To Not Look Back

To Not Look Back is an off-camera scene between Newheart and Thistlefur of RiverClan, leading up to the latter leaving the Clan. Also mentioned is their son Cardinalpaw.

In character, it took place on the 2nd day of the Moon of Cheetah's Flight (2007).

Out of character, it was written by Fernwhisker.

To Not Look Back

I'm going to tell her today, he told himself. His stomach lurched at the thought, but he'd been putting it off for days. Things weren't getting any better; he had figured, several moons ago, that he had finally reached rock bottom, but instead of evening out, he had just kept sinking. Big surprise.

Looking back, he understood that while Heronpaw's advancement had begun his sharp descent, the thing with Twilightkit had put him over the edge.

It was one thing for the future medicine cat to be so intolerant, so ignorant, but his own son?

Changing his name. Changing his identity. Embracing the Clan cat's foolish prejudices about blood purity.

Turning his back on me, on us, Thistlefur growled silently. His fur was bristling in every direction, but there was more hurt than anger in his eyes. He could never hate his own kit, but it felt like his own kit hated him…or was ashamed of him, which was somehow even worse.

Sometimes he wanted to grab his son by the scruff and shout at him: I'm your father, for StarClan's sakes! Aren't I good enough for you? Wasn't my name good enough for you?

But that would solve nothing. His kit, who was no longer a kit, had made his choice. And I have made mine.

The tabby tom jogged across camp toward his mate, who was laying contentedly beside the fresh-kill pile, gnawing on a thrush.

As he approached, she looked questioningly up. "Yes?"

Thistlefur hesitated. He took one last look around the camp, as if seeking some lifeline to keep him grounded…but he found nothing.

What would you expect, some small, terminally bitter voice in his mind spoke up. Burningnight and Ashstar to come back to life and protect you, give you back your dignity, make the Clan give you the respect they've forgotten about?

Thistlefur's ears twitched back, a sadness so deep it was profound filling him. No. Of course not. This isn't the same RiverClan I joined.

With that, he locked eyes with Newheart and took the plunge:

"Newheart, I'm leaving RiverClan."

Newheart's eyes widened. For a moment, she was stunned into silence.

Then she bounced back. "What? Why?" she mewed.

Thistlefur fought to meet her gaze, although every hair on his pelt ached to look away.

"This isn't home anymore," he meowed, his voice breaking halfway through. "RiverClan's changed. Almost everyone I knew and cared about is dead now."

Newheart rose to her paws, her head still tilted inquiringly to one side. "But…that…that's not all, is it? That's enough?"

Thistlefur twitched his whiskers. "Twilightkit," he said simply.

Newheart's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "His apprentice name. I'm not a big fan either, but it's our son, and his choice."

Thistlefur began to pace, swishing his tail in agitation. "Yes, but he's not Clan-blooded--"

"Half," Newheart interjected mildly.

Thistlefur gave an impatient thrash of his tail. "Half, ok. But he's no pure-blooded cat, as if it matters. Why is he pretending he is?"

"It's not like that. He wants them to accept him; he's doing what he has to. And don't pin this on him, anyway. It's your choice, isn't it?"

Newheart's voice was calm, but her stance was anything but. There was a rigidness in the way she stood, and she could not keep her tail entirely motionless.

Still, she was doing a better job than her mate. Thistlefur's pacing grew more and more hurried, and the fur along his spine was rising little by little. "This isn't home. I can't be loyal to a Clan that doesn't show me any kind of respect or trust. Under Ashstar, they treated me like they'd treat any Clanmate. But cats could say whatever they wanted under Hawkstar, and he'd turn a blind eye to it—and Wetstar allows cats like Heronpaw to get positions of power! This would have never gone on when Ashstar was leader—"

"Ashstar is dead," Newheart said quietly. "We can adapt. I've handled worse than a little bit of intolerance."

Thistlefur whipped around. "A little! I get it non-stop! These cats don't have even the slightest scrap of respect for me! I am not going to stay where I am not appreciated—and where me and my family have to eke out an existence with cats who are opposed to our very existence. Us dirty-blooded cats." There was a snarl in his tone. "I won't even be able to trust our medicine cat soon, because of her horrible mother and StarClan-damned prejudices! This is not my RiverClan!"

His voice was slowly climbing, growing louder and louder as his righteous anger mounted. His temper was up now, and as he paced his claws speared the ground.

"Calm down," Newheart said, her quiet voice suddenly quick and intense. "You're making a scene. I don't want you to leave. You don't have to."

Thistlefur gritted his teeth. He was pretty sure he could see cats looking at them at of the corner of his eye, but he didn't turn to check. Let them stare, he thought bitterly. Let them watch big, mean Thistlefur shout at his soft-spoken little mate. They're probably hoping we'll murder each other and spare them the trouble of dealing with us.

"Yes, I do," he growled. "I have to leave. I can't fight for a Clan I no longer believe in, and that no longer believes in me."

Newheart laid her ears back. "Please stay."

Thistlefur shook his head vehemently. He had been hesitant before, but now his blood was searing through him like fire and he understood that he'd just go crazy if he stayed. "No! Staying here is bad for both of us. The Clan's pure-blood obsession is going to smother you, and it will smother Twilightkit. Are you honestly saying you want our son to grow up like this?"

Newheart was silent, looking back at him with shuttered eyes the color of leaves. Finally, she meowed, "I want him to grow up in a Clan, where he will be safe."

Thistlefur stopped, opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for air.

This wasn't how he had imagined it. It had never occurred to him that his mate would not follow him anywhere he went. But here she was, standing before him with that stubborn look on her face, showing all the signs of refusing.

"You won't come with me?" His voice sounded suddenly small and lost.

"No," Newheart replied. Her voice was cold.

Thistlefur wavered. The black hole of depression growing inside him was suddenly full of ice. No Newheart?

Through these last few moons, he had felt as if he was standing in a very deep hole, and Newheart was the sun. From high above, she shone down just enough light to see by.

But it had been overcast so often lately…

I can't go. I can't stay. He lashed his tail, in an agony of indecision.

He searched his mate's eyes, and he couldn't see doubt anywhere in them.

For a moment, Newheart softened. It would be the last time she ever did, at least to him.

"Go," she murmured. "If that's what you feel you have to do, go. I can't ask you to stay somewhere you're unhappy. Just don't ask me to leave with you.

RiverClan is my home. I've fought for too long to make it that way. I'm staying."

Thistlefur took one step back, then another. "I'm so sorry, Newheart," he breathed. "This isn't my home."

Newheart nodded. The harder part of her was back now, and it left no room for uncertainties.

"That's it, then." Her voice was unusually brisk, for her.

Thistlefur mirrored her nod. Quite abruptly he felt drained of rage. Drained of everything, except perhaps exhaustion.

I will rest once I get out of Clan territory, he thought. There it was: he was actually going through with this. Tomorrow morning, he could be a free cat. No prejudice. No whispers, no glares.

There was no ceremony in their goodbye. He merely said, "Goodbye, Newheart. I'm sorry." And she replied with, "So am I." And "I love you. Be safe."

Thistlefur turned and padded away, leaving RiverClan camp for the last time. He looked back many times, but from there on out, he never once thought about turning back.