Why do I always have to be scared? Smudge, now a warrior, heard the voice of his inner child creeping in. It had been this way for moons now. His throat always got tight whenever someone approached him, his breathing always got heavier when they tried to speak to him, and he could always hear his heart in his ears whenever he saw someone wave. Being a normal tom, Smudge, you are not a kit. You have a voice; you need to use it. Why won’t you speak? SPEAK ALREADY! . . . A gasp left the large warrior’s throat as he shot awake – frantically looking around whatever location he was in. He could hear the steady and unsteady breathing of other warriors in the den – oh. Okay, he was in the warrior den. He will be all right; it was just a bad dream. Just a bad dream Just a bad dream where he could hear the screams of his kit-self when he was taken from his father’s side, the feeling of his own claws as he swatted towards his savior because Smudge did not want to be taken from his father. That was his father. right? The cold body he had been laying against for about two moons, yes? That was him. . . It was him, yes. That caramel orange tom had rosettes and spots, yes! That was his father. Were pyroclan bodies supposed to be cold? Why was his father’s body so cold, like all the lava had been drained. Maybe it was because Smudge had not cuddled him enough. If only Sorrowflare had taken his father too! SAVED him! RESCUED him! The last time he remembered speaking was when he yelled at Sorrowflare, yelled that the she-cat had ruined his chances of saving his dad. “WHY DID YOU TAKE HIM FROM ME!” little Smudgekit had yelled towards Sorrowflare in anger, but the large warrior never responded. Sorrowflare had just silenced the little kitten and walked away. That was the last time Smudge ever remembered seeing Sorrowflare. A small hiss left Smomo’s body as he stood up, stretching his paws and rolling his front wrists. The warrior looked around the den and moved quietly, slowly padding out of camp. He was careful to avoid any sticks or bones that may awaken someone or alert them of his departure. Smudgeshadow just needed a moment to breathe, away from all the ash and lava that he adored. So, he walked. His paws crunched against the dead or decaying matter that had dried up along the path that he usually took hunting along Pyroclan territory. The constant stream of a lava river flowed idly in the background; usually a calming sound but this night it irked his nerves. Why did everything suddenly make him anxious? This never happened before! A small breeze blew by; a shudder rolled down his spine. He froze, paw halfway in the air from where he was about to take a step.
This was not what he wanted, why was he so scared of everything? A snarl-like expression formed on Smudge’s face and he growled; the sound was low and stuttering; not at all threatening. He had lost every ounce of a threatening bone in his body the moment he lost Sorrowflare. That was the final straw for his body; he had shut down. Smudge remembered it like it was yesterday; the day when Ardentthought walked into the apprentice den and told Smudge and Warm the news. Sorrowflare was gone, in starclan apparently. Why did fate have to be so cruel? Warmpaw had cried, but Smudge just stared at his grandpa with pure horror in his expression. He had argued with Sorrowflare just one week before that; Smudge had been so angry at the warrior that he never thought about. . . losing her. Sure, Sorrowflare was not really a mother to Smudge and Warm, but she was what they had as a parent when their own left. And then, she was gone. Smudgeshadow blamed himself when he was young. Little Smo had believed that if he had not argued – if he had not spoken out against Sorrowflare for not saving his father too – then this would never have happened. And that is when he went silent. Too many losses in too little time, which is what starclan did to him. Lost his father when he was barely old enough to form a proper sentence without it sounding like he was messy, losing his adoptive mother who did not do much when he was an apprentice. It all hit hard and came crashing down like a weight on Smudge’s shoulders that he could not stand to carry for long without breaking. Smudgeshadow hated that he could not speak; his throat locked up tight and his limbs began to tremble. How a spike of fear jammed its way through his chest whenever one of his clanmates came close. It terrified him to no end, and he hated it. Why couldn’t he be fearless? Why couldn’t he have words to say? Why? . . . Why? . . . WHY?! . . . Smudgeshadow gasped audibly when he nearly tumbled down a cliff; the tom scared back instantly; his chest began to heave with anxiety that grew like a monster within his skull. He nearly fell; he nearly fell. Starclan nearly let him fall. . . Why would fates do that? That is cruel, that is unfair. A crumble came from the ground where Smudgeshadow had just stood – bits of the cliff where he had just been sat began to crumble and fall into the river of lava below. Smudge’s body trembled and he backed away, hackles raised in terror and ears pinned back with unease. This is why he stayed in camp. This is why he hid away all the time. The camp was safer than this dangerous clan’s territory. Smudgeshadow turned abruptly on his heels and bolted in the opposite direction of the cliff, his chest heaving with every step because he did not expect today to be the day where starclan took him into their arms. No, today would not be the day when starclan took him. He had not lived a long life. He had not found the one he wished to love! He needed to protect his sister, he HAD too! If he did not, what would happen to Warmhaze? Smudgeshadow vowed to protecter . . . He MUST protect her! If anything happens to Warm, he will never let himself leave that fear behind. See: Part Two: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1262293894/
