Random Short Stories

Stand Out Go Out [🦋]

In the heart of the sprawling territory of CopseClan, where whispers of the rustling leaves mingled with the rich scents of earth and prey, lived a tom named Raisindart.

He was a large, striking tom with a thick, fiery coat flecked with silver, and bright amber eyes that mirrored the hues of the setting sun sparkled with an intelligence that many admired.

Yet, among the toms and she-cats of the clan, there was an unspoken truth that clung to him like a second skin, a truth many knew but didn't dare say aloud: Raisindart wasn't straight.

To the members of CopseClan, it was evident. The way he laughed too freely around the toms, the way his tail would twitch when he caught the scent of a handsome warrior, or how he savoured the camaraderie of his friends without a hint of romantic interest in the she-cats that populated their camp.

Yet, all these signs remained unnoticed by one vital figure in his life—his mother, Roseshadow.

Roseshadow was as fierce as she was loving, a force of nature who had fought valiantly to ascend as a warrior of CopseClan. In her mind, the legacy of their family was tied to tradition, and that tradition was a future filled with kits.

Her eyes held a constant warmth that was only occasionally pierced by her insistence on seeing her son fulfill the ancestral legacy of founding a family, something Raisindart did NOT want at all. He wanted to be free as one.

"You're at the perfect age, dear," she'd say, her voice bright with hope. "It's time to find a nice she-cat to settle down with! You know how happy it would make me!"

Her vision was clear; Raisindart was destined to find a nice she-cat, settle down, and raise a family that would carry on their bloodline.

"Raisindart, dear," she would say, her voice filled with well-meaning urgency. "The autumn gatherings are just around the corner. I have three lovely she-cats in mind for you. You should come to the next Moonhigh feast with one of them!"

She would then drag him off to the gatherings, where Raisindart remained distant with the she-cats though tried his best to be polite when he let them down. Anytime his mother asked which she-cat he liked the most, the answer was always the same.

"I don't really think I like any of them."

Roseshadow held her son's happiness above all else, or so she claimed. But in reality, her definition of happiness was singular: she had envisioned Raisindart as a proud father with a lithe she-cat by his side, nesting kits at their paws.

The moment Raisindart had reached the age of eligibility, Roseshadow had begun her incessant campaign to pair him off with various she-cats of CopseClan, much to both his dismay and their displeasure.

"Why don't you take out Asterflame on a hunting trip?" she suggested over breakfast, nudging a freshly caught mouse towards him. "I hear she's recently on the market," she added playfully, a gleeful twinkle in her eye at the prospect of a potential mate.

Raisindart had nearly choked on the idea. Asterflame was fierce and bright, full of ambition and dreams of becoming a great warrior. But the truth was, she was not the problem for his disinterest.

He was the problem.

He had tried to explain to his mother that his heart did not race for she-cats, that it never did. But she brushed aside his protests with a flick of her tail and a dismissive flicker in her eye, determined to change him into the son she wanted.

Each time, Raisindart felt an overwhelming mixture of dread and annoyance bubble inside him. Each recommended she-cat, from the fiery Mangoroot to the gentle Yewblaze, was a reminder of the chasm between his true self and his mother's expectations.