice fluff was real and whole and here now. How could something so good find him again? Despite everything, WindClan was thriving, bright with new blood and new warriors, star-touched and strong in the face of tragedy.