Wishes Of Light

Prologue

The steady breeze of the moorland drifted down towards ShadowClan territory, the dark bark of the plethora of pine trees swiftly eliminating the majority of the breeze. Shadows seemed to wear the dim forest as the cats who lived there thrived. The starry feline ducked under undergrowth as her faded paws lay many leaves to rest in the marshy ground. Though many of the clan cats would mistake her as a mere breeze, the deceased cat proceeded into the near-vacant ShadowClan camp with ease. A single feline lay on the rain-soaked ground, the top of his pale grey and black spotted coat damp from morning dew. A small black she-cat was watching from a thorn infested den, her emerald green eyes seeming to pierce deeply into the starry figures pelt. The faded she-cat ducked down and gently brushed her muzzle against the tom who looked up in response. His tired misty-blue eyes seemed to say it all.

"You've returned," His whisper was hoarse with raw emotion. "You have truly returned." The starry feline dipped her head. "Indeed I have, Rookstream." The deceased she-cat nuzzled the now purring Rookstream. "You have done so brilliantly, my son. I never did understand your dream to become a meditator, but now I truly am grateful for your different decision." The faded feline pulled away and turned to the cat in the shadows of the den. Rookstream's gaze softened as he turned to the den and spotted the fear-frozen feline. "Thriftpaw, there is no need to be afraid. Come," The meditator invited the frightened apprentice. "Meet my mother, Snowface." The small black apprentice seemed shocked at the idea, though her emerald green eyes slowly became more visible as the complete darkness of the den faded into dim light in the clearing as she came forward. The faint grey and white mother gave a small yet fond purr, her pale yellow eyes gleaming.

"Hello, little one." Snowface's mew was uniquely deep for a she-cat, though it was gentle and provided a mother-like warmth. Thriftpaw's reluctance was rather obvious, though the petite feline soon relaxed. Snowface directed her attention to Rookstream who gave a small nod before turning back to the black feline. Her emerald green orbs were slanted slightly with confusion. Snowface stood, her thick velvety coat appeared to shimmer with starlight and gloss. The white and grey pelted mouser raised her head as the greenery above their heads shifted just enough to allow moonlight to dazzle on the three cats. "My friends and ancestors above, I bring you this young apprentice. Her green eyes gleam with passion for what she does and she understands the steps she must take forward." Thriftpaw blinked, suddenly feeling the heat of realization.

Snowface didn't look at the living felines in front of her, instead she continued speaking. "Rookstream has grown and it is his time to inspect StarClan territory himself. He has learned all he can here and passed it on, and we hope Thriftpaw will do the same." Snowface turned to the still-stunned apprentice and gently touched the felines muzzle to her own. "Thriftpaw, from this day forward you shall be known as Thriftbriar. StarClan honors your dedication and compassion, and we welcome you as a full meditator of ShadowClan." At that the ceremony had come to a close. Rookstream turned to the newly named Thriftbriar and lapped at her leg as weakness overcame him. Thriftbriar was once again torn open with a realization. Rookstream had been waiting for this so he could finally let go. The elderly tom had talked about his fate, though Thriftbriar never thought much of it. Only now as she sat next to him did she realize his weakened state.

Through his thick fur there seemed to be nothing but the solid feeling of pure bone. "Wait, Rookstream! Hold on for just a little bit, please! We can go find the rest of the clan, ya know? We'll be meditators together! And, and.." The young meditator knew that fate never waited for goodbyes, but why now? Was this the whole reason she became a meditator? She was so caught up in the thoughts she hardly realized when he truly passed on. All she could recall was waking up in the rain next to his cool and stiff body. Thriftbriar felt an agonizing pain in her heart as she thought of her always calm mentor. She then padded out of the camp and used her claws to dig a grave just large enough for the large tom. Thriftbriar flinched and looked away when the body was set in the grave with a thud. The new meditator couldn't look at him as she scooped the dirt back over his cold deceased pelt. She didn't wish to remember him like that.

Instead the she-cat buried the tom and found a bundle of marigold. The yellow herbs used to amusingly intrigue Rookstream to no rest. He couldn't help but admire the color and fan over all the uses. Thriftbriar always teased him for it. Now she smiled faintly at the memories, only leaving his grave side when the sunlight broke through the green leaves overhead.