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Flamepaw had always felt that no one saw him for who he was.
You look just like your father, was the spoken and unspoken thought of everyone he met. His mother looked at him with grief in her eyes, and the elders sighed and tsked about what a shame it was when he was cleaning their den, and his mentor, his father's mother, kept staring distantly at him and accidentally called him Larkpaw more than once.
He had Firestar's blood, and it was the only time he was glad he looked like his father, when cats started comparing him to his illustrious kin. If he looked even more like Firestar they'd probably never stop talking about him. They expected more of him. Lost his temper? Firestar never lost his temper. Failed his warrior assessment? Firestar never failed. Got into a fight with his sister over a stupid silly thing? Firestar would never do such a thing.
Firestar hadn't even had any sisters in the Clan, but that was beside the point.
He liked to imagine that if Larksong were alive, he would help him deal with it. He would give him some kind of wise advice that always worked, and tell the others to stop comparing him, and of course half the trouble would be gone because nobody would see his father when they looked at him. Sparkpelt and Lilyheart would be happy.
But Larksong wasn't, and Firestar wasn't, and all that was left was Flamepaw, the echo of too many dead cats.
When Bramblestar named him for Firestar, Flamepaw - not Flameheart, he couldn't think of himself as Flameheart - couldn't take it anymore. He finally spoke up.