hell is so close to heaven [ceremony]

Under different circumstances, the medicine cat’s shortness with him would’ve been more than enough to have him gritting his teeth in badly repressed hostility, but he couldn’t be bothered with it. There were a number of things that Nettleheart could be thinking (bad, good or something in between) and if he was keen to share, it would have to wait until a more suitable time. He took the lead, and Oakclaw followed suit instantaneously, practically on Nettleheart’s tail as he traveled through the narrow space. He wasn’t worried about not fitting; Nettleheart was easily his size, and he pressed onward without a trace of falter in his step.

Oakclaw wasn’t renowned for putting his feelings on display, but it was impossible to not be impressed by the greatness of the moonstone. It towered far above him, shimmering brilliantly in the moonlight, and he drank in the sight of it until he noticed Nettleheart observing him from the corner. His ears flattened, and the initial reverence that he felt faded from his body language in a heartbeat. He didn’t like to be watched. There was ordinarily nothing to be gathered from the way he held himself, and he wasn’t going to let the appearance of the moonstone change that. If Nettleheart wanted to know how he felt about his first exchange with StarClan being seconds away, or how he felt about the extra lives he was going to be gifted in a show of his new status as leader, then he would need to ask just like everyone else.

The massive tabby took a deep breath, and then he lied down opposite of Nettleheart and similarly touched his nose to the glowing stone. There was a length of time unknown to him in which nothing happened, but just as he was about to run out of patience, he blinked and reopened his eyes to brand new surroundings. Surprise was etched into the hunch of his shoulders, and his gaze warily roamed the starry clearing for something familiar that he could hold onto. In no time at all he realized he wasn’t alone, and while at first he couldn’t recognize the shadowy silhouettes that filed in front, beside and all around him, they took shape with every breath he greedily inhaled to remind himself that he was still alive.

He believed that this was something he could prepare for, and for the first time in his life he openly acknowledged that something he believed in had been wrong. There were a handful he didn’t recognize, and characteristically unwelcoming towards strangers, his eyes narrowed in habitual distaste. None of them could say he’d be the most charming leader that RiverClan knew in its time.

Oakclaw knew as much about Bluewhisker as he could be expected to know. He didn’t know him well, but he knew that he was loyal to RiverClan, proud of his heritage, and that was everything the soon-to-be leader wanted from one of his own. It was a shame to lose a warrior to the waters for which they were named, and even though Oakclaw grieved him, he did so apathetically; it felt like weakness to grieve too openly in front of others, and so he didn’t. It was almost… frightening how easily he could detach himself from an emotional situation.

It wasn’t lost on him that his apprentice back in RiverClan was none other than Bluewhisker’s nephew. The StarClan warrior leaned forward in preparation to deliver the first of Oakclaw’s nine lives, and even though he was eager to receive it, he felt himself tense against the impending physical contact. His ears flattened against his head, but he remained otherwise still as the gift of mentorship flooded through him. For a moment, he pondered Bluewhisker’s reason for sharing that gift with him—did he think he could be a good leader, but not a good mentor? If so, he’d argue against it profusely, but on the other hand he could understand. If he was in Bluewhisker’s position, he’d want nothing short of the best for his family left behind in the Clan. There were times when Oakclaw could be difficult to work with, but he thought it was enough to simply acknowledge that. He knew that wasn’t the case now. He needed to be able to compromise, and make sure those he taught would benefit from his lessons and the ways he passed them on. It was something he would need to work on, but there was no telling if he’d master it in time for Frostpaw’s twelfth moon.

Bluewhisker rejoined the ranks of StarClan, but his initial comment stayed behind long after his absence and lingered in Oakclaw’s mind. I hope you’re ready, Oakclaw.

He nearly snorted. He’d been waiting a long time for this, and he felt like ‘prepared’ wasn’t a strong enough word to depict his readiness. The next cat that stepped forward, unlike Bluewhisker, wasn’t someone Oakclaw recognized, and his wariness escalated to unrivaled heights. He was easily Oakclaw’s size, if not a hair larger, and the tabby could’ve sworn he’d look just like him if stars weren’t dancing through his pelt. His identity dawned on the soon-to-be leader a second before their noses brushed, so the flare of emotion that darted through his eyes like a shooting star in the night sky would unfortunately go unseen. Sympathy and understanding sounded like simple, peaceful lives to receive, but it was polar opposite for someone like Oakclaw. Flashes of Wolfstep’s face, the hurt in his eyes when Oakclaw told him to never come back to RiverClan, fought for his attention and he flatly refused behind closed lids. By the time the second life solidified its place inside his chest, he was nearly breathless; it was a wonder that it’d managed to settle at all. He knew why his father wanted to share this gift in particular with him—he could likely see the way Oakclaw acted towards his mother from his place in StarClan, and he undoubtedly wanted to see their relationship improve—but if he’d been watching his son at all then he’d know how stubborn he could be. If he’d had the choice, he might’ve refused the life and taken seven instead of eight.

Sympathy and understanding could be important qualities in a leader from time to time, but it was unlikely he’d possess them throughout his reign. Beartooth moved aside, and Oakclaw opened and closed his mouth like he had something to say, but no words ever came. He settled with fixing a hard, borderline cold look on the back of his father’s head as he returned to StarClan. Was there nothing else he wanted to say, or simply not enough time in the world? It would be pathetic to call after him, after someone he’d never looked in the eye before now, so he stood where his father left him with a stiff lip and a lashing tail. He longed to know him, but he also didn’t like to waste time wishing for the impossible to happen. However, beneath his stony expression was layer upon layer of unspoken respect, and he prayed his father would be able to see that as clear as day. He fought for his Clan like a true warrior, and even though it cost him the chance to meet his kits, it granted him his son’s respect in a form he would’ve otherwise never had it if he’d done something differently the day he died.

Next was someone small, someone fragile, someone he probably wouldn’t have given the time of day until she was at least apprentice-aged, but being in StarClan made the world of a difference. She hadn’t been given the chance to grow into herself, to learn how to be a warrior of her Clan, but he believed she did that through her sister. He had no choice but to kneel before her so that she could reach his nose, and the action itself made him feel a little silly, but he kept his expression guarded and professional. The life she gave him made him feel… young again. That had certainly been a different time for the warrior, a different him, and it was enough to almost get a smile—almost. “Maplepaw will make RiverClan proud. Continue to guide her well.” It was rare, frankly nonexistent, for him to say such things, but it was slightly surreal for him to be among his ancestors; exceptions could and would be made. He inclined his head, tearing his eyes away from the little she-cat, in wait of the fourth cat to grant him a life. There was a touch of warmth in his expression that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps he was growing used to the process, and thus more welcoming of it.