Finchchirp had been, admittedly, feeling doubtful about his decision to stay behind in MountainClan. He had stayed, feeling guilty that he was leaving the elders behind to starve - and then so many other cats chose to remain on the mountain - his own sister, Buzzardstrike, among them, and at that point he couldn't change his mind if he had wanted to. He had already cast his vote among the stones and sure, while Palepaw could change her mind - she was an apprentice, but he was a warrior. He had been expected to stick to his decision once he made it.
But... now it was becoming clear that even though he had stayed behind for the elders, his contribution was very little in the grand scope of things. Thistlefur, one of the beloved elders of the Clan, had died anyway. Of course, there was always the feeling that not all of them would make it - that's why the Clan split to begin with: Littleflower declared that they couldn't survive on the mountain. He should've expected that a death was around the corner, when there wasn't enough prey to catch, but... he still remembered the look on Swallowtail's face - and on Dapplelight's - and... Thistlefur's body, ragged and frail.
His guilt had doubled down the day of her death, but his doubt had too. Why was he still here, if he couldn't make a difference here? He could've gone with his parents - Buzzardstrike could've gone with their family, if he hadn't somehow made her think she was doing him a favor by staying back with him in this dying place. He had to believe that the cats that had left the mountain were doing better than those who remained were. He couldn't imagine the alternative.
He busied himself in work ever since Thistlefur's death - it was the only thing that distracted him from the weight of impending doom on his shoulders. Yet, it didn't seem to distract him enough, for his hunts were majorly unsuccessful. Today, too, he was padding back into camp with little more than dirty paws to indicate he'd left the camp at all.
Finchchirp was slinking towards the warriors den, ready to collapse into his nest, into despair, when he caught sight of Streamheart. Her eyes looked hollow and her shoulders seemed to droop - for a frightened moment, he wasn't entirely certain if she was alive.
"Streamheart?!" He mewed, rushing forward as fear prompted hasty movement in him.
"Streamheart, look at me." He mewed, rubbing his cheek across hers in a greeting that was surely friendlier than he would have attempted in the days when their Clan was whole. He could see that she was breathing now that he was closer - thank SunClan for that, at least. Pulling back from her, he searched her gaze, looking for some inkling towards... any sort of hope of a future. Was this what awaited all of MountainClan? This... depression? He had felt the weight of it himself, but for whatever reason, seeing Streamheart so affected rubbed him in a way he couldn't bare. He couldn't stand to see this kind-hearted she-cat look so... distant.
"
Streamheart, let's go out into the woods. Not to hunt - not immediately, anyway, we should definitely try to hunt, but... But let's just go walking together, alright?" He asked.
"Please, Streamheart. I would greatly appreciate your company." @NatiStorm
