Between the Winds [[Open]]

[Sparrow]

[atrb=border,0,true][bg=black] Heather was the calling blossom of WindClan’s former terrain - bright purple flowers that faded to muted silvers and lavender’s blue -the waving stalks of grasses spun up to taint themselves like the skies, and they smelled of the stars. It was imaginable, then, that the moonstone should be so near to here. Far raised above the other clans, so close to StarClan comparatively. At night the stars must seem to stretch forever above the vast emptiness, cloaking the dusk in silver relief as it reflected and refracted in the heather. Small wonder then. that the thousands of petals smelled of the sky at midnight and the wind. Even from down in the RiverClan valley the scent was strong, perfuming the air with each breath of the wind that slowly washed over the gorge. In the depths of leafbare, even, traces of the fragrance lingered for months to brighten the greyscale landscape. Perhaps that was why she had offered to hunt near the gorge today of all days, though she herself did not know. Her paws were not dampened in the slightest here, given the sandy highlands that bordered the gorge. For that, she was thankful. Given the usually marshy territory that RiverClan had been granted, it was a welcome change for the petite tabby who wandered along the rim, looking in disdain at the roaring and frothy water. A gust of strong, fish-scented mist floated above the roaring drops and rapids that wound their way through this stretch of territory, and as another wave of stench blew towards her, she wrinkled her nose in disdain at the faint scent of rot and fish. If she was correct in her assumptions, the reek was far stronger today than it had been since before she cared to remember. Looking down, precariously, over the edge, she saw that she was right. A good sized fish lay dead on the rocks, and had been for some time. Wondering if she should get rid of it, Mintleaf looked down at the fish for a while longer, her triangular face locked in a mask of amusement and concern. How ridiculous that something like this happen here. Of all of the places, the gorge was usually the freshest-scented in the territory because the rushing waters carried away any debris. If nothing else, the temperature should have prevented the crowfood from smelling, but apparently it had not. Minutes later, she sighed and flicked her tail in dismissal, fluffing up her fur in an attempt to warm herself against the light breeze and the damp. With determination, she left the edge. She had been sent here to hunt, not to dawdle about and daydream. Her hunting crouch was half-hearted, at best, and today it was thoroughly lackluster. Hunting was boring and monotonous, but the elders needed food that they could no longer catch for themselves, and it was her responsibility to help however help was needed. So, crouching low in the grasses, she slithered forth on her stomach to see what she could find. A field mouse and a water-vole soon were dispatched, their tiny hearts slowing the course of life-giving oxygen to their muscles and they lost their heat in mere minutes. The deaths were for the greater good of her Clanmates, of course, but did the prey of the field and stream know or care about that? Perhaps not. A small chuckle escaped her maw as the thought of a rodent Clan paraded in full grandeur across her mind. All hail Squeakstar, leader of MouseClan… Childish thoughts, to be sure, but it never hurt to add a touch of spice to an otherwise tedious errand. Pale green eyes widened at the sound of approaching pawsteps, and Mintleaf busily buried her two kills before moving forwards, dappled pelt a mere shadow in the grass as she spied a magpie chattering merrily on a reed. Best look busy, lest she get in trouble. word count: 655 audience: Open comments: n/a

[tenacious]

Sometimes, it seemed like his paws, too, had a mind of their own, taking him to whatever placed they wished to visit and be apart of. Rarely did they lead him into trouble, though, for age had given him and his paws wisdom. It was a powerful tool, something that the tom hated to see in the minds of those with the blackest hearts; of course, he wouldn’t really read minds, but the message was the same. Wisdom was powerful, deadly; it could wash away an entire Clan, or it could save it, depending on what cat held it in their paws. A light sigh slipped into the air and it was immediately followed by a hiss of disgust. The old tom’s nose scrunched up and his eyes, usually pools of calm, flashed. It smelt like Carrionplace had moved onto RiverClan territory!

He knew such a thing would be impossible, though. A large part of Rookstar wanted to turn away from the stench but, beneath it, he could scent Mintleaf, his deputy, the cat he had been seeking within camp. The tom continued onward, no longer allowing his paws to lead him on aimlessly. Danger loomed overhead like a badger loomed over a young kit; he could not deal with it without consulting his deputy. The leader’s gaze swept over the land of the moor until he spotted Mintleaf. She seemed to hear him and then she moved forward, causing Rookstar’s whiskers to twitch slightly, for it seemed she was hunting once more.

“Mintleaf,” the tom called out, tail twitching as he quickened his pace a bit, though not moving too fast. He was still capable of leading his Clan and fighting for it, but age was showing up in Rookstar. The fact that it was Leaf-bare did not help his joints from not becoming stiff.

Rookstar knew that, soon, like most leaders did when they became elder age, his lives would leave him once more. He had many left, having been careful not to do foolish things when he received them, but not even StarClan themselves could defy age. A shadow flicked over the RiverClan tom’s face, but only for a moment. He would have to look sure of himself, at all times; Mintleaf and Moonwing may be able to read through it, but Rookstar would have to hope that his warriors would notice nothing. Their moral needed to be kept high, unless they wished to get beaten in the coming moons.

[Sparrow]

[atrb=border,0,true][bg=black] Muscles contracted and extended as the grey she-cat crept painfully over the earth. The grass was frigid, covered in a thin dusting of snow, and her pawpads ached with a slight numbness brought on by her limited motions. With such deliberation required to be successful, hunting was not an activity that inspired much warmth of extremities, and she was beginning to experience a faint desire to call her excursion a success and return to camp with all due haste after catching her third piece of freshkill. Three prey caught in a morning wasn’t a bad days work, after all, particularly in leafbare. The magpie before her dangled on its reed, rather like an oversized blackbird, its white plumage startling against its black feathers. How it was supported, she hadn’t the faintest idea – the reed was thin and brittle looking, dead in the frosts that struck with such a fury in the waters of the marshes – yet it balanced there, crying out like a jaybird and announcing its presence to all nearby. Before she came close enough to poince, however, a familiar voice rang over the sound of the rushing water, and Mintleaf looked up expectantly, turning her back on the bird she had been stalking and moving towards her leader as he approached. The rustle of wings behind her and the frightened chorus of squawking and chattering told her quite plainly that the obnoxious thing hadn't seen her approach, but that was beside the matter - it had been high enough on the reed that she had had only a token chance at catching it in the first place. Her paws carried her much more quickly over the ground than her leader, and she wondered at his deliberate movements for a moment before dismissing them. In leafbare all cats tended to be somewhat stiff in movements, especially in the damp environments such as those found in RiverClan and ShadowClan. Most likely it was one of the unspoken reasons that the WindClan territory was so appealing to both Clans. If they could grant their older warriors and elders some peace from the constant arthritis that so plagued them in cold weather, it would be worth any amount of trouble. Somehow, she had a feeling that it was WindClan that Rookstar wanted to speak to her about. Her whiskers twitched slightly as she stopped before her leader, looking at his anxious face with concern. It was to be expected that a leader should be anxious about his Clan at times, but Rookstar's expression spoke volumes. So, it was with slight trepidation that she spoke at last, her pale eyes narrowed with concern. "You called, Rookstar?" word count: 443 audience:Rookstar comments: I love Rookstar. He's such a professor-ish cat in the way that he things. In cat years, wouldn't he be in his early forties?

[tenacious]

Ooc: Rookstar is one of my favorite charries that I’ve made all by myself. He’s 74 moons, so, yeah, he’d be in his mid-forties or so, if my head math is correct.

Bic:
It probably would’ve been best to approach slowly, to wait, and Rookstar watched as a frightened chatter came from the magpie before it burst into the air, almost propelled off the thin reed it had been resting on. He flicked an ear, glad that it wasn’t Green-leaf, for then a whole chorus would’ve been taken up by all the surrounding birds. Now, the majority of them were asleep, or too tired and hungry to care about one foolish magpie.

His deputy moved quickly over the land separating them, far quicker then Rookstar was moving. The tom came to a stop as Mintleaf approached. There seemed to be concern playing in her eyes and Rookstar offered her a half grin, “Indeed, I did. I wanted to speak to you about the moorland, to be specific,” the RiverClan leader added. Here was as good a spot as any to talk and so he simply sat back on his haunches, tail laid out beside him, tip twitching so it loosely resembled an adder.

“I cannot help, at times, thinking that my decision to fight for the moorland is wrong. It is Leaf-bare, after all, but I also know that RiverClan is strong and the moorland will be incredibly helpful for our Clan later on,” he let out a breathe before continuing on, “Elkstar seems to strongly believe that WindClan’s territory is now StarClan’s land. I have been unable to find Moonwing to speak to her about such, but I do not wish to risk StarClan’s wrath. Do you agree with her?” he questioned, frowning slightly, for a countless amount of thoughts were rushing through his head.

[Sparrow]

[atrb=border,0,true][bg=black] As his voice chimed out over the river and into the vast moorland, Mintleaf sighed slightly and sat down, her tail wrapped tightly over her chilled paws in an attempt to warm them. The WindClan moors were a sensitive topic in the Clans, of course, yet she was unsure as to how she felt about the course of action that her Clan and ShadowClan had chosen to take. The slight and agile cats that called the barren highlands their home had left before the time of her grandmother, driven away by a powerful ShadowClan leader that had somehow managed not to claim their as his own. A point of conflict in the years that had followed, she found herself wondering if it would be a relief for the conflict to finally be over. The scent of heather carried faintly in the chill wind, even under the scent of the dead river prey, and she looked at the moorlands as her leader finished, her face thoughtful even as her expression remained dark with concern. When her words came, they were slow and deliberate, her quiet voice tentative. “War is not to be taken lightly, but sometimes it is necessary. I cannot speak with StarClan as you and Moonwing are able to, but what I have been told is that they have their own home in the stars. Consequentially, I believe that Elkstar is wrong in her assumptions.” “Elkstar is not a fool, so far as I can tell. I doubt she truly believes that StarClan owns the WindClan territories and is simply attempting to avoid participation in the war, which is a wise move on her part. She cannot defend two separated territories, and it would not profit her in any way to gain possession of the land. The forest has prey even in leafbare, shelter from the weather, and it is dry even during the rains.” Her voice grew ever more serious as she continued, wondering her leader’s reaction as she spoke. It would not do to insult him with superfluous detail, but to hold back her opinion and thoughts might do harm to the Clan if something had been overlooked. “RiverClan’s territory is… less fortunate than ThunderClan’s. While we have food even in leafbare, we risk illness and death to fish after the snow falls, for even a kit knows the dangers of cold water. In newleaf, our camp floods as the river swells with the rain. We lose kits and elders every time it does, and sometimes we lose our apprentices and warriors. Our camp is near enough to the water that the elders suffer aches and pains even in Greenleaf, much less Leafbare.” She looked at Rookstar, her expression pained, for she knew the weight that her words carried. “War is not a decision to be made lightly, but sometimes there is no other choice to be made. Unless there is a clear victory for one clan or another, the conflict for the territory will continue, and we will lose more warriors and apprentices for as long as that territory is unoccupied.” Her final words were quiet, strained, and she tore her eyes away from the heather-covered plains to the north. “StarClan doesn’t need that land, but one of the clans will gain control over it one way or another. If it had to be any Clan, I'd prefer it was ours.” word count: 565 audience: Rookstar comments: n/a