A broken cry escapes the warrior’s throat; it was raspy and uneven, like his breathing was slowly becoming. Smudge could feel the weight of his thoughts on his shoulders; it hurt more than any other idea of losing himself further. Why had he let himself become this weak? He can’t cry, he is a man! Right? . . . He didn’t feel like a man. . . No, he never had. He had not felt like a man since the day he felt his whole soul get ripped out of his body when he heard the news that Sorrowflare was gone. He just wanted his family back. He wants to see his family whole. Not the broken fragments of a “family” that remained in his life this day. No. . . It was never enough, was it? Somedays it was like everybody’s eyes were on him. Waiting for him to finally utter words that have not left his lips in moons. Those words that he’s been dying to say for moons. The ones that finally make himself feel like a real cat, and not just a shadow. Huh, ironic. His suffix chosen by the Deputy was Shadow, and he was a shadow of his former self. Why did it have to be this way? Why could he not just say something! What would he even say? “Oh hey, yeah, I know I haven’t spoken in over ten moons but I’m really thankful that you all have kept me alive!” No, he’d never say that. Because the only person who really kept him alive was his grandpa. Ardentthought. And his mentor Triangletriumph. . . They both took care of him when nobody else did. Maybe. . . the first thing he’d say was that he loved them. “I love you both for keeping me safe.” “Please don’t leave me.” “I’d suffer if you’d leave me.” But. . . would they even care? Ardentthought is his grandpa, his reason for staying in the clan. . . Ardentthought is the reason why he isn’t still a walking stick! Triangletriumph helped him get stronger. Triangletriumph helped him become a strong warrior. . . Triangletriumph and Ardentthought. . . They are his favorites. Has he ever talked to Warmhaze? Why has he avoided his sister. . . It’s his sister! He loves her. . . right? How would you know if you love someone if. . . If you don’t know what they’re like? . .
How unfair is life to Smudgeshadow? This isn’t the worst thing it could be, is it? Maybe Smudgeshadow was just being a downer. Maybe this was just his fate for being such a bad adoptive son to Sorrowflare – maybe . . . maybe. . . – STOP! This isn’t how you’re supposed to be, Smudgeshadow. The large warrior exhales shakily, his body still trembling from the adrenaline of running away from near-death. His gaze drifted across the terrain that he found himself in. He was near the border of Pyroclan and the Barren Lands, he saw the sand from the distance. Oh Stars. . . Had he really travelled that far? In the distance he saw a rock, sharp and easy to hold. He swallowed and looked at his paws. He’d not been keeping up his appearance. His fur was knotty; he let his hair grow out and now it was messy and tangled. . . Maybe it was time for a change. He needed to get himself together, so he turned. He grabbed the rock in his mouth and walked to find a lava stream. He set down the rock and then dove into the lava, swimming around and cleaning out his pelt, he groomed his fur and then began to fix up his hair. Detangling it with his paws and fixing it up. When he exited the lava, he was sopping wet. So, he shook off his pelt. His fur fluffed up, but he didn’t care. After he dried off, he grabbed the rock and began cutting his hair, shaping it to how he felt like he looked good. If he couldn’t verbally announce a change; he’d make it physical. He wasn’t going to be the silent warrior who never made a change, now he was his own self with a new identity. Smudgeshadow was a new warrior; a new him. Now, what else needed to change? . . .
