- Dec 27, 2022
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.°❁ YOU TOLD ME 'BOUT NOWHERE
// cw for bad parenting (heavily implied neglect, verbal abuse) and implied deadnaming
He didn't mean to sneak off this time, he really didn't.
It's just that everything looks so different now, with all the flowers starting to bloom and the looming, skeletal trees growing such vibrant leaves -- Newleaf, the Clan-cats call it. So much is changing from when he came to them -- in Leafbare, he's learning the words for these things -- that it had him curious. He can't help it.
When he first ran away, he'd followed the Thunderpath at first -- passing through a small stretch of green needle-leaved trees which he now knows to be SkyClan's territory. He had been so close, he realizes, to ending up there. He probably wouldn't have joined, with how kittypet-friendly they are. But regardless, when he came to ThunderClan's territory, it had intrigued him. The gnarled branches of the trees seemed to reach towards the endless sky, all the life and green keeping to the grass and underbrush.
Except for the lichen, of course, creeping its way up those terrifying trees in shades of green, white, orange. A pop of color amidst the grey-brown bark.
But now the leaves are returning, and the Clan cats say that what sprouts now in the skies is merely the beginning. He's realizes that what survived on the ground was merely a fraction of what the forest had to offer. So, he's started wondering, started wandering. Along the Thunderpath.
...How much else is different, he wonders?
His hunting patrol will surely notice he's gone, but that's okay. He can say he got lost, or something. Maybe a more elaborate lie, like a fox kit or something. Yeah that'll do it. He spins up his tale as he pads along the Thunderpath, its texture rough beneath his paws.
When he reaches the Twolegplace, he tries not to feel disappointed. It's not nearly as different as he had hoped. Some things never change, he supposes.
Unlike the forest, the twoleg nests remain lifeless and imposing, no trace of life softening their looming figures. The grass here grows no flowers, the bushes are all the same as when he last came. The grasses here seem wrong now, too short and uniform. Everything seems just the same as he left it, as though this place had been frozen in time, no change but the building heat. He wanders, listless, skirting the edge of the buildings. Further in, he knows, there's less grass, bigger nests. Far more twolegs and far more cats. He likes it better, at the forest's edge. He likes it better, in the forest. But something does catch his eye, as he paces the path between the twoleg dens.
There is a crack, in one of the stone streets that the twolegs walk, and newly-grown grass reaches up from it, gasping for air in a sea of concrete.
It's not the only one of its kind; the more he looks, the more he sees these little pockets of wilderness, grass growing tall and unruly along all the little cracks. It's exciting, almost, to see. There's no one around, he thinks, so he can get away with acting a little childish. He bounds across the pavement, searching for these little pockets of wild grasses, seeing just how many he can find. He's delighted, eventually, when he stumbles upon a little yellow flower growing from one. A treasure, here in this place where he thought no good could grow. Perhaps his old home does have something to offer, he thinks as he reaches out to nip it's stem.
Before he can grab it, though --
"Lou?"
Lichenpaw freezes. He hasn't heard that name in -- two moons, has it been? He hasn't heard that voice in far longer. Lichenpaw lifts his head, slowly, and looks into the distant eyes of his mother, a mirror of his own. The silence stretches long and thin as the two stare at each other.
He snaps it like a twig. "It's Lichenpaw now." His voice is clipped and hollow.
Call me Li! he chirps, every time he says it to another Clan-cat. Something familiar, something close enough to Lou while still being allowed within Clan traditions. He doesn't say that now.
"...Lichenpaw?" Her voice is coated in confusion. "You changed it?"
"Yeah."
"Guess the name I gave you just wasn't good enough, then. You really hate me that much, Lou?" Her eyes are narrowed, surveying him with a cold judgement. Her words hit like a blow to the chest. Does he hate her? Truthfully, he hasn't much thought about her since she left. He doesn't hate the name she gave him or he wouldn't be so resistant to changing it, but from her mouth it sounds wrong. From anyone's now, perhaps. It's been so long since he's used it. That's not who he is anymore.
...But does he hate her? Lichenpaw doesn't really hate anyone. He never resented his mother for leaving him and his siblings, never resented her for the fights they got into under her care, his mother only encouraging them because they'd need that strength to survive. He never resented her for how clear it was that she didn't want to raise kits, for the bitter anger that always lingered in her eyes, for always making him feel more burden than cat. Not for her cruel words towards everyone and everything, the spitting hatred with which she viewed the world and all who lived in it.
He still doesn't, really. But standing before her now, all he wants is to get away.
Lichenpaw's been silent to long. His mother scoffs. "Of course you do. Always so ungrateful." Each word grates on him, crawling its way beneath his skin. "I only ever did what was best for you, you know that? I was --"
"Shut up," he says, and she does, anger sparking in her sky-blue eyes. Her fur looks just like his. She opens her mouth to speak again, but he doesn't let her. He's not letting her start, he's not going to stand here and listen to her spit vitriol. He just wants to get back to ThunderClan. "Just -- look, okay, I'm alive, right? That's -- that's all you wanted. I survived." There's a bitterness to the word, spit from his mouth the way his mother might say it. "So, so you did your job. I don't, um, I don't need -- " Her face grows stonier with every word. He takes a shaky breath, and she takes the opportunity to jump in.
"That's it, then? I did my job so now I'm not useful enough for you? Your own mother?" A laugh, sharp and bitter.
"You -- you're the one who left me!" He's yelling now. "If you -- if you wanted me -- you were always saying I needed to, to learn to survive on my own. Well I did." He feels a pang of shame -- it's a lie, he's not on his own. He's with ThunderClan now. But he's taking care of them too, he's not some useless kit feeding off their catches. "So, so yeah, I guess I don't really need you anymore!"
His mother's eyes are ice. "Fine," she spits, turns to leave. "But don't expect me to help you when you come crawling back, Lou."
He won't.
"It's Lichenpaw," he calls back. Lichenpaw. The name still feels ill-fitting, more a hopeful goal than anything else. The forest is my home, it says. That's why he chose it, for the lichen growing on the trees, reaching up to the skies even when all the leaves had fallen. It's a name that says no, I don't belong here among the dead streets, among the bitter survivalists. My home is in the wild, with ThunderClan, with cats who hunt for one another and laugh and smile at each other's words. Maybe his mother was right, to be angry. It's a rejection of all she believes. He's been running from it, he thinks. Li still feels more comfortable. He hopes that Lichenpaw can feel like a name that fits him someday.
But for now -- he needs to leave this all behind. He needs to stop thinking of this place as his home. He watches his mother's disappearing back, looks down to the dandelion growing through a crack in the pavement. It doesn't hold as much excitement as it did when he first saw it. The wild grass that grows here grows despite all that this place is. Back in the forest, life blooms free and unobstructed. That's where he wants to belong.
Lichenpaw leaves the flower there.
He turns, and he runs back to the forest.
He didn't mean to sneak off this time, he really didn't.
It's just that everything looks so different now, with all the flowers starting to bloom and the looming, skeletal trees growing such vibrant leaves -- Newleaf, the Clan-cats call it. So much is changing from when he came to them -- in Leafbare, he's learning the words for these things -- that it had him curious. He can't help it.
When he first ran away, he'd followed the Thunderpath at first -- passing through a small stretch of green needle-leaved trees which he now knows to be SkyClan's territory. He had been so close, he realizes, to ending up there. He probably wouldn't have joined, with how kittypet-friendly they are. But regardless, when he came to ThunderClan's territory, it had intrigued him. The gnarled branches of the trees seemed to reach towards the endless sky, all the life and green keeping to the grass and underbrush.
Except for the lichen, of course, creeping its way up those terrifying trees in shades of green, white, orange. A pop of color amidst the grey-brown bark.
But now the leaves are returning, and the Clan cats say that what sprouts now in the skies is merely the beginning. He's realizes that what survived on the ground was merely a fraction of what the forest had to offer. So, he's started wondering, started wandering. Along the Thunderpath.
...How much else is different, he wonders?
His hunting patrol will surely notice he's gone, but that's okay. He can say he got lost, or something. Maybe a more elaborate lie, like a fox kit or something. Yeah that'll do it. He spins up his tale as he pads along the Thunderpath, its texture rough beneath his paws.
When he reaches the Twolegplace, he tries not to feel disappointed. It's not nearly as different as he had hoped. Some things never change, he supposes.
Unlike the forest, the twoleg nests remain lifeless and imposing, no trace of life softening their looming figures. The grass here grows no flowers, the bushes are all the same as when he last came. The grasses here seem wrong now, too short and uniform. Everything seems just the same as he left it, as though this place had been frozen in time, no change but the building heat. He wanders, listless, skirting the edge of the buildings. Further in, he knows, there's less grass, bigger nests. Far more twolegs and far more cats. He likes it better, at the forest's edge. He likes it better, in the forest. But something does catch his eye, as he paces the path between the twoleg dens.
There is a crack, in one of the stone streets that the twolegs walk, and newly-grown grass reaches up from it, gasping for air in a sea of concrete.
It's not the only one of its kind; the more he looks, the more he sees these little pockets of wilderness, grass growing tall and unruly along all the little cracks. It's exciting, almost, to see. There's no one around, he thinks, so he can get away with acting a little childish. He bounds across the pavement, searching for these little pockets of wild grasses, seeing just how many he can find. He's delighted, eventually, when he stumbles upon a little yellow flower growing from one. A treasure, here in this place where he thought no good could grow. Perhaps his old home does have something to offer, he thinks as he reaches out to nip it's stem.
Before he can grab it, though --
"Lou?"
Lichenpaw freezes. He hasn't heard that name in -- two moons, has it been? He hasn't heard that voice in far longer. Lichenpaw lifts his head, slowly, and looks into the distant eyes of his mother, a mirror of his own. The silence stretches long and thin as the two stare at each other.
He snaps it like a twig. "It's Lichenpaw now." His voice is clipped and hollow.
Call me Li! he chirps, every time he says it to another Clan-cat. Something familiar, something close enough to Lou while still being allowed within Clan traditions. He doesn't say that now.
"...Lichenpaw?" Her voice is coated in confusion. "You changed it?"
"Yeah."
"Guess the name I gave you just wasn't good enough, then. You really hate me that much, Lou?" Her eyes are narrowed, surveying him with a cold judgement. Her words hit like a blow to the chest. Does he hate her? Truthfully, he hasn't much thought about her since she left. He doesn't hate the name she gave him or he wouldn't be so resistant to changing it, but from her mouth it sounds wrong. From anyone's now, perhaps. It's been so long since he's used it. That's not who he is anymore.
...But does he hate her? Lichenpaw doesn't really hate anyone. He never resented his mother for leaving him and his siblings, never resented her for the fights they got into under her care, his mother only encouraging them because they'd need that strength to survive. He never resented her for how clear it was that she didn't want to raise kits, for the bitter anger that always lingered in her eyes, for always making him feel more burden than cat. Not for her cruel words towards everyone and everything, the spitting hatred with which she viewed the world and all who lived in it.
He still doesn't, really. But standing before her now, all he wants is to get away.
Lichenpaw's been silent to long. His mother scoffs. "Of course you do. Always so ungrateful." Each word grates on him, crawling its way beneath his skin. "I only ever did what was best for you, you know that? I was --"
"Shut up," he says, and she does, anger sparking in her sky-blue eyes. Her fur looks just like his. She opens her mouth to speak again, but he doesn't let her. He's not letting her start, he's not going to stand here and listen to her spit vitriol. He just wants to get back to ThunderClan. "Just -- look, okay, I'm alive, right? That's -- that's all you wanted. I survived." There's a bitterness to the word, spit from his mouth the way his mother might say it. "So, so you did your job. I don't, um, I don't need -- " Her face grows stonier with every word. He takes a shaky breath, and she takes the opportunity to jump in.
"That's it, then? I did my job so now I'm not useful enough for you? Your own mother?" A laugh, sharp and bitter.
"You -- you're the one who left me!" He's yelling now. "If you -- if you wanted me -- you were always saying I needed to, to learn to survive on my own. Well I did." He feels a pang of shame -- it's a lie, he's not on his own. He's with ThunderClan now. But he's taking care of them too, he's not some useless kit feeding off their catches. "So, so yeah, I guess I don't really need you anymore!"
His mother's eyes are ice. "Fine," she spits, turns to leave. "But don't expect me to help you when you come crawling back, Lou."
He won't.
"It's Lichenpaw," he calls back. Lichenpaw. The name still feels ill-fitting, more a hopeful goal than anything else. The forest is my home, it says. That's why he chose it, for the lichen growing on the trees, reaching up to the skies even when all the leaves had fallen. It's a name that says no, I don't belong here among the dead streets, among the bitter survivalists. My home is in the wild, with ThunderClan, with cats who hunt for one another and laugh and smile at each other's words. Maybe his mother was right, to be angry. It's a rejection of all she believes. He's been running from it, he thinks. Li still feels more comfortable. He hopes that Lichenpaw can feel like a name that fits him someday.
But for now -- he needs to leave this all behind. He needs to stop thinking of this place as his home. He watches his mother's disappearing back, looks down to the dandelion growing through a crack in the pavement. It doesn't hold as much excitement as it did when he first saw it. The wild grass that grows here grows despite all that this place is. Back in the forest, life blooms free and unobstructed. That's where he wants to belong.
Lichenpaw leaves the flower there.
He turns, and he runs back to the forest.
WELL IT SOUNDS LIKE SOMEPLACE I'D LIKE TO GO ! .°❁
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// prompt: freshly sprouted grass. somewhat loose take on the prompt, i wove it in with a concept i've been wanting to write for a while
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