Perfect [Closed]

✧ It was the night after his warrior ceremony, a night spent in silent vigil of the camp. Forcing his tongue to stick to the back of his throat had been the most challenging thing he had ever had to do. Several times he considered sneaking away when the night was still to nudge Dacepaw awake or to steal a few moments of rest. Despite the annoyance at his creeping exhaustion, and with being assigned to such a dull task, his mind had found a way to keep busy with several thoughts. Time passed rather quickly and he was pleasantly surprised to see the sun finally rising. That meant his time was up. The newly named Houndheart stretched onto his paws. While he once thought that he would be ready for sleep, the idea that his clanmates would not greet him by a warrior name pushed sleep to the fringes of his mind. Today, he would sleep among the honored warriors of the clan. Dacepaw and Duskpaw, still too young to have earned the title, would now refer to him by his new name. His chest seemed to puff out further and his head held higher. Gray eyes darted around to seek out those of his friends. But they landed on a shape and pelt color vastly different from either companions that he sought out a growl threatened to break from his throat as he looked at the face of the deputy. His father.

While he had always been a rather prickly cat, it was this particular tom that seemed to aggravate him the worst. Beartooth was only convenient in title, as a thing to boast of outside of the deputy's presence. Other wise, he was a hulking mass of an absent father. It was this mousebrained creature that had driven his mother away and subject him to the pity and strange looks from clanmates. Moons of a lack of connection between them had only grown the rift of disdain built up in the younger tom's heart. While he would have rather turned away, there seemed to be some flicker of determination in Beartooth's gaze. It seemed for once his father had decided to specifically seek him out. It only took an entire life time and a warrior name. Houndheart hissed lowly, allowing a mocking tone, dripping with sarcasm to leave from his maw, "Have you come to meet your newest warrior? Is that finally enough to draw some words from you, you great brute?" ✧

✢ Maybe it was a long buried sense of guilt that chilled the tom's pelt that night. Despite being snuggled up between his usual companions of Harefoot and Ferretnose, something still settled within him and occasionally sent a shiver through his bulky frame. Houndheart had only ever been his son in fact. Perhaps their pelts bore a slight resemblance but that was all. There was nothing else, no bond formed or other special relationship, that marked the pair as father and son. Oakstar and Dustcloud had tried their best to raise the abrasive young tom in place of him and his former mate. It was from the leader's persistent urging that he had long considered speaking to his clanmate. And it was a look from his former mentor that had instilled the idea in his mind. He should have been proud that his son had earned the name of a warrior after so many moons of apprenticeship underneath Harefoot's guidance. But all he could bring himself to feel was self-reproach over the whole matter.

Patrols were quickly assigned before dawn and he set his paws on a course for the camp entrance. Per tradition, Houndheart had been assigned to a silent vigil in addition to the naming ceremony. And there he was, somehow seemingly awake and ready for the day, when he was to be rewarded with rest for his efforts. Beartooth remembered struggling to stay awake the night of his own naming. Even so, such a system had merely become every day life to him now. Little sleep, duties a plenty. The deputy froze for a moment. In all of his moons with Ridgelight's son in camp, the most he had said directed towards the tom was in giving him an apprenticehood. Otherwise, he had been contented to a silence and distance. Now seemed as good a time as any to break the silence. Even if he could not bridge the gap to father and son, the tabby needed to at least approach him as a fellow clanmate. This was a cat of the clan that he stood as deputy of, and even he in all of his daftness could not deny that fact.

It had taken a second to continue on his path and as he neared the new warrior, he was met with bitter words. That did not come as a surprise. However, in all of his lack of societal ability, Beartooth took a moment to find speech. The evident disdain and harsh speech did not phase him. After all, it was Pricklebush he had grown up alongside and the deputy had often been the brunt of his depths of hatred. It was rather sad how easily it brushed right past him. Finding words and creating conversation was a far more stunning thing. After a slow blink, the elder warrior finally let out a low rumble in his usual manner, "I thought that we could go on a hunting patrol. If you are up for it after your vigil. It's not official. We can eat along the way." While he considered smiling, as he had learned was something that most cats expected as a pleasantry, his jaw hurt from the oversized teeth and the ache prevented such a thing. But he cocked his head slightly as he waited for an answer, hoping the prospect would peak the other cat's interest. All the while, the uncomfortable knot in his stomach reminded him of where this kit had come from. That this was Ridgelight's kit. He had to swallow the lump in his throat once more. ✢

✧ The attempt was laughable, and that was exactly what it prompted. A bitter laugh was drawn from the young warrior. This cat was supposed to be his father. How was it that such a pathetic creature had sired him? That part never seemed quite right. It had to have been his mother that possessed any semblance of sense, and yet, some how she had ended up with Beartooth as her mate. After the laughter died out from his maw, he simply regarded the tom through a slated gray gaze. As aggravation warmed his stomach and seemed to pound through his veins at being face with his kin, any thoughts of pressing exhaustion were simply abolished now. Houndheart was much more engaged with his own long-standing anger than something as trivial as sleep. For a brief period of time, he pondered the idea of simply walking away. But that was far too easy. And underneath all the pain and moons of separation, some pathetic kit still cried for the parents who had bore him.

"Fine," He decided in something that bordered a snarl, "if you would like to hunt, let's hunt." Without sparing the deputy another glance, he turned and stalked through the tunnel, intentionally letting the gorse rake his ears. The morning was crisp, almost bitterly so, and Houndheart welcomed it willingly. It seemed to make his pace that much brisker. Although he was far from quiet in his approach when it came to stalking through the forest, due to the fire that seemed to rage through his veins, it seemed that there was a fat squirrel ahead far too busy in its leaffall pursuits to notice the approaching predator. He was upon it in a flash. In training with Harefoot, he had since tamed his lanky limbs and shaped into something of a fine hunter. His frame allowed for him to easily closed the distance and with once swift lunge of his maw, the warrior killed his prey. Thankfully, the lack of sleep seemed to barely hinder his efforts. Once he had the creature between his teeth, he turned and threw it at the feet of the deputy. Houndheart held Beartooth with spiteful stare before snapping once again.

"There. I've hunted. Is that enough for you? Now we can go moons without speaking again and pretend this never happened. Are you satisfied now, Beartooth? Has this covered up whatever you feel you owe me? Because it has been more than enough for me. I've been fine on my own for moons and I don't need you around now. I'm a warrior now. And I don't need you now. I never have." ✧

✢ As he stared into the gaze of his only son, Beartooth saw measures of hatred that could hardly be matched by any cat. And yet, he knew that disdain well. He stepped back. It was like staring into the eyes of his brother, into the eyes of Pricklebush. As if remembering crawling through the dirt of the medicine cat den, the seven clawed scar over his eye. Prey was quickly forgotten as the deputy was stunned. Right now he was facing the very things that scared him the most. Even if a bulky creature like Beartooth looked as if he could not be phased by anything, it was all to easy to pick apart the many shattered pieces that pierced his soul. Houndheart was one of them. This was one of the fractured relationships he had found in life. All of it had formed into a creeping numbness and ice that weighed heavily and ever-present in his gut. Few things seemed to be able to thaw it, to keep it at bay.

He thought of Ferretnose. Her kind soul, along with the long-standing companionship of Harefoot, had helped to heal him of moons of trauma. And yet, not all things were fixed by the support of a friend. Neither could heal the broken lives he and Ridgelight had brought into the world. So many of them had been snuffed out so quickly, and their mother to serve her judgement in the greater world. Both he and Houndheart had been left on their own to deal with the aftermath of the tragedy. It had pushed them in separate directions. Although he had witnessed these depths of disdain before, he could never understand it. Beartooth never mulled over concepts such as these, but he was a creature incapable of hatred that so many seemed to breed. As he met the gaze of Houndheart, he feared what he saw there because he could not grasp it. But fear quickly dissipated into an immeasurable sadness for the divide created between himself and the son he had failed to love.

Words were never an easy thing and as he sought for them, they seemed as fleeting as ever. His fangs dug into his lower jaw and tears seemed to form at the edges of his gaze. How many moons had this kit gone, abandoned by his father? It had been daft to shove away such a thing as important as the bond between father and son, no matter how vast the divide that had been devised. Beartooth longed to close the gap between them, for the first time allowing himself to see this tom as more than a reminder of his dark past, "I should have been there long ago." The words were foreign, as if spoken by another cat, one who understood far more than he did. As they left his maw, he padded a step forward, just enough to connect his cheek with Houndheart's. He breathed in deep the scent of his son. Every fiber of his being screamed that he run from this strange form of affection. The deputy wasn't used to such an action. But he forced himself to revel in it, to find solace in it.

There wasn't room to run anymore. Just like he had to face his title as deputy, now too, he had to finally accept the long-lost role of father. Never once did it occur to him that it might be too late. ✢

✧ The several moments of measured silence were expected. Thunderclan's deputy had never been known for his eloquent speech. It was one of the things that Houndheart always disliked about the elder cat. Beartooth was merely a lumbering mass of few words. There was no signs of a father there, hardly signs of a decent cat. All he did was fill the slot as deputy and stand treasured at Oakstar's paws. A mocking snort of laughter left the new warrior's maw but he didn't look away. There was conflict in that usually emotionless mask. The lithe tabby found himself intrigued that the tom did seem to feel emotion. His entire life, the deputy had merely been a title to boast and brag. Houndheart had never once actively delighted in his father himself. While some kittish part of him desperately craved the attention of the father who had always ignored him, the cat that stood here now hated what was before him. He despised this creature.

And so when Beartooth leaned forward, closing the gap between them and touching their cheeks together, his claws were ready. It was the fastest instinct that had ever wracked his limbs. There was a flash, as he leaped back and lashed out. Immediately, flecks of blood spattered on the earth around them. The cut itself wasn't a deep one but it seemed to stun both father and son. Houndheart's sides heaved. Along his spine, the fur was bristled as if he was facing an enemy. This was perhaps the most intense battle he had faced. And it was a clanmate at his claws, the deputy at his claws. Confusion and panic welled up in his chest. Everything was just as confusing as it had been facing Lionspark in Starclan. His throat tightened and he tried to swallow back everything that threatened to spill forth. Part of him wanted to flee, the other wanted to scream. All of him desired to not seek the stripes and scars of his father's expression, the one that now bore the mark of his claws as well.

"G-get away from me! Stay away from me, Beartooth! You may be the deputy, but you're not my father, and you never will be! I can't be around you, I'll never be the son you want. I never was, and I won't be now. Don't even try you stupid mousebrained creature. Leave me alone!" As he spoke, the words quivered slightly with overwhelming emotion. Houndheart stared at him with unspeakable frustration, disdain, and more. He shook slightly with rage, but also the many other things that raged through the young tom. Several things flashed through his gaze before he spat in the direction of Beartooth one final time. One thing was certain in this moment, the hunt was over. Leaving the squirrel at the paws of the deputy, he whipped around. Accepting this offer had been ridiculous. There was no reason for him to pander to the elder tom. He did not have to play the role of son to a cat who never gave him a father to speak of. Beartooth was little more than a distant clanmate.

As he swallowed back the feelings in his throat, Houndheart stalked back to camp, and back to a sleepless nest. Never again would he brag on the name of Beartooth. ✧

✢ So many mismatched scars crossed the pelt of a tom who had readily thrust himself into battle for many moons. This was an addition whose origins would never be so easily forgotten. It was fitting that the wound cut jaggedly against his own addition from moons before. That particular scar seemed to stand out among the others, not simply because of the placement over his eye, but also due to the brief infection that was caused by the lack of care at a medicine cat's paw. As he stared after the newly name warrior, watching the raging waves of emotion, this buried hope broke. That was sharper than the cut of a claw. He was hardly afflicted by the stinging wound of his cheek. What threatened to fall Beartooth was the way that this cat now looked at him, as if he had crawled from the dark forest itself. Pricklebush understood, he too had displayed such a feeling.

It had to be more than the mangled claws and malformed jaw. There was something about Beartooth that brought about such disdain. Sadness only grew. He longed to curl himself around the angry kit, to quell the brokenness as if it would heal a piece of himself that had also been lost moons ago. But he couldn't move. Houndheart's yowling fell on nearly deaf ears, but at least the deputy was perceptive enough to understand their meaning. He knew that there was no fixing the thing he had fractured. The pieces were scattered for far too long and had been twisted onto their own separate paths. What he had longed for, what his mentor pushed for, was no longer to be a reality. Houndheart's paws strayed too far from that of his kin. It was understandable, he could not deny that. Ridgelight had stripped them both of an easy normalcy. There was nothing he could do. Acceptance was clouded by despair. And while both were evident in his gaze, it was little more than a hopeless resignation.

Beartooth didn't move. As Houndheart raced back to camp, he stood there for a long moment, staring into the distance. Then, he fell to the ground. How far had he come, and yet, failed to move at all?✢