screaming for longing [c]

Crookedpaw

Crookedpaw didn’t know where he was. He was taken by a couple of ugly twolegs and then put inside a monster, which was loud and jostled him around. Now matter how tiny he tried to make himself, the twolegs were omnipresent. One of them even leaned down to look at him through the bars. Crookedpaw hissed, but the twoleg seemed unbothered.

It felt like the monster ran for a very long time before it finally slowed to a stop. He was carried out in the trap and Crookedpaw cried and yelled for help. If the twolegs heard him, they didn’t care. He realized that he was at some kind of twoleg nest. It didn’t smell like the forest at all. He wondered if this was where he was going to be eaten.

There was another twoleg that exited the house and they were speaking now. Crookedpaw once again let out a sob and yelled, “LET ME OUT! I WANT TO GO HOME! I WANT MY MOM!!” The new twoleg looked to him and made strange noises at him. Crookedpaw hissed again as she took the trap into her hands. He watched the other twolegs get back into their monster and run off, but now that just left him with this other twoleg. “Let me out! I want to go home!!”

The twoleg continued to ignore him and he was finally brought into the huge nest. It smelled overwhelmingly of cats. His fur puffed and he could hear a lot of cats coming from another area of the nest. He was being brought closer to it until the twoleg opened up a door and brought him inside. The sheer number of cats he saw in there made him uneasy. It was like half the cats at the fourtrees, but with a quarter of the space.

The twoleg set the trap down and finally, finally, the door to it was open. Crookedpaw was off like a shot. He sprinted across the room and dove underneath a piece of furniture like he was ducking for cover. He pressed up against the wall in the dark shadows, breathing heavily. The twoleg called something to the other cats that Crookedpaw did not understand. His eyes darted around frantically. Many of the scents in this room he did not recognize, but—wait. No. He does recognize one. It smells like RiverClan. Crookedpaw was not confident enough to move away from his spot under the furniture, but he did peer out to try and find the source of the clan smell.

Rowanpaw

Consistently, twolegs proved to be terrible.

It was not enough that they had ripped cats from their homes, stuffed them in those cold entanglements and dolled them out to, it seemed, whichever other ugly beasts were interested in them. It was not enough for one twoleg to keep so many of them in one sodden den Rowanpaw could not keep track of all their faces. It was not enough to fill corners of their nest with that sickening rabbit-dropping food, to run horribly large down their spines and ruffles their cheek fur even at the risk of incurring wounds in response. The endless and calculated psychological torment was not enough for them, or at least not the one that he had been entrusted to.

He must also be loaded again into a cage (though there was some pleasantry in this one, as it was not cold against his body and was padded with something he had learned was called a blanket), packed into the chest of a lumbering monster, and dumped at the Cutter's. Rowanpaw only knew of the place from nursery tales told to scare kits and from the hisses of cats that were already there. He had never thought such a place to be real, but in its stark whiteness and equal parts scentlessness and overwhelming reek and baying of hounds and wails of dismayed cats... He could only pray that it was not a nightmare, and beg StarClan he would wake up soon.

He had yet to endure a nightmare where he had been forcefully put to rest, even as he wailed, and wake up from it later dizzy, still entrapped in this horrible place, and horribly sore.

Rowanpaw spent much of that day curled in a far corner of the again-cold box he'd been forced to rest in. Whatever had forced him into sleep had not worn off entirely, and he still felt hazy, groggy. He ached, too. Not only where he would expect, but his ear pained him when it twitched. There was not a pool for him to gaze upon himself, but he feared it was missing. Once, when he was at least partly awake, a sterile-scented twoleg came clucking over to him. He lacked the energy to hiss and shoo her off. He wished he had– she'd lifted his chin and pressed something around his neck, fastening it with a soft click and ruffling his head before departing. It was not enough that he be kidnappened, tormented, and operated upon (other new phrase gained through eavesdropping), he must be collared. There was no end to the madness.

There was some relief when "his" twoleg came again to retrieve him. Rowanpaw was grateful just to be out of the Cutter's, though his attempts at bashing through the down-softened cage or racing past the door when he was released into the nest again proved fruitless. Rowanpaw could only bring himself to climb onto the pillowy sitting-log the twoleg often reclined on, nestling himself in a wedge against one of its arms. He missed Poppyshine. He missed Stormdance. If he kept telling himself this was only another nightmare, he could believe he would wake up soon, not so tired, not so sad, not so sore, and they would be there waiting to tell him he would be alright.

His eyes were closing, hoping to find sleep as an escape, when the door opened and snapped shut again. His still-present ear flicked at the dense sound of something setting down, at that grating coo– and then came the heavy clamber of pawsteps shooting through the den, rocketing right towards him until they dove under the furniture. A displeased noise moved through Rowanpaw's throat, but as he lifted his head to survey the room, the new scent reached his nose: SkyClan. Blinking quickly, Rowanpaw shoved himself clumsily upright, creeping to the edge of the structure until he could peer down. There, black head sticking out of the hiding spot, looking around frantically. The cat was young, like he was. The realization only made Rowanpaw feel even more sad. He wondered in this cat was still an apprentice, if there had been a family and mentor left behind for him, too.

"Preferrable as it may be, you are not going to be eaten," Rowanpaw called down mildly, quirking his head as he regarded the other tom. "And hiding will quickly become futile. That twoleg is wily, and if you are desired for attention, you will be found. Bite and scratch if you would like, but at least show yourself." He shifted, and from was scrunched position was made again aware of the collar wrapped around his neck. Idly, but not without grimace, he went on, "Or do not. 'Dressing up' is not so fun as jingling kittypets may make it sound. Buuuuttt, since we are speaking of kittypets– you are not, are you? I smell SkyClan on your pelt. Tell me I am right, and I have not lost all sense of the forest so shortly. I will be deeply wounded if that is the case."

Crookedpaw

The source of the RiverClan smell was not difficult to find, especially when the cat in question began to address him. He peeked out from the edge of the furniture to look at him. The cat he spoke to looked exhausted, and his ear was cut in a strange way. It did not look like it was from a battle with another cat or a predator, as it was too clean. Crookedpaw wondered quietly if the twolegs had done that to him. Would they do that to Crookedpaw too? Clipping his ears?

He blinked up at the RiverClan cat and slowly, carefully came out from under the dresser. He glanced anxiously back towards the entryway that the twoleg had brought him in from, but the door remained closed. There was no twoleg to suddenly pounce on him. He looked back. “No, I’m not a kittypet,” he replied. Crookedpaw tried to sound more confident than he actually was, but his voice was mild and still laced with fear. This RiverClan cat seemed almost languid with his situation, and spoke so casually and with subtle confidence. Crookedpaw wished he could talk like that, without fear. “I am from SkyClan. You’re RiverClan, aren’t you?”

Crookedpaw approached the ottoman of the armchair that the cat lounged on. He jumped up to it, nearly missed, but managed to claw his way onto the furniture. Now that they were closer to eye-level, he cautiously took a seat before the RiverClan cat. “I’m Crookedpaw…What’s your name?”

Rowanpaw

Rowanpaw did not move as the younger tom turned fully towards him beside an absent twitching of whiskers. He had known a cat with a similar pelt, not long ago– but he sighed, banishing the thought. More important things lay before him now. He watched with mild interest as the cat introduced himself and moved to climb shoddily onto the furniture. Rowanpaw's eyes narrowed, scrutinous, but despite the judgmental look, his teeth poked out as his maw drew into a thin, amused smile.

"SkyClan? Do you not climb trees?" Lazily, Rowanpaw rolled his head to gauge the short distance from them back to the floor. Trees were certainly taller than that. "Quite the jump for you. Suppose we are all out of practice, though. I am sure when I return home, I will be swimming about as beauteously as a bundle of stones." He laughed, curt, and his tail thumped against the plush furniture he was reclining on. It was... not a funny thought. The thought of returning home moons, seasons from now, forgetting all he had known and all he had been taught– he shook himself out in hopes it would hide the way his fur had started to bristle.

"If you could not guess by that, I am from RiverClan. My name is Rowanpaw, though it is a shame I must be introduced as such. I am sure I was near to my warrior ceremony, but a twoleg waits for no milestone, I suppose. Either way," rolling his shoulders, Rowanpaw languidly sat upright, only feeling a bit dizzy with the movement, and looked more focusedly at Crookedpaw. The bell on his collar jingled annoyingly as he moved. "In speaking of twolegs, what have you done to find yourself here? Have they stormed Fourtrees again in their great, noisy packs? Or did one drop from the trees unto you, taking you by the neck and whisking you away from a patrol? You certainly did not come here willingly, based on your fright."

Crookedpaw

Were Crookedpaw a twoleg, his face probably would have gone cherry red when Rowanpaw commented on his poor climbing skills. His memory flashed back to his first outing with Blackbear, where he took a tumble out of tree in his attempt to catch a squirrel. He had not improved since then, and now that he was away from Blackbear and SkyClan in general…he feared he would lose what little skills he had. And now he had to go and show his fumble in front of a RiverClan cat. Even if he was a bit more forgiving in his tone, Crookedpaw wished he had something more he could laugh it off with in the same way that Rowanpaw managed to.

Crookedpaw’s eyes went to the jingling bell around Rowanpaw’s neck. He had heard stories about kittypets that wear strange little twoleg contraptions, signaling their entrapment. He wondered if he was going to be forced to wear one as well, and the thought made his tongue sour.

“I was caught in one of their traps,” he explained after getting over the embarrassment that grasped his tongue. His speech still slurred a bit due to his tooth. “Stormwatcher tried to get me out, but…” Crookedpaw shook his head before tears could form in his eyes. “I should have been more careful. Birdchaser even told us that there would be traps around and we had to be cautious, but I ended up going sprinting into one. They left food inside and I mistook it for prey.” His head hung in shame. Some apprentice he was, mistaking the smell of disgusting twoleg treats for a prey ripe to snag. He may as well have been born a kittypet; he could not climb, he could scarcely hunt. What other use was there for him? He was not sure he even had social skills in the way his leader or deputy did. Rainpaw probably had no problem with any of this, and Crookedpaw wished that he could be like his friend.

Crookedpaw looked back at Rowanpaw and his curiosity got the best of him. “Were you taken when the twolegs first attacked?” He spoke of being here for a while, but knew of the attack on Fourtrees. And he did not seem aware of the traps littered around the forest. He also was…different than typical cats from the forest. A different scent maybe, and the strangely clean clip of his ear. Crookedpaw had never seen any cat like it.

Rowanpaw

Surprisingly attentive, Rowanpaw listened as the younger apprentice spoke. It was easier to sit still and properly listen for once than acknowledge the way Crookedpaw's eyes lingered a little while on his neck, or around his ears. "Traps?" He murmured softly between the other's words. Traps? Like the ones he and others had been taken with when the twolegs first arrived– were they scattered all across the forest now? A little chill went through him at that knowledge. Had RiverClan made it safely back home, and if they had, was it out of range of the twolegs? His small spiral of worry was paused by the briefest, briefest sound of the name Storm, and just as quickly returned with watcher. There was a bit of bitterness in him, both that another cat in the woods would share a prefix he held so dear and that he was not getting news on the warrior in question. He did not care about Stormwatcher, nor Birdchaser, whoever those cats were. Still, he forced his smile to remain easy, the fluttering of his tail the only of his irritation.

"Well, don't pity yourself too terribly. At least you had wit enough to wait some time before being taken." Rowanpaw sighed. "Besides, you are only an apprentice. There is only so much caution that befits learning. That warrior you mentioned, he ought to have been looking out for you. It is a shame, these things happen with the best of supervision." Painfulness tugged at Rowanpaw's chest. Subconsciously, he tucked a hind leg closer to himself, acutely of the faint white fur grown there in the shape of teeth. There was not a part of him he could retreat into to chase away the memory of Stormdance being kicked aside, or of Poppyshine's distant and mournful stare as she rounded up the rest of their family and Clan. Putting out a strained laugh, he tittered, My wit must have taken a step away for a spell, considering– yes, you are right, I was taken when the twolegs first arrived." His tail flickered again, agitated. It wasn't his fault, really– how could he have known that they were going to storm the hollow? By listening to the sounds of their monsters and thundering steps approaching, by heeding caution? No, never. It eased some of the pain that every cat had been as surprised as he.

"I will pretend it is a good thing, that I have spent so much time here. I should say I am learning something, but," Rowanpaw tipped his head slightly, and the pain in his chest grew deeper, "I do not think I am learning so much as I am losing. I'd caution you to be wary, Crookedpaw, if a twoleg takes particular interest in catching you and you see one of those, ah, traps lying about the place. I am sure they told you frightening nursery tales of the Cutter's to dissuade you from venturing into Twolegplace. If I've gleaned anything from.. the other residents, it would be to keep from finding yourself there as well as you can."

Crookedpaw

Rowan’s warning about the Cutters sent a spike of icy cold washing over him. He did not know terribly much about the Cutter, aside from the warning that his mother told him. He knew that what they did there could change you as a cat, and that you were almost definitely doomed to a kittypet life if they got you. Crookedpaw did not dare say this aloud. He had a feeling that Rowanpaw had already experienced what the Cutter had to offer, hence his warning.

“Thank you for letting me know,” he mewed. Crookedpaw carefully settled himself on the cushion of the ottoman. It was softer than any moss, but he still missed the comforts of home. He hoped that longing would no fade with time. He did not want to become a complacent kittypet.

His eyes met Rowanpaw’s as he set his chin down on his paws. “Can you tell me about RiverClan?” he asked. “I’ve never met anyone from another clan before. Is it nice there?”

Rowanpaw

The other tom acknowledged his warning softly, and Rowanpaw gave a stiff nod in response to it. He was about to settle down again, legs just starting to bow under him, when Crookedpaw spoke up again. Rowanpaw blinked down at him, staring for a good while before he sighed softly. It wasn't terribly often someone actually requested a tale from him. Even if Crookedpaw wasn't asking for a story exactly, it was close enough. Close enough to make a little flutter of appreciation start in his chest, at least. The last cat he could remember that tempted something grand from him–

Rowanpaw's eyes looked twice along the length of Crookedpaw's body before narrowing. Silently, he turned away, ignoring how painful even something as mundane as one's pelt could be.

"Is it nice there? Oh, Crookedpaw," a soft chuckle left him, accompanied with a steady shake of his head. If the SkyClanner wanted to know about his home, then he would know. Clearing his throat and sitting straighter, Rowanpaw lifted his chin to look as composed and regal as possible. He had to do RiverClan justice, afterall. "Yes, of course it is nice there. It would not have produced a cat such as me if it weren't." His chest puffed out a bit at that. "Have you gotten the chance to patrol near your end of the river? I would not be surprised if you hadn't, you look a rather fresh apprentice still. Suppose it is a good thing I am here." He couldn't resist the tease. Refocusing on the tuxedo, Rowanpaw tipped his head in an exaggerated wink.

"If you have, then you have seen the heart of my home– if not... well, to be frank, I pity you. Any cat who does not see the river once in their day is a sorry cat indeed. Oh, the river-" with which is most recent memories were horrible, but Rowanpaw was undeterred by that flash of thought as he pressed on, "far prettier than almost-any cat you will find. Before anything else, she is temperamental. You should see her during a storm– the way she roars and churns! The glittering blues turned black in her ire! It truly is as gorgeous as it is terrifying. And that is the thing, she is terrifying." Rowanpaw's expression darkened, but his smile was still present. He was enjoying affecting the story of his home. In a rough, threatening whisper, "But keep your wits, Crookedpaw. Do not let my embellishments tempt you. You may fancy yourself brave enough to venture to her one day, to seek her rapids and her wild temper, and think you might best it. Let that not be the path you choose. The river swallows those reckless enough to throw themselves to her depths who do not belong there."

A wolfish point had grown on Rowanpaw's smile, and he'd leaned dangerously close to Crookedpaw as the "threat" rumbled out of his throat. Easing his grin into something more mild, he gracefully pulled back and gave his pelt a good shake. His voice had returned to his usual loud, warm pitch when he picked up again. "And in the river, of course, are fish. I have heard other Clans say they despise them– I will admit, the scales are a nuisance, but they are a fine prey. Rather exclusive, too, being that we are the only Clan skilled enough to catch them. RiverClan continues to be the best! Siiigh. It gets exhausting sometimes, holding the forest on our shoulders, but it is a weight we must bear.

Outside of our bellies, they make a fine attraction. Watching them flit through the rapids, little bolts of silver. Quite dazzling! And they put up quite the fight. A far more entertaining sport than land-prey. I cannot imagine subsisting only on squirrels and rodents. Hunting is a horrific bore to me, but you have not known hunting until you sink your claws into the gills of an especially rambunctious trout." Rowanpaw raised a paw, claws flexing the way they might to haul something from the river. As much as he loathed it, he missed it, too. He would spend a considerable time fishing when he was home, just to relish in it, he was sure.

"Away from the river... well, you can never truly be away from the river in my territory. Every pawstep leads you back to it. There are little tributaries, cricks only as wide as a whisker, rivulets that score the land. We are never far from water, and never it from us. Even our camp, the very center of our lives, is wreathed by the current. But," his tail flicked over one of Crookedpaw's ears, and the points of his teeth showed playfully. "Do not think I'll be giving you directions there. Let us hope it never comes to that, but you will have to find that out for yourself.

No more talk of camp, nor the river... ah! This may seem odd to you, but we are not much for trees. We have plenty of greenery, but we are more populated by simple shrubbery than the towering oaks you are familiar. There is, however, one spot on our land trees have taken a liking to. The Beech Copse: I should hope you are smart enough to make this deduction yourself, but it is a little patch of beech trees. It is one of the few shaded– and dry –parts of our territory. The prey you are likely more familiar with frequents the area as well. It is a nice spot, good for sparring and rudimentary hunting. Not my favored stretch of the territory, but nice enough."

Rowanpaw's sparkling gaze focused on Crookedpaw for a moment, then he slowly turned away, gazing out a distant window. It had started to snow. There was no river in sight; there was nothing familiar in sight, actually. But if he stared, if he squinted, he could imagine that there was. His smile softened, turned wistful. "If you are trying to ease important secrets out of me, friend, I will have to stop myself there. I will leave you with these key points: one, there is not a step of RiverClan's territory that does not deserve to be kept in memory and in heart; two, RiverClan boasts proud and elegant warriors, as beautiful and as fierce as our namesake; and three, it is my home." Idly, his tail swished, whisking aimlessly over Crookedpaw's head again. "Would you like to put SkyClan into contention, or are you to content to accept that every Clan pales in comparison to mine own?"

Crookedpaw

If there was just one thing that Rowanpaw was, and that he excelled at above all else, it was being a storyteller. He watched Rowanpaw with his pupils dilated and his tail flicking back and forth with excitement. Crookedpaw felt like he could see the expansive land, hear the rush of the water, or smell the oils of fish that were dragged out of the river. Crookedpaw wondered if he would ever get to see it, or at least the river. SkyClan shared a small part of their border with RiverClan. If they got back home…perhaps Crookedpaw would even get a chance to see and speak with Rowanpaw again across the water.

The story felt like it was over too quickly, and then it was redirected back at him. Crookedpaw’s ears perked and his tail started shifting back and forth a little quicker. “Well…While I am perhaps not as well-spoken as you in your descriptions of RiverClan, don’t be fooled. Water is very nice and all, but SkyClan is amazing too!”

He shifted up a bit, taking the role of storyteller. He wished he had the social skills that Rowanpaw did. Crookedpaw didn’t know if he would be able to speak with such rapturous detail. He shyly cleared his throat and tried anyway. “The trees are impossibly large, so high that it is said that some in the Highpines even reach StarClan. No cat in SkyClan is fearful of this height, though. Just as RiverClan cats are like fish, free to swim around in the water without care, SkyClan cats are birds that can leap from branch to branch as gracefully and quickly as they would sprint through the forest on the ground.”

Crookedpaw smile a bit wider, showing off his misaligned tooth. “You say that fish are dazzling through their quick, swift rapids? You should see birds fluttering about, soaring through the air. You should feel wind rippling through your fur as you dash from branch to branch to keep up with one who did not expect you to be up for the chase. Or scampering after a squirrel who thought towering a tree would mean its safety. SkyClan is all about the exhilaration and the freedom of going anywhere at any time, from any height.”

Memories of home made his stomach turn, and his heart ached with longing. Memories of Blackbear and Rainpaw and his mother dampened the excitable grin on his face, and he lowered back down. He continued despite the pain in his chestt. “SkyClan names are always strong and fearsome. Blackbear, Trufflesnap, Stormwatcher. SkyClan is a powerful clan with strong cats who will continue to uphold the nobility of the forest.”

Rowanpaw

Crookedpaw had been enraptured by the regaling, tail flitting rapidly and pupils blown wide as Rowanpaw spoke. Warm pride fluttered in his chest as he watched the other apprentice's reactions. It was good to know that he still had the knack for it, even if he was a touch out of practice, and that he could inspire such joy in another. His easy grinned was softened by a touch of fondness. Even if it stung to think about home, to think about all that had been so abruptly ripped away... it was good to talk about. Felt good, to see RiverClan's story sparking so much light in another's eyes. Rowanpaw puffed his chest out a little further, bell jingling against his fur.

When Crookedpaw shuffled to sit upright, he inclined his head in a silent go ahead. He was earnestly curious about what SkyClan was like in the heart of the territory, not just across the border– and a part of him just wanted to see how Crookedpaw's oration held up to his own. His clipped ear flicked as the story started, hazy images of towering trees floating through his memory. A scoff huffed out of him before Rowanpaw could think to hush himself. He'd seen trees plenty of times, walked below them coming to and from Fourtrees (the thought of which made him bite down on his tongue)– surely they were not something so grand. But... Rowanpaw's eyes were wide with wonder. Trees so high he could not even see the tops of them, that he could scale their heights and leap right into StarClan if he wished... A thrum started in his heart. An idle thought of the Moss Boss hit him as well, and though it was bittersweet, he quietly made the note to tell Crookedpaw the story later.

Rowanpaw blinked to refocus his thought, gaze centering on the SkyClanner's aptly-crooked grin. Though not out of agitation, his fur was starting to bristle along his spine, already-bushy tail fluffed out and whipping side to side. Yes, he loved swimming dearly, and he wouldn't have traded his life in RiverClan for the world, but to fly? If he concentrated, he could imagine the feeling of wind ruffling through his pelt on bad weather days. Harsh and uncomfortable on the ground, worse closer to the larger stretches of the river, but to feel that from the tops of the trees... to leap freely, recklessly, howling with delight as he soared, lifted by the wind.

SkyClan is all about the exhilaration and the freedom of going anywhere at any time, from any height.

He ached for that, now more than ever. He had always been daring and independent and aching for freedom (whatever that really meant), but now, here... Rowanpaw gave himself a full-body shake, collar rattling loudly. He couldn't conjure up phantom touches of wind anymore. As Crookedpaw was finishing speaking (mentioning again that same warrior Rowanpaw had decided to unduly resent), the older apprentice gave a slow dip of his head. "Well, you certainly have a way with words. It is as if I can feel the beating of wings within my own heart. I would say your eloquence rivals my own, were it possible." Another dramatized wink made his head bow again. His voice bright and friendly, Rowanpaw went on, "Crookedpaw is not the fiercest name of your list... though I am sure you will sound quite fearsome once you have become a warrior. You will have to find me at a Gathering, once we are out of here and earned our new ranks. I will be sure to quake with fear toward what name has been bestowed to you."