- Apr 24, 2023
- 74
- 27
- 8
This is not the first time Doompaw has snuck away from camp. He remembers sliding carefully from the nursery with Pearlpaw at his heels, remembers the determination that had borne small limbs into the forest abroad. It is not the first, but the tortoiseshell half-feels it will be the last time he sees the familiar slopes, the ground scattered with pine fragments, the holly bush Orangeblossom had nursed him behind, the barrier he’d waited for Twitchbolt near.
His paw pads sing with sparks that light a trail of fire behind him. The night sky blazes with stars that will guide him toward and beyond Twolegplace. One hesitant step away from the camp guard—“I’m goin’ to the dirtplace, mind yer business!”—and he’s slipping away, through the shadows, bounding toward the border. He is going to find Abysspaw. He is going to find his brother, and then—then what? Will they return to SkyClan, a place full of rules that suffocate him, of cats who never wanted either of them, cats who scorn them?
There’s a moment, however brief, of regret before he leaves SkyClan’s territory. He thinks about Twitchbolt, quivering with fury and fear. You will not leave camp without me, the lead warrior had hissed, and Doompaw had met his gaze with fearless, smoldering challenge. “If I come back, I will—I’ll make it up to you,” he mutters. “I’ll be a better apprentice. A better warrior.”
With a pang, he thinks of Orangeblossom, who had nursed him after he’d been rescued from the Shelterplace. She wouldn’t miss him, he thinks sourly. She has precious journeying Cherrypaw. She has her own kits, born from her body and her spirit. Doompaw had never been that. He had never let the image of his decaying mother fade from his brain, had never let the bond between him and Abysspaw die.
He leaves SkyClan’s territory, and he does not return as dawn comes and the sun burns the frost and the shadows from the forest. He does not look back.
His paw pads sing with sparks that light a trail of fire behind him. The night sky blazes with stars that will guide him toward and beyond Twolegplace. One hesitant step away from the camp guard—“I’m goin’ to the dirtplace, mind yer business!”—and he’s slipping away, through the shadows, bounding toward the border. He is going to find Abysspaw. He is going to find his brother, and then—then what? Will they return to SkyClan, a place full of rules that suffocate him, of cats who never wanted either of them, cats who scorn them?
There’s a moment, however brief, of regret before he leaves SkyClan’s territory. He thinks about Twitchbolt, quivering with fury and fear. You will not leave camp without me, the lead warrior had hissed, and Doompaw had met his gaze with fearless, smoldering challenge. “If I come back, I will—I’ll make it up to you,” he mutters. “I’ll be a better apprentice. A better warrior.”
With a pang, he thinks of Orangeblossom, who had nursed him after he’d been rescued from the Shelterplace. She wouldn’t miss him, he thinks sourly. She has precious journeying Cherrypaw. She has her own kits, born from her body and her spirit. Doompaw had never been that. He had never let the image of his decaying mother fade from his brain, had never let the bond between him and Abysspaw die.
He leaves SkyClan’s territory, and he does not return as dawn comes and the sun burns the frost and the shadows from the forest. He does not look back.
, ”
