Bitterflourish step softly through the grove of barren trees, walking along a path carved by the paw pads of Pyroclan since Pyrostar. The coolness of morning still remained, the faint lavender of dawn fading into a new day of blue. Bitter sighed, paws twitching. Something was bothering him, but he just couldn’t put words to it. Something in his head was worming its way around, trying to be noticed and seen. Something wasn’t quite right, and he needed to figure it out. He had been told that he had an angry face when he was thinking. Bitter didn’t like that. He was a pleasant cat, he was sure cats liked to be around him. That was Bitter’s whole thing after all. He needed to be liked, desperately wished for it. Breathing out, he looked up at the sky, settling in a secluded spot to think. He could hear the sound of the ocean from here. Bitterflourish didn’t like the water. No pyrocat really did, he reasoned. The liquid that gave all the other cats of the island life was a poison to them. He had heard elders and senior warriors tell stories of the days on the ice. Nothing more than a myth to many of Bitter’s generation, but it was always unsettling. Thinking of the cruelty of that cold water, the ice that rejected the pyrocats existence. Bitter had heard rumors of the clan that resided in those terrible drifts of snow coming to the isle. Maybe that’s why he had never met a falconclan cat. He would’ve liked to. There were a couple falconcats that lived in the barren lands and with Pyroclan. They were pretty. Bitter had always envied the way that their feathers shone and shimmered as they moved. Bitterflourish liked to think of himself as pretty. A shining coat, bright eyes. The son of the leader, and once upon a time, the apprentice of the deputy. Was it really only a few moons ago that Ladybugshine had been guiding him? It seemed like an eternity ago. He felt older, burdened with his name. Some of the cats his age were already looking to court mates. Everyone seemed to have figured out who they were. Maybe that’s what was wrong. He still didn’t know who he loved. He wanted to know, he had asked himself this same question a thousand times. Bitter didn’t even know if he wanted a mate yet, if ever, but he wanted to know so he could know himself better. He must’ve been making that thinking face, because the muscles in his face hurt, and his ears were pushed back. Bitter knew he had never really liked shecats. That much was evident to him. He thought they were pretty and lovely and nice and good friends. But he couldn’t see himself settling down with a girl. Okay, he thought, so what about toms? Well that was easy. He thought toms were wonderful. He found them to be breathtaking at times, and thinking back, he had definitely had crushes on them. So was he gay? No, that didn’t feel quite right. He knew that he liked genderqueer cats as well. They were fabulous, and he found them to be just as stunning as toms. So just…not girls. Bitterflourish wasn’t sure what to call that. But he didn’t really care. All he wanted was to know himself.
happy pride!! A little self discovery for the boy <3
