- Jun 7, 2022
- 71
- 6
- 8
He stands alone on soft sand, practicing moves he's repeated time and time again.
He'd only just gained his first scars, when Finchcatcher was first taught how to fight. A memory of tensions rising between marsh and pine, a turning point before the Great Battle - it's forever etched in his shoulder, in his neck, in his side. A mouse for the brother he only sees from afar these days being the means of the strike against red fur. It was Emberstar who was among those who saved him from death, his own inexperienced, apprentice-aged paws scrambling to fight against his attacker.
It was Emberstar, who taught him to fight after that. It was Emberstar, who taught himself how to defend himself, to make sure no more scars would ever form on him.
Perhaps a failure on that part, for he's only gained more since - from Cinderfrost, from the fire.
Cinderfrost, whose nephew he'd killed in the Great Battle, who would have killed him if the same nephew hadn't been among the star-pelted cats who intervened on the war. Cinderfrost, who almost killed him again, the day he decided he could no longer be a SkyClanner, the day he'd arrived to the oak forest.
The day Emberstar saved him once more, allowed him the refuge he sought.
It was Emberstar, always Emberstar.
And now?
Now he stands alone in the Sandy Hollow, copying moves she'd taught him. Over and over again. Wishing. Wishing she was still around to seek guidance from. Wishing he'd heard about the dogs sooner. Wishing, wishing.
But wishing doesn't do much to change anything. Wishing doesn't change the fact that she's gone, that his wall of defense in this clan is gone. Without her presence, he feels once more like he doesn't belong here - like the true ThunderClanners are judging him, watching his every move. As if, as if they know of his past mistakes - as if they side with Cinderfrost. As if it's his fault that Morningpaw died.
He doesn't belong here.
He stumbles in his landing. His bad leg can only take so much these days. Though he tries to push through it, Finchcatcher knows he has a limit. He lets out a frustrated shout, paw striking the ground beneath him, bringing up sand as claws swipe through it.
She's gone, and he misses his friend so much. She's gone, and Finchcatcher can do nothing about it but practice. Practice the moves she'd shared with him. Perfect his strikes, so that he can be swift in dealing them. To keep her memory alive in what she's taught him.
So that, when the time comes, he can protect the clan he finds himself in. So that, when the time comes, he can prevent another loss - keep someone from starting their journey to the stars, keep someone from leaving the battle looking like him.
He'd only just gained his first scars, when Finchcatcher was first taught how to fight. A memory of tensions rising between marsh and pine, a turning point before the Great Battle - it's forever etched in his shoulder, in his neck, in his side. A mouse for the brother he only sees from afar these days being the means of the strike against red fur. It was Emberstar who was among those who saved him from death, his own inexperienced, apprentice-aged paws scrambling to fight against his attacker.
It was Emberstar, who taught him to fight after that. It was Emberstar, who taught himself how to defend himself, to make sure no more scars would ever form on him.
Perhaps a failure on that part, for he's only gained more since - from Cinderfrost, from the fire.
Cinderfrost, whose nephew he'd killed in the Great Battle, who would have killed him if the same nephew hadn't been among the star-pelted cats who intervened on the war. Cinderfrost, who almost killed him again, the day he decided he could no longer be a SkyClanner, the day he'd arrived to the oak forest.
The day Emberstar saved him once more, allowed him the refuge he sought.
It was Emberstar, always Emberstar.
And now?
Now he stands alone in the Sandy Hollow, copying moves she'd taught him. Over and over again. Wishing. Wishing she was still around to seek guidance from. Wishing he'd heard about the dogs sooner. Wishing, wishing.
But wishing doesn't do much to change anything. Wishing doesn't change the fact that she's gone, that his wall of defense in this clan is gone. Without her presence, he feels once more like he doesn't belong here - like the true ThunderClanners are judging him, watching his every move. As if, as if they know of his past mistakes - as if they side with Cinderfrost. As if it's his fault that Morningpaw died.
He doesn't belong here.
He stumbles in his landing. His bad leg can only take so much these days. Though he tries to push through it, Finchcatcher knows he has a limit. He lets out a frustrated shout, paw striking the ground beneath him, bringing up sand as claws swipe through it.
She's gone, and he misses his friend so much. She's gone, and Finchcatcher can do nothing about it but practice. Practice the moves she'd shared with him. Perfect his strikes, so that he can be swift in dealing them. To keep her memory alive in what she's taught him.
So that, when the time comes, he can protect the clan he finds himself in. So that, when the time comes, he can prevent another loss - keep someone from starting their journey to the stars, keep someone from leaving the battle looking like him.
// PROMPT: emberstar was a cat who trusted finchcatcher and let him into her clan when others may not have. how has her death impacted him to this day?
