- Jun 13, 2022
- 660
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- 43
He'd split in a snap decision, a certainty that he'd rather die than see Butterflytuft crushed between the jaws of a dog. Inferno had spread agross his legs as he had torn across the Twolegplace, darting into every nook, hoping as staccato paws struck the earth that the hound would give up its dogged pursuit soon, and he'd be free of it... free to go home. To SkyClan. As pain hammered through his feet, home was what Twitchbolt thought of. Quillstrike, Butterflytuft, Edenberry- Orangestar. SkyClan itself, every one of them. Every cat who'd held him up, even when he'd been a whirling and volatile thing, designated not good enough from the moment he'd been born.
Through all of that, SkyClan had been there for him. And... in helping Butterflytuft, was he repaying it? Did it need repayment? His earliest relationships had been transactional, his mother and father beckoning him for favours as thanks for being born, as if he'd asked for it. All everyone did was give and they never took, even if they should, even if Twitchbolt would let them.
By now, he had lost the beast. Perched atop a Twoleg fence, wary green eyes scanned the horizon, beginning to re-gather unspooled bearings. Home. It stuck clear like stained sunlight in his memory, a spot in the corner of his vision, SkyClan was within him, and within every one of them. In protecting one, he protected all. The Clan was its unit, its links... and he'd feared his weakness in that chain. Feared that paranoia had rusted him, and he would disintegrate from it.
You may insist that you are what the Clan does not need, but I disagree, Orangestar had said. Adrenaline thumped through his body, and at last Twitchbolt believed he might understand her. So fervently had he worried that, when it came down to it, he would turn a yellow belly to any threat- he would succumb to fear and crumble instead of risking his life when it truly mattered. That fact alone would have made him unworthy of being a leader. But Orangestar had disagreed, and did a brown eye look to the future? Because he was here, now- dead and alive, in Butterflytuft's mind.
He had looked a mutt in its murderous eye and decided to do something. And now, now he knew- every time, he would do the same. Every time, what he loved would always usurp what he feared. To preserve SkyClan, he would die again and again and again. Nine times over, even.
Did it even matter, now? Convinced he was a tumour, Twitchbolt had torn himself away. It had been a slow, painful sort of cut- he'd been met with disappointment, with utterings of it was bound to happen. And there was a violent pawful of cats who had believed he was unworthy of his title- who had met calls for patrol with contempt, who had tutted in disappointment when he'd been named deputy. And foolishly, foolishly, he had let himself believe them instead of listening to the one cat who he should have put all of his faith into.
My own parents didn't even want me. But somehow, for some reason, Orangestar did. The thought was a mountainous one, but he did not falter as he looked to its bright peak and saw his leader's face there, helming SkyClan bravely. And in his mind, she looked at him, through him. she saw the struggling soul there that fought off fear when it truly mattered. And she had seen it... and he had ignored her.
Protection came with no title, though. He was no longer SkyClan's deputy- Cherryblossom carried that heavy weight now, and he prayed to StarClan she could carry it well- but that did not mean he could no longer protect SkyClan just as a deputy would. It did not mean he had to bow into mediocrity. It did not mean he had to keel beneath the negative expectations that were constantly piled upon him.
No. No- resolution shone in green eyes. He would be a guard- as deputy, he would have been able to do that, but that future was not lost. His life was in preserving the Clan- and his death would be that, too. What had he wanted before? To wither into nothing, to die of old age or sickness in his nest? No- withering away into nothing, forgotten, was not the way of a warrior. It was not Daisyflight, it was not Blazestar, it was not Twitchbolt.
As he began the trek home, a new confidence flared through the prickles of Twitchbolt's pelt. He was returning not as a scorned, cowardly deputy, but as a ragged but alive lead warrior who knew his true passion would billow from his maw like volcanic smoke whenever it truly mattered.
I disagree, too, Orangestar. Twitchbolt took a steadying breath as the scent of the pine forest sprawled through his lungs. SkyClan does need me. Just as much as I need them.
Through all of that, SkyClan had been there for him. And... in helping Butterflytuft, was he repaying it? Did it need repayment? His earliest relationships had been transactional, his mother and father beckoning him for favours as thanks for being born, as if he'd asked for it. All everyone did was give and they never took, even if they should, even if Twitchbolt would let them.
By now, he had lost the beast. Perched atop a Twoleg fence, wary green eyes scanned the horizon, beginning to re-gather unspooled bearings. Home. It stuck clear like stained sunlight in his memory, a spot in the corner of his vision, SkyClan was within him, and within every one of them. In protecting one, he protected all. The Clan was its unit, its links... and he'd feared his weakness in that chain. Feared that paranoia had rusted him, and he would disintegrate from it.
You may insist that you are what the Clan does not need, but I disagree, Orangestar had said. Adrenaline thumped through his body, and at last Twitchbolt believed he might understand her. So fervently had he worried that, when it came down to it, he would turn a yellow belly to any threat- he would succumb to fear and crumble instead of risking his life when it truly mattered. That fact alone would have made him unworthy of being a leader. But Orangestar had disagreed, and did a brown eye look to the future? Because he was here, now- dead and alive, in Butterflytuft's mind.
He had looked a mutt in its murderous eye and decided to do something. And now, now he knew- every time, he would do the same. Every time, what he loved would always usurp what he feared. To preserve SkyClan, he would die again and again and again. Nine times over, even.
Did it even matter, now? Convinced he was a tumour, Twitchbolt had torn himself away. It had been a slow, painful sort of cut- he'd been met with disappointment, with utterings of it was bound to happen. And there was a violent pawful of cats who had believed he was unworthy of his title- who had met calls for patrol with contempt, who had tutted in disappointment when he'd been named deputy. And foolishly, foolishly, he had let himself believe them instead of listening to the one cat who he should have put all of his faith into.
My own parents didn't even want me. But somehow, for some reason, Orangestar did. The thought was a mountainous one, but he did not falter as he looked to its bright peak and saw his leader's face there, helming SkyClan bravely. And in his mind, she looked at him, through him. she saw the struggling soul there that fought off fear when it truly mattered. And she had seen it... and he had ignored her.
Protection came with no title, though. He was no longer SkyClan's deputy- Cherryblossom carried that heavy weight now, and he prayed to StarClan she could carry it well- but that did not mean he could no longer protect SkyClan just as a deputy would. It did not mean he had to bow into mediocrity. It did not mean he had to keel beneath the negative expectations that were constantly piled upon him.
No. No- resolution shone in green eyes. He would be a guard- as deputy, he would have been able to do that, but that future was not lost. His life was in preserving the Clan- and his death would be that, too. What had he wanted before? To wither into nothing, to die of old age or sickness in his nest? No- withering away into nothing, forgotten, was not the way of a warrior. It was not Daisyflight, it was not Blazestar, it was not Twitchbolt.
As he began the trek home, a new confidence flared through the prickles of Twitchbolt's pelt. He was returning not as a scorned, cowardly deputy, but as a ragged but alive lead warrior who knew his true passion would billow from his maw like volcanic smoke whenever it truly mattered.
I disagree, too, Orangestar. Twitchbolt took a steadying breath as the scent of the pine forest sprawled through his lungs. SkyClan does need me. Just as much as I need them.
penned by pin ✧
