Cloudy skies seemed to stretch in an endless cascade overhead, a gray haze softly painted on the sunhigh’s blanket of delicate azure. Wind blew gently through the gaps in nearby fences, hedges and across the frosted landscape, dispersing their earthy, woody scent up into the crisp air. All the while, the surroundings swirled with the faintest wisps of ephemeral white, piled in thin layers on the ground.
In the stillness was a tomcat, light pawsteps on the freezing gray-stone sounding a tap, tap, tap where his exposed clawtips hit; spectre-like in the way he carried himself; so low to the ground that his belly fur almost touched it. His pelt lent itself well to the illusion, white as snow except where it was interrupted by the bright splash of orange tabby on his face and tail.
Two azure eyes remained locked onto the path below. He could not bring himself to lift his head as his paws carried him silently to his destination. The one place he had avoided all this time.
He had expected finding it to be trickier than it had been, not having traversed this area in so many moons. And yet here he was, being drawn closer by a strange, invisible force, like a moth to white moonlight. Indeed, this moment had been a long time coming. Even his trembling heart knew it, despite the dread the prospect used to give him. The dread it still gave him, if he were honest with himself.
A little further now. He slowed down upon reaching that final corner of wooden fence. Peering through the side, he saw it, just across the small Thunderpath. At first blush, it did not seem to differ from all the others around it. Its shape, colors, and form were the same as all the others.
But this was it. It was impossible to mistake for anything else. This was the place he had called home once upon a time.
He drew closer. And closer still. Features thought forgotten came into view: the green wreath on the gate, the dull light pouring from the closed window, obscured by a beige pelt from within. The faintly audible, plasticky creak of the cat door inside, pushed slightly by a passing breeze. It was as though he had never left. As though nothing had changed since that fateful day. Even the weather felt the same— the chill that one could feel down to the bone, all the way from his paws up to the tips of his ears, such that even his fervent pleas were silenced, frozen in his throat as to be unheard.
It had been so long since then, and yet the scene always remained fresh in his memory, as though everything had happened only the night before in an endless loop, again and again. There was no way to stop the visions, the way they haunted him. The dripping blood on his claws, the taste of iron blood on his fangs, that shrill cry, the broken shards on the floor, the way his innocence shattered with it, the strike on his back, the splatters of red on the wall, his heart tearing in two, the lancing fear, the cold, the agony.
No, please, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry…
DON’T LEAVE ME…!
He gasped out, blinking hard, teeth bearing down on themselves as he fought to keep himself composed. That wretched feeling he had grown to ignore was welling up in him again with an intensity he could not quite fathom. He had treated it like a friend once upon a time, allowing its snake-like wrap snare tightly onto his young soul. So it had during his darkest moments, alone in his tiny shelter, letting it conjure up invisible enemies, stirring bitterness, pain, and regret in the recesses of his being. And he had welcomed it with his whole heart. Who else could he have turned to then?
He shook his head. No, he couldn’t lose himself here. Things were so much different now. If he truly was determined to change the story of his life going forward, if he was to rid himself of it— of that ghost that haunted him still— he had to do this. He was so close to finally making it there.
The pale tom pressed onward. Now that he was next to the pale-colored wood, he found its height imposing, though not quite as much as it used to, as he soon noted. With his own increased size, he reckoned it was just about short enough to jump now. Squinting, his gaze scoured around the base of the barrier. There had been a slight dip in the ground he had once used somewhere along the perimeter, though he had long since forgotten its exact location. At this point, he was likely far too large to fit himself through. Gathering his haunches, he launched himself swiftly up the wooden fence. He teetered for a moment, getting his balance.
A surprised gasp sounded from the yard below. Glancing down, he found himself staring into green eyes and a feathery red tabby coat, a muzzle dipped in white. The blue tag on his collar was gleaming, just as enticingly as it always had. The fur-lined paws, resting atop the snow-covered grass.
The kittypet approached the foot of the structure, slowly, gingerly, as though he were utterly mystified. Emotions, ones strong and unreadable, swam in his eyes like rainbows reflected in a puddle.
“T-Toast,” came his crepitous meow, simultaneously a greeting and a question.
“Mango.” The young tom’s silvery voice felt fragile as a snowflake in his reply, nearly trailing itself off into a whine. “It’s me.”
“Oh… Toast!”
The pale tom jumped down onto the white below, and immediately Mango came to meet him, brushing his muzzle ever so gently along his. Enveloping him with his warmth and scent. His tail wrapped around him, that warm tongue combing the short fur on the top of his head.
Just how much had he missed it all?
Toast couldn’t help it— couldn’t hold back the plaintive cry building in his throat, drawing closer to bury his face into the softness of Mango’s fur. His confidant. His first friend. His playmate. His light and guide into a strange, new world. He had been like an older brother to him once, long ago when they had walked the same path; for a heartbeat, Toast felt like he could forget everything that had ever happened, lost in the comfort of the orange cat’s presence and warmth.
His eyes darkened as soon as the thought came. It simply wasn’t the same anymore. It couldn’t be; if he was to start again as someone new, he needed to put some closure on his old life. Not completely, but at least so Mango would understand what he wanted to do next. So that he— no, so that they— would no longer hope for what could no longer be.
Steeling himself, Toast drew away, giving his chest a few self-conscious licks as Mango looked him over more closely. His gaze scoured him from nose to tailtip, as though he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“It really is you,” Mango breathed. “You’ve grown so much…” He seemed to be having trouble keeping his own feelings in check, half-choking on his words. “Toast, you rascal… how I’ve missed you so!”
Toast blinked at him slowly in an affectionate gesture, a purr rumbling in his own throat so loud he could hardly hear himself talk over it. “I’ve missed you too, Mango. I hope ice-chill’s been treating you well.”
Mango didn’t appear to notice his inquiry. “You’re so tall… and so well-built. Your voice! Toast… oh, stars, you’ve really changed. You’ve grown into your color, and your paws are so big, and you—”
“Mango?”
“Have you eaten yet? You must feel so cold… oh! I have a blanket inside we can share, and a bowl of milk. And if you wan—”
“Mango!” Toast meowed aloud, waving his paw rapidly in front of the rambling tom. He felt like rolling his eyes in pretend exasperation. Some things never really changed, didn’t they? “Hey! C’mon, you aren’t listening to me right now.”
“Oh! Oh… I’m sorry.” Mango breathed a crackly exhale to collect himself. “It’s just… I… I hadn’t expected you to ever show up again. I thought you had… you know.”
Toast placed a pale paw on his, shaking slightly from cold. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” I must seem like some kind of ghost… or a specter to him, he mused, feeling a strange squeeze in his chest at the thought. “Is there no one else here?” He took a heartbeat to glance around, wariness sparking in his chest.
Mango flicked his ear back at the closed window, refusing to take his eyes off the younger cat. “They aren’t here right now. Lucas and his parents are celebrating at a different house this season-cycle. It has been something the ‘folk had been planning for a while. But mostly Tiago.” He chuckled. “I’m still getting my noms though, thank the stars. Someone else’s watching things in the meantime.”
Toast could only nod dumbly in response. Turning away, Mango beckoned the loner with a wave of his plumy tail. “Come. I’m sure you’re cold. The ashes on the fireplace are still crackling.”
Toast hesitated. “Um, I—”
“Please,” Mango meowed, blinking at him pleadingly. “I insist.”
Toast’s eyes narrowed, a twinge of uncertainty forming in the back of his mind. Putting it that way, the prospect became oh-so-tempting; he was cold, and maybe he could use a few moments to relax and see what had happened since he had left. He had been curious for a while now. At the same time, he knew that every spike of hesitation would lead him away from what his true goal was. It was time to go; he knew that, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to turn Mango down, not when he was so clearly elated to see him again after so long.
“O-Okay,” Toast mewed, his fur prickling. Mango’s green eyes were alight with wordless joy as he pushed through the cat door and into the nest. Shortly after, Toast followed him in.
Upon heading into the warm, spacious den, again, a flood of memories engulfed his mind as he recalled all the scents and sights he grew up with. It had always felt to him like these were mere things he forgot, no longer cared about. Yet now, refreshed with every glance and step he took around the place, it was like he had never left. The wooden shelves, the carpeted floor, the stairs that led up to the higher place. These were precious to him— the sparkling vestiges of the life he had once so feverishly wished to return to. They no longer shimmered and gleamed the same way they had in that white kit’s wide, blue eyes, yet the feeling remained largely the same, undulled by the passage of time.
He checked himself again, mentally repeating the reason he came here, that he was here only for a moment, to finally say his peace to the place he had loved, that he couldn’t come back even if he wanted to. It was harder than usual, clouded as he was by the dreamy fog of nostalgia.
His gaze flitted furtively to Mango. How was he feeling? Now that Toast was here, was he feeling it too—even a little bit—that it could all fall nicely back into place? Like they could go back to the way they had been back when he was a kit?
Toast looked back. The cat door had creaked again as they entered, feeling unnaturally flimsy as he pushed his way in. “It wasn’t like this before.”
“It wasn’t,” Mango echoed. His voice didn’t seem to betray any emotion except the same warmth that had welcomed Toast back so amiably. His tail swayed up in the air as he walked. “The neighbor’s dog got into the yard a while ago, forced his way in. It hasn’t been fixed since.”
Toast was silent for a moment. A chilly draft had pushed its way through the opening, and he couldn’t help but shiver, his fur rising to keep it out. “You’re alright, though? It couldn’t have done you good in this kind of weather.”
“Not really, as you might already tell.” Mango’s whiskers twitched, nodding his head to gesture briefly at his white throat. “My voice has been a touch raspy recently, though it should be back to normal soon. It was worse a week or so ago, when I was sniffling and coughing like no one’s business. Give it a couple days and this should work itself out, I’m sure.”
“And the housefolk haven’t given you anything for it?”
Mango shrugged. “I suppose they didn’t really think they had to. Honestly, I agree with their assessment. I’ve always hated the vet, anyways.”
Toast huffed. He couldn’t help feeling a surge of resentment for his former keepers, but decided to keep quiet for now. Cough was nothing to dismiss so easily, as he learned during his time on the streets. There had been cats he had met with bad symptoms back in ice-chill— he had never seen them again. There was no telling what had happened to them, but knowing how these things usually went, it was likely their spirits were frolicking among the stars now. While the older tom was right in that trips to the Cutter could be quite scary, Toast felt like it would be worth it, if it meant Mango was sure to get better.
“If you say so,” Toast replied finally, though his voice was flat with resignation. It wasn’t like he could do anything himself; all he could do was hope was that Mango’s housefolk came to their senses and took him there sooner rather than later. It was only natural that he worried for his friend. He couldn’t help it anymore than he could help breathing air.
They settled down upon arriving next to the fireplace. Here the coals radiated a peaceful, comfortable heat, one Toast had not felt in a while since he left his old housefolks’ nest. Mango had curled up in a small grass-scented basket nearby, cushioned by soft, fuzzy fabric, while Toast contented himself on the coarse rug below. He made sure to keep his claws well-sheathed as he pulled them under his belly. Pelt prickling with delight as he began to warm up, he setttled himself down into a tight crouch.
Things were silent for what seemed like ages before Mango finally inquired, “How have you been?”
Even that most simple question seemed hard to answer. Immediately, a numbness dark as night threatened to fall over his heart. There was so much he wanted to say, yet couldn’t bring himself to. Toast hesitated, paws fidgeting below him, hopelessly tongue-tied before finally squeaking out, “Well… I’ve been doing fine. I’ve grown up a little, made some friends, ‘learned the ropes’, so to speak. I’ve been out there for quite a while.” He kept his words vague.
Mango purred. “You must be quite the rot-pile sniffer now.”
Toast blinked at him, feeling a touch warm at Mango’s praise. “I mean… I wouldn’t say I’m that good. It was enough to get me through ice-chill, at least. And to share with some other loners I meet along the way.”
“Still too little for my liking,” Mango remarked, though thankfully he decided not to probe further. “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?”
Toast fidgeted uncomfortably. “It’s alright. I’m not really all that hungry.” His voice was soft like feathers, as though it pained him to speak. He hated turning Mango down. He almost never used to back then, and he could only guess that the burning guilt he felt now was simply instinct, kicking in after moons of built habit. Maybe it was just his mind, calling him to take up the offer after a morning without food. Either way, it bothered him greatly.
Mango did not open his mouth to reply to Toast’s assertion, though his brow furrowed, his figure mired in pensive expression. It felt like a heartbeat, or maybe a whole season, that he was silent, staring idly into the orange glow of the fireplace, hearing the crackles of the fire-wasted coals radiating heat into the air. Toast wondered what he was thinking. Why did he stop?
“Toast.” When Mango finally spoke, his voice was a touch softer than it had been earlier. “You’ve felt so far away.”
Toast was confused for a moment. “W-what?” he stammered, his neck craning forward to hear the orange tom better.
“I missed you,” Mango meowed again, a low, almost crooning sound. “I don’t want you to push me away. Not when you’ve been gone for so long.”
Pain sparked behind Toast’s blue pools. “I would never,” he replied, tentatively drawing closer to him, taking a few steps forward. “Mango, you know that.”
Mango sighed. “Then look me in the eye, Toast,” he pressed him. His tail flicked sternly, though his gaze was soft with concern. “Not like this, please, I want to know how you really feel. I haven’t seen you in so long, and… I just want to know that you’re alright. You know you can talk to me about anything. Absolutely anything at all. I’ll listen.”
Mango always managed to read him far too easily. Toast winced, gaze turning away painfully. ‘I’m okay.’ He wanted to lie, wanted to say it confidently… and found that he couldn’t. It wasn’t the truth, and it didn’t feel right to try and sneak his way around Mango’s concern when he was so clearly not in the best of ways. Yet the weight of what he might say scared him. Not so much for what Mango might say, but what he himself might do once he released those feelings he had buried so deep for so long.
He didn’t want it; he had always been far too emotional whenever he had those opportunities to spill his heart. The shame was unbearable. Things had to be more direct if he was to get through this.
Toast took a deep breath and lifted his head to face his friend eye-to-eye. “I… I’m leaving,” he croaked out, and it took every drop of courage he had to be able to tear the words from his throat. He knew how much it would hurt Mango. But it was the truth, and he deserved to hear it.
Meanwhile, Mango appeared frozen. His expression never changed, but Toast noticed the way his eyes clouded over with pain, and it sent painful claws rending his already beaten heart into a pile of fallen pine needles. It hurt like fire, and he couldn’t do anything except feel its searing waves.
“I don’t want to…” Toast continued, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at his old friend again. “Please, Mango, I know you know that. I’ve missed you too, I’ve said as much. But I can’t stay here.” His conscience screamed at him as the words left his maw. He forced himself to ignore it, swallowing down his kittish wants.
“Toast…” Mango’s voice rasped. His tone sounded almost defeated.
“Mango.” Toast’s orange-splashed face turned, his ears flattened, his tail low. “You know I can’t stay here anymore. I… I don’t deserve it. Not after what I’ve done.” His eyes shimmered like ice shards lit by moonlight. “I’m scared I might hurt you again.”
“You’re hurting me now.” Mango let out a soft cry. At this distance, Toast could make out the graying on the older tom’s muzzle, the shaking under his pelt. It couldn’t have been that long, could it? Only a season-cycle had passed, and yet it seemed that time sank its fangs into Mango too, just as irreversibly changed as Toast had been.
Toast stared back at the orange tom, his expression blank, like the fire in his eyes was doused by icemelt. “I’m so sorry… I think it’s for the best,” he said softly.
“No, no, it’s not.” Mango was shaking his head rapidly. “You’re not just going to leave, are you? Not when we just found each other again.”
Toast turned away. “I’ve made my choice,” he replied, “and it won’t change. My life is different now, for better or for worse. It’s better you forget about me.”
There was another pause before Mango spoke again. "And what makes you think I'd want to forget you?" Toast looked over his shoulder. Mango's amber eyes were suddenly blazing as he leaped to his paws. Toast was surprised with the ferocity in his tone, a sharp contrast to his earlier demeanor. "Every season since you'd left, I had never stopped worrying about you. It's not like I had been sitting here idling all day doing nothing!” His tail lashed. “Haven’t you wondered why I was out there, in the cold? I was hoping, waiting for you to come home!”
"It’s not like you had to,” Toast shot back, feeling a sense of vexation rise in him as Mango seemed to guilt him into staying. “Besides, worries never fed me that ice-chill, or that warmingtime, or that shadingtime.”
“You don’t know…” Mango shook his head, his ears flattening. “You never knew…”
“Besides, Lucas would never forgive me—”
“Lucas!” Mango looked at him incredulously, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He spent moons looking for you— him, his parents, the rest of the housefolk! You have no idea how many nights he spent crying, calling your name in the middle of the night! How many nights I spent calling for you! Lucas is a kit, and so were you. He would never have held it against you.”
"And don’t you know how hard it’s been for us? You’d be fine in the cold, you’re young, energetic.” His eyes glared pointedly at his former protege, each word spoken as though they were laced with the sap of stinging nettles. “I bet you even liked the experience, didn’t you? You wanted to leave us, leave Lucas, leave me!"
Toast's mouth hung open in disbelief, a pained sound coming from the depths of his chest, unable to reply through the black fog that caught in his throat, swirling in his head, chilling him all the way down to his paws, as though he were still outside on the frozen gray-stone. He hated it. Hated the new knowledge that they had been looking for him too. Hated that Lucas would try to find him. Hated how powerless he felt now, that Mango of all cats couldn’t understand him. Surely he would know how much Toast was hurting now if he could just see beyond his star-cursed selfishness!
"No!” Toast yowled, “I would never have!” The air shook with the force as he screamed aloud with all the wind in his lungs, the hole in his heart growing to a gaping wound, his emotions boiling over, his breaking point reached and then some. Even the enraged Mango was suddenly taken aback, his fur lying flat in surprise.
“How could you say that? You don’t have any idea what it was like for me!” Toast’s eyes were wild, simultaneously dark and shining, his fur spiked in sheer confusion and dread, no longer able to keep himself composed or coherent. “You will never know how it felt! Never! Not how guilty I felt with his blood on my claws; not those nights I almost died from cold; not the hunger I felt from days without anything to eat!”
For a while, he could only stay there, breathing heavily, his head hung low, filled with shame and unfathomable pain. The anger had faded almost as soon as it had come, but the despair came to replace it a hundredfold.
“I was alone. I was all alone, Mango. Broken, hungry, dying." His paws trembled furiously as he continued. He no longer cared whether or not he was making sense, or how he was talking. He was desperate to get him to understand. “I called for you too. I called for you, for Lucas, and for all the friends I left behind. And I wondered if you’d missed me as much as I did all of you.”
Toast began to cry now, his words splintering, cracking like thin ice, trailing off into the distance like smoke billowing from a passing Thundersnake. "In all that time, the only thing I ever wanted… was for someone to love me again. To want me. But I didn’t deserve it— didn’t deserve to feel that way after what I did. And yet… it was the only thing I had left. So whatever love I had left, I gave away. All of it.”
He looked into Mango’s eyes once more, finally. His expression was almost deafeningly hollow. “That was the only idea I could think of that might make it a little okay; that would make me forget that all I ever was was a monster that hurt his person. The one who chose me, cared for me… and loved me. And now you’re telling me that he still did, even after I… I—”
The young cat was breaking apart in front of the orange tom, who had taken a step out of his basket to approach him tentatively. "Toast, I..."
"How many times there had been, where I had wished I had never heard about it. The life of a warrior… that there was ever such a concept. That if only you hadn’t told me..." the pale tom trailed off, his long claws digging into the rough padding below. Bile rose in his throat as he felt them curl in, hating the way they pierced so easily, and easier still as he had grown up. He could just about throw up at the feeling, but felt too weak now to do even that. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.
Mango seemed indubitably stricken with regret now. His eyes were swimming with pain. “Toast, please. Stop… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
Toast no longer had the energy to reply, instead looking at him with a dull look in his eyes, clouded like that of dead fish. “It’s alright. It’s probably true… what you said. I had been selfish. Maybe I did want this to happen, somewhere in my heart.” He got up on four paws, shaking out his fur. “I won’t bother you anymore,” he meowed softly, blinking the haze away from his misty eyes. “Just let me go… please.”
As he turned to leave, he felt a soft presence wrap around him, tail to belly to head. Mango had slumped against him, warm like sunlight, gentle as a breeze on the moor in warmingtime. Toast flinched, but didn’t resist him. And so they sat in silence for what felt like seasons. The fireplace was warm. He was exhausted. After everything, the surroundings began to lull him into the sweet darkness of slumber, and he couldn’t keep its embrace from finally overtaking him entirely.
“Toasty.”
“Yea?”
“Have you thought about what you wanna be… you know. When you grow up.”
“I wanna be a warrior!”
“I’m sure you already are, you rascal. You keep saying that.”
“You a mentor, I’m the ‘pprentice. We go ‘venturing like whatcha say they do in your stories!”
“Cute, but I’m not built that way, unfortunately. I’m not as cool as they are.”
“Huh? But you’re plenty amazing cool, Mango!”
“Heh. I suppose. But if you can pick something else, maybe?”
“...I wanna be a good kitty, then! A really good one! The kinda cat who’s kind and nice to everyone!”
When Toast woke up, he was surprised to realize he was no longer on the rug, but instead on Mango’s basket. The pelts lining the bottom were soft and warm, and he shuffled, nestling himself deeper into the sweet-smelling material, feeling comfortable. The older cat was no where to be seen; he guessed he was out making dirt or something at the litter box. Wait, ‘basket’? ‘Litter box’? I still remember these words? They sounded weird coming off his tongue.
“Feeling better?” Mango’s voice jolted him to attention. He had still been there sat next to the basket, a purr rumbling in his throat.
Toast coughed, then turned away. He was feeling much better now, though of course he couldn’t let Mango know just yet. His back rippled a little upon remembering their earlier exchange, a tinge of annoyance running through him again. “I guess.”
Mango sighed, then jumped into the basket along with him. It was a tight squeeze, but he somehow made it work, with Toast tucked tightly in the center, his back to Mango’s pale belly. It had not been that long ago when they had been in this basket together as housemates; Toast was so much smaller, fitting neatly in the space between Mango’s paws and chin. It seemed so far away now. The feathery-pelted tom’s blue tag tinkled delicately as he positioned himself.
“I’m really sorry, Toast,” Mango meowed, his voice almost a whisper amidst the crackle of embers. “I’ve hurt you.” His gaze was locked on something far away, staring at whatever it was as intensely, as though it were crystal-clear in front of him. “Not under any circumstance did you ever deserve that.”
Toast stayed silent for a while, feeling a fresh wave of shame now that he had time to reflect. “I guess I hurt you too,” he murmured finally. “I’m sorry. I just… I couldn’t really bring myself to tell you that I wasn’t okay. I didn’t want to, but I suppose it ended up blowing up in front of you anyway.”
“Hey, there’s no need for you to apologize.” Mango gave him a gentle lick between his ears. “I’ve said awful things. If there’s anyone who’s at fault, it’s me. So please… don’t feel bad. I told you I was going to listen, but I ended up letting my emotions get the best of me.”
Toast blinked back the mist that was beginning to cloud his vision. Mango had been selfish, even downright hurtful in the way he had spoken to him earlier, and yet at that moment, nestled in the crook of his warm pelt, Toast couldn’t care less. His friend was here, and he was reassuring him, just like he used to. The memories swamped him, and he found himself unable to talk, suddenly choked with fierce emotion.
“Remember all the adventures I told you about?” Mango asked. “The ones about the guardians, the streets, the Clan cats?”
“Yes,” Toast replied, unsure of where the conversation was going.
“They’re all very real, and I know from experience.” Mango’s tone was serious, and Toast found himself floored by the very thought.
“You mean to say—”
Mango nodded. “I was a loner myself back then,” he continued. “But I was not a good cat in my youth. I went around, enjoyed myself, messed around. I have kits out there. Ones who will never know who I am, because their father was too much of a coward to stay and provide for them. I chose the easy way out. I became a kittypet, and never came back.”
Toast blinked, stunned for a moment. Mango had always been secretive in his own sort of way, though he had never been curious enough to inquire about how his friend had been when he was younger. Not once had he ever divulged anything about his past; Toast merely assumed he came to the housefolk in much the same way he had. “So you’ve been out there too. You had kits… and you left them alone.”
The words were a half-statement, hiding veiled disappointment as he addressed the orange tom. It was Mango’s turn to shift his gaze away. “Yes,” he replied measuredly, a shadow falling across his face as he observed the change in Toast’s demeanor once more. “It upsets you.”
Toast sighed, his head slumping on the soft pelt below. “I mean… it’s not like I can judge you for what you did before. But you can understand why it does, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Mango mewed, resting his own chin on Toast’s broad head. It fit snugly between his ears; just when had he grown enough for that to be possible?
“Not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. At the same time, I knew I wasn’t made for that sort of life… not anymore, at least. Even if I ran away, there was no guarantee I’d find them again, or have the same sort of skills I would need to support them as they grew up.” Mango huffed before continuing. “I had been hopeless when you came in. But you were the one who gave me that hope back… that I could change my story. It was selfish, maybe, but you were my second chance." His eyes closed gently. "And what a chance did I ever get with a ray of sunshine like you.”
“I remember you were a happy kit then; bouncy, playful. Shy, whenever you had to meet someone new. You had this smile… the widest, silliest little smile anyone’s ever seen.” Mango’s eyes clouded. “I guess I’d missed it. I had wished too hard for something that’s long since gone now. You’re a different cat now, Toast, and that’s a good thing. I just need some time to process things when you’re gone.” Toast had opened his jaws to protest when Mango interrupted. “I know you can visit me whenever. But it’s not the same. It can’t be. There is always a divide between the world of kittypets and your new one, and you know that.”
Toast swallowed. “I-It’s not like it has to be,” he murmured, “At least some things can be like we’ve always done.”
Mango was silent for a heartbeat, as though he were pondering the proposition. Then he responded, “Have you found them?”
“Hmm?” Toast was genuinely confused. “Who?”
“The Clans.”
“Oh.” Toast scrambled to answer, surprised by the conversation’s sudden turn. “Uh… yes. I’ve sort of gotten myself involved with one of them.”
Mango’s brows rose curiously. “I’m guessing that moor-y one then.”
Toast startled, a thrill of surprise coursing through him. “EmberClan,” he blurted out awkwardly. “I’ve talked with a few cats. I’m… I don’t really mind them as much as I used anymore.”
“You aren’t scared or mad at them anymore?” Mango’s ears were pricked up, looking deeply interested. “I’d told stories about them, and that’s what led to you doing what you did.”
“It was a kittish way to think,” Toast admitted. “I think I’m beginning to realize that I have to own up to what I’ve done— that it was my fault, in the end. It was never about you, your stories, or the way they lived their lives.” He reflected on his past experiences with them, and how they had changed his prior misconceptions about them, even to the point where his old fear of Clan warriors and the way they lived had almost completely faded like mist in the morning sun. “They’re just cats, like me and you. I’ve made good friends.”
Mango shifted next to him. “Do you want to join EmberClan, then? Be a warrior, like you’ve always wanted?”
“Maybe,” Toast stammered, unable to give him a straight answer. If he wanted, he could remain an unaffiliated loner: finding new territories, exploring them, meeting new faces wherever he went, and he could grow to be happy and content with the spontaneity of it all. Yet somehow the idea of a community appealed to him even more, especially one that had the allegiance of the cat that had served as his inspiration throughout his young life so far. And he had Larkpaw, Sootstalk, and Rumblestone there too. Maybe that was the life that would finally give him a chance to start over, in a place he could finally call ‘home’ once more.
Mango jumped out of their soft nest, fixing Toast with eyes as clear as pools of water. “Then you ought to be more sure of yourself.” The orange tom padded away and behind a corner.
Toast got up to his paws when he didn’t return immediately. Where had he gone?
When Mango returned he had a red collar in his jaws, little white pawprints adorning its margins and a tiny tag shining on its middle part. It gleamed like a little star in the light of the smoldering embers of the fireplace. He dropped it in front of Toast.
“What’s this?” Something was etched into the tag, the form similar to those weird Twoleg markings he would find around the town. It appeared newer than Mango’s, though it smelled thickly of dust, like it had been left somewhere and forgotten for a long time.
“Your collar,” Mango replied. “You were supposed to receive it soon. But when you left, the ‘folk kept it on the stand. They had been waiting for the day you’d come back and finally have it fitted on.”
Toast stared at the red band, a strange weight in his chest like a heavy stone as he realized what Mango meant. He had already gone back to grab dry branches from a nearby stack, reviving the fire’s bright rage. “You’re saying—”
Mango’s gaze was unreadable as it turned back to him. “You said you wanted to end things here. If you are ever to make your own path, whether it’s on your own or with a Clan, then you should know that your loyalty must never be split.” His expression softened. “So show me your resolve, Toast. I believe in you.”
Toast fought to keep his breath steady, his eyes flitting from the collar to the fire in rapid succession. If he were to do this, he was well and truly putting an end to this part of his life. Wasn’t that what he wanted to do all along?
His mind was made up. Mango had given him an opportunity, and he was going to take it.
With a lunge, Toast grabbed the collar in his jaws and flung it into the blaze. It burned and shriveled in the open air, and the fire seemed to roar its approval. The scent from its blackening form acrid and painful to the throat, and yet he couldn’t stop watching. His breath caught in his throat, but there was no pain; rather, a growing feeling of cool relief. It was like the old wound in his heart was burning away along with the collar, a symbol of the comfortable captivity he used to yearn returning to. That was over now. He had done the right thing. I’m never going to be a kittypet again.
Mango had also watched the fire engulf the collar too, though this time the sadness in his stance and expression was unconcealed. His eyes swam like warmingtime pools, and his paws quivered, as though he were struggling to keep himself composed. When he turned to face Toast once more, the young tom was warmed to see his eyes gleaming, pride mixed into the pained expression on his face.
“Toast, my little warrior… you’re free now.”