Nobody Sings on Empty [closed]

Sweet sap and pinecones, and the chalky scent of huge boulders baking in the sunlight. The largest trees in this neck of the woods were scorched, Galloway noted, and as he ran his paw across the bark of one such tree, he noticed how the soot flaked off on his paw. He looked up; the branches on one side of this such evergreen were cracked and falling to pieces, with no needles to be found. It had been touched with the red flower, fire. He knew, in a technical sense, what fire was. In Twolegplace, he had peeked behind a wooden fence at the scent of meat and found that the twoleg clan within the yard had tamed fire, and were now holding their fresh-kill over the enclosure. The smell of wood burning unsettled the young tom, driving him away from the place in a hurry.

A few days in Twolegplace had proven boring, but not unbearable. That unbearable quality of Twolegplace, rather, came in his diet. Rummaging through shiny hollow rocks, digging between odd-colored leaves, just to nibble on sickeningly sweet, doughy, twoleg muck made his stomach churn. It made him sluggish and lame. It made him lazy. Worst of all, he was becoming comfortable in his inaction. He spent most of the day (when not "hunting") laying in the trench between two nests which he called home, licking clean his fur... which did not need cleaning. Galloway couldn't help it. When he shut his eyes, he still felt mud clinging to his pelt, squelching between his toes, and filling his nose with gunk. Having nothing but his thoughts and the passing kittypet to accompany him, there was nothing to do but self-reflect, which was generally agonizing. Thinking about Tavora, and missing his siblings, weighed on his heart. So, he picked himself up, scaled the dividing fence, and returned to the forest to find a meal worth investing some time and energy into.

Galloway wiped the soot off his paw and continued along his way.

He had already forgotten the name of the clan which this rocky, tree-filled territory belonged to, but it didn't really matter. If there's one thing that had become abundantly clear to him from his conversations with older Asylum cats, is that in spite of a few menial differences in cultures... these clans were all the same. Sure, RiverClan cats fished, but it didn't really mean anything. It didn't matter. Their ceremonies, their customs, their gathering places, and their ancestors were all the same. It only served as a reminder of their bullheaded stubbornness that they did not come together as one entity, as the many Asylum colonies did. They were stuck on such trite differences and sworn to such strict moral codes... well, big whoop. Your ancestors tell you secrets. Too bad your elders starve every winter (or they would have, without the standards helping them to hunt).

Chicka-dee-dee. Chicka-dee-dee. Galloway's eyes flickered up to a low-hanging branch, where a bird was none the wiser to his presence, singing its whistling song in the bows of a pine. He smacked his lips, flattening his body against the rocks, using the dark color of his pelt to mesh into the shadows. It wasn't exactly necessary. The bird hadn't even noticed him. His tail flickered in anticipation just before the tom exploded from his hiding place, gripping the branch with both paws as he snapped his jaws eagerly at his prey. He caught it by the tail feathers, with just enough of a surprise to let go of the branch and bring it down with him, grimacing as it flapped and squawked against his muzzle. He pulled it close with his front paws as he landed, wrestling to find its head before biting down, grinding its neck between his fangs as the flapping ceased. Geez, that's a sorry form, he could hear a voice within him grumble, You want to wake up the entire bird population? You want to lose all your meals till the next moon? Keep hunting like that.

Galloway rolled his eyes and kicked the notion aside. Too loud? Lose your meals? When he was done here, he'd just move to the next clan territory, and take his "sorry form" with him. For now, he sat below the branches of the tree he had taken the bird from and tore into its soft, feathered belly.

The branch trembled as Birdsong landed on it, just a tad too slow as the bird she'd been stalking took flight at the sound of a raucous cry of another bird not far off. With a disappointed huff, the slender warrior turned in the direction of the noise, and began to make her way through the branches toward it. Well-versed in navigating Skyclan's still-recovering territory, she knew which branches to avoid and which were capable of holding weight, and so it was that the soft-furred gray tabby flitted through the trees with ease.

She had expected the source of the noise to be one of her clanmates having a bad day of hunting, or something else startling whatever bird had made it. This was no clanmate of hers, however, and if the unfamiliar pelt hadn't made that clear, the unfamiliar tom had settled beneath one of the less fortunate trees to enjoy his catch... What she assumed had been the cause of the squawking earlier, at least. Any Skyclanner would've been ashamed to let prey make that much noise when hunting.

Birdsong came to a stop a respectable distance away from the tom, pale green eyes narrowed slightly as she perched on her branch. Some of her more hot-headed clanmates would have lunged for the stranger without regret, but Birdsong didn't think every conflict needed to be solved with claws. She was a warrior, and fully capable of using her words rather than immediately leaping to bloodshed as the answer.

"Are you trying to scare off all of Skyclan's prey?" Birdsong asked mildly after a moment of observing the tom. "It's an interesting tactic, I'll grant you, but hardly an efficient one." She added, whiskers twitching. She made no move to leap from her branch, only eyed the tom with a mix of wariness and curiosity. A soft huff escaped her before she dropped the playful banter for a more serious tone. It would've been impossible for this stranger to miss Skyclan's scent markers along the borders, so he had to be here deliberately unless he was truly that clueless. She would hope a cat wasn't truly that clueless, if only for their own sake.

"Most of my clanmates would attack an unfamiliar cat on our territory, especially one that was eating prey. I have no desire to get into a fight, however. Now, why don't you tell me why you're here? Name's Birdsong, by the way." Her voice carried a soft hint of reproach as Birdsong spoke, though lacked any true hostility. If she didn't have to fight this rogue, she would count that as a win.

Galloway all but leaped to his paws at the sound of a small voice perched above him. He jerked backward from the source of the noise while simultaneously leering up to observe the intrusive she-cat, with every inch of his fur fluffed up in alarm... only to find that this creature's claws were preoccupied with keeping her poised elegantly on her branch. She was, by all accounts, amused with his shoddy hunting. The way she teased and patronized him was to make him roll his eyes. He nearly did, if not for how strong her legs looked from up there, right above his narrow shoulders and scrawny limbs. As it became clear that she was not planning on tearing the bird (and his fur) from him and making off with it, Galloway slowly turned away to push his catch farther out of her reach. He wasn't about to make it easy for her.

The almost teasing quality of her voice brought a grin to the corners of his mouth. He watched the way that she shifted her paws to account for the slightest bouncing of the branch beneath her, and how her dusky grey fur ruffled in time with her growing confidence. Galloway was impressed with her balance, and the sleek, simple beauty of her pelt. Such cats didn't exist in Twolegplace. Even he had grown ragged and dull. There wasn't time to groom meticulously, nor was there a point, when any day you might be wading through garbage in a twoleg dumping ground. SkyClan, she had said. Cats which lived in the sky, or at least near it. This terrain wasn't good for much more than airborne hunting and fighting. He supposed they had an advantage in walking the canopy... what outsider could scale a tree and leap after an enemy which moved like a squirrel?

It became quickly apparent to Galloway that though she was making pleasant conversation, her goal was to eventually get him out. In ShadowClan, the law had been to attack intruders on sight. Every cat knew the code of warriors, and if they didn't, they at least knew the scent markers were a hostile warning. It seemed by Birdsong's words that the law was the same in this clan, but he didn't believe that she was hesitating out of the good nature of her heart. No, it could not really be that. This was a clever calculation. Part peacefully with an oblivious rogue, and you escape without lifting a claw. Young and inexperienced as he was, Galloway knew a good trick when he saw one. He was well-versed in trickery. He, too, could be crafty if needed.

"Birdsong, huh?" he purred. If she wouldn't get closer, he would. He took a couple steps, then paused. He was waiting to be rebuked. Every step, he waited for her to set the boundary. He pushed the space between them, but only a light nudge. Never a shove. "Clan names... Bird's Song? That could be anything. Could be a crow. Could be a canary. What song are you singin'?"

Galloway settled back on his haunches. "I'm just looking around. You have a lot of dead trees here. Not so good if you're trying to climb on them, now that I think of it. Aren't you afraid of falling?"

He was becoming overly-curious again. Their territory and lifestyle intrigued him, to be sure, but he was playing a game which he was not looking to lose. Galloway cleared his throat, "And, well, then I got hungry. Now we're here."

"It's a name like any other.... Surely you have one, too?" She tipped her head to the side slightly, the gesture almost birdlike as she studied the loner below her. She'd startled him, that much was clear. She thought a rogue would be more aware of their surroundings without having a territory to call their own and clanmates to have their backs.

"It teaches us to be aware of our surroundings. You learn which branches will hold your weight, and which are best left alone." Birdsong responded. She had been afraid of falling once, but that had been when she was an apprentice and hadn't known how to truly climb trees.

"I suppose I should tell you not to hunt on clan territory... But I'm not going to steal your catch or anything. You might as well finish it and not let it go to waste." There would be no point in stealing a half-eaten catch from a rogue who probably needed it, and Birdsong didn't feel like provoking confrontation. The bloodthirst and lust for battle that some of her clanmates had wasn't something she enjoyed. There was no need for it half the time, and why cats couldn't just use their words was beyond her comprehension.

Birdsong's comments fell on his ears and entered a void, long forgotten by the time they reached him. He was stuck on her gentle probing, and the inquisitive tilt of her head as she examined him. His name. In the moment, he had forgotten it even mattered. His name may as well have been Nobody. In her presence, he felt just a little smaller and shrunken. If he knew of such a word, he'd say he was feeling humbled. The dignity with which this SkyClanner held herself brought a small tremor to his resolve, as if he had to prove his worthiness to her. Everything, from his hunting to his mannerisms to his name, were all in question. She knew the beat and rhythm of their conversational dance; Birdsong seemed a very quick learner. Galloway had trouble keeping up with it.

Squaring up his shoulders and taking yet another step, now craning his neck to look up at her, he responded, "I've got a name. The reason I haven't told you is because you might be afraid when I do."

A bit dramatic, to be sure. "Well, if not afraid," Galloway cleared his throat, "Maybe a little more hostile. Might be quicker to take my bird and chase me off. I heard that clan cats don't like names like mine. They've got a grudge."

Birdsong listened as the tom spoke, green eyes remaining soft as they fixed on him. He was stalling on giving her an answer to the question of his name, seemed to think that she'd be scared. Most clan cats wouldn't have been fearful of one rogue in their territory... But then, there had been an entire group of them that had made the clans suffer enough to warrant fear. They'd all left the forest, or so Birdsong had thought. Her own memories of the Asylum seemed distant at best, though she understood why they were fresh in the minds of some of her clanmates.

"Asylum, then? They're scattered to the winds and gone." Her tone remained soft, yet firm. "You're the only rogue to step foot on our territory in moons." Aside from Dawnhawk, but he'd be dealt with eventually, she was sure of it. Her uncle was but one cat, and no longer had his goons at his back. Neither did the tom below her.

"Regardless, I can't hold a grudge against someone who has done my clan no harm personally, much less someone I've never met before."

Scattered, yes. Long gone. Galloway cast his gaze down, shame brimming within until it began to spill at the edges. It was hard to hide his true ancestry, especially with the distinct scar across his shoulder, which Birdsong would surely have been familiar with. But, if there was anything to be said about the Asylum, she did not say it. She did not reveal any fear, or even anger. A cat whose kin and country tried to take this land as spoils of war stood right before her, and she made no attempt on his life. She was not cut to ribbons by his mere presence, and for this, Galloway was grateful. They were a similar age, and if that were true, then her memories of the Asylum as it should have been were equally as fuzzy as his. Somehow, knowing that they really were long gone stung more than he had expected. His way of life was destroyed. He knew no else.

"My name is Galloway. It means "strange route." I am a first-rank scout," he mumbled half-heartedly, "And, if it means anything, I was born here. If I wasn't so young, maybe I would've let the wind carry me, too. I was maybe six moons old when the Asylum fell apart, though. I couldn't have followed them; my mother chose to stay. The clan we were staying in was pretty happy to see us go, anyway."

There was a lot he might say next, but none of it satisfied him. A dozen faces filled his memory, all twisted in scorn at his existence. The ShadowClan cats had distaste for his mother, and by proxy, all of the Asylum. He was not necessarily permitted to talk to the clan, and so he didn't. Tavora's punishment would have far outweighed the reward of learning their names, or their customs, or any of the things that would fall away when the colony was finally formed. But, the colony never formed. The prisoners revolted and killed their guards. He had been too young to understand the nuances of Mistyfalcon's words when they were first relayed to the cats in camp, or why it meant immediate surrender and retreat. In Twolegplace, he had plenty of time to work through it. Through blurred details he could piece together two conclusions: the clan cats never accepted an honorable Asylum victory, and the prisoners were furious enough about it to commit murder. And, as Eris had no successors, they could not stay. Galloway knew no else of the circumstances.

"So," he finally quipped with sardonic edge, "I guess, technically, I have a birthright to hunt here, don't I?" He snickered devilishly and took a heaping bite of his catch. "I won't hold a grudge against you, either. You didn't do anything to me. You didn't even throw me out. You're at least letting me finish my meal before I get out of your fur, and go find my sister."

Galloway, first-rank scout. The rank meant little to her, but the name was nice enough, even if it carried the strange sense of foreign nature that came of not being born into the clans. It had a meaning, even.

"I was a newly-named apprentice when they left. My memories of them aren't as strong as some of my clanmates' are." They'd all but driven some of her clanmates insane, and while Birdsong knew some of what had happened, she couldn't wrap her head around the significance beyond that they had inflicted harm... And even then, most of what she knew had been tied to a former Skyclanner, not Asylum as a whole. "They have reasons, of course, and we were all glad to have privacy in our own camp again, but you couldn't have been much older than I was. You were hardly a part of it beyond blood-ties." Birdsong reasoned. Asylum had been gone long enough that he'd be on his own for longer than he'd stayed with the group soon enough.

"What clan were you stationed with?" Curiosity shone in her green eyes. He hadn't been stationed in Skyclan or at least Birdsong didn't think he had been. She wasn't particularly familiar with the other clans even now, so perhaps it was unsurprising that his tortoiseshell and white pelt was entirely unfamiliar to her.