|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 12, 2020 12:45:06 GMT -5
THE PROBLEM IS YOU THINK YOU HAVE TIME "Lionstar.”
Pumafang’s deep rumble echoed inside the leader’s hollow. An ashen darkness blotted the horizon and a bleak, muggy silence reigned: the valley made its season’s change known. The forest sprouted from the ground like eager weeds, the silhouetted woods drinking in the world’s humidity through every leaf and spore. Though just as storm tempted earth, Pumafang felt it in his bones: an impending woe he couldn’t shake. It must have been his mild, irritating injuries that dampened his usually steadfast and unbending confidence.
How inconvenient. He thought, shifting slightly.
The poultice was wet and sharp on his wounds, its scent making his head spin slightly. The antagonists were a duo of loners, stuffing their bellies, preying on TreeClan’s future without being bound by her code.
They got what they deserved. Pumafang mused, the metallic taste of blood still felt fresh on his tongue. He couldn't tell if that was Goldenflame's voice or his own.
The colossal, black tom shifted uncomfortably. He looked up. The bulging heavens seemed to incite a certain apprehension. The deed was sloppy, but their sentence was the same as the rest of them: the ones who attempted to separate him from the grounds he stood upon.
Every light eventually goes out. Pumafang noted, amber eyes clotted with an eerie, sinister shadow. It seemed, with brief reflection, he had hardened himself with indifference upon the matters past, and redeemed his usually stolid air: the one that seemed initially threaten at his approach to Lionstar’s den.
Pumafang waited outside, a menacing shade hugging close to the entrance of Lionstar’s warm and welcoming abode. An aura of death lingering on the fringes of his rotten society like a foul smell. The hate. The despicable motives. The game of thrones. Pumafang felt his paws tingle.
He lived for the stimulation.
The brilliance he once was had long since collapsed into an inescapable, devastating darkness, and to him, everyone was a meek ring of light bending to an empty will.
Pumafang resumed his calculating expression, awaiting Lionstar’s invite as night stretched on. Time seemed to be Pumafang’s refuge from the misty, engulfing rain, though the clouds didn’t look to hold out for much longer. The stars were blotted out by coal-dark skies, and a cold, humid quiet reigned over the valley.
The report had been blasé, but analyzing the occurrence was what brought him to Lionstar’s hearth. It wasn’t uncommon for feisty outsiders to test their luck on a single opponent. The two she-cats were unfortunately outmatched, thus TreeClans deputy ended up dispatching them with ease and sending them downstream as a warning. Impending night lured him and, some of his prey, back to camp in time for supper.
Pumafang smirked.
What chaos would ensue, if he rest two dead bodies on the dinner table? His cryptic features darkened with forbode. To say he clung to the grotesque would have been an understatement. TreeClan’s deputy averted his gaze nonchalantly towards camp, preparing his tongue for a professional encounter. Full bellies meant a job well done for the average warrior, but for leadership, there was far more involved.
The pending strategy and forethought made Pumafang ache with desire. [attr="class","pftag"]TAGGED Fawn | | [attr="class","pfwc"]WORDS 555 |
|
|
|
|
Post by Fawn on Oct 25, 2020 11:54:46 GMT -5
Lionstar The crown is getting heavy
But they've written my name in the stars "Come in," Lionstar's answering rumble was for the hulking shadow at the entrance, though in his mind's eye he was picturing the worried face of someone else. Fawnspring had been nervous, more nervous than he'd ever seen the young warrior in his life, when she'd approached him scarcely an hour ago with some disturbing news. "I-I saw Pumafang hunting. He was hunting cats. O-Or at least chasing one. And I smelled blood."
After gently pressing the pale gray-brown pointed she-cat, Fawnspring confessed to have seen Pumafang dispatch the feline he'd been chasing; to watch another Clanmate take a life in circumstances she didn't understand clearly rattled Fawnspring. Lionstar assured her that all would be well. He would deal with it. That was a small comfort, but one Fawnspring accepted, and made a hasty exit to go find one of her friends or littermates. Discretion was an unspoken request between them, and he trusted Fawnspring to honor that.
"The Warrior Code teaches us only to take a life when absolutely necessary. You and I may have different opinions on what 'necessary' means," Lionstar began once Pumafang had folded himself into the ancient stump. "I want to believe you had no choice, however something is troubling me about the report you've given. They tried to steal your prey, and you retaliated. Did you have the opportunity to let them both live and chose not to take it? If so, why?" He gave the deputy his chance to respond, Lionstar's expression tight with focus, the set of his ears conveying he was listening intently.
Pumafang was cold, calculating and efficient. Things that could be considered positive under the right circumstances - or disasterous under the wrong ones. Lionstar inwardly shuddered at the very real possibility that one or both of the she-cats Pumafang had killed had been expecting. It would partly explain their foolish decision to take on a cat so much larger and bigger than they; they couldn't hunt properly themselves and resorted to unsavory tactics. If that wasn't the case at all, then Lionstar would breathe a little easier. Just a little. I've been building up all these kingdoms for so long
It's good to be king 117 Moons || TreeClan || 347 Words || @jet |
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 28, 2020 14:22:28 GMT -5
THE PROBLEM IS YOU THINK YOU HAVE TIME It always got worse around the time of Goldenflame’s death.
Every year. Pumafang thought. He wanted to grimace, but held it back with a placid expression. He almost always did.
There was an empty silence. The towering, chocolate-black deputy clung by the entrance, tainted by a foul shade. Lionstar’s disappointed eyes would have made the child inside him writhe in shame, but Goldenflame’s teachings echoed strongly behind Pumafang’s dead, amber gaze, radiating through his heart and mind like the headache he was. The dark tom blinked his eyes a few times, trying to clear the splitting pain that strangled his thoughts, though he knew it was pointless. The past few weeks, his brain pounded against the confines of his skull with a nauseating sharpness. It made him volatile in the most tense of situations, and Pumafang hated it.
Rain began to patter outside, ticking atop the Ancient Stump and setting a calm, dreary tone within the confines of the leader’s den. It soothed the black tom’s nerves, though unreceptiveness rested like a malignant cancer deep in the pit of his mind.
“To walk into someone’s home,” Pumafang started after a long, drawn out quietude, taking a few, heavy steps towards Lionstar, blinking away the pain. “To then steal the very thing that facilitates their prosperity. Did I not have the right to protect myself, to protect TreeClan both in land and substance?” Pumafang paused, the loner’s deaths replaying in his head like a sweet, broken record.
It felt like justice.
“I have no regrets.” Pumafang rumbled, voice raspy and broken.
Was that…hesitation?
“You’re being bold, boy.” Goldenflame’s warning pounded sharply through his skull. “How about some more respect? Its not like you to push me away so readily. We both know you can’t make a good decision on your own.”
Pumafang sat back on his haunches and wrapped his thick, long tail around his paws, sitting before Lionstar with open ears and a closed heart.
“Did I stutter?” Goldenflame snarled demeaningly.
Pumafang’s tail twitched.
The edges of the massive, black tom’s maw creased downward slightly, though whether it was from pain or recognition he did not know. It was funny, those nervous ticks. It got him thinking how Goldenflame’s whisker’s shuttered when he was furious, or right before he laughed. Pumafang could picture it now, the nicks, scars, hollows, and convexities of his mentor’s face, his savage snarl only seen by solitude and a select few.
But Pumafang hadn't lived for the lows.
Half the time, Goldenflame was the father he never had. Part of him hated how Timberfrost could ignore someone who loved and believed in her so much: how she could ignore her father when others grew up without one. Without that support and acknowledgement that was readily available. When others had to work so hard for something that never would truly be genuine, for a glimpse of a false reality. False security.
Pumafang blinked, disgust sitting like rotten prey in his stomach. Part of him wanted him out of his head, but being alone in the dark sounded worse.
“Touching.” Goldenflame hissed snidely.
His mentor’s aureate eyes always glistened with a deep hatred, a nefarious void so unyielding no light could pierce through it, but it went unseen by the entire clan. Sometimes even Pumafang ignored it, craving for a compliment, for acknowledgement. Now he retained a fraction of Goldenflame, he manufactured a ghost of the tom to help him walk through life unquestioned.
Until Lionstar.
Part of Pumafang wished he could have killed Goldenflame himself, but his revenge had gone unchecked, rotting him inside. It was an open case with no closure. A natural, heroic death unbefitting for a criminal. Pumafang’s mouth was dry and his head pounded. Would he have even been able to do it? His heart dropped.
Of course he would have, but somehow, that didn’t make the deputy feel any better.
“You can’t yank me out like a thorn in your pad, Pumafang.” Goldenflame murmured, almost fatherly. It was tantalizing. “One cannot live without the other. I’ve been with you every day since you were named my apprentice. My prodigy. My legacy. How could my guidance equate to so little?”
Pumafang’s head ached and his eyes watered, but his silence continued. It pained him, not understanding how Goldenflame’s abuse could have fostered such loyalty. How such false words could inspire him so strongly. Even this diminutive fracture of his own psyche was a monster, a self-nemesis that seemed so much more decisive and resolute than his waking conscience.
But yet.
It was himself, wasn’t it?
Goldenflame is dead. Pumafang thought, straightening his posture. This voice constitutes my greatest insecurities, a guide I manufactured and shaped to be my ultimate counterpart, to question my resolve and in turn overcome all self-doubt.
Pumafang paused.
“No regrets but one.” Pumafang murmured lowly, pulling himself to his paws. “I should see Falconstorm again. Surely he has something for a headache.”
He just wanted to stop hurting, but he wasn't a kit anymore. He couldn't run off and take a nap in the curve of his mother's belly. But he could wrap around Timberfrost and bathe in her warm, comforting scent. He could protect her, if not from Demon, then from the cold. He blinked. The thought of his mate seemed to dampen his headache's intensity, though Lionstar's golden gaze remained critical as usual.
It made his heart skip for a moment, the similarities of the way both Lionstar and Goldenflame looked down at him with distaste. The same eyes, a different face. And yet, Goldenflame's pupils had the weight of a fallen star, drawing you in like a hole in the universe.
Lionstar was only feline after all.
Pumafang shifted slightly. The deputy's initial suspicions about the topic of this conversation had obviously been incorrect. Lionstar wasn't looking for a solution to get rid of the loners: Lionstar was looking for a solution to get rid of him. If he knew this meeting would be a lecture on morals and politics, he would have come more prepared. How disappointing. Pumafang sighed inaudibly. He felt like a kit again, being scolded for messing mischievously in Blackwater's nest when she neglected him for her warrior duties.
It was but a glimpse of innocence, rapidly engulfed by the void.
“He wants to discredit your actions.” Goldenflame meowed thoughtfully. Pumafang tensed. “He wants you to question yourself, to influence you just like he did to Gorsetail. He ripped the spine out of that cat, damaged him and erased his own voice even more than Darkstar did.” He paused. “Lionstar regrets making you deputy. He doesn’t trust you and never will.”
Pumafang stood, unmoving as his mind and heart split in two. He closed his eyes and dipped his head slightly.
I don’t need him to trust me. Pumafang thought. His entire entity darkened like a stormcloud, though his heart remained empty and matter-of-fact. Goldenflame grew sickly silent, and in the dark of Lionstar's den, Pumafang opened his amber eyes with renewed control. I just need him to die. | | [attr="class","pfwc"]WORDS 1240 |
|
|
|
|
Post by Fawn on Oct 28, 2020 15:50:45 GMT -5
Lionstar The crown is getting heavy
But they've written my name in the stars "There is a difference, Pumafang, between protection and execution." Lionstar's response was cold, and it carried the rumbling thunder of a disappointed father. He couldn't hide the hardness of his eyes; Pumafang wasn't a kit to be coddled, or a young warrior who was simply overzealous. Fawnspring's shaken expression lingered in Lionstar's mind like a ghost, and his tail flicked, channeling some of the excess irritation he felt over Pumafang's guiltless indifference to his actions.
"Despite what you may believe about yourself and my picking you as deputy, you do not have the right to decide life and death on trespassers. That is my right. You are a strong warrior, Pumafang, but you were taught the poorest of values by a despicable, depraved creature." Lionstar's claws flexed, and he passionately wished he could step back through the mists into a time when Goldenflame still walked, and he could put an end to the traitor once and for all. The hard, stark reality Timberfrost had revealed to him still clung to his mind like a bitter taste in the back of his throat. It churned his stomach.
"I..." Lionstar held his breath, reducing the angery hum of blood in his ears to a quiet thrum, before continuing. "I put the two of you together, believing Goldenflame to be an upstanding warrior who could pass on what it truly means to live a life of decency and honor. I was wrong. I should have kept a closer eye on your upbringing, I could have seen the signs a lot sooner. I am sorry. Words will not smooth your jagged edges, but they must be said, because they are true."
If I had known what you are, Pumafang, I wouldn't have made you deputy. Truthfully, he would have written the older tom off as a loss. A powerful warrior that could defend the Clan to his dying breath and probably still find a way to come back with a vengeance. But what made Pumafang a great warrior, made him a piss-poor choice in deputy or leader. Too maliciously aligned to embrace and nurture the goodness of this Clan.
But he didn't have to be.
You failed him before. Don't fail him now. Lionstar stood as well, keeping his gaze level with Pumafang. So much darkness swirled, a chaotic miasma of Goldenflame's twisted ideals, he couldn't begin to wrap his head around where to start. But he needed to try. "You may feel otherwise, but the strength you have been taught, is watered by blood and force. That leaves bruises, not growth. That is not the way of TreeClan. If you doubt this, ask yourself why your mentor is sitting in the Dark Forest, with nothing but his own hate for company, and why someone you consider soft, has been granted nine lives. Do you think StarClan is wrong? Do you think the compassion and empathy I wield are weaknesses, not strengths? The mate you hold so dear has rejected Goldenflame in mind, body and soul. She understood what it meant to protect TreeClan. Her strength is her own. She found it without his help. Where do you find yours?" Golden eyes tried to pierce the darkness, to burn away the toxic, choking vines of Pumafang's dead mentor. "A hundred-thousand stars above us, and Goldenflame is not among them. In time, I will join them. What about you, Pumafang? Where will you go?" I've been building up all these kingdoms for so long
It's good to be king 117 Moons || TreeClan || 526 Words || @jet |
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Oct 28, 2020 22:15:45 GMT -5
THE PROBLEM IS YOU THINK YOU HAVE TIME It was a gift, his evasive and belligerent humor that went completely unnoticed, despite its deep-rooted truth. He did have a headache, but he knew Lionstar wouldn't let him leave. Not before he finished his speech. Pumafang sat back down, listening as the golden tom began to implement his perspective without acknowledging Pumafang's.
There it was, the first few words out of his mouth, that sickening righteousness that TreeClan needed so desperately to escape.
It was one of many problems with Lionstar: the tom had lived so long that he acted like he knew everyone and everything. What had begun as a slight against Pumafang's ego turned into Goldenflame's deprecation. He has no right. Pumafang started, eyes narrowing slightly. Distaste for his leader began to sprout within his chest. He didn't expect impunity from Lionstar, nor did he care for it anymore: it was more of the same, except, instead of reading it in the eyes of the clan, Lionstar told it to his face.
He could admire him for that much, though the more the elder spoke his high-minded ideals, the less Pumafang truly listened. If Lionstar thought words could change the negligence of a lifetime, he was sorely mistaken. A small piece of Pumafang wanted to know the "what ifs", but reality was cold and unwavering, with no room for subtleties or dreamers.
"You're softer than I thought." Goldenflame chided.
Pumafang felt unbesmirched, but the vicious tug-o-war between Goldenflame's Creed and Lionstar's Tenets made him sick, trapped in an endless cycle where right and wrong were both the same and neither all at once. Where everyone spoke their own truths, and it was up to him to deem them valid or not.
Simply put, Lionstar's truths did not align compatibly with his own, though that didn't necessarily nullify them.
In fact, if there was anything he learned during his time as a deputy, it was that Lionstar's words were often about as empty as they felt, though honest their intent was. Sometimes it seemed like their goal was criticism and image. Ultimately, Pumafang believed that they were a well-played facade that masked sub-average intelligence and a dull-burning ego guided by the paws of misplaced ideology. Lionstar spoke, but his actions lacked the passion he so commonly preached.
Though if Pumafang knew one thing for certain, it was that Lionstar may truly be a leader with fallacious faith and deluded principles, but he was no liar.
"Sometimes truth is best left unsaid." Goldenflame murmured, listening to Lionstar intently. Pumafang forced composure. "He tries so hard to sway the ground beneath your paws with nothing but censure. Play along with it, boy. His words have no value. He doesn't respect your opinion. He will never listen, thus how could he ever understand?"
All talk. The deputy mused, an ear flicking casually to the side. Both of them.
Pumafang watched Lionstar. The golden tom put on a good show, his posture, his tone, his choice of words... It probably would have worked on anyone else. Bringing his mate into the mix did nothing to swoon Pumafang. Lionstar's dialogue was littered with trash, religious jargon he had no intention of acknowledging. Lionstar's denomination, in which he placed so much credence, was also a debilitating weakness that bound the old tom in lock and chain, prolonging his proletarian society.
Pumafang caught Lionstar's latter words, his response succinct and mature despite the tumultuous spirits trapped within.
"My place is here," Pumafang meowed. "and I have no inclination to leave. The universe holds no spot for me, other than the earth presently beneath my paws." Pumafang paused, amber eyes placid and quiet. How Lionstar's leaps of faith were so misplaced. The massive, chocolate-black tom's whiskers twitched. "I earned this standing, Lionstar, but not with help. I have both rival and ruin challenging me every step of the way. You, more than anyone, should know the weight of making a poor choice."
It was a provocative gift, his brevity and tact. It was likely one of the traits that tricked Lionstar into thinking he was a civilized choice for deputy. By now, no doubt, he was regretting his decision, little different than Pumafang had regretted his.
Killing the first loner was an accident: excessive force driven by a selfish anger. Letting the second one drift downstream with a breath still trapped within her chest? She was smart, growing limp beneath his paw, but her body was still too buoyant for him to be deceived by such a trick.
"You fool," Goldenflame seethed, hissing with revitalized fury. Pumafang's lips creased upwards slightly. It was even more satisfying than he thought it would be, hearing the anger behind his mentor's realization.
As opposed as they were, as opposite as Lionstar wanted to be from him, there were similarities between them still. He suspected Lionstar would find a way to calumniate his views one way or another, but it was still worth the effort.
Or was he so far gone, so far rotted and mangled that not even Lionstar would bring himself near?
| | [attr="class","pfwc"]WORDS 862 |
|
|
