A Welcome Sight [Dawnfeather/Fogfeather]

Fogfeather can hardly remember what it was like to do anything but run. It may have only been a moon or so in reality, but to the once-mighty medicine cat it felt as though his whole existence had been wiped away, replaced by capture and daring escape, only to be captured again. The Snatchers with their nets were faster than they seemed, cruel and aggressive with their fear-smelling Monsters. He was lucky to escape before the cutters managed to get to him, but not lucky enough; he had run right into a twoleg nest.

Over and over again that was the narrative— cage to cutters to twolegplace to twolegplace, constantly running, never stopping, never having the time to remember when he was Fogfeather and not just some feral cat. He now knew the taste of kittypet kibble, and felt what it was like to sleep on a kittypet bed. He felt what it was like to be trapped and caged.

Fogfeather had become nothing but a mindless, instinct-driven rogue. Once, what felt like eons ago, he had held one of the closest bonds with StarClan out of any cat in his clan. They hadn’t uttered a word to him through visions or dreams in moons.

But maybe— just maybe-- StarClan’s eyes were finally upon him.

After moons of wandering twolegplaces and thunderpaths, he finally stumbled upon a forest that smelled just faintly like home. As medicine cat, Fogfeather rarely left camp, was unfamiliar with the surrounding forests and borders, but a kit would know the scent of his clan no matter what had driven them apart or how long he had been gone. It dangled there, teasingly. SkyClan was near.

His mother was near.

Fogfeather swiveled his head madly from side to side in an attempt to catch the scent again— it may have just been his worn out mind, but he swore he had caught the lingering scent of Beechfang, somewhere in this wood. It took a moment, the green-eyed tom growing nervous and restless with the time spent unmoving, but he managed to pick it up again; Beechfang was certainly near, wandering the border as he was.

The tom made a mad dash in the direction of the scent, awakened and alive for the first time in moons. Grass and underbrush were trampled under his large paws, his uncoordinated gait undoubtedly alerting any cats nearby, but Fogfeather couldn’t bring himself to care or calm down. His clan, his mother, his sisters, his friends…

Tumbling out of the grass, Fogfeather stood with a wild look in his usually dull eyes, green irises blown and wide as he stared at Beechfang. He hardly cared to acknowledge or process the company she had with her, an unfamiliar she-cat who seemed too weak to be a threat. ”Mother…” Fogfeather breathed, heaving from the sprint and the tumble.

Finally, he had made it home.

Fogfeather blinked owlishly, turning attention to his mothers companion. Upon a second glance, the stranger seemed comfortable, familiar and close to Beechfang— definitely SkyClan, at least once long ago. She seemed friendly and unphased— definitely SkyClan then, used to Beechfang’s drama-- and smiled welcomingly at her cousin. Cousin; Beechfang’s niece. Fogfeather’s kin, no matter how sunny she seemed next to him and his mother.

He felt the urge to smile back, cuddle closer— a new, strange and unwelcome feeling for old cranky Fogfeather. He decided very quickly that he did not trust Dawnfeather.

”I… I’ll be better when I’m on SkyClan soil.” Fogfeather utters after a moment of silence, answering his new cousin’s prodding. ”For once, I agree with Mother. We need to go quickly.”