the landscape is changing [C]

This was dangerous. This was a horribly bad idea. Fish was well aware of those facts. But the kill pile at camp was empty, his siblings were gone on their own expeditions, and his stomach was growling. He had little choice but to attempt hunting on his own. The vole he’d been running after had taken off across the road and disappeared toward the marsh. He was smart, and his senses were sharp. He could track it again, and surely… surely he could catch it. Hunting was an activity he rarely attempted on his own, given his natural lack of talent for it, but he was capable. At least, he had to keep telling himself that if he wanted to eat tonight.

It was days like these where he missed Grub most. He knew he was particularly reliant on their father--and the other adult figures that watched over them--but he hadn’t noticed the measure of his reliance until Grub was gone. Fish tried not to let the strange pangs of grief creep too far up his paws. He had to focus. His stomach growled on cue to remind him of that.

Fish paused before crossing through the ferns that guarded the Shadow Clan’s territory. His mouth parted and he drank in the scents around him, grateful the wind was blowing into his fur. Vole, of course, was fresh on his tongue; as was the general tang of Shadow Clan; but there was a more distinct scent as well. A single, identifiable cat among the mess of scent markers. His hackles bristled slightly over that. The fool’s errand that was crossing the road had suddenly become far riskier. Between the options of slow, lazy starvation and having his pelt torn off him, Fish was tempted to choose the former. It would be so easy to turn around and return to camp, waiting for his siblings to--hopefully--return with prey. But what if they failed to hunt at all, or their hunts were unsuccessful? ...What if they failed to return at all?

Another rumble. Fish swallowed down the hunger and pressed on through the ferns.

It was easy to find the vole again. For all his misery in hunting, Fish never wanted for ability in tracking. Catching it, of course, was another matter. Despite the wind favoring him, his clumsy steps frequently gave him away. Deeper and deeper into the marsh, it led him. The ground was no longer firm and stable; it had become soft, squishy, sucking up his legs. Once, he traipsed through a puddle that made him sink all the way to his belly. That pulled a terrible yelp out of him as he scrambled free. All the mud clinging to his fur made him itch. The feeling of being wet and grimy made Fish want to do the Clan cat’s work for them and tear all his fur out. For some reason, it made his eyes burn, like he was at risk of tears. The littlest things had been affecting him since Grub’s violent death. It was… annoying. Tiring.

Fish shook his head and padded onward. When he sighted the vole again, he took a deep breath and forced his body as low as he could. He could barely manage to crouch all the way without being at risk of tipping over. Every step he took was rickety and agonizingly slow, but he forced himself to take his time. Finally--for the first time--he was within pouncing distance. He stood on a rare sturdy patch of earth, and so would not fall. The vole was none the wiser, paused to clean its face.

Fish bunched his muscles. His hindquarters wiggled for a moment, then two, then he sprang. It was a messy leap that ended with him landing on his muzzle with paws closing around empty air. A strangled noise instantly welled out of him and he smacked a paw against the ground several times. ”Fine!” Fish cried after the retreating squeals of alarm. ”Whatever! I didn’t want you anyway!” The stinging behind his eyes was growing more insistent. He slapped the ground again just to feel the sting in his paw.

He would have continued, and likely would have devolved into a becoming-routine fit of sudden tears and spiked nerves, if it weren’t for the sound of pawsteps. Immediately, his ears swiveled and his head snapped toward the sound. The cat he’d scented earlier was much, much closer now; the one approaching him. Fish’s breath caught in his throat and his heart thudded rapidly in his chest. He tried to scramble to his paws, but his pads got caught in the slick mud and he ended up on the ground with his legs tangled, cursing several times under his breath. ”I’m sorry,” he called out while unfolding himself, ”for trespassing. I- I was chasing a vole. I didn’t catch it thought!” He hated how tight his voice sounded. Why did his throat burn? Fish shook his head and finally managed to at least sit upright and swivel toward the approaching cat. ”Please don’t… hurt me.”

Fish blinked several times at the figure that stepped through the brush. Relief flooded through him at seeing it was someone familiar--someone he knew was safe. ”Oh. Thank goodness.” He muttered. His shoulders slumped, as did the rest of his body lose a significant amount of the tension that helped to keep him aloft. Knowing he would not be attacked did wonders in the name of immediate calm. He watched as Pineblossom set down a vole and frowned at the sight of it. It was probably the one he’d been chasing, scared out of his paws and right into hers. Fish sighed and hung his head. He was filled with the terrible feeling of wanting to go home, but he did not know if the cold pile of stones was where he wanted to be. Maybe by home he meant back with his mother, even though she’d never cared for him or his littermates; or maybe he meant somewhere else entirely, a place he’d never been and could only dream of. Maybe home was simply a time when his father was alive.

While well-meaning, Pineblossom’s questions made his ears burn, as if he had reason to feel shame over Grub’s death. Fish did not answer right away. He just looked at her for a moment, chewing down the overwhelm that threatened to mar any sensible answer. Then he bent his head to lick the fur on his chest flat and clean. The mud was bothering him too much to let it cling. He spoke between swipes of his tongue. ”I didn’t want to cross the road. I wanted to stay close to home. But that vole ran here, and I… didn’t know if I’d find anything else.” He answered, voice still shaky. A timely rumble from his stomach made his cheeks flush warmly. If only he’d been good enough to catch that stupid vole. How did other cats do it so easily…? Shaking his head, he added, ”...I was hungry.

“I don’t know where my siblings are. They’re… I haven’t seen Echo or Spider or Weaver for weeks. Junior and Louse are both… they’re not home right now. I don’t know where they went. They’re just not home.” When his chest fur was nearly as clean as he could get it. He eyed Pineblossom for a minute, vision watery, before getting to his paws. Then he wobbled over to her and, rather unceremoniously, buried his face in her chest. Her fur was thick, warm, soft; comforting. From there, though he was muffled by Pineblossom’s fur, he continued speaking. ”Grub is- Pop is--” Fish shook his head and burrowed a little more firmly into her fur. ”He’s dead. A- a dog got its chain wrapped around his neck. He’s gone. We’re… on our own now.”

Fish’s eyes widened where his face hid in Pineblossom’s fur at the feeling of her larger paw against his back. Immediately, he wondered if he’d ever just been held like that. He couldn’t remember a time. He pressed all the more insistently against her. But as she spoke, Fish slowly began to lean away from her. He hesitated just before separating fully, then he jerked back entirely to blink up at Pineblossom with big, round eyes. He knew the Clans sometimes accepted outsiders, but that was supposed to be through… things like kitnapping. Or the joining itself was an act of subterfuge. It wasn’t supposed to be as simple as… caring for an--an orphan. Fish blinked, hard, and refocused his blurry eyes. Even gone, Grub and Ajex managed to make him feel lied to.

At the mention of Hedgepaw, he nodded. ”Yes, I am. She said so herself.” There was a note of pride in his weak voice. Hedgepaw was, so far, his only friend. Briefly, Fish let himself fantasize about building further relationships in ShadowClan, but the dream was quickly crushed by the memory of a bristling apprentice. A little shudder ran through him. Wolfpaw. Pineblossom’s son. A frown settled firmly across Fish’s maw. Even with Wolfpaw… the ideas of a warm nest, a full belly, and a friend were all very tempting.

”You mean it?” Fish asked quietly. His tail fluttered side to side. ”You really think I could just… join?” He couldn’t help but rise up on his pads a little bit. A warm nest, something that was impossible to scrape together when you lived between chilly stones; a full belly, equally difficult to come across with few able paws; a friend, something he could often only dream of. Tempting, tempting, tempting. His mouth opened again. He nearly blurted out a yes before his jaw clamped shut.

What of his siblings…? Would they wonder about or mourn for his absence? Would he be allowed to see them still, as a Clan cat? Likely not. Clan cats were meant to chase ‘dangerous rogues’ off their territory. Fish’s heart clenched at the thought of leaving his siblings behind; of leaving them alone to fend for themselves. But… they could fend for themselves. Each of them was self-sufficient, but they were not sufficient enough to provide for him entirely. Not in the way a Clan could…

Fish rattled his head. ”I want to go,” he said with a decisive nod. But then his eyes traveled downward and his paws scuffed the ground uncertainly. ”But… what about my family?” A pause, and then the real fear, greater than concern for my kin: ”What if they don’t like me? What if I get turned away?”

Pineblossom would take him back to their camp… but she couldn’t make any promises. Fish’s shoulders visibly slumped. How good was he at making first impressions? How often had he gotten cats to like him? ...How often did he actually get a chance to meet those outside his (even extended) family? Fish’s eyes cast down toward his paws. How was he supposed to make an entire Clan of cats, predisposed to scorn, think he was worth their ranks? He could barely hunt or fight. He was still growing and learning, sure, but--still. Would he just be a hindrance to them? They would see it in him immediately, he was sure. See that he was little more than an incapable scrap of fur begging for shelter. His shoulders hunched.

Then Pineblossom was lowering herself to his level. Fish blinked and raised his head to meet her eyes. She did not try to convince him that there would be no scorn waiting for him. Beneath the swirling in his chest, Fish sound some sense of appreciation for her honesty. And… for her promise to look after him. His ears stood a little taller. Even from afar, Pineblossom had--in a way--looked after him so far. She would look after him in her Clan. Fish felt oddly certain that little harm would come to him under her watchful eye.

He looked over his shoulder. Concern still wormed up his paws, wondering about his siblings--if they would be okay, what they would think of him, whether or not he would see them again--but… but maybe Pineblossom was right. His siblings had been independent from the moment they were all old enough to explore beyond the stones of camp. They were capable of looking after themselves. Fish needed them far more than Louse or Junior ever needed him. The thought felt like a heavy blow to the head, but Fish shook it away. He didn’t want to think about it too long.

His eyes traveled back down to the vole. Bitterness rose up in his throat as he looked upon it. It made him feel dishonest, bringing a vole he couldn’t even manage to catch as a peace offering… but it was something. ”...Okay,” he said eventually. Fish bent down to pick the vole up, remaining crouched for a moment before he straightened back out and looked to Pineblossom again. ”Okay,” he repeated around his mouthful. After a quick, affectionate headbutt to her chest, Fish went on, ”I’ll come with you. I want… a home. I’ll be right behind you.”