Shards of Light {closed}

Flintfang didn't know what had happened to StagClan after leaving. He had simply taken his dues, taken his family, and left. Littlesun, Bonewatcher and himself opted to bury Burnt away from the clans' territories. They had carried his broken body through the pine thicket, father and farther until even the code couldn't keep him. This way, Burnt was free. He no longer needed to lie in the poisoned dirt that was governed by rules and laws that they despised. And as they laid him into the hole dug for his body, Flintfang knew that the forest had become accustomed to the darkness. Without the code, the freedom was jarring. And it stemmed much deeper than Burnt or himself could ever imagine. It was ingrained in their hearts, forming their morals, their personalities. And as Burnt showed them freedom, it hurt to rip their own heartstrings out. Strings made of the code. They placed flowers over his grave, sitting vigil as the sun rose higher into the sky. This was all that was left. His mate; Littlesun. His kits; yet to be born. And his brother; Bonewatcher. They'd leave the forest and run far from the laws that held them. And maybe if they strayed far enough away, they'd truly be allowed to live as Burnt had commanded them to do.

Flintfang wanted to find the cracks in his plan, he wanted to throw his meager hope to the ground and shuffle away. But what he felt now wasn't hope. It was just motion. Moving and hunting as he always had done, gathering up all the little lights in this world to wrap around his head. Flintfang had been shaken to his very core, and felt raw and naked out on his own. So much so, he couldn't even find the strength to be angry. He simply wanted to feel okay. He wanted to live and love, and not fear his every step. The shock of StagClan's fall stuck with him as he padded into the clan's territories one last time. The trees shook with his new humble state. And the ground took on a new light as he became grateful for the grass that had held him all this time. The leaves judged his gray scarred frame as he weaved between the bracken. And the birds mocked his useless pelt. Flintfang had become just another creature, just another form, searching so violently for love and peace. And now he just wanted to heal. To stop reeling from Burnt's death. He needed to see Mosspaw.

If this had been any other time, Flintfang would have turned himself around. But he was broken. Hollow. And even facing the scars of his past sins couldn't scare him anymore. His daughter deserved something more. An apology, a speech. Something to heal the gap left between them. However Flintfang knew deep down that his words could do little to fix their wounds. Even offering up his very body and soul couldn't even scratch the surface of healing what he had done. But perhaps he'd always owe a debt to Mosspaw. No matter the severity, he wanted to see his daughter one last time. He wanted to gaze at her light, and feel her hope. Bonewatcher and Littlesun stayed behind, waiting near Burnt's grave. Flintfang left under the ploy of scouting out new territory for shelter. And it was only a half-lie. He'd find a place for his family to rest their head by sunset. And if he was lucky, he'd find solace for his mind as well.

ThunderClan territory hadn't changed since Flintfang's abandonment of it. If anything, the leaves were greener, and the foliage was thicker. But it was no bother to the gray tabby. He had grown up in these lands, and could navigate them with a clear-cut accuracy. It was easy to avoid patrols as he padded under ferns and bracken. Maybe he'd find his daughter out in the forest. Or maybe he'd need to whistle for the medicine den. But Mosspaw sat alone in a sun-dappled clearing, as if fate had made it that way. But Flintfang didn't believe in fate. And he didn't believe in hope. This was simply an opportunity, a glen of light to cut into his hollow soul. "Mosspaw?"

Moons had passed. So much had happened, Dewpaw's betrayal of her trust, her training, Ridgelight's crime.... There had been so many changes, and yet there was one constant that weighed on Mosspaw's mind. Not once had the memory of that dark, stormy night in the tunnel between ShadowClan and ThunderClan faded from memory. Even as she smiled, laughing and joking with her clanmates, it lingered in the back of her mind. As she had heard of ShadowClan's fall, and seen Flintfang at the last Gathering where he avoided her gaze entirely. She had requested, no, begged, her father to come visit her now and then, but never had she actually seen him. She would go to the tunnel occasionally, and talk to the darkness within, trying to pretend that she wasn't alone as her tears fell to the ground by the Thunderpath. Flintfang was never there though, and every time she turned and padded back into ThunderClan territory, feeling more and more abandoned with every step. 

This was a different day though, and despite it all, Mosspaw desperately needed herbs. Pricklebush was still in RiverClan, and she had been trying to juggle all of her duties alone, which had put her behind in other aspects of her work. She chittered contentedly as she went about gathering the herbs in the clearing, enjoying the quiet around her, when that silence was shattered. A voice, a haunting echo of memories good and bad, cut through the air and forced her to pause. No. There was no way. She was only hearing things. He wouldn't come to her after all this time, would he? Still, though, she had to know. She turned slowly, raising her eyes to meet what she had expected to be emptiness, only it... wasn't. She gasped as her eyes met her father's, tears immediately springing into her eyes. Was she dreaming? Was this some prophecy from StarClan? Taking a hesitant step forward, then another, and one more, until she was nose to nose with the tom, she whispered. "Dad?"

Mosspaw closed the distance between the two cats swiftly, her blue-green eyes coming into full view. Flintfang saw himself in the reflection and winced, countless other scars blanketed his face and chest, and his ears looked like scratching logs. The tabby's face rested in a distant steely emotion. Flintfang's thoughts were no where to be found as his daughter gazed upon him. He wanted to tell her about all of the trials and all of the blood, and yet it would be wrong. He was too quick to cross their boundaries he himself had defined. And Mosspaw stood in the clearing for the crossfire. "I'm here." Flintfang choked as Mosspaw spoke. It was as if he was convincing himself rather than his daughter of his own presence.

He found he couldn't look away from her eyes, fearful that straying may send his soul into the void once more. While the sun sat high in the sky, the world around Flintfang was dark. Mosspaw was the only thing he could see. The only familiarity in the chaotic world he had been thrown into. And that nostalgia was killer. Flintfang wanted to hunt mice with his daughter again. He wanted to talk walks with her in the forest, or listen as the leaves whistled on a windy day. But the walls, oh the walls. They were steep things, and Flintfang had used all his strength to build them up, that he no longer had any left to tear them down. And then begged the question on whether the calico standing in front of him would fear his decrepit shell as he stood in her light. The scars that covered Flintfang made him scary. And his actions had turned him into a monster. An apology would pale in comparison to his misgivings. It would almost be silly to speak one. But Flintfang needed to speak. He needed to speak before he exploded. "Burntstag is dead. I killed him with my own claws." The gray tabby found a seat on the grass as the world spun around him. "This thing I was looking for... this... this idea. It never existed."

Flintfang's ears folded back and he let out a harsh hiss, digging his bloodstained claws into the soil. "I abandoned you. And ThunderClan. And every sense of stability I had ever known. But I can't stay... Mosspaw. I might die here on these lands if I do." He meant her eyes with his own green ones, glazed and paranoid. The forest now seemed to cave in on the tom. And he suddenly wondered if he'd be trapped in this place forever. While life had been perfect and wonderful, it was not the peace he was looking for. The trees watched his movements, and the leaves mocked his wounds. Flintfang was their scoundrel, a lonely, scarred beast with a vendetta. He had never once hoped, and yet had done so all the same. He had hoped for peace, and now the crimson stain had set him free. Ironic, that such things he so desired would be the ones to doom him to a life of the mundane. "I need to leave, Mosspaw. I'm taking Littlesun and Bonewatcher with me. We'll become loners and run far from this place...." A tear fell from his cheek, stinging as the salty tang intruded the lacerations on his face. "But I wanted to apologize before I go. You didn't deserve any of this... But I'll be out of your fur soon. Just... be careful, okay?" Flintfang turned to leave, having delivered his message. Whatever he had been searching for, it was not here. But so long as he could gaze upon Mosspaw's light one last time, he was happy.

She never took her eyes off of his, afraid to even blink. If she did, he might just disappear again, lost to her forever. After a moment, she heard his voice, saying something about Burntstag... She was too wrapped up in the fact that her father was here, standing before her once again to care about what Burntstag was doing. His ears fell flat to his head and he hissed, and she started paying more attention to what he was saying. Her own ears fell back as he spoke about leaving again, saying that he might die here if he stayed. That he would run, with his new mate and Bonewatcher. Fear and horror laced her expression as he continued, adding that he'd be out of her fur soon, and to be careful. She was rooted to the spot, unable to force words from her throat as he turned, stuck to watch his back as it started to disappear back into the foliage.

A distressed yowl suddenly ripped from her throat, followed by a pattering of paws on the forest floor before she charged past him, spinning to stand in front of him defiantly. "No. Don't go. Please. I... I don't mind you staying in my fur... You're my dad, you're supposed to be a burr in my fur sometimes. I want to be with you. Take walks in the forest with you. Share my worries and doubts with you... Do you have any idea what has happened since you left? What I've been through? Did you even know Dewpaw is dead? Don't you want to hear what has been going on? How my training has been going?" She begged, staring at him but no tears came. Not yet. "No matter where you go, your time will eventually come. Please, stay... Don't go... I'm sure that Oakstar will take you in... Don't run.... Not from me.... Not anymore... Please, dad... I don't care what you did, what you've done. I love you.. I forgive you.. Please, just come back home with me.... I'll help you find what you're looking for. We can make it, if we have to. Don't keep walking away...."

Every pawstep back into the foliage, and Flintfang felt life closing in around him. The cruel strokes of happenings favored no one, and all he wanted was to gaze at the sun one last time. Littlesun was beautiful, and Bonewatcher was sturdy, and yet the thought of them seemed to pale in comparison to the light now running behind him. Oh, why did it chase him so? It went against everything Burntstag's death had taught him. And as Flintfang stopped to gaze at his daughter again, for a moment he saw shards of his utopia, shattering to the ground in brilliant prisms of color. Life did not work in such glorious ways, yet Mosspaw did. His maw parted slightly in awe, eyes glazing over as she spun to a halt in front of him. Words spilled from her mouth, begging him to stay and Flintfang dug his claws into the ground. Why had he done this? This adventure of his would only mean another abandonment of the things too fragile for his paws. But before he could open his maw to respond, Mosspaw kept speaking, her words strained and emotional. Dewpaw… dead? Oakstar? The tom hardly registered what his daughter was saying, for fear that if he did, the realization may kill him. And that's just it, wasn't it? All of the cats in the forest were striving to live through life so brilliantly and yet safely, to not lose the world they held so dear.

"No matter where you go, your time will eventually come."

Love, forgiveness. Flintfang winced and wondered how many of his sins this blanket could cover. Mosspaw was too wonderful for his presence, and in proximity, he'd destroy her. Just as he did before. It was foolish to return to see her once more and yet he found he didn't regret it. How could he regret when life itself was a tangle of bravery and conservation? A mess of freedom and yet sensibility. Living for a utopia and yet afraid to die in the name of it. Flintfang let out a long sigh, tearing out strands of grass with his claws. "I'm not searching anymore, Mosspaw." His ears lay flat against his skull as he tilted his head to the sky, watching as the trees rustled. Flintfang wanted to fly to the canopy, to ascend even the sky itself. Perhaps then he could stuff his ears with cloud fluff and smile at the light below. But he was too aware of life's happenings. He bore too many scars. "Life really wasn't as great as I imagined it to be. The trees are just trees and this grass is just grass. What more can we do here?"

And then there were some moments that really did burn themselves into Flintfang's heart. Tatteredleaf nuzzling him and his siblings as kits. Swoopnose showing him the forest for the first time. Beartooth who understood. Falconwing's gaze, Littlesun's philosophy. He wished he could make something out of it as those around him did. And yet all Flintfang could muster was a silent lick to Mosspaw's forehead. He paused for a moment, breathing in her scent, and then resting his head on hers. "I just gotta live." It was his anthem as he padded through life. His message that he wore on his pelt. There was nothing glorious about it, nor admirable. But he'd live. He'd live until his last breath settled into the dust. And now it was time. No more second goodbyes. Today he'd gaze at the light for the last time, and seal that in his heart along with all the other memories. "You're great, Mosspaw. And you'll do great things. But please... let me go."

Flintfang's ears flattened and he looked to the sky as Mosspaw stood before him, her ears slowly laying flat as well. "Life is whatever you make it, if you want it to be great then you just have to go for it... If that's how you view the trees, then of course that's what they'll be, dad... These trees are my trees, my shelter from storms and my comfort from the burning sun. This grass is my grass, cool and soothing under my paws. This forest cares for me, just as I care for it. We can do with it what we want..." She trailed off as Flintfang stepped forward and licked her head silently, pressing his chin to the top of it once more. Her shoulders dropped at his final words, and she nodded silently before taking a couple steps back. "I'm great because of you, dad. Alright, then go. You know where to find me if you do ever decide to come back.... May the stars guide your path, Flintfang."

With those final parting words, she watched as the tom disappeared into the foliage, unsure if she would ever see him again, or hear his voice. There in that empty clearing she stayed, through the night, until the first rays of the sun started to shine on the quiet forest. Still, there was no sign of Flintfang, and as the sun cleared the horizon she finally stood, turning and heading back to ThunderClan's camp.