A/N: Hope you all like this. This fic is called November because 1)It is set in the month of November, and 2)Like the song November (by Mythos), this fic mostly portrays feelings of loss and longing. Or angst. Depends on how you want to put it.
Summary: Some views and thoughts three different cats have on their new home; set after Starlight. Some things are based off assumptions I've made or are things I'd like to happen (but obviously I have no idea if the events I mention will actually come true).
Disclaimer: Should I even bother typing it?
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Birchpaw sighed softly and stretched out his forelegs, absorbing what little sunlight broke through the thick clouds. Narrowing his eyes to amber slits, he peered around camp, his gaze roaming up the rock walls.
He remembered the old camp, the one that had been on the other side of the mountains. He'd barely been two moons when the Clans fled the territory that had belonged to them for generations, so his memories of the old camp were dim. The nursery stood out in his mind: a tangle of brambles, a wall of thorns that had shielded him and his siblings from the wind and rain. He also knew the camp itself had been a ravine; he could recall the rocky slope.
Then the monsters had come, chewing up the ground and ripping up trees. He dimly remembered the Clan leaving the camp and staying in the poor shelter near the river. The day Hollykit had died also stood out in his mind, yet he rarely felt sad when he thought about it. He'd been young, barely able to comprehend death, and it was some time before he really understood what had happened to his sister. Once he knew what had become of Hollykit and why she wasn't around to play anymore, too much time had passed for him to be truly affected by it. He closed his eyes completely for a moment, knowing it sounded horrible that hewas hardly affectedby his sister's death.
Opening his eyes to slits again, Birchpaw sighed a second time. What he remembered most was cold and hunger, and fear. All three had always been around him, no matter how brave the other cats had tried to be. Barely two moons old, and the scents he smelled most often, aside from general cat scent, was the fear-scent and hunger-scent. Those memories made him shiver, and sometimes he even felt slightly ill thinking about the days by the river.
He also had flashing memories of the journey to this territory. The recollections were only flashes because his mind had been dulled by the hunger and cold. He knew the Clans had crossed over mountains, and that there had been deep snow and many black, jagged rocks. He could remember the cave the Clans had stayed in briefly, and the warmth and food and sense of security the cave had contained.
With a slight pang, he thought of Applekit. Well, she was Applepaw now, but she'd been Applekit during the journey. He still saw her at Gatherings, and he caught her scent sometimes when he patrolled around the ShadowClan border. He was the only apprentice in ThunderClan right now, and Applepaw was the first cat he looked for at Gatherings because they were within days of each other's ages and they felt strongly connected to one another.
Birchpaw sighed for a third time and stood, arching his back. With the exception of not being able to play with Applepaw as he had on the Clan's journey, life in ThunderClan's lakeside home was good. The whole Clan was well-fed; none of the constant hunger he remembered from his kithood. There was shelter. No roaring monsters came tearing through the trees. The territory was safe, aside from the occasional badger or fox.
So why did he sometimes long to be back in the old nursery, the one that no longer existed?
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Cinderpelt raised her head suddenly from the comfrey she was digging up. Yellowfang? She asked silently, peering through the trees. Shaking her head, she returned to her work. For a moment, she'd thought she heard her old mentor's rasping laugh.
Despite the moons that had passed, Cinderpelt still felt a pang of sorrow whenever she thought of the former medicine cat. She still saw her friend at the Moonpool. She still saw her in dreams, sometimes. With a quiet laugh that was no more than a short, amused huff, Cinderpelt knew what Yellowfang would say if she could hear her: Live in the present, let go of the past. Let go of the old territory, accept and love the new. Let go of her friend Yellowfang.
But could Cinderpelt really let go of Yellowfang? She wasn't in the past; Cinderpelt saw her when she journeyed to the Moonpool. How could you let go of someone who both existed and did not exist?
Yellowfang's scent drifted over on a faint breeze. Cinderpelt closed her eyes, feeling comforted that the old medicine cat had come. "Leafpool," whispered the voice that belonged to the scent, reminding Cinderpelt of ThunderClan's other medicine cat.
Cinderpelt opened her eyes, worry twisting in her belly. She had to look after Leafpool now. Not look after, she corrected herself. Keep an eye on. Regardless of what Firestar's daughter said, Cinderpelt knew something was going on between her former apprentice and that WindClan tom. Difficulties of nearly every sort reared their heads when the Clans first came here, and more than one still lingered: tests of loyalty. Leafpool, though highly skilled in herbs and healing, was torn between loyalty to her Clan and her place in it and the gray WindClan tom.
Resuming her work, Cinderpelt flicked her ears. Things would work themselves out in the end.
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Firestar padded slowly through the trees, shivering slightly in the late leaf-fall chill despite the thickening of his coat. Settling down on a clump of moss, he wrapped his tail around himself and looked around. He liked to come to this particular part of the forest to think. Sometimes he came alone, sometimes with Graystripe or Sandstorm. The way the trees grew here, the way some trails ran and where a rabbit hole was, reminded him strongly of a place in ThunderClan's old territory.
While he no longer felt the need to look over his shoulder every few minutes, felt more comfortable among once-unfamiliar trees and landmarks, this place still didn't feel like home to him. The Clans hadn't even been in their new lad for four seasons yet, but he thought it would never feel like home. At least not for quite some time. Not to him.
True, he hadn't been born in the old forest, but he'd been born right next to it, and had spent several moons looking into it from atop his kittypet fence. The old forest was where he'd grown up the most, the place he'd met Graystripe, been made a warrior and deputy, where Bluestar and Spottedleaf were buried. Those were the first boundaries he had fought to defend. The Moonstone had been there, too. While the Clans had the Moonpool now, it wasn't the same.
He had an ability to adapt to new surroundings, but leaving the place he'd called home for over eight seasons still pained him, sometimes. He knew it was different for the kits who had already been born here; they would not remember the old forest. They would not have dreams that they were back among the trees that were now destroyed. The kits' parents would tell them of the old place, perhaps, but the little warriors still wouldn't really understand. It would be like that for the second litter of his kits Sandstorm was expecting. He and Sandstorm could tell them everything, but they still wouldn't have clear pictures of a different land.
Eventually, he knew, tales of the Clan's old territory would fade away. It would be like the Clans had always lived here, and that there had never been another place.
Firestar stood, arched his back, looked around at the trees that almost mirrored those of the old land, and started back to camp.
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A/N: If people want the points of views of other cats, mention it and I'll try and bang something out. I'd just selected these three, but I'm willing to do more if anyone so desires.