Post by dumpster on Sept 17, 2020 22:29:37 GMT -6
Raggedthroat stood atop the lifeless form of a LichenClanner as his fellow warriors pursued their retreating attackers. A fiery anger all too familiar to him swelled inside of his chest as his stern yellow eyes turned their sights on Beaverpaw; bloodied and worn… and nearly slain. He had never felt so angry with the young tom before.
“Why did you hesitate?” He demanded of the young color-point, his frown lines deepening into cavernous streaks across his maw and forehead. He had kept his apprentice within his sights during the battle; always ensuring that as he fought, he remained near to Beaverpaw – at first he had been proud as he watched him face off against a young warrior from LichenClan… but his pride shifted to irritation and anger at each opportunity that Beaverpaw missed. He was fighting… honorably.
Raggedthroat’s blood-soaked muzzle twisted into a scowl that clearly showed his disapproval.
“You could have had him,” Raggedthroat rasped with disdain as he nodded to the mangled and bloodied form of his apprentice’s attacker. When he had seen the tides shifting out of Beaverpaw’s favor, the old tom cat had interceded and charged in with a feral sort of fury, a yowling terror of bristling ginger fur… he had used every dirty trick that Beaverpaw had tried to abstain from – every dishonorable tactic and crippling maneuver that he had been waiting for Beaverpaw to use. He caused more pain than was necessary; he took more from his enemy than he had to. Once the fight had left the LichenClanner, Raggedthroat killed them. It had been a quick, brutal, efficient and savage intervention… and it had saved Beaverpaw’s life.
He wouldn’t lose him, the face of this final duty he had given himself.
He wouldn’t see his dreams die… this would be RedwoodClan’s greatest warrior.
“I didn’t see you use any blinding tactics,” the old tom cat drilled the brawny young apprentice before him, dark blood dripping from his chin. “Why? What were you waiting on—his invitation?” he hissed, stained fangs baring their tips with what almost appeared to be disgust. He hadn’t lived to be as old as he was through fairness and honor… it had been cruelty and savagery that had kept him beneath the stars for so long. He wasn’t going to let Beaverpaw die young.
He would make him a force to be feared, a tom with his own legacy – grander than even his own… even if it meant breaking him, first.