- Jul 10, 2023
- 109
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Murderer! Kidnapper!
The words stung harsh, like wasps buzzing toward him- finding Nettlepaw's heart, bashing it with a swarm of stings. Brokenhearted eyes found the splinter in ShadowClan's paw, found his father- soaked with seething spittle out of Smogmaw's mouth, accusations thrust upon his shoulders. Anger seethed in his eyes- Nettlepaw could only look.
Granitepelt was whirlwind-like, and his words spouted from him like a rainstorm. Pitchstar, a lost uncle. Ghostpaw, his sister's namesake. Poppypaw. Tornadopaw. By his father's paw, dead, the lot of them. Disbelief clouded Nettlepaw's baby-blue eyes, and he had never felt so small and childish. His mother was crying, wailing, adamant in denial and then heartbreak; Nettlepaw felt as if he should be wailing too. Flintpaw, close by, spoke of how everyone hated her, about how Granitepelt was right.
Reputation, bloodline, all intertwined. Nettlepaw could only watch as, beneath his father's bloodstained paws, every cat who liked him would have their opinion soured. Granitepelt's words were rotted and death-drenched in a way Nettlepaw had never heard before. Because Granitepelt had always been hardy, had always been stern, had always been distant- but he would not do this. He would not.
And yet, and yet- his mother believed it. His mother believed it and she was crying, and Nettlepaw looked to the cat who had hurt her. Looked to his father. And Granitepelt was speaking to him, then- Nettlepaw, he said. Everyone was screeching- it was too loud for him to gather his thoughts, to cobble together an answer. Starlingheart spoke for him.
You're disgusting, said his mother. Nettlepaw felt as if she had said it to him, unable to blink the image of her mate out of her son's figure.
"Stop shouting!" he spat at the Shadowclanners yowling in anger, clamouring to cast out his father, barely offering him a glance. Anger broiled in Nettlepaw's eyes, anger he'd never wanted to be there. All the blue in his eyes dripped out in tears.
They would look at him, angry now, and see a murderer. They would hate him when all he wanted was to be liked. They would never trust him if he wasn't smiling. The moment he made a mistake, he'd just be another Granitepelt, wouldn't he? The moment he slipped- they would throw him into a clearing like this. Tear at him. Blame him. Condemn him.
Knowing he couldn't slip, Nettlepaw forced the anger out of his eyes. He looked at Granitepelt again. You know I care for you. Did he? What was caring? A critical gaze, a glance now and then? He didn't know. Granitepelt wouldn't lie to him, not now, his seams split, his heart threadbare in front of them all. Granitepelt must care. Why would he lie about it?
And yet, he said only to Starlingheart that he loved her. He'd said that without the murders, Starlingheart would have never. Would have never. My brother, she had wailed. The pieces clicked together in Nettlepaw's head.
Would have never had us. Jay-blue eyes flicked to Ghostpaw, to Flintpaw. Apprentices like us died for us to exist. They had been silenced to keep the flame between his father and mother kindling. A flame that had spat out three embers- and who was to say whether those embers were wanted?
"Do you love me?" Nettlepaw's voice was hauntingly stable, and he looked his father dead in the eye as he said it. If Ghostpaw hadn't died, if Ghostpaw had told Starlingheart what he apparently knew... but he'd died for this supposed knowledge.
He'd died for a kitten who was an ideal mirror-image. Died for a kitten whose father wanted to change her in every way. Died for a kitten whose father could not even tell him he loved him.
If his own father could not say it- then who else was pretending? Who else looked at him and saw Granitepelt sitting beneath, saw a destined murderer, a destined kidnapper, no matter how brilliantly his smile shone, no matter how much he toiled just to get someone else to crack a smile?
The yowling of ShadowClan was closed off to his ears. He stared at his father, still and cold, waiting for something- anything- to pull him back into reality, if the cold spilling of tears wouldn't do it.
The words stung harsh, like wasps buzzing toward him- finding Nettlepaw's heart, bashing it with a swarm of stings. Brokenhearted eyes found the splinter in ShadowClan's paw, found his father- soaked with seething spittle out of Smogmaw's mouth, accusations thrust upon his shoulders. Anger seethed in his eyes- Nettlepaw could only look.
Granitepelt was whirlwind-like, and his words spouted from him like a rainstorm. Pitchstar, a lost uncle. Ghostpaw, his sister's namesake. Poppypaw. Tornadopaw. By his father's paw, dead, the lot of them. Disbelief clouded Nettlepaw's baby-blue eyes, and he had never felt so small and childish. His mother was crying, wailing, adamant in denial and then heartbreak; Nettlepaw felt as if he should be wailing too. Flintpaw, close by, spoke of how everyone hated her, about how Granitepelt was right.
Reputation, bloodline, all intertwined. Nettlepaw could only watch as, beneath his father's bloodstained paws, every cat who liked him would have their opinion soured. Granitepelt's words were rotted and death-drenched in a way Nettlepaw had never heard before. Because Granitepelt had always been hardy, had always been stern, had always been distant- but he would not do this. He would not.
And yet, and yet- his mother believed it. His mother believed it and she was crying, and Nettlepaw looked to the cat who had hurt her. Looked to his father. And Granitepelt was speaking to him, then- Nettlepaw, he said. Everyone was screeching- it was too loud for him to gather his thoughts, to cobble together an answer. Starlingheart spoke for him.
You're disgusting, said his mother. Nettlepaw felt as if she had said it to him, unable to blink the image of her mate out of her son's figure.
"Stop shouting!" he spat at the Shadowclanners yowling in anger, clamouring to cast out his father, barely offering him a glance. Anger broiled in Nettlepaw's eyes, anger he'd never wanted to be there. All the blue in his eyes dripped out in tears.
They would look at him, angry now, and see a murderer. They would hate him when all he wanted was to be liked. They would never trust him if he wasn't smiling. The moment he made a mistake, he'd just be another Granitepelt, wouldn't he? The moment he slipped- they would throw him into a clearing like this. Tear at him. Blame him. Condemn him.
Knowing he couldn't slip, Nettlepaw forced the anger out of his eyes. He looked at Granitepelt again. You know I care for you. Did he? What was caring? A critical gaze, a glance now and then? He didn't know. Granitepelt wouldn't lie to him, not now, his seams split, his heart threadbare in front of them all. Granitepelt must care. Why would he lie about it?
And yet, he said only to Starlingheart that he loved her. He'd said that without the murders, Starlingheart would have never. Would have never. My brother, she had wailed. The pieces clicked together in Nettlepaw's head.
Would have never had us. Jay-blue eyes flicked to Ghostpaw, to Flintpaw. Apprentices like us died for us to exist. They had been silenced to keep the flame between his father and mother kindling. A flame that had spat out three embers- and who was to say whether those embers were wanted?
"Do you love me?" Nettlepaw's voice was hauntingly stable, and he looked his father dead in the eye as he said it. If Ghostpaw hadn't died, if Ghostpaw had told Starlingheart what he apparently knew... but he'd died for this supposed knowledge.
He'd died for a kitten who was an ideal mirror-image. Died for a kitten whose father wanted to change her in every way. Died for a kitten whose father could not even tell him he loved him.
If his own father could not say it- then who else was pretending? Who else looked at him and saw Granitepelt sitting beneath, saw a destined murderer, a destined kidnapper, no matter how brilliantly his smile shone, no matter how much he toiled just to get someone else to crack a smile?
The yowling of ShadowClan was closed off to his ears. He stared at his father, still and cold, waiting for something- anything- to pull him back into reality, if the cold spilling of tears wouldn't do it.
penned by pin ♡
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