Some Of Our Most Powerful Times Are When We’re Quiet [Fox]
Sept 26, 2020 15:23:43 GMT -5
Fawn likes this
Post by Abyss on Sept 26, 2020 15:23:43 GMT -5
Greenleaf 21 - Rumbles roll through the valley in the morning, but rain won't start until the late afternoon, which starts light but becomes a torrential downpour that doesn't ease up all night long.
Storms and rain always signal the coming of some form of drama or intenseness. Such a foolish cliche. So pointless and unnerving. How many cats truly believed in that sort of thing? All rain was was water falling from a dark sky. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t signal anything, it didn’t make things any different than if something were to happen on any other day.
Such a stupid cliche…
“Foxfire.”
That proper tone. That slightly scratchy voice. And that hint of irritation and hatred. It was unmistakable.
“Yes, mother?” How similar they sounded to one another at times. A hard voice with the laces of anger and discontent audible at every corner? Seemed it was genetic.
“Scorchwing wishes to see you.”
Whatever remnant of a heart she had left in her chest stopped beating for a moment, but continued a steady pace a second later. Long claws slowly unsheathed from her paws, slowly dragging through the dirt beneath them without much movement. Dark pupils, already thin by nature, only grew thinner, like a blade of grass. And the dark orange eyes that contained these pupils narrowed, glaring at the ground ahead.
“And for what reason would he wish for that?” Her fluffy tail lashed behind her once, holding back her desire to completely shred the ground beneath her.
What could he possibly want from her? Why would he want to see her? Why did she care? Oh, wait. She didn’t.
She did not turn to peer at Rowanflower’s face, but she could just feel those eyes boring into the back of her head. She could almost feel the rage that the older she-cat was boiling in on the inside.
“Does he have to have a reason to see you? Do you think your time is so much more important than anyone else’s that you can’t even go to see your own fa-”
She snapped. It took hardly any time at all. Seemed her temper only grew worse when it came to her family.
The fiery red she-cat zipped around, her eyes wide and full of their own rage. Her claws fully unsheathed, digging so far into the dirt beneath her that she almost wondered if she would begin to snag the tainted roots of the trees around them. Her tail lashed so hard behind her that it almost began to hurt.
“Where was his wish to see me the day that I didn’t picked for Deputy like he wanted?! Where was his desire to see me the day that I helped chase that damned Nightclan patrol into the mountains?! Where was his want to see me the day that I defended this damn clan from those swamp rogues when they attacked our camp?! Huh?! Tell me! Tell me any other time when he would have had a good reason to see me, but didn’t!”
For the first time, in nearly all of her moons, she saw a shift in her mother’s eyes. A shift she had never seen before. A shift that was so uncharacteristic of her when speaking to her own daughter.
Regret. Fear. Yearning.
“Fox...I-”
“Don’t play games with me, Rowanflower!” Her snarl echoed off of the trees around them, a few pairs of eyes turning suddenly to peer at the pair of cats. “Both you and Scorchwing have wanted nothing to do with me for moons now! Hell, you abandoned me long before he ever did! Both of you pushed me aside, both of you acted like I didn’t exist, both of you treated me like I was just some rogue that the clan chose to keep around for the hell of it! So please, tell me, what reason do either of you have for wanting to see me?! Why do you all of a sudden want anything to do with me?! You didn’t care about me any other time! So what changed?!”
She couldn’t hold back her fury. She couldn’t hold back her words. Everything she said, every word, had come from her heart. Her heart that, in that moment, felt as though it was burning. Like a hot stone pressing against a fresh wound. Or, in this case, a wound that remained, never fully healed. A wound that likely would never heal.
Rowanflower’s jaws only slightly parted, but she didn’t speak. Her expression, it was one of a typical concerned mother. A mother who cared about her child. A mother who, for once, felt bad for the way she treated her own child.
But...where was that mother back when? Where was that mother when Scorchwing stopped associating with her? Where was that mother when she had helped the clan fight back against Nightclan? Where was that mother when she and Pumafang had to literally drag themselves into camp during Leafbare? Where was that mother when it really mattered?
Foxfire’s fangs bared for a moment, snarling at the ruddy she-cat in front of her. Her paws began to shake for a moment, but stopped, and her eyes closed. She closed her mouth over her jaws, turning her head away from Rowanflower. Her eyes opened just a little bit, looking to the ground at her side.
“Even if either of you did have a reason to want to see me, why does it matter? You never wanted to see me during any of the times I might have needed or wanted you. You never showed any care for me when I did anything worth while, or when I was on the verge of death…..”
A moment of silence passed between them, what remained of her torn ear and the long scar that brandished her face beginning to sting. When she finally lifted her gaze and peered into the eyes of the cat who was her mother only by blood, she almost felt...broken.
“Showing concern for me all of a sudden, or showing any signs of regret…..it doesn’t make up for any of it.”
Closing her eyes once more, the crimson she-cat turned, paws taking her towards the woods. She could still feel her mother’s eyes looking at her, but it didn’t matter….none of it mattered.
She didn’t know how long she stayed in the forest by herself. She didn’t hunt. She didn’t check the borders. She didn’t sit in a tree and mope. She just...existed.
She hated this feeling. This feeling of doing nothing. Of being nothing. Of being no one.
She was alone in a place that expected you to be a part of a family. Of a team. Of a clan.
What...am I doing here? Why am I still here...even though I know...I shouldn’t be? Do I truly belong in Treeclan? Do I even belong in a clan at all? Would I be better off...by myself?
She didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. She had a feeling she would never know.
By the time Foxfire began her trek back to camp, the rumbling that had echoed through the valley from the sky had transformed into rain. Despite the trees doing their best to shield the ground from the falling water, it didn’t stop the crimson she-cat from getting soaked. She was in no hurry, her slow pace only causing her pelt to absorb even more of the water. Her eyes remained locked on the ground, no expression visible on her face through the rain.
The large hollow log that Treeclan called home came into view, and she hesitated. Her paws came to a stop just under a tree, looking at the log with an empty gaze. This log had been her home all her life. But now...it was just a big hollow tree full of cats. When had it become that for her? When had this log truly turned into a shelter rather than a home? Her tail drooped behind her, just barely dragging on the ground behind her and gathering mud.
As she began to turn the corner to enter the log, she looked up to find an unexpected sight. Cats were gathered, standing silently all across the camp, some with their heads lowered, others with narrowed eyes. All of those who did look ahead all looked at the same area. The Elder’s den.
Her paws slowly took her forward, the rain no longer hitting her back. Eyes turned on her, many pairs looking at her with mixed emotions. What was this? In any other case, she would have snarled at them and told them to quit staring. But this...felt different. Something about their expressions, and the hidden meaning behind their gazes. Their looks urged her forward towards where they all had been looking previously.
She slowly and cautiously walked forward towards the Elder’s den, nerves on end. As she peered around the corner into the den, the pit that had begun to form earlier on in her stomach suddenly dropped into a canyon.
Rowanflower sat wordlessly against one of the walls of the den, her eyes closed and her head lowered to her chest. Squirrelskip also sat inside the den, his eyes looking down to the nest that he sat next to. His expression...she had never seen her brother truly sad before. He was always so cheerful and peppy, even in the grimmest of situations. But the nest he looked to…
When she finally looked down to the nest, she saw Scorchwing, his body laid on his side and his head propped up on the side of his nest. His eyes, they were open, and they were looking right at her. But...there was no light in them. There was no anger, there was no disappointment, there was no grief. There was...nothing. His once amber eyes that had looked down on her so many times were faded, nearly colorless at that moment. She didn’t have to look at his stomach or his chest or anything else to know what she was looking at.
Scorchwing was dead.
What was this feeling that she felt in her chest? It was not sadness. It was not grief. It was not anger. It was not rage. It was not confusion. It was...nothing.
~His own heart heavy, Squirrelskip looked down to his father, an invisible paw clutching at his heart in his chest. Unlike Foxfire, Squirrel had been relatively close with their father. Not close enough that their bond could truly be considered father and son. But...it was something. Rownflower, for the longest time, never wanted Squirrel or Fox to have anything to do with Scorchwing. But, as they both got older, they seemed slightly more open to the idea, despite being separated. Perhaps they both knew that they were getting older and that they wouldn’t remain in the Elder’s den forever.
~Regardless of the reason, it still hurt. Even if they hadn’t been close, even if they hadn’t truly known each other, Scorchwing was still his father. Rowanflower, despite that remaining feeling of irritation she constantly felt towards Scorchwing, also felt the pain, and he knew it. They had separated, and they had never gotten back together, nor did they ever have any more kits. But they had still created two lives together. It was their children that had kept even a sliver of Rowan’s feelings for Scorch intact. And it was that same sliver that brought her to the Elder’s den this day, staying with the old tom on his final day, and now mourning for him. Maybe she was feeling regret for the way she had separated the family. Or maybe she was just wishing she could have done more.
~Pawsteps drew his attention away from Scorchwing, and he knew who it was. It wouldn’t be anyone else. He turned his gaze slightly, looking longingly to the entrance of the den. There, he saw her. Standing there at the entrance, pelt hanging and dripping rain, was Foxfire. There was no expression on her face as she gazed at Scorchwing. She just stood there, pelt dripping from the rain, her gaze empty.
~For a brief moment, the siblings locked eyes. It wasn’t clear at first, but looking at her, really looking, only for a split second, he saw...pain. But just as this appeared in her eyes, her gaze lowered and her head turned away. He wanted to call out to her, to have her be there, and to be there for her.
But she turned away. She couldn’t be here. She didn’t want to be here. This was no place for her. With a few pairs of eyes still peering at her, her paws took her back towards the camp entrance silently. Just as she had walked into the camp to get out of the rain, she now left the camp to enter the rain once more. Without any words, with no emotion, and with no pause of will, Foxfire departed, disappearing into the rain.
Storms and rain always signal the coming of some form of drama or intenseness. Such a foolish cliche. So pointless and unnerving. How many cats truly believed in that sort of thing? All rain was was water falling from a dark sky. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t signal anything, it didn’t make things any different than if something were to happen on any other day.
Such a stupid cliche…
“Foxfire.”
That proper tone. That slightly scratchy voice. And that hint of irritation and hatred. It was unmistakable.
“Yes, mother?” How similar they sounded to one another at times. A hard voice with the laces of anger and discontent audible at every corner? Seemed it was genetic.
“Scorchwing wishes to see you.”
Whatever remnant of a heart she had left in her chest stopped beating for a moment, but continued a steady pace a second later. Long claws slowly unsheathed from her paws, slowly dragging through the dirt beneath them without much movement. Dark pupils, already thin by nature, only grew thinner, like a blade of grass. And the dark orange eyes that contained these pupils narrowed, glaring at the ground ahead.
“And for what reason would he wish for that?” Her fluffy tail lashed behind her once, holding back her desire to completely shred the ground beneath her.
What could he possibly want from her? Why would he want to see her? Why did she care? Oh, wait. She didn’t.
She did not turn to peer at Rowanflower’s face, but she could just feel those eyes boring into the back of her head. She could almost feel the rage that the older she-cat was boiling in on the inside.
“Does he have to have a reason to see you? Do you think your time is so much more important than anyone else’s that you can’t even go to see your own fa-”
She snapped. It took hardly any time at all. Seemed her temper only grew worse when it came to her family.
The fiery red she-cat zipped around, her eyes wide and full of their own rage. Her claws fully unsheathed, digging so far into the dirt beneath her that she almost wondered if she would begin to snag the tainted roots of the trees around them. Her tail lashed so hard behind her that it almost began to hurt.
“Where was his wish to see me the day that I didn’t picked for Deputy like he wanted?! Where was his desire to see me the day that I helped chase that damned Nightclan patrol into the mountains?! Where was his want to see me the day that I defended this damn clan from those swamp rogues when they attacked our camp?! Huh?! Tell me! Tell me any other time when he would have had a good reason to see me, but didn’t!”
For the first time, in nearly all of her moons, she saw a shift in her mother’s eyes. A shift she had never seen before. A shift that was so uncharacteristic of her when speaking to her own daughter.
Regret. Fear. Yearning.
“Fox...I-”
“Don’t play games with me, Rowanflower!” Her snarl echoed off of the trees around them, a few pairs of eyes turning suddenly to peer at the pair of cats. “Both you and Scorchwing have wanted nothing to do with me for moons now! Hell, you abandoned me long before he ever did! Both of you pushed me aside, both of you acted like I didn’t exist, both of you treated me like I was just some rogue that the clan chose to keep around for the hell of it! So please, tell me, what reason do either of you have for wanting to see me?! Why do you all of a sudden want anything to do with me?! You didn’t care about me any other time! So what changed?!”
She couldn’t hold back her fury. She couldn’t hold back her words. Everything she said, every word, had come from her heart. Her heart that, in that moment, felt as though it was burning. Like a hot stone pressing against a fresh wound. Or, in this case, a wound that remained, never fully healed. A wound that likely would never heal.
Rowanflower’s jaws only slightly parted, but she didn’t speak. Her expression, it was one of a typical concerned mother. A mother who cared about her child. A mother who, for once, felt bad for the way she treated her own child.
But...where was that mother back when? Where was that mother when Scorchwing stopped associating with her? Where was that mother when she had helped the clan fight back against Nightclan? Where was that mother when she and Pumafang had to literally drag themselves into camp during Leafbare? Where was that mother when it really mattered?
Foxfire’s fangs bared for a moment, snarling at the ruddy she-cat in front of her. Her paws began to shake for a moment, but stopped, and her eyes closed. She closed her mouth over her jaws, turning her head away from Rowanflower. Her eyes opened just a little bit, looking to the ground at her side.
“Even if either of you did have a reason to want to see me, why does it matter? You never wanted to see me during any of the times I might have needed or wanted you. You never showed any care for me when I did anything worth while, or when I was on the verge of death…..”
A moment of silence passed between them, what remained of her torn ear and the long scar that brandished her face beginning to sting. When she finally lifted her gaze and peered into the eyes of the cat who was her mother only by blood, she almost felt...broken.
“Showing concern for me all of a sudden, or showing any signs of regret…..it doesn’t make up for any of it.”
Closing her eyes once more, the crimson she-cat turned, paws taking her towards the woods. She could still feel her mother’s eyes looking at her, but it didn’t matter….none of it mattered.
She didn’t know how long she stayed in the forest by herself. She didn’t hunt. She didn’t check the borders. She didn’t sit in a tree and mope. She just...existed.
She hated this feeling. This feeling of doing nothing. Of being nothing. Of being no one.
She was alone in a place that expected you to be a part of a family. Of a team. Of a clan.
What...am I doing here? Why am I still here...even though I know...I shouldn’t be? Do I truly belong in Treeclan? Do I even belong in a clan at all? Would I be better off...by myself?
She didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. She had a feeling she would never know.
By the time Foxfire began her trek back to camp, the rumbling that had echoed through the valley from the sky had transformed into rain. Despite the trees doing their best to shield the ground from the falling water, it didn’t stop the crimson she-cat from getting soaked. She was in no hurry, her slow pace only causing her pelt to absorb even more of the water. Her eyes remained locked on the ground, no expression visible on her face through the rain.
The large hollow log that Treeclan called home came into view, and she hesitated. Her paws came to a stop just under a tree, looking at the log with an empty gaze. This log had been her home all her life. But now...it was just a big hollow tree full of cats. When had it become that for her? When had this log truly turned into a shelter rather than a home? Her tail drooped behind her, just barely dragging on the ground behind her and gathering mud.
As she began to turn the corner to enter the log, she looked up to find an unexpected sight. Cats were gathered, standing silently all across the camp, some with their heads lowered, others with narrowed eyes. All of those who did look ahead all looked at the same area. The Elder’s den.
Her paws slowly took her forward, the rain no longer hitting her back. Eyes turned on her, many pairs looking at her with mixed emotions. What was this? In any other case, she would have snarled at them and told them to quit staring. But this...felt different. Something about their expressions, and the hidden meaning behind their gazes. Their looks urged her forward towards where they all had been looking previously.
She slowly and cautiously walked forward towards the Elder’s den, nerves on end. As she peered around the corner into the den, the pit that had begun to form earlier on in her stomach suddenly dropped into a canyon.
Rowanflower sat wordlessly against one of the walls of the den, her eyes closed and her head lowered to her chest. Squirrelskip also sat inside the den, his eyes looking down to the nest that he sat next to. His expression...she had never seen her brother truly sad before. He was always so cheerful and peppy, even in the grimmest of situations. But the nest he looked to…
When she finally looked down to the nest, she saw Scorchwing, his body laid on his side and his head propped up on the side of his nest. His eyes, they were open, and they were looking right at her. But...there was no light in them. There was no anger, there was no disappointment, there was no grief. There was...nothing. His once amber eyes that had looked down on her so many times were faded, nearly colorless at that moment. She didn’t have to look at his stomach or his chest or anything else to know what she was looking at.
Scorchwing was dead.
What was this feeling that she felt in her chest? It was not sadness. It was not grief. It was not anger. It was not rage. It was not confusion. It was...nothing.
~His own heart heavy, Squirrelskip looked down to his father, an invisible paw clutching at his heart in his chest. Unlike Foxfire, Squirrel had been relatively close with their father. Not close enough that their bond could truly be considered father and son. But...it was something. Rownflower, for the longest time, never wanted Squirrel or Fox to have anything to do with Scorchwing. But, as they both got older, they seemed slightly more open to the idea, despite being separated. Perhaps they both knew that they were getting older and that they wouldn’t remain in the Elder’s den forever.
~Regardless of the reason, it still hurt. Even if they hadn’t been close, even if they hadn’t truly known each other, Scorchwing was still his father. Rowanflower, despite that remaining feeling of irritation she constantly felt towards Scorchwing, also felt the pain, and he knew it. They had separated, and they had never gotten back together, nor did they ever have any more kits. But they had still created two lives together. It was their children that had kept even a sliver of Rowan’s feelings for Scorch intact. And it was that same sliver that brought her to the Elder’s den this day, staying with the old tom on his final day, and now mourning for him. Maybe she was feeling regret for the way she had separated the family. Or maybe she was just wishing she could have done more.
~Pawsteps drew his attention away from Scorchwing, and he knew who it was. It wouldn’t be anyone else. He turned his gaze slightly, looking longingly to the entrance of the den. There, he saw her. Standing there at the entrance, pelt hanging and dripping rain, was Foxfire. There was no expression on her face as she gazed at Scorchwing. She just stood there, pelt dripping from the rain, her gaze empty.
~For a brief moment, the siblings locked eyes. It wasn’t clear at first, but looking at her, really looking, only for a split second, he saw...pain. But just as this appeared in her eyes, her gaze lowered and her head turned away. He wanted to call out to her, to have her be there, and to be there for her.
But she turned away. She couldn’t be here. She didn’t want to be here. This was no place for her. With a few pairs of eyes still peering at her, her paws took her back towards the camp entrance silently. Just as she had walked into the camp to get out of the rain, she now left the camp to enter the rain once more. Without any words, with no emotion, and with no pause of will, Foxfire departed, disappearing into the rain.
TAGS
WORDS 2150
OOC The paragraphs towards the bottom with ~ before them are a brief Squirrel pov.
WORDS 2150
OOC The paragraphs towards the bottom with ~ before them are a brief Squirrel pov.
