Identity Crisis

Lionrose feels restless. It feels ironic to feel restless, when she isn’t in a position to some of her other clanmates, like Tigerfrost. Being forced back into Ravenclan territory must be very… Jarring for cats like Volepelt and Tiger, or even Toadpool — Lionrose is very familiar with the fact that her own re-emergence onto Lynxclan territory after spending so long outside of it had been … Uncomfortable. Maybe unpleasant was a better term to be used? One word that she could definitely use to describe the entire ordeal was annoyance. Readjusting to the life of a clan cat, readjusting to Lynxclan after everything —

It had been an extreme annoyance. A pain in her ass, even. She hated feeling so out of place ( especially because she still feels like a fish out of water; uncertain of how to interact with the world around her and the new faces in her life ), but even more so — she hated having to reacclimate to everything that she should have already known. What kind of Lynxclan Warrior could Lionrose prove herself, when she hadn’t officially finished her training? When she wasn’t able to navigate the territory like she once did, each landmark and individual mark dedicated to her memory like the backs of her front paws? 

The red-furred warrior had worked tirelessly around the territory to try and prove to herself, to her clan ( … who cares that she doesn’t know who’s eyes were on  her? ) that she was still a good, proper Lynxclan warrior. Lionrose wasn’t some product of a cross-clan relationship gone wrong; she wasn’t some stupid apprentice that launched herself into fights and closed herself off from her family when she stared down at her brother’s corpse; she wasn’t some fool who attached herself to the same tabby warrior that she had attacked when trying to defend Lynxclan’s borders. 

And Lionrose certainly wasn’t the kitten that would come barreling out of the Nursery after her brothers, eager to play and hear stories. She certainly wasn’t the kitten that regarded her cousins with uncertainty — and perhaps jealousy, because how was it fair that they hadn’t existed as long as she had, but still managed to be older than her? And she certainly wasn’t the same kitten that nearly broke her damn nose the first time that she played moss ball with Peachkit because she had been too eager to catch the damned thing and slammed herself into the ground rather than her target. 

That was Lionkit. 

That was Lionpaw. 

That was not Lionrose.

Her former names are a shadow of her past, an echo of what she overcame. And Lionrose was firm in the idea that she would become a cat worthy of her warrior name, worthy of being a Lynxclan Warrior. Properly. She had that mindset and held onto it with a deathly grasp, even when the fire and smoke came rolling into the valley. Even when her brother, Leopardfern, heavily tested her thin patience when he declared that he had a fling — a cross clan fling, of all things, with a Ravenclan warrior. The warrior cuffed her brother over the ears, her voice raised with anger as he explained the situation to her. 

Lionrose had half the mind to approach Beetlestar with what Leopardfern had told her right then and there, but deep down? She knew that she wouldn’t. It wasn’t her place to make decisions for her brother, to act as his voice when their relationship was still … Uncertain, standing on shaky ground that threatened to crumble underneath their combined weight at any moment. So, Lionrose had appropriately labeled her brother as the biggest moron that she had ever had the displeasure of coming across, and promptly asked the red-furred warrior what their plans were. 

Naturally, although it made her stomach churn with discomfort, Lionrose inserted herself into the picture when she realized her brother would be taking some of the kits home. She wouldn’t admit it to his face as she lended a helping paw forward, but … Gingerkit and Foxkit were pretty cute kits. And she was even proud of her brother, because although she did think him a righteous idiot for sticking his nose where it shouldn’t have been and becoming involved with a Ravenclan warrior, he was doing something that their parents didn’t do: communicate and step up. 

As much as Lionrose loved Rowanscar, she could recognize her mother’s faults with their upbringing. Creekpelt — well — to be frank, Lionrose didn’t think anything of him. He was just some cat that her mother interacted with, some cat that approached her at one point or another — someone that she did not want involved in her life and personal affairs. The warrior had told him as much, and it seemed that … That was that. Maybe her reaction to his presence would have been different, when things were calm and she was settling back into Lynxclan. 

Perhaps Lionrose’s reaction would be different had the fire not spread throughout Snakeclan and Lynxclan’s territory, not quite burning down everything that she knew, but taking away months of effort and hardwork placed into readjusting. Taking away Tigerfrost’s own peace and developing stability within the clan — the panic that set their face alight with emotion when Grandpa Beetle had said that they would be heading into Ravenclan territory still clutches at Lionrose’s heart. 

And speaking of her grandfather, Lionrose doesn’t know whether she’s happy or angry that Lynxclan has been, essentially, split into two pieces. At least Tigerfrost is probably… A little more at ease staying by the burnt tree than she would have been within Ravenclan’s camp, but Lionrose hates being separated from her clanmates — the most vulnerable of them, all because Logbellow had to act like a brash fool. She could almost sympathize with the tomcat, because she had a similar line of thinking to his own. 

But then she grew up. What the fuck was his excuse? Maybe Loch Ness had spread his idiocy to Logbellow when they were out and about, making a bigger mess of everything, like it was greencough. It doesn’t matter now, though, because Lionrose can’t keep an eye on Rowanscar, Leopardfern, or her nephews. … Well, at least Leopardfern was with his kits — that meant that someone Lionrose felt she could trust was keeping an eye on matters that she couldn’t. 

“Whole bunch of fox dung…” The warrior finally mutters to herself, to no one in particular. When the Lynxclan warriors had settled around the burnt tree, Lionrose had made off in a quick haste to separate herself from the crowd and find some underbrush to lay in to try and recuperate for the night. Not too far from her clanmates, of course, but far enough that she could have a moment to sink into her thoughts and… 

Most cats would relax at this point, wouldn’t they? Lionrose scoffs to herself at the thought, like it’s some funny joke, because relaxing sure sounds like something along those lines to her. 

But she supposes that things could be worse, and in spite of her missing various clanmates and the kits that ran around camp… The silence is nice. The smoke that still hangs overhead, looming over her body like a black cloud waiting to bring down a deadly storm? That was not so nice. But if she doesn’t focus on the sky, if she focuses on the ground or her nearby clanmates instead — then Lionrose can manage to set her restless mind and body to somewhere quieter, somewhere a little more peaceful.

If only for the night, she’ll try and lull herself into something that could compare to the average cat's definition of relaxed.