where did the party go ✘ leads

[SMOKESTAR]

It had been on his mind a lot actually, but he didn't think much of it. Times changed, the world moved forward and cats had to adapt to the way life was now rather than how it once was. Smokethroat was of the marsh colony only in name, he and Moss had never engaged much with the rest of the group. They kept to themselves and he watched them exist at a distance, fight their battles with the pine cats and struggle to get by. It was easier back then, just the two of them against the world, sometimes he preferred those days. Two cats were easier to keep safe and alive than countless, two cats needed less food, two cats made less noise. Then it became one cat and the loneliness almost drove him mad. He remembered screaming into the night asking for answering and recieving none back, his beloved mentor's body buried beneath the hollow of the willow tree they had made their home for so long. It was still here on the territory, he could go to it right now but he had recently stopped visiting as much as he used to. Hadn't taken her flowers in a while, not that there had been many during leafbare. Maybe soon he might...go see her. But for now he was just trying to manage.

The dawn patrol had ended, freeing the four of them from their duties for the time being and with the camp practically empty he found himself a spot to sit where he could stare off thoughtfully into space for a moment or so unbothered. He missed the camp itself, this temporary hovel was distressing to even be in.

"Does it ever bother any of you...? No longer having your names?" He did not know what Snakeblink and Cindershade were once called, only knew of Willowroot's in passing; Caraway. He'd known her the day she was named Willowroot, he had never really known her before so often times he forgot she had another name at all. Just as he sometimes forgot his own.
Ember. The smallest spark, a flickering of a faint flame, the hope to catch and blaze; survive in a world pitted against them. It didn't suit him any longer, he was no longer a mere scrap of a kitten roaming the streets alone and hungry-he didn't need a fire to catch. He was the smoke trail behind one that had, the remnants of an inferno that had erupted, the quiet after a storm.
He knew it bothered Buckgait, who refused to call herself her full given name. He knew it bothered Lightningstone's younger brother, homesick and unhappy with the world. Several cats had voiced minor complaints, but most had accepted it as he had also. "I can't see myself as anything else now."

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[Ooc]
@willowroot & @Cindershade & @Snakeblink
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[Snakeblink]

MAYBE I'D BE A SAINT IF I WEREN'T ————————————​

Something has changed inside of Snakeblink — something restless and flighty finally settling in the depths of his chest. He would call it security; the half-rational feeling that, for the first time in his life, he has found exactly where he’s supposed to be. Where he can do the most good, serve his kin best. He can never thank Cicadastar enough for it: the home Riverclan offered him, the trust their leader has in him, the responsibility laid on his shoulders as a lead warrior, anchoring him to beloved ground. Snakeblink never, ever wants to leave, and this way he can almost believe that the clan doesn’t want him to leave, either.

The company of his fellow lead warriors reflects that feeling, amplifies it, like songbirds echoing each other: a comforting reminder that, no matter the work to do, it needs not be done alone.

Smokethroat asks, Does it ever bother any of you...? No longer having your names? and Snakeblink has to stop and think about it. Identity doesn’t stop at a mere mouthful of sounds, but there’s history to a name, memories bound to the word. A past home in the foliage of Willowroot’s name, Boneripple’s shift in loyalty immortalized in hers, Cicadastar’s gasp of life after Houndstride’s quick paws carried him to their leader’s rescue — stories that they’ll never forget, forever carried with them.

Does he miss his own past, overwritten as it was by his clan name? No, he doesn’t. It’s not gone, only changed. His mother only ever called him Snake anyway, unless she was angry at him, and that is the part of himself he has carried forward. Maybe he’d feel differently, had Cicadastar renamed him more thoroughly: although the old ache becomes new again each time the reptilian suffix that has characterized him through his entire life is spat out by someone’s rough tongue, he is glad to have kept it near his heart.

He gives his paw a quick lick and rubs it across his forehead, smoothing the fur over his scar. This new name of his is a gift, a home given freely; it bears all of his history, old and new, and he could never find it in himself to resent it. ”My mother named me Water Snake,” he tells Smokethroat. It’s been long enough since he was called that for it to sound half-foreign. ”So I suppose Snakeblink isn’t different enough to perturb me overmuch. Still, I couldn’t fathom going back: it feels like another life, and I like this one much better.”
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——————————————————————————————————— so god damn lonely ​

ooc. information.

• 
  
• — Snakeblink • he / him. 37 ☾, riverclan warrior
  — a sleek, skinny tabby with long ears and a scar over his right eye.
  — gay, not actually evil, penned by @Kangoo
  
  
  

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