Oh Dear Brother... [Closed]

Bonewatcher was in the middle of one of his usual solo-walks across the border. The stench of the Thunderpath burned into his nostrils, but he really didn’t care. If anything, he had found his paws carrying him over this specific border since he had caught wind of his clanmates mentioning him now being part of ShadowClan…or StagClan, as they apparently called themselves.

He wasn’t a fan of gatherings, as they often were mostly leaders bickering between each other for all kind of situations. He was sure the leaders would constantly lose lives by being attacked or pushed off the Great Rock if it wasn’t for the peace treaty between the clans that was forced upon them those nights of full moon, but that didn’t keep them from making tensions between clans worse and eventually leading to attacks and deaths on the following days.

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly between his closed teeth as he wondered if the leaders had EVER stopped to think, even if just for a second, that most of the many deaths and maulings that occurred between each gathering were actually their fault and theirs alone for planting the seed of hatred between the clans, instead of throwing blame at each other like a bunch of kits kicking a mossball inside a nursery.

…no, most likely not, they were too prideful for that.

With a sigh, he raised his head yet again to glance over the border between the clans. Feeling his stomach jump lightly as the unacknowledged hope of spotting his half-brother across the border sent all kind of mixed emotions through the tom’s body.

If he said he didn’t consider using the tunnel under the Thunderpath to get there and look for him, he would be lying…and yet, he was unsure of what kept his paws firmly planted on ThunderClan’s side of this foul-smelling border.

Their motives had been announced at the Gathering, and Flintfang's heart was left on a pike for all to see. He didn't need to explain himself to Mosspaw, Burntstag did that for him, whether he knew it or not. But as of now, ThunderClan's deserter was viewed as a heathenistic rebel who spat on the Warrior Code. It was StagClan's badge to wear, and some held it with pride, while others tried to hide it under their pelts. Flintfang was at a crossroads. This humble utopia they had made in ShadowClan's camp was everything he had ever dreamed of. There was no larger authority to impress, no all-seeing eye that nit-picked his every move. In fact, the inhabitants of StagClan liked him, respected him. And Flintfang would be lying if he said it didn't make him feel good. He would advise Burntstag on plans and patrols, and at night, he would rest next to Littlesun and breathe in her scent. The tom had everything he ever wanted, and yet he was still hurting.

The Thunderpath was where he had abandoned her, left Mosspaw in that grimy tunnel as he pranced away towards a better future. She had brought him a gift; a small mouse that he loved. How she had known mice were his favorite, Flintfang had no idea. But it was the act of thoughtfulness that killed him. Flintfang had been a scoundrel to her, and she had brought him a parting gift. He had eaten the small thing later that day, and kept the skull of the creature in his den for safe-keeping. A reminder of his recklessness, a reminder to never break another heart again. And yet here, on the Thunderpath is where he felt closest to her. Closest to his birth clan, as much as he despised it. But instead of the memory of Mosspaw, he found Bonewatcher, his half-brother.

"What are you doing here?" Flintfang sighed, exasperated. He had never been very close to his family, as there was only a small number of them he could trust. Chervilpaw died of unknown causes, and Bushfang had been about as comforting as a bramble thicket. But Bonewatcher, that tom had been steadfast through it all. And even when their shared mother Tatteredleaf died, still the stunning-pelted tom remained. "Don't try to drag me back to ThunderClan. You and I both know it wouldn't be a good idea."

Bonewatcher’s signature smile never left his muzzle as he heard to what his brother had to say, but his eyes reflected some of the contradictory feelings he had.

He knew Flintfang had left his clan behind without saying a single word, but could anyone blame him for trying to seek a better life? A life where he could truly be happy and share the nest with the one he truly loved? A life none would’ve approved of because it was beyond the warrior code? A code created with good intentions and to keep the clans from becoming a bunch of savages…but how many weight a code could hold when the very ones that preached and claimed to respect it so fiercely before the rest of forest cats broke it without second thoughts when they felt like it, when they felt above that very same code?

Just like Ridgelight had done by leaving her very own kits to die by the merciless fangs of a fox…

Shivers still ran down his spine at the memory. For so long he had shared his thoughts to those willing to listen, about warrior life and the price it came with, of how no clan cat, regardless of how pacifist the could claim to live, came to the end of this road with claws unsheathed and stained with blood, whether directly or indirectly. But knowing that some cats also could find themselves with their very own kits’ blood purposefully staining their claws within those other many bloodstains? That was something he didn’t even think possible and now made his stomach churn in all kinds of disgust and hatred.

“I don’t intend on taking you back to ThunderClan, Flintfang” His voice was as calm and carefree as always, somewhat masking the emotions that he felt by once more being face to face with the brother he had already started to consider as long lost “As you say, there are many reasons that not only would be unwise but also cruel…”.

His eyes drifted from the tom to the marshlands behind him, looking around carefully, even the most mundane details easily picked up and stored within his memory for the rest of his life “Are the marshlands treating you well? Is that new clan of yours…StagClan, wasn’t it?...what you expected it to be?”.

The guard Flintfang had put up fell quickly as Bonewatcher's voice turned to be one of calm. There were no accusatory tones there, and it was clear his half-brother wasn't here to ridicule or shame him. Not that Flintfang would have cared, it would have been more salt in an already festering wound. But that wound had become apart of the tom, and he found he didn't care anymore.

But his half-brother was civil, understanding. Flintfang didn't want to hope for it, but found a pleasant surprise at the care from Bonewatcher's voice. "StagClan is fine." Flintfang answered, drawing circles in the dirt with a claw. "Fine" seemed an understatement for the roaring landscape they had pulled from the dust. Flintfang's headspace was fine, but the clan he lived in now was hopeful. "It's peaceful. Chervilpaw would have liked it. There's no corrupt rules, no great expectations. We're just living, hunting as cats do. And Burntstag is less of a leader and more of a friend. I sound like a big sap... I know..." A smile grew on Flintfang's face as he trailed off. Never had he thought he'd get to speak with Bonewatcher again, but there were hints of that same raw hope in his eyes that Chervilpaw once carried. It wasn't enough to haul his hide back to ThunderClan, but it was enough to feel nostalgic.

"How is ThunderClan? Is Pricklebush still as grumpy as ever?" Flintfang didn't dare ask about Mosspaw, but asking about her mentor was the next best thing. The ploy was even enough to plaster a grin onto his face. "You know, if you ever get tired of their rules... you could always join StagClan." It was meant as a joke, but Flintfang found the prospect interesting. Bonewatcher had never been as strung to the Code as most other cats, the gray tabby knew that much about him. He wondered how much it would take to push him over the edge.

Bonewatcher’s ears pointed forward as his brother spoke, with only the slight sway of his tail tip giving signs of him being a living breathing cat as the rest of his body stood mostly still before him. He took in what Flintfang had to say with a calm demeanor and smile, as he tried to imagine how different could StagClan really be, compared to the rest of the clans.

His mind wandered only for a short time before his brother asked him about Thunderclan, causing a lot of emotions to quickly invade the tom and make his stomach churn yet again “Pricklebush…is fine…for the most part, at least” Could he even assure he was fine after what had just happened in ThunderClan? Losing part of your family shouldn’t be easy, especially in the way he did.

“And ThunderClan…well, I guess you can say they are still there…” His voice tone remained mostly neutral and calm, but it had lowered lightly, becoming just a tiny bit deeper. This was the only way the gray tabby before him could know something was not right, if he paid enough attention to pick it up, that is. Bonewatcher wouldn’t tell right away what had gone down, the terrible secret that ThunderClan now kept within its borders, but he wasn’t going to hold back such a hideous crime from other cat’s knowledge if asked directly. If anything, he felt there was a lot to learn from that event, even if he wished it would’ve been possible for the lesson to be learned without such a high price.

It was then that the joke his brother made started to make his brain work.

Honestly speaking, he was never too attached to ThunderClan itself, if it wasn’t for Bushfang still being there, he most likely would’ve already left…but after the current events, he wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to stay. He, however, kept his muzzle shut…for now. This wasn’t a choice he could make without at least a bit of thought, after all.

Either that…or he needed one last little nudge to follow the brother that no longer called ThunderClan home on his path.

It felt good to know Flintfang wasn't the only victim of ThunderClan's treachery. While he'd never wish any harm on his brother, it was comforting almost to know the feelings they shared were similar. At least that is what the gray tabby could pull from the way Bonewatcher's voice trailed off, evaporating into mist. "ThunderClan's there, but you don't have to be." An extension on Flintfang's joke, but his tone turned serious. The gray tabby wasn't brave enough to ask Mosspaw to drop her responsibilities and join him. He was the one to abandon her, it would be wrong to ask that she now follow in his footsteps. But what Bonewatcher did, he did on his own accord.

Flintfang's brother held more experience than himself, being older and a much better warrior. If he found interest in StagClan, it wouldn't be of Flintfang's doing. The gray tabby would be lying if he said he didn't want Bonewatcher to follow him back across the Thunderpath. Flintfang's family had been a distant one after Chervilpaw's death, but he still held them close. It was rare to be born and already have friends, to have cats who understood. And Flintfang had been born into a family of love and care, and he still missed those days. Tatteredleaf and Chervilpaw dead. Bushfang distant. And yet here Bonewatcher stood, a rock, a sturdy being. To have him near would be nice. "I shouldn't be convicing you to do anything. Only a mousebrain would take advice from me, I mean look at my own life." Flintfang gave a sarcastic chuckle, scuffing at a rock with his paw. "But if you ever decide to join StagClan, you'd be welcome." What was to stop Bonewatcher from walking across the Thunderpath right now? Flintfang wished he'd decide to come. And before seeing his brother, he didn't even know he needed his family. Not until now. It was strange how all the sappy and hopeful things brought out the worst in Flintfang. Now he had another commitment, another cat to tie his heartstrings around.And perhaps he needed it. As much as Flintfang despised the loudness of love in his life, maybe Bonewatcher's presence was a good one. It certainly brought a sense of nostalgia with it.