Post by OAKSTAR on Feb 2, 2017 18:54:13 GMT
The warmth in his eyes turned to ice without warning. Crowpaw, of all cats, didn’t deserve to have a space in his ceremony, and the soon-to-be leader’s contempt was clearer than crystal. His lip pulled a little farther away from his teeth with every step that Crowpaw took, until a full-blown growl rumbled in the base of his throat in instinctual response to hearing the haughty tone of his voice. There was a number of insults that came to mind, ways to remind him just how small he was, but Oakclaw refused to allow himself to play into the StarClan apprentice’s antics. Would it be…. unacceptable to strike him? His body language indicated that the thought crossed his mind on multiple occasions, and when Crowpaw moved in to give his life, Oakclaw visibly tensed in an effort to restrain himself. This, he reasoned, was one of StarClan’s most important tests: They wanted to see how he handled being faced with an obstacle from his past.
He would handle it with the dignity of a befitting leader, but he would hardly do it with a smile. Oakclaw snorted, allowing himself a moment to watch Crowpaw crane his neck to reach him, before lowering his head to accept the gift. It was painful, exactly as Crowpaw hoped it would be, but his expression hardly contorted. He’d never in his lifetime let Crowpaw have the satisfaction of visibly hurting him. The black-furred apprentice had caused his peers more than enough hurting in the few moons he’d been alive; even worse was that the focus of his jokes had been someone important to Oakclaw, and for that, he could never forgive him. The life flooded through his body, and after it settled in his chest, he wasted no time pulling away. Any form of contact with his childhood nemesis was too much to bear, and with Crowpaw’s business concluded, Oakclaw sneered. “I am nothing like you,” he refused to admit that they could, or would, share any qualities. “Now you will have the pleasure of watching me become the embodiment of everything you’d never be.” He could’ve redeemed himself in warriorhood, but Oakclaw didn’t think it possible. StarClan wasn’t appointing a leader in Hazelstar’s place that was renowned for his ability to forgive and forget; when he made an enemy, it was for all eight of his lifetimes. Crowpaw turned, and Oakclaw snapped his teeth at that space he’d just been occupying. He knew better than to attempt to strike a StarClan cat directly, but there was no rules against making it painfully clear where they would always stand. The next cat to approach him was far more welcome, and he forced his eyes away from Crowpaw—he’d never see him again if he could have it his way—composing himself in such a way to impress the cat that had worked so closely with him through his apprenticeship.
Oakclaw didn’t have anyone he needed to impress, but it was important for his mentor to see what she’d had a hand in creating. It was the least he could do, he mused, to show Nightfox the last RiverClan apprentice she’d trained—that he ascended to the position of leader was a great representation of her skill. Her attitude was expected, and amusement laced itself into the slight twitching of his whiskers. Stormfeather was his mother—she hadn’t done enough to be stripped of her title—but in many ways he looked to Nightfox as his mother-figure. She was like him in that she would never offer Wolfstep any of her sympathies, and that made it easier for Oakclaw to relate to her and accept her kinship. The life she wanted to give him was mercy. It was because she knew him that she pressed on before he could react, and because he respected her that he didn’t interrupt. A part of him braced to see faces he didn’t want to, so he was surprised when it was images of none other than himself that flashed behind his closed lids. NIghtfox succeeded in making him see himself through the eyes of another, but it’d perhaps shock her to realize what he saw didn’t bother him. Oakclaw wasn’t oblivious. He knew it’d be easy for him to return to RiverClan and run it by fear. He didn’t want his Clanmates to be afraid, but he was a cat that recognized and appreciated the benefits in having the power to be feared. “I’m always thinking when it comes to the best interest of my Clan.” He reassured, inclining his head in a notion she’d recognize as being an objection to hearing otherwise. There would be those that thought RiverClan’s best interest could be achieved through methods he didn’t support, but that would always be the case. If his methods proved unfit, he’d either die or have another cat replace him. Such was life, and he was prepared to deal with what came in his future. However, it went without saying that the cat who tried to replace him would have his or her work cut of her them.
He thought it would’ve been harder than it was to see Nightfox go, but in reality, anyone that visited him prior to Palebreeze had no chance of being missed. His own father, the cat he’d never met until now, was all but forgotten when she stepped into his line of sight. The look on her face was all too familiar, if not a little uncertain; it was the first time throughout the duration of his ceremony that he made an effort to meet his life-giver halfway. His eyes were closed long before their noses touched, and no matter how much he believed he truly was made of ice, he drank in her life like it was the first he irrevocably acknowledged that he needed in order to be a good leader. Every flash of their time spent together that she showed him was unfathomably appreciated, and his eyes shifted beneath his lids, trying to catch every second and engrave it into his memory. When the metaphorical screen went blank, he resisted, but he knew better than to think their time was without a limit. He didn’t want to waste what they had left fighting against it, so he half-reluctantly, half-desperately opened his eyes and looked at her. Take care. Thrive. Live. All three of them were things he wanted to do, but it was hard to want them with the kind of conviction necessary to see them through without her at his side. “You should be there—” he shook his head, “—with me.” Saying it made him angry that it wasn’t so. It was almost to the point that he wanted to refuse when her tail reached out for his chin, because she left, so she couldn’t have him, but there was no hope for his anger to win out in the end. Her tail brushed against him, and it felt so real that it hurt in a way Crowpaw’s life never could.
Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t look over her shoulder, but Oakclaw, on the other hand, could never look anywhere but where she stood in a room.
