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The air was bitterly cold for Newleaf, but the gods had felt merciful enough to grant a clear blue day, with a few wisps of white clouds to match the white of the mountain tops. Wolfspeak would’ve been beside himself if the sky was overcast, or worse, shedding snow. He would’ve walked anyway, he knew. It’s what he always did to clear his mind, and to melt back into the tapestry of the austere world. He would’ve taken his usual spot in the burial grounds, even if all the snow in the heavens was piling on his head. It would’ve been convenient for his clanmates when they found him there the next morning, frozen solid. They could bury him at the exact spot. Alas, he was thankful the sky was blue, as blue as his mood.
He had been thinking of Sinkingsaturn when he first set out through the snowy drifts. Her face had floated in his mind’s eye, her expression bitter, her eyes like blue coals. It had been that way when he’d departed a few minutes ago, and it’d probably be that way when he returned to curl up next to her tonight. After a while his wife’s face has transformed into his own face, staring back at him, with the same resentful expression. Part of him was fiercely angry. At the gods, at his bride, at himself.
And then the face had split into two, and for a moment they looked like twin versions of himself, only more grizzled. His parents, just as he remembered them. Their expressions were loving, but distant and wistful. That had brought a deep ache to his heart. He stopped thinking so much then, and focused on his walking instead.
He came to when the snow began thinning underneath his big black paws, and the trees went from evergreen to maple. He looked around in mild surprise. He wasn’t at the burial grounds. No, this was the border with Fallclan. Why had he come this way? He turned to follow the pawprints the way he’d come, but commotion behind him snared his attention.
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Post by achromatic on Jun 26, 2021 17:41:21 GMT -5
The world was surprisingly silent today. Silverspectre was once again missed by no one when he silently slipped out of camp, deciding to spend the day out of the wide-eyed looks of his clanmates. It wasn't that nobody cared when he was gone but...nobody cared when he was gone. He barely made a presence in the camp other than to occasionally return with a mouthful of prey, or to drift behind in an assigned patrol without a word to speak. It seemed like the clan didn't care much for cats who didn't speak, even if they never made it known.
And his clanmates were kind of course! They had never been explicitly mean or rude to him, no. They were often helpful, often friendly, often greeting him with a smile, but that was all. Smiles. Pleasantries. Small talk. They didn't often invite him to anything–what use was a mute cat in a party?–nor did they try to understand him in a deeper level. He was a good listener, but even a good listener had to return some sort of contribution to a conversation. One-sided conversations weren't very attractive, after all.
He sighed as he reached the edge of the territory once more. He didn't come to the WinterClan border much, but there were days when he found himself staring back at the mountain from which he fled, his golden eyes scanning the trees as if wondering whether he'd bump into any of his former clanmates. His steps were as silent as snow, and it would've remained that way if he hadn't missed a step in a divet of the ground covered by leaves, a yelp of surprise leaving his mouth as he tumbled forward, rolling right into a pine tree.
Pine tree? His eyes widened as he lifted his muzzle to scent the air. The smell of a WinterClan marker made him grimace. He had to get back to his own territory before anyone noticed. He glanced up, his eyes meeting another pair.
“Hey!” Wolfspeak called when the sun shone on a glint of silver, bright amongst the greenery. He wasn’t in the mood to chase a cat off or descend into a fight. But blatant trespassing was hard to ignore. He cursed as he turned his body around to face the pines.
After a few moments with no commotion, he called, “You’re not supposed to be here!” His tone wasn’t accusatory, or even a growl. It was more of a matter-of-fact referral to the rules ... rules he didn’t particularly care about at the moment, which was extraordinarily rare for the soldierly tom. Still, no answer came.
He scanned the treeline, trying to catch that silver again. But he saw only foliage. He cursed under his breath as he began to descend the snowy slope, his bones weighing heavy steps into the thinning snow underpaw.
His blue eyes finally caught sight of the silver pelt as he drew closer, and the slender tom it belonged to. “Are you deaf, or something? I told you to leave.” His voice was weary, but suddenly he felt bitterness rising in his throat again. Sinkingsaturn, the gods, this trespasser, all of it inspired a new frustration in him, and his voice was more frosty when he mewed, “what do you think you’re doing? You’re not wanted here.” Then a pause came, a small pang of guilt, and weariness returned to his voice when he added, “If you’ve come to join, I recommend you turn around. You’ll find no joy on this mountain.”
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Post by achromatic on Jun 30, 2021 16:46:26 GMT -5
He had winced at the sound of a voice, and immediately tried to scramble up...and immediately fell over once again. He must've hit the tree a little too hard, because he could feel the bruise forming on his hind leg when it got caught in a branch as he slammed forward. With a silent hiss, he stood on wobbling legs once again, trying to shake off the whole tumble. Weren't cats supposed to always land on his legs? Then again, he had always been a different kind of cat compared to his brothers and sister. They had all gracefully grown up with no qualms at all, he had grown up missing every target his parents set him.
It was no time for Silverspectre to think about that now, he needed to leave before he started a big fuss with the WinterClan warriors; surely none of them still remembered him by now, and probably wished he was gone. His former clan had always been rather prissy about how their blood was better than those of foreign grounds, and a cat disagreeing with that to leave for another clan was probably almost worse than being born without the snowy blood running through their veins. Almost.
Too late. He blinked like a deer caught in the headlights as Wolfspeak came into view, the larger tom's rugged glare sending a dismal feeling down his spine. He grimaced, before gesturing over to the trail he had left rolling down to this spot with an embarrassed expression on his face. He hadn't meant to come here at all. He stood once again, limping forward as if heading back to the border, before giving Wolfspeak a sheepish look that at least looked sorry, before tilting his head to the side. He could almost taste the tension Wolfspeak was practically radiating.
Wolfspeak hadn’t been around when Silverspectre still marched among the snowy peaks of Winterclan, so the frightened face before him inspired no remembrance. This tom’s relation to his wife was also comically oblivious to him; he really should be greeting him as a bitter brother-in-law, rather than trying to chase him away.
But his will to run him off cooled further when he noticed the limp in the tom’s gait. Did he need medical attention? Was that why he’d trespassed? It seemed foolish to try to climb a mountain on a bad leg, rather than go to your own camp — but how would he know? Maybe Fallclan’s camp lay further than he’d imagined. Or perhaps his clanmates had chased him away. Winterclan would be no safe harbor for him, but maybe he could do something to help--
What are you talking about, you oaf? his voice interjected bitterly. He’s a trespasser. Turn away. Let him walk off. It’s none of your business.
When the other tom stopped, and turned to him with those silver eyes of concern, he told himself to curl his lips. He was a Winterclan cat. Outsiders weren’t welcome. He willed himself to bare his claws. Chase him off… chase him off… chase him off.
But his sentiment was running ahead of his mind on this blue-sky day, so instead he mewed a feeble, “Hey, wait. Do you need help or something?”
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Post by achromatic on Jul 8, 2021 4:25:28 GMT -5
He had been glad the other cat didn't immediately try to claw his face off. Despite being born in WinterClan, he never inherited the large frame and heavy paws that the mountain cats–including his father–had; he was smaller, with the medium-length fur his mother had, one somewhat unsuitable to the cold winters of the mountains, and with a slightly injured paw–not one that needed medical attention but perhaps a few hours to shake it off–he was in now position to fight another cat at their full strength, especially in their territory. He had always been better at hunting anyway.
So when Wolfspeak turned to ask him whether he needed help, he could only manage to blink owlishly at the tom for a couple of minutes. He opened his mouth, as if willing his voice to speak, to say something to alleviate this awkward situation, but his tongue refused to cooperate even on the best days, and with the tom's intimidating frame, it surely didn't inspire any more bravery or conversation at all.
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a sheepish laugh, before shaking his paw for a moment, glancing to the root he had tripped over and caught his paw unexpectedly. He shook his head; he didn't want to bother the cat or anything. His ears flattened once more, as if apologizing again, before putting his paw down with a wince. Despite not wanting to bother the tom, it was clear his paw still hurt terribly.
The Fallclanner’s pantomiming drifted even more confusion in Wolfspeak’s mind. He looked like he wanted to say something — he’d opened his mouth, but nothing had come out but a wheezy... laugh?
Had he scared the poor creature into stunned silence? Wolfspeak wasn’t oblivious to the fact that his shoulders were square, his paws oversized, and that he stood a head taller than most cats. But he felt so lousy inside right now, it felt wrong to be perceived as a threat. Seeing someone look as miserable as he felt softened whatever hostility he had left.
“I want to help you,” he assured, taking a slow step towards him. “Your paw’s hurt. You’re not going to make it far like that.”
What could he do? Bringing him back to the Roseshade was out of the question — it’d land the other tom in an ice cell, and he’d probably suffer a few docked points himself (Gods damn it, why’d he care if he lost character points?). Plus, he didn’t want to risk seeing Sinkingsaturn again. And in any event, climbing all the way to camp seemed improbable for a cat with an injured paw.
He’d learned a little about herbs when he’d traveled the road. And he’d noticed a plant that dotted the fields around the burial grounds that he thought might be broom flowers. That wasn’t too far from here, and not an arduous climb.
What am I doing? he thought as he raised a black paw, and gestured west. “I know a place where herbs grow. I can put it on your paw to make it feel better, that way you can make it home ok. It’s not far from here.” His voice sounded like it normally did, hard as steel, like a colonel’s. It didn’t seem to invite much debate.
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Post by achromatic on Jul 9, 2021 10:57:06 GMT -5
Silverspectre couldn't understand why the other cat was...laughing? Was it because he was injured? Was it because it was him? He couldn't help but feel affronted by that. He was used to it–the whispers behind his back, the way everyone had polite smiles for him–but straight up laughter was...new. He held a frown in his expression as the tom neared him, automatically taking a step back.
He was offering to help...but Silverspectre wasn't sure what to think of it. Should he trust this cat? He seemed...intimidating, to be frank. Either that or there was some ulterior motive... but regardless, the tom was right. He'd have to limp back all the way to camp after all of this...and well, what's the worst that could happen?
Probably being made prisoner in WinterClan's camp but hey, he wasn't going to think about that. If worst came to worst, maybe his sister was still there and she'd be able to get him out of trouble...maybe. They had a new leader in WinterClan, one who he had heard rumours about, but...well, they cared about blood a lot, right?
He was trying to persuade himself that this was totally a good idea, and so he nodded meekly, following behind Wolfspeak, his eyes still tracing the other cat's face as if ready to bolt at any sign of danger.
Wolfspeak nodded and led the way, a moment after levying a soft blue gaze of assurance, just to make it clear it wasn’t a trick.
Their path led them across a sloping ridge. The great stone flank of the mountains eastward cast a shadow over their path, so they walked in shade. Icy fingers of water — melting from the heat of the bright sun above — trickled down and formed small pools underpaw, that slushed under their steps. It looked as if the ridge was weeping.
As they walked, he also considered what would happen if he was caught galavanting with this outsider. What would he do? A wise cat would march the stranger right back to camp and toss him into a frigid cell. But he wasn’t wise. He could be headstrong and chivalrous to a fault — this cat was under his protection now, and he realized that it might even have to come to quarreling with a clanmate if it meant getting him medical attention before they sent him off.
Wolfspeak slowed his pace when he remembered his companion was traveling on an injured paw. He stole a glance at him over his shoulder, to make sure he was still there. The silver tom was as quiet as a mouse, and by the looks of it, he was still as frightened as one. He hadn’t made a sound yet, save for that whistling noise that had escaped from his maw earlier. He wanted to ask for his name, just to warm the tension, but maybe he was still too frightened to speak. Perhaps he’d get it after he applied the poultice...
As they walked, the soft snow progressively hardened, until it turned into ice. The ice was thin; it wasn’t overly dangerous, but a cat who wasn’t used to traversing these lands might lose his balance. “We’re almost there... but careful here. Watch your step,” he called back. “I don’t want you injuring your other paws.” His tone was mild, but it came with a dry smirk. It was an attempt at humor.
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Post by achromatic on Jul 11, 2021 5:58:06 GMT -5
The other cat seemed just as quiet as he was. Silverspectre had never minded the silence. Things simply weren't as silent as others thought, after all. The birds were still chirping their repetitive remarks, the wind still whistled among the leaves, the crunch of their paws on the leaves and undergrowth made ample noise, after all. He only ever minded it when others pointed it out, and without a single question or attempt at conversation, he found himself both relaxed and slightly uneasy.
Talkative cats were easy to read, quiet ones were not. Ironic for him to think so, but it was almost easier sometimes when others filled in the noise, talking so much that he didn't feel the need to interject. He'd feel like he fit in because others didn't expect anything from him. Silence made him feel as if others wanted him to initiate some type of conversation. That was certainly not his forte.
Walking a couple steps behind Wolfspeak, his eyes were wide when suddenly the other tom met his gaze for a moment. For a second, it seemed as if the other cat was planning to break the silence, but alas, the silence continued until they met a patch of ice. The warning was received with a flick of Silverspectre's ear, the humour almost lost on him as he nodded, immediately moving towards the ice without a delay.
Years of being away from his birth clan didn't seem to matter, because all of the territory still felt like muscle memory. Once a WinterClan cat, always a WinterClan cat, he supposed. He looked up once more, as if asking Wolfspeak whether they were closer to their destination now.
At this point, it was dawning on Wolfspeak that it wasn’t fear that seized the other tom’s tongue, but something deeper. But he understood his pantomiming well enough, so he responded, “Yeah, we’re almost there. It’s just up ahead.”
Perhaps others would take offense to seemingly being ignored, but it was all the same to him. He never felt awkward or expectant in comfortable silence. Contrary to his name, Wolfspeak wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Words are wind, as people say; he preferred his actions to speak for themselves.
The grey tom led the silver further along the ridge, until the ground began to level out. Suddenly the stark white of snow gave way to austere green and grey. The great black mouth of the burial grounds rose up to meet them, the looming crown of a hill stacked high with stones. Yellow petals could be seen all around the hill, bright as sprinkles.
It felt strange bringing this cat here — it felt like inviting someone into a personal space. Not just because he was a Fallclanner coming where Winterclan buried their cherished dead, but because Wolfspeak had spent so many hours in this place.
He had no ancestors buried here — well, none that he could name. He came because he was attracted to the cold of this place: cold that sunk deeper than the skin. It reminded him of his old home. But he had a feeling that this cold would bring more brooding than meditation the next time he took refuge here.
“That’s the plant I was telling you about,” he gestured to a shrub bursting with a yellow flower. “I believe it’s called broom. You chew it into a poultice, and spread it over the wound. It saved my life once.” He stood about for a moment, then it struck him that he was supposed to be the medicine cat in this equation. He’d never done anything like this before... he felt awkward as he beckoned the silver tom toward the shrub, with a, “come on over here.”
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Post by achromatic on Jul 13, 2021 19:33:09 GMT -5
Silverspectre nodded, as he continued to limp forward, entering a space that suddenly opened up to a wide field, blooming flowers circling them, the fresh scent of grass and floral fragrance filling the air. What a beautiful place, Silverspectre thought, admiring it before catching sight of the stones, and suddenly, he froze.
The burial grounds. He had almost forgotten about this place.
His ears had immediately flattened, his tail wrapped around his body, a grimace on his face. To any onlooker, it looked as if he might've accidentally stepped on the twisted paw, but that wasn't why. Wolfspeak didn't have any ancestors buried here, and neither did Silverspectre. They never did find Frozenstar's body, after she had fallen into the river trying to save another drowning cat. They had left a stone here, dedicated to her, but none of his family, despite having all been from WinterClan had been buried here. Crookedarrow had left soon after he was born, and so had Jupitermoon. The rest just fell apart.
Wolfspeak's comment was a welcome distraction from the myriad of dark thoughts that had suddenly appeared, and he turned to the other cat, trying to shake off the residual feelings, as he glanced to the flower, listening to the tom's story before tilting his head at the 'saved his life' part. What happened? He glanced at the shrub, hobbling over, before tentatively taking one in his jaws, chewing it before looking to Wolfspeak as if asking whether he was doing it right.
Wolfspeak took note of the other tom’s discomfort. He couldn’t hold that against him. The air was snapping cold here, despite the notably greener scenery. The looming cave with its gaping mouth above could be a dread sight, especially for a first-time viewer like this stranger. The gravesite was unnerving even in the best of times — but it was especially bad when it received a new permanent tenant. The scent of death hung heavy in the air in those times, no matter how much mint the elders used to perfume the corpse.
Thinking of herbs, he did his best to put on his medicine cat pelt as he supervised the tom’s preparation. “You’re doing just fine,” Wolfspeak nodded, intuitively understanding what the other tom was trying to communicate. He’d also taken note of the Fallclanner’s curiosity at his ‘saved my life’ comment, so it seemed as good of a time as any to thaw some of the ice between them.
“I uhh... I got a nasty cut in my shoulder once. I was still alone then, drifting around in the far north... y’know, where the Regime’s land used to be? Infection and fever started to set in, but in my delirium, I remembered my sister once told me about this plant, you can rub it into wounds. I did just that, and she saved my life. I mean, the flower did.” He was studying his big black paws, a wistful smile playing on his lips. Then he looked up, his blue eyes round with curiosity. “Do you have any family?”
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Post by achromatic on Jul 19, 2021 13:17:42 GMT -5
The stench of death still lingered around, and while it should've been familiar–FallClan had a burial grounds too–it felt strange to be around such a sacred space as here. He was almost afraid to look around, as if maybe he'd see a ghost of the cats who had left or died, or he'd discover another rock, another sign that his remaining siblings had passed away. He shuddered at the thought; Stainedneptune had always taken care of him, had always been the kind one, the one who did the right thing; it was a shame that he had left it all behind. Sinkingsaturn...she had always been friendly, but at a distance. They hadn't been close but she had meant a lot to him too, despite it all.
He'd hate to hear that they were gone.
The other cat's story was nice. It took his mind off of things. When he asked about family, Silverspectre hesitated, wondering how exactly he could illustrate it, before his ears perked up at the sudden idea. He gestured to the ground, before drawing out a circle, to represent himself, pointing it to him, before drawing what seemed like a family tree, his parents, his three older siblings, himself and his sister from the same litter, showing it to Wolfspeak, before hesitating, and brushing a paw over his parents, his oldest sibling, and his younger one, his ears drooping at that. It was clear what that meant, even to those who didn't understand his silence.
Initial confusion turned into a chuckle of surprise as Wolfspeak began to understand what the other tom was communicating, in quite an ingenious manner. But the lightness of the moment died as the Fallclanner scraped a silver paw over the picture. That was easy to understand, and all too relatable.
“I’ve lost loved ones too,” Wolfspeak mewed quietly. All of them, to be exact. It was nice to see this stranger still had family living though, hopefully waiting for him back in Fallclan. The thought helped ease some of the guilt he was feeling about helping a cat from a rival clan.
A brisk wind stirred the yellow flowers, and produced a light whistling effect as it entered and exited the gaping hole of the burial grounds. He contemplated the generations of loved ones laid here in their final rest, and wished his family's remains were among them, just as a source of contact. He turned back to his companion. "You should cherish those siblings of yours. I used to think mine were a pain in the tail. But I'm all alone now, and wish I had them."
Then he suddenly remembered that he wasn’t technically alone anymore. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should be sharing the big news with this stranger. But what could be the harm in it? “Well actually, no, I guess that's not true anymore. Funny thing: I got married today.” A smile was on his face, but it was sad and laced with an ironic energy.
Post by achromatic on Jul 31, 2021 18:56:12 GMT -5
Silverspectre frowned at the other cat's words. Lost loved ones. It seemed almost inevitable. Blessed be the meek, for your rewards are in the next life. His father had disappeared, his mother's body broken at the bottom of the falls. Inherit the earth. Inherit the kingdom of god. Inherit his suffering.
It was no surprise to the tom that others would inherit this suffering too; there was a name for them really. The crooked kind. They saw the world as it was, danced upon the waters, looked into the darkness, and allowed it to fill them, to touch their heart. They kept falling and falling and falling into an emptiness that never had space for them. There was an understanding in his ochre eyes, as his tail brushed against the other tom's shoulder, a gesture of comfort.
A faint smile appeared on his face at the mention of his sibling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He shook his head, a shrug on his shoulders. He had no idea where any of them were. His expression brightened at the mention of marriage. That sounded exciting. His lips cracked into a grin, nudging him in a congratulatory way, unaware of the sadness that seemed to be on his shoulders, his ear twitched as if asking how it felt so far.
The tom’s light touch sent a jolt of surprise through his body, barely suppressed in the solid foundation of his frame. He suddenly realized how long it’d been since he’d felt the touch of another cat, let alone seen genuine empathy reflected in another’s eyes. The warmth he felt from such a small gesture almost felt embarrassing.
Wolfspeak reflected the stranger’s smile, only because of how innocent it was, but he clarified, “She despises me.” The bitterness in his voice was more hardened; less ebbing with liquid anger, as if he’d come to terms with the situation.
After a moment of silence, he added, “I can’t entirely hold it against her. The gods arranged her into a union with a total stranger, and she doesn’t seem like a big believer in either the gods, or marriage as a whole.” But that wasn’t all of it, was it? No, his wife’s words had been hard, but the pain he’d sensed coursing underneath them promised that there was much left unsaid in his bride’s story.
He didn’t know why he was speaking so much. This silver Fallclanner seemed to invite more confessions than a good batch of catnip. Not just because it was more comfortable to have words fill the air between two cats, but because the stranger seemed to really listen.
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Post by achromatic on Aug 4, 2021 8:38:31 GMT -5
Silverspectre's eyes held a sort of melancholy as the tom spoke. Much like his siblings, he had once believed in love, watching his parents dote on one another, their loving touches, and their proud smiles...and then much too soon, he had realized that even love was an illusion. It was...fickle. Love was destructive. Perhaps love truly existed but even then, Silverspectre didn't bank much on it.
Though, to be unable to find love was one thing. To be stuck with someone who despised you...that Silverspectre was familiar with, and it was a tragic fate. His expression was one of understanding, as he nodded, before using a paw to gesture to himself. He understood. He knew what it felt like, to be stuck in a position where he felt hopeless. WinterClan was a reminder after all, of exactly how others had seen him as a kit.
He gestured to himself, before pointing towards the direction of WinterClan's camp, something that few outside of the clan knew of. He was once from here too, he wanted to say.
Wolfspeak smiled softly, glad for the stranger’s consolation. But the other tom would never truly understand, he realized. Arranged marriages weren’t practiced in Fallclan. They still believed in Starclan; his silver companion could marry whom he pleased outside of the judgment of gods, or not marry at all if he chose to. Only a Winterclan cat could understand the loneliness he felt, the deep chill in his bones, aching enough to offer respite from the numbness.
And then the other tom gestured to himself, and then east. Wolfspeak was so accustomed to the land, he didn’t need to look to know where he was motioning. But he looked anyway, and he saw the heart of this territory; the obsidian peaks of Winterclan camp crowning over the canopy.
Wolfspeak stood, perplexed. Up until this point he’d understood Silverspectre as well as if he’d been speaking in truth. There’s been an intrinsic understanding, from his expressive eyes to the subtleties in his movements, that’d he’d picked up on almost instantly. But for the first time, his pantomime left empty confusion on Wolfspeak’s face. He almost felt stupid in the awkward pause that his confusion produced.
He can’t mean he’s from here??? … no, I would've heard about a mute cat... “You want to go to my camp?” Wolfspeak guessed. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea…”
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Post by achromatic on Aug 12, 2021 7:20:12 GMT -5
Silverspectre's eyes widened at the other cat's interpretation of his words. No. His shoulders stiffened at the mere thought of having to enter the camp he had once been raised in. Certainly, most of his family must've been dead by now, disappeared throughout the years, and it wasn't as if he had lots of friends here either. Most cats ignored him, pretended he didn't exist because why would they care about the disappointment that was supposed to be WinterClan's golden child? Hopes and dreams had been banked on his existence, and like a vase, he had shattered them the moment he was seen as something wholly different.
The silver tom seemed to be in a daze, the mere thought of going to the camp had made his bones stiff and his eyes glazed, before snapping out of it and shaking his head, a grimace on his face. He glanced at the ground, cursing his inability to make his tongue work for him. He gestured to himself, and on the ground, the illustration of his family, and then gestured once more to where they were sitting.
Of course, Wolfspeak wouldn't know about his family; they were old news, cats who had lived here generations ago. He was as far removed from WinterClan as any FallClan born cat these days, yet felt too foreign for here, and too foreign for FallClan, yet never enough for both.
He tilted his head at the other cat, before a small sound left his throat, as if a shy laugh. He gestured to himself, shook his head, and gestured to the FallClan border they came here from. He wasn't born in FallClan, he was as much a stranger to belonging in a clan as him.