Fangpaw's Warrior Ceremony

It still seemed strange that Fangpaw had managed to return to the Clan - not when Flintstar knew the pain of family members disappearing without a trace and never being found... It was also clear that Fangpaw's time away from the Clans had changed him, a bit more harsh and sharp-tongued than he was before but the leader could barely blame him - such a journey would change a cat. But, even with that, it was clear that Fangpaw's skills were still sharp. His training was complete, even after those moons away - which only meant that it was time for Fangpaw to become a warrior.

"ShadowClan! Gather in the shadow of the Jaggedrock!"

Kits younger than he were far better trained to have their ears perked at the words which gathered the clan. For Fangpaw, he was less accustomed to such things. As the leader spoke, he quickly digested the words and rose to his paws. In such a short time, his strength quickly grew. Trained muscles were a tad less lean, bulked with the luxury of prey. His coat was sleek, groomed at least daily, giving him a more handsome appearance while still remaining reminiscent of the rugged rogue that he was.

As he drew towards the Jaggedrock, Fangpaw's face was serious and neutral, merely waiting for the next step in the convoluted process. Playing by the rules of other cats was far from the easiest feat and he often had to tamper back his own ego with clenched teeth. One more early morning patrol and he was certain that his fur would permanently prickle. He had been accustomed to sleeping in restless snatches and always watching his hide from vicious groups whose members he'd sparred with on more than one occasion. The change to sleeping during the daylight, and attempts at an extended period of time, was weighting heavy on him.

He was sleepless most of the time, haunted by the memory of blood soaking stone. Fangpaw's hallow gaze became hardened as he pushed back these flashes and stared dutifully up at Flintstar. This was his chance to move in among the warriors, become fully a Shadowclan cat, and take up a mantle his successor had not had the opportunity to. There was some frail sense of honor, a thing he'd never quite sensed before, as he looked up at the dark-furred leader. What an imposing creature he seemed at a glance but the tom had proven to be softer than he looked. This likely gave them some good standing in comparison to the other clans, which still remained a mystery to him.

Fangpaw bit his own maw, refocusing himself at the slight prickles of pain. All these questions, curiosity, and matters of his own place in it all were best meant for later. For now, he was to set his sights on gaining a warrior name.

Flintstar straightened up as Fangpaw stepped toward the gathering crowd, meeting the newly returned apprentice's gaze. Flintstar had never bothered to ask for details on what had transpired on Fangpaw's journey - it was better not to pull up memories of something that had clearly changed him - for better or for worst, it was yet to be seen. But still, the apprentice had proven himself and it would be up to him to discover how his journey had changed him as a true warrior of ShadowClan. "I've gathered you all here to witness a returned cat to us finally gain his warrior name. Fangpaw, please step forward," he meowed, dipping his head toward the tom. "I, Flintstar, leader of ShadowClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn. Fangpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?"

Ceremonial words. It was a strange thing, so foreign that such traditions could truly be passed from cat to cat. Where he had come from, there was no such thing as even certainty in a passing moment. But Fangpaw had to cling to these words and make them his own in these next breaths. The declaration that was to be made was not his own but rather in honor of the tom that had truly been lost. Sucking in the marshy air, he swore that he could feel it cling, condemingly so, to the inside of his lungs. It was then that he stole his resolve enough to step forward as beckoned.

This was a code he hardly knew.

Ancestors he would never follow.

And a life that wasn't his own.

But as he stood before the clan, certainty rang in his words, one so true and bold that as he sought to lock eyes with Flintstar, he almost believed them himself, "Yes. I do."

Flintstar gave a small nod of his head, expecting nothing less than those two words - it was part of the ceremony, part of the leader barely cared if it was true - he would not blame a cat for fearing for their life if it was threatened, they only had one to live after all unlike himself. As long as they were of use to the Clan, he did not expect them to give up their lives - most of all because he would do his best to keep them safe from ever having to make such a choice as it was his duty to do. Yet...For as bad as he was at emotions, he felt like he could tell how much Fangpaw meant his words - the flicker in his eyes, how serious he was...He suppose he recognized it - it was the expression that he himself only ever wore.

"Then by the powers granted to me, I give you your warrior name. Fangpaw, from this moment on you will be known as Fangsnap. We honor your strength and fearlessness, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ShadowClan."

With that, he pushed himself to his paws and jumped down from the rock. He landed smoothly, stepping forward to rest his chin on Fangsnap's head. "You should have gotten this much sooner," he rumbled as he glanced down at the tom, but there was a flicker of light in his eyes. "But you have done us proud since you have returned, and I have little doubts that you will continue that going forward."

"I will do my best, Flintstar."

Fangsnap. That was his name now. To change one's name, one's identity, it had been a strange and foreign concept when he had first met the late Fangpaw. But now it was the very core of his being to be someone that he was not. Regardless, the russet-pelted tom was determined to make this place and this name something uniquely his own. After dipping his head to the clan leader, in the usual stiff manner he had taken up, the new warrior stepped back. He stretched his jaw, releasing the tension that had settled in his joints. With the close of the maw, there was a soft snap of teeth. A fitting name in deed.

He was looking forward to using the training he had received here, and his own skills from far beyond the borders.