The Return of What Once Was

He hadn't been here in so long. There was no nostalgia in his heart for this place. Not once had he experienced a happy memory in this dump. But it reminded him of where he was born, and where he'd left when the forest had no place for him any longer. His memories as Maple, then Maplepaw, the Maplecloud, and then... and then...

Thinking about that day still made phantom pains score his sides and rip at his stomach. That was the day Skyclan had nearly succumbed to a terrible fire. The tom had been stripped of everything, quite literally, and now he was left with this horribly scarred body and a voice that sadly scared almost every cat he met. He'd suffered more in the hands of Twolegs, who had at first taken him in, but then abandoned him to death when they realized his fur would never grow back. They were disgusted with him. They'd pitied his eyes and his voice, but they were absolutely, positively revolted by his bare skin with the scars of flame that still seemed to dance across his sides and up his throat. They'd thrown him in a cold box and left him surrounded by other cats who were also imprisoned in that room that could only ever smell of fear. He'd prayed to Starclan every day, although at times, he felt as if they didn't exist anymore. He still believed in them though.

The cat who'd been in the box beside him was his only friend. She was such a little cat, the smallest he'd ever met. She said she was fully grown, but he never believed her. With his remaining bits of eyesight he knew why she was there. Her entire body was surrounded by the tough cobwebs the Twolegs put on her. When he asked her about it, she boasted she'd fought off a whole pack of dogs with one paw, but had been caught at the last second. She was in awful shape for moons. It was custom at the "shelter", as they called it, to keep one's name to themselves until the very end.

One night, she told him her name. It was the darkest of nights, so he could only see her eyes. They were the brightest blue; they were the color of the sky at Sunhigh; they were the color of an indigo flower in bloom. They were so vibrant that he forgot that a cat only said their name on their very last night.

"It's Fir, by the way."

"What?" He'd coughed two times after that, he remembered.

"My name is Fir." In hindsight he realized that there was a bit of sadness in her young voice.

"I'm Scorch." Another wheezing cough.

"No kidding." She let out a weak laugh.

He didn't remember the rest. The next morning he'd been taken out by one of the Twolegs, and had caught a fleeting glimpse of the cage beside his own. She was gone. Grief and realization had torn at his heart so awfully that he immediately fled, leaving the handler in the dust. He'd fled south for days, trying to remember where the forest was. And now he'd come upon it. He'd talked so extensively with the kitten, far too much. Far too much planning on them escaping and living here.

"We're home, Fir." Scorch's blurred, honey-colored eyes stared at the trees of Skyclan territory. "We're home."