Scout Galloway, Captain of None [open]

Out of the swamps at last, Galloway and Hyacinth’s rendezvous with Kirabo was distantly emotional. He could only speak for himself, really, but the whole ordeal had left him in shock. He had no time, no energy, and no will to mourn Tavora. For him, her departure had been no more harrowing than if she had gone on patrol for the afternoon. Did he really owe her any more than that, though? Was he distressed because he lost her mother, or was he distressed because he had watched a cat suffocate in a sea of rot? Galloway pondered it as they walked silently away from ShadowClan’s territory, still dripping in gunk. They hadn’t really lost Tavora, he ultimately decided. She was already gone. She had been gone a very long time.

He stopped his siblings, an instinct pressing through the fog of their recent trauma, reminding him of the training he had undergone as an Asylum scout. Making a journey through those mountains was a death sentence, Galloway had explained, pointed out the movement of the sullen grey clouds. They had to find a place to stay. There was rain coming.

“Alright, I got an idea,” he said. “We’ve got the barn… that can be a home-base. Let’s split up, scout out the forest and Twolegplace, see what we can find. Help each other out where we can… meet up in a half-moon. Deal?”

And that was that, and Galloway was alone. He washed off his face and paws in a creek and started his trek towards Twolegplace, where he figured he might find some lingering Asylum cats that also missed the exodus. There would be food there, of some kind. There would be shelter in unexpected places, crafted with the sturdy, industrious nature of the Twoleg race. However, there would also be immense danger. That, he knew for certain.

The fence was a monolith of carved trees, rugged and unnaturally brown. Galloway had never seen something like it before. It was a spectacle. The wind ruffled his fur and he tasted planty, earthy, humid aromas. Looking up, he regarded the clouds again. It was going to rain by nightfall. The sun was approaching the horizon, just hardly kissing it. Galloway bit the inside of his cheek and meandered along the edge of the fence. He reckoned he wouldn’t be able to make a leaping bound to the top of the fence, so he wrestled with a loose board of the fence and squeezed ambitiously through.

Dozens and dozens of little thunderpaths, which were dotted with shanty little twoleg nests (so dazzling to little Galloway that he was forced to look away), awaited him. He stooped down to slink down an alleyway, careful to step over the strange shards of ice and sharp, shiny rock that littered the decrepit canyon. Several times in the short alleyway, he felt compelled to stop and catch his breath. His heart was slamming against his ribcage as though it might shatter and escape through his front. Each time, he lowered his nose almost completely to the asphalt and resisted the visions that followed him, of a pair of grey paws sinking into deep water or the awful eyes of monsters. There were not many monsters in this place, but every once in a while, he heard their deep and unnatural snarling from far away. Galloway stamped his front paws hard against the ground, grunting. Harden up, he ordered himself, stamping his paws a few more times with a snort.

When he looked up, the alleyway was not so intimidating anymore. He glanced up at the fading daylight, at the glimmering ice-like substance that coated parts of the dens and the billowing smoke from the tunnels at the top, and found they had appealed themselves to him after all. The whole place was exotic and fascinating. The canyon was quiet and dimly lit, providing excellent shelter from the loud atmosphere of the rest of Twolegplace. It seemed that these canyons were everywhere. They were good cover… better than trees, even. Galloway’s mouth hung agape in his transfixion. Incredible, the wilderness of this place… And he thought the barn was grandiose.

Tip-tip-tip-tip-tip. Galloway’s hackled leaped into action. Someone, or something, was fast-approaching. Fight or flee?

The tom shook out his pelt. Never flee. The Asylum knew no fear. The young tom suddenly wished he had a pelt as he darted out into the fading sunlight with his pelt of ash and fire whipping around him. He faced the other cat with few words, uttered in a hiss, “Who’re you?”

Rowan was running. This twolegplace was similar to all the others, a maze of rock with the occasional grass. And, unfortunately for him, filled to the brim with cats. At the moment, he was trying to navigate back to the nice out-of-the-way spot he'd found, hoping to get there before sunset. Unfortunately for him, though, he instead screeched to a stop as he rounded the corner, given that he found himself facing a not-so-friendly face. A cat... But just one. The cat asked who he was. No one of importance to this cat, he figured; he hadn't offended anyone, he was pretty sure. "Well, hello there, friend! I'm Rowan," He said, "Am I intruding on some kind of home of yours? I'm so sorry if I am."

Galloway blinked, adjusting his shoulders. This lone cat was quite quick to accept his presence as a welcome one. How long had he been communing with kittypets, to be so comfortable with a ragged, nasty cat like Galloway? The tom was so bewildered that for a moment, he did not move. He hardly blinked at Rowan; he hardly twitched his tail. Finally, upon deciding that this cat really wasn't a terrible threat to his safety, he straightened up.

His question ruffled Galloway's feathers. Twisting his head behind him, he regarded the shantyhouse he had built in the alleyway and grimaced. "That's..." he began. "That's not my home. No. It's a... it's my camp. Temporary." And all over again, he was a kit, bashful and unassuming.

Brushing it off, he approached the ginger. "I am Scout Galloway of the Arcane Asylum, First Rank, son of Iniko and T-Tavora." He stammered over the final name just once. Puffing out his chest, Galloway silently prayed that perhaps the outsider didn't know that the Asylum had evacuated, and that this grandiose title meant very little. It was, if nothing else, a safety blanket. "But if we are friends, like you say, then you can call me just Galloway. I'm here to survey the landscape and find accommodation for myself and my kin, Scout Hyacinthia and Standard Kirabo."

It all felt very foreign on his tongue, being so formal... so grown-up. He was nearly mature, as far as toms go, but he didn't feel it. Not at all. To think, at this point in his life he might have left home, to be stationed in another clan. His yearling fox-pelt would still be wound around him, and he might be a Second Rank. But, clearly, it was not meant to be. He hadn't the training for this. He was flying blind. In his discomfort, Galloway averted his eyes from Rowan and stepped out of the shadows of the alley. In his anxiety, he round his tail around his back leg to comfort himself. Galloway cleared his throat, "Have you lived here long?"

Rowan tilted his head slightly. The tom seemed surprised to see him, or surprised he spoke to him, one of the two. First rank? This cat must be important, he figured, surveying how the ragged tom carried himself all tall-like as he spoke of his kin. Best not to cause trouble, though his personal philosophy already forbid that. Having friends everywhere was helpful, after all.

Galloway. What was a Galloway anyway? It sounded like a tree. Hmm... Perhaps it was personal to this cat. Rowan had seen cats who carried far weirder names. "It's nice to meet you, Scout Galloway." He addressed the title with a nod, hoping that an act of respect might earn him a decent reputation. Galloway asked Rowan how long he'd been in the area with a swish of his tail. Yes, this scout was a local of some power, though he seemed non-hostile enough that Rowan must have gotten lucky finding him. "No, I'm quite new, I'm embarrassed to say. I'm a traveller. I've been exploring the world in search of my kin." He explained, hoping this cat may sympathize with his quest.

The tortoiseshell did not respond, not at first. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the many aspects of Rowan's frame, re-evaluating them under this new lens of understanding. He was embarrassed to realize that he had underestimated the tom. There was no reason for his uppity way of speaking, or his grandiose titles, because this was no lowly kittypet or naïve stray. Rowan clearly came from far away... his pawpads, when lifted, appeared rough. His fur parted, suggesting small scars, and a large one across his face. He was even a similar age to Galloway himself. He had been judgmental, in his fear of cruel retribution, the cold and dark outside world beyond the safety of his mother. Tavora had done things to him that he could not even begin to unravel... had Iniko been so standoffish and cruel?

"My name means 'strange path,' and I know my father chose it," he said softly, "Because I can't credit my mother for being wise enough to see how true it would be. It just gets stranger." Rowan is just as much a wanderer as me... In my own homeland.

Rowan, despite being a cat of some considerable experience, having come from far away, was not callous as Galloway had been towards him. And Galloway was very tired to being callous. This place made him weary. Twolegplace was not right for his kin, after all. Maybe tomorrow, after a night in the woods and a bellyful of real prey, he could return to his firm principles against such flippant acts of kindness and sharing. For now, Rowan was his exception, and his first friend.

"We're the same," he said. "The same, but opposite. My community left this place, and I couldn't follow them. Not me or my kin. We're the only ones left. Some of them stayed, but they pledged a different way. They don't call themselves Asylum-born anymore. Just me, and my sister and brother."

He tilted his head to the west. "If your kin is Asylum, you've still got a long way to go. We had a lot of colonies. If you were from one, it wouldn't surprise me very much at all. If your kin is from the five clans, though? You might just find them over the fence. Dunno any other bands of cats in these woods."

Rowan watched this new friend with curiosity. He was a bit ragged, a bit tired. He spoke of a place called the Asylum. He hadn't met an Asylum cat yet. Well, now, that was apparently untrue. Siblings, this Galloway fellow was close to his siblings? Rowan had left them a long while ago. How were they now, he wondered? Most likely they'd remained in the Haven, as they'd always planned.

"I can't say they're Asylum," He said, though that colony seemed like a nice collection of cats. "My kin was Clan-born, though who's to say where they may be now." He looked towards the fence. His kin, so close? It couldn't be. He was eager to find them, but the sun grew low in the sky, and he enjoyed the presence of this new friend of his.

"Are the Asylum and Clans on friendly terms? Or, before the Asylum left?" He asked. Surely he would know. A First Rank, who knew so much about the area - surely.