Ok...it felt kind of nice to NOT write 2020 LMAO. Welcome to 2021! To kick off the brand new year, we're introducing a round of updates, including new bio and forbidden romance rules, our Secret Santa reveal, OTM winners and nominations, our monthly patrols, and a fun new infectious disease! So make sure to check out the January Announcements for all of the new content! As we leave 2020 behind us, we hope everyone is able to put themselves first this year and practice self-care! Here's to another one! Let's write some cats!
The Apostles is a warrior cats roleplay based in northern Wisconsin. On Lake Superior, the wild cats have made the Apostle Islands their home. It is on these islands - Rocky Island and South Twin Island - that the clan and tribe cats have lived in a peace and harmony that ebbs and flows with the tide.
But as the tides turn, so does the truce that binds them to one another; and as the water raises, a darkness follows, an evil that will end in bloodshed and violence.
Battle practice. Mothpaw’s least favorite activity….even with the patient guidance of his soft-hearted mentor, Lilypad. Performing in front of others…. the pinnacle of torture.
ok Mothpaw come on, don’t think like that, the tom attempted to reassure himself as he padded toward their designated clearing. His pink paws ached from the cold, still soft by the grace of the forest’s spongy floor and unaccustomed to a true, warrior’s winter. Now, the surrounding pines were dusted with the twinkling frosts of morning while life attenuated a call for slumber…for most life, that is.
"well, this is where she said to meet up" the young tom murmured inaudibly; his sleepy eyes scanned the clearing. Nothing. He exhaled, his breath, cloaking him in a brief cloud-like mane of reluctance. It dissipated. Behind him, the tom’s long tail dragged on the frigid floor where pinecones doted the terrain like terrestrial stars. He lifted a chiseling muzzle, his bones gleaning tomhood over the moon. His wet, leathery nose pulsated, a weak attempt to catch a familiar drift among this seemingly foreign terrain. How muted his sense of smell was in leaf-bare, though, the crunchy frost and comparatively still air (to the winds of leaf-fall), made the world a silent paradise. Not for long. Mothpaw's pointed ears were now ferreting for the slightest sign of familiar life.
Today, Mothpaw would be meeting up with fellow apprentices Blazingpaw and Willowpaw, with their corresponding mentors. A large audience to witness his callow. When Lilypad had mentioned this meet up, after elaborating on the gruesome details, Mothpaw thought she best be shadenfreude. The other apprentices each had a moon of experience over Mothpaw. And although over time Mothpaw had grown to the size of an average Thistleclan apprentice, though lengthy in his own wallowing way, Blazingpaw and Willowpaw were both large apprentices, the former in Mothpaw’s eyes, seemingly massive. Yes, Blazingpaw. Mothpaw exhaled a hiss, his paws kneading the earth in a lame attempt to stay warm. just wait, your blood will be flowing in no time, he reminded himself, envious of the fellow apprentices thick, long pelts.
The thought was transient- once again, his mind returned to the sinking stone of his large den mate Blazingpaw…., the white tom was completely nonplussed, unsure and weakened by the very thought of the upcoming exchange. The boisterous Blazingpaw was a notorious browbeater, he would clearly show no mercy to the likes of Mothpaw, whose stalky, but lengthy frame made him feel like an abandoned sable. For him, this would be battle practice. For Blazingpaw, it might as well be hunting, and Mothpaw, his prey. If the situation possibly couldn't be gruesome, it was only his luck that Mothpaw happened to remember that Blazingpaw's mentor was actually the clan leader, Thievingstar, herself.
you’re overreacting, Mothpaw tried to guide his thoughts. But was he? Blazingpaw was a ruthless individual, both with his words and the by weight of his paws. Thievingstar would stop him before he killed me, right? Mothpaw mused with an awkward chuckle. Maybe I could just play dead until its’ over? No…seriously Mothpaw stop. The apprentice stood his ground, positioned at the Southwest of the clearing. His body was erect, waiting to hear the slightest entrance of life.
The massive calico strode beneath the needled branches with his ears flat over his head. In front of the tom, his mentor strode forward into the woodland in a cold silence. Blazingpaw was not sure, but the tom assumed her icy shoulder was because of him. His mind flashed to their eerie encounter with the beastly porcupine almost a moon earlier, and he concealed an involuntary shudder. While he had wanted to talk about it with the black she-cat, he had never been able to find the words that would mend his idiotic mistake. Neither of them had. Instead, they had trained in an irritable noiselessness that only ended with bristled coats and flashing teeth. She probably counted down the days until his warrior ceremony each night before bed, he seethed. The tom lashed his tail. If she even let him become a warrior. His stare lowered to the faint marks that littered her behind, and his irritation faltered.
His wounds still radiated like a fire when they were accidentally brushed or touched by stray tail or branch. The ones that littered his shoulders and flank hurt less, but the deep gouge in his front forearm had hardly healed since the assault. He had reluctantly made several visits to Ratwhisker in an attempt to fuse the skin back over the wound, which had only shown improvement within the last week. As the calico moved over the snow-covered forest, he knew that it would never heal correctly. Instead, he would wear it like a curse, a reminder of his fatal error. He wished he could tear it from his flesh, so he could show Thievingstar that he carried his remorse around like a shroud; but the island did not work like that. Soon, the two stubborn cats would have to talk. Until then, he let his hatred fester like a slow and vile rot.
Behind him, the other cats in the party followed in their own shared silence, or at least, the tom had been so absorbed in his own head, he had hardly heard their chatter. They had been asked, or rather ordered, by the Thistleclan leader to form a small battle training session, so the black she-cat could assess their progress. Blazingpaw was surprised she had even asked him to come along, since their disinterest in one another had only worsened over the moon. She had to get rid of him somehow, he realized. His stomach turned. What would she do? Banish him to the elder's den? Exile? The tom knew his assessment would not end with a new name, but as he had snarled at Fallenpaw weeks earlier, he could not be an apprentice forever. So what? The calico stared furiously into his mentor's black coat until they came to a sudden halt.
Ahead, a small clearing dusted with snow materialized between the trees. While some clans had designated training areas for their apprentices, Thistleclan liked to train their warriors around the forest, so they could acclimate to different surroundings in battle. Thievingstar had chosen an area a bit northeast from the comfort of their dens. He then scanned the arena. His stare landed on a lone white figure at the head of the clearing. Mothpaw. The massive calico flexed his muscles. That's odd. Unlike the others, the lithe tom had chosen to make the trek alone. Blazingpaw twitched his whiskers and let out a low snort. Talk about excessive. With a roll of his shoulders, the calico tom eased into the clearing and settled into a sit. His stare shifted to the other cats in the band, and lingered over Willowpaw for a brief second, and then it eventually returned to his mentor.
He cocked a brow at the black she-cat, as if asking for a blow to the head, and then dug his unsheathed claws into the dirt. What does she want from him! The words burned in his head, but he doused them as quickly as they had lit. Instead, he lowered his stare into the earth and tried to remember a time he wasn't filled with so much hate.
Willowpaw padded brusquely alongside Cedarflame, her paws moving over the snow-covered ground with an energized grace. She was ready to face the day, battle training included. The sun was out and the clouds were sparse, creating a sunny morning in spite of the leaf-bare chill. Her multi-colored pelt warmed as they passed in and out of the sun's light, her big amber eyes alert. They fixed ahead toward a clearing in the distance, where she could make out a familiar, blazing pelt.
She gave her mentor a raised-eyebrows glance, silently asking her for permission to run ahead, before taking off at a quick lope. She weaved her way easily through the undergrowth, of which had become somewhat meager in the colder moons, and stopped when she reached the other apprentices.
"Morning!" she meowed happily to everyone in the clearing. Mothpaw was standing there, rigid, as well as Thievingstar, but there was no sign of Lilypad anywhere.
Willowpaw tilted her head to try to listen for the approach of the other mentor. "Where's Lilypad, Mothpaw?" she asked him.
Briefly, she felt Blazingpaw's eyes on her, and her tail lifted as she turned her own to meet his gaze. But her spirits somewhat fell when she saw him lower his gaze to the ground, a stark contrast from his usual fire. She didn't want to distract herself from taking their fight practice seriously, but a bit of friendly conversation might make things a little... better. Plus, from the looks of Mothpaw's body language and the emotion on his face, he seemed a bit nervous or something. Which was understandable, she thought, although she couldn't quite place Blazingpaw's prickly aura. Maybe the run-in with the porcupine was still on his mind, and things didn't seem... super good between him and Thievingstar. He had seemed very angry as of late, Willowpaw had noted, but she'd been so busy with training that she hadn't had time to try to talk to him. They'd mostly grown up together and, for her lack of friendship recently, she felt a little sorry. Seemed like it could've been something he needed.
"I bet you if we team up against Blazingpaw, we might win," she walked over to stand beside Mothpaw's shoulder, nudging him gently, but she'd definitely said it loud enough to be heard by the other apprentice. Then she cast a cheeky grin at the calico tom, "Nothing personal, of course!" She didn't really plan on that. She was just trying to lighten the mood, to draw out Blazingpaw's spunk and soothe Mothpaw's anxiety. That was probably going to be necessary for things to go smoothly that morning. That was all that Willowpaw wanted; winning a fight didn't actually matter to her, as long as she learned things from her clan-mates.
The silence between mentor and apprentice was so heavy that it weighed on Thievingstar’s shoulders like a blizzard’s worth of snow. Piled high, crisp, and cold, the quiet had an unforgiving grip on her consciousness. Rather than acknowledge the awkwardness and the anger, she chose to shove it away somewhere even darker and colder than the winter that was descending upon the islands, never to see the light of day. There it festered like an infected gash that spanned the width of their relationship, puss-filled and oozing. No medicine cat could mend this hatred, for it was of the mind, not of the body.
No, it needed a special kind of medicine. Would she find it here today? Perhaps this training session was her last attempt to clean the wound, to stave the emotional contagion that seemed to foul the very air she breathed while in the tom’s presence.
She could feel Blazingpaw’s eyes burning into her backside, knowing without looking that he was staring at the still-healing holes the porcupine quills had bore into her flesh. Every time she tried to rest, there it was — a sharp, stinging reminder of her apprentice’s brazen foolishness and her own lack of judgement. She could neither sit nor lay comfortably, and this made her exhausted, physically and mentally.
And yet, upon her arrival to the clearing, her voice was loud as ever and full of vigor -- if only a little sour. ”You do well to keep your blood moving,” she grumbled a rare compliment to Mothpaw, watching him kneed the ground as she approached. He seemed nervous, but she would not spare him for his anxieties. Their enemies would not hold back because of fear.
To Willowpaw, she simply flicked her tail in acknowledgement. The tabby calico’s attempts at conversation were admirable, but Thievingstar would not encourage chatter among the apprentices. Small talk was a time-waster, and there was much to do today. Her ears flicked back, praying that the two mentors would join them shortly, so as to spare her from this idle blather.
The black she-cat peeled off to one side of the clearing as Blazingpaw took a seat. It was not far from the group of young cats, but distant enough to see all of the action that was to come without being tangled in the midst of it. There she began to pace, extrapolating her earlier praise into advice. ”Especially in leaf-bare, it is important to keep your limbs warm. Cold stunts movement. Slows reactions.” She wheeled around to direct a glare at her apprentice and, looking solely at him, hissed, “Cold kills.”
Thievingstar returned Blazingpaw’s cocked brow with narrowed eyes that reflected the soft glitter of the surrounding frost. It would have almost been a pretty sight, had it not been for the malice that roiled within her gaze like a rabid froth. She continued this stare without speaking and would hold her focus until Cedarflame and Lilypad arrived, if necessary. Nevermind that his own eyes were now fixed on the ground. He would pick it up eventually — she had not asked him to sit, and she was docking points accordingly. You had better impress me today, birdbrain.
Post by wolfiedemon on Dec 18, 2019 21:16:48 GMT -6
As she emerged from the undergrowth, Lilypad could feel the eyes of several cats on her. She had not meant to be late to this meetup, she had just gotten side tracked. She had spent some of the time going over ideas with her brother for how she should go about training Mothpaw and had lost track of the time. She felt like a complete mousebrain but then again Mothpaw should of informed her that it was time to leave. That took some time as well trying to figure out the young toms whereabouts. He had completely left without her. He would get an earful when this was over. Or maybe she will let the beating he was sure to get from Blazingpaw be his punishment.
No, she couldn't think like that. She couldn't let her mind go that dark. Maybe all this was coming from the gathering? Or her time spent with Hawktail maybe. She kept her head held high as she approached Mothpaw, taking a seat behind him. She tried not to look to annoyed at him, but she felt it show across her face for a split second.
She looked across the clearing at the other warriors that had joined their little group. Cedarflame and Thievingstar. She was a little shocked to see their leader here but at the same time she was showing an interest in how much the apprentices were learning from their mentors. She flicked her tail a bit before opening her mouth to speak. "With Blazingpaws size I think Mothpaw and Willowpaw should try to take him on as a team. Afterwards they can go against each other." She glanced at the apprentices. "Is that fine with you Cedarflame and Theivingstar?" After saying that she felt like the was taking charge of the situation, something she didn't intend to do on purpose.
Cedarflame trudged through the forest. She was vaguely aware of Willowpaw by her side as they made their way towards the training ground they would be using today. The tabby warrior almost regretted agreeing to be a part of the larger training session and she had to remind herself why she had done it. Provided Willowpaw performed well this day, it would be a good chance to show off in front of Thievingstar herself.
She was so lost in thought she almost missed the questioning glance that the younger cat at her side gave her. So she wanted to run ahead huh? It would be a lie to say that Cedarflame didn't feel somewhat annoyed at the request. It was an apprentice's job to follow their mentor wherever the teacher might lead, but even she had to admit that there was a valid reason for wanting to pull forward. They were close to the meeting place and Willowpaw would be eager to meet up with her denmates.
With a nod, she communicated her permission to separate and watched as her apprentice ran to greet the cats closer to her own age. She would not change her own pace, however. Even if she was the last to arrive, she would arrive with dignity, her head held high instead of rushing in, flustered and apologizing. Once she had caught up, she sat herself near the other mentors, looking back and forth between Lilypad and Thievingstar. Her ears pricked at the other warrior's suggestion and she nodded. Though she wanted Willowpaw to have a chance to shine by herself, it was also important to show that she was able to work as part of a team. She could only hope that Mothpaw wouldn't drag her down. She didn't know much about the white apprentice. But she did feel a certain kind of protectiveness over her own apprentice's pride and, by extension, her own. "I think that's a good place to begin, Lilypad," she mewed amiably.
Though the two other mentors seemed in agreement with their apprentices on the battle plans, Thievingstar had other ideas. She greeted Cedarflame with a dip of her head and took a few steps towards the group.
"Mothpaw will fight Blazingpaw alone," the leader announced definitively, her front claws flexing where she stood. She would not be exchanging blows today, but she would experience the thrill of the combat vicariously through Blazingpaw, and her heart was already racing with anticipation. "It would make sense to team up against such a large opponent, I’ll give you that. But, Blazingpaw is…"
A mouse-dunged idiot? A hare-brained fool? Porcupine fodder? Oh, there were so many insults she wanted to hurl at her apprentice, but she restrained herself through gritted teeth, and borrowed words from their medicine cat instead: "Ratwhisker says he is still healing, so he is at a slight disadvantage. That doesn’t mean he will go easy on you, though."
She shot Blazingpaw a look as piercing as the quills that had left him in this sorry state. Perhaps if he gave this battle his all, despite the pain, she could be on speaking terms with him again. Looking away, her next words were not spoken to him directly, but they may as well have been for the prickle in her tone. "You will not always have the luxury of four able limbs or five sharp senses. The best warriors are those who still have the tenacity to overcome their shortcomings and fight on."
Straightening, the black she-cat continued, "Furthermore, as a warrior, you must learn to fight opponents of all sizes, big or small, and use their physical attributes to your advantage. I am curious to see how you all do. Remember, no matter how towering or tiny a cat may seem, you must never underestimate their strengths or your own. Cleverness is just as important as raw power."
Returning to her place on the side of the clearing, she nodded to the young toms in turn, then bowed her head to the calico molly as her little speech came to an end. "The winner will fight Willowpaw. You may begin when ready."
“Oh- Lilypad?”, The young tom mewed, the peaks of his cheeks morphing into a rosy fluster. “She uhmmm”, he mumbled, his voice trailing in an awkward stall; he turned to make weak eye-contact with her typically docile gaze meters behind.She's ...miffed.
“Ahhh I wanted to give her space, but I think I just landed myself in the kill-pile”, Mothpaw mumbled half-humored to Willowpaw whom immediately seemed to sense his low spirits. As if to echo Mothpaw's own thoughts, the satiny calico chimed in,
"I bet you if we team up against Blazingpaw, we might win, nothing personal”. The apprentice’s face fell flat as he flashed a phlegmatic gaze towards the she-cat whom rivaled Blazingpaw in size better than he, though Mothpaw figured this was mostly due to the nature of their pelts. “Thank you Willowpaw”, he mewed dryly only to quickly lift a quizzical brow at the she-cat, a playful smirk just barely cracked across his jowls. “Except actually”, the tom meant to continue only to be alarmed by the preemptive appearance of his night-pelted leader.
“do well to keep your blood moving” , He stopped in the motion of his conversation, whisked away by the dominating shadow of authority. As powerful and domineering as the encounter with the rogues, and the moon-lit collective of their gathering, her air was equally intrusive as it was pragmatic; Mothpaw aspired to reach that pinnacle of wisdom. At this moment, the thought occurred to Mothpaw that he had never trained with Thievingstar, and though he was eager to show his clan leader the progress he had earned over his few moons of training, in comparison to Willowpaw and Blazingpaw, his best efforts would only showcase apathy or... a complete lack of talent.
After a quick moment idly consumed, Mothpaw nodded obediently- as if a reflex for merely being in her immediate presence. Additionally, he had completely failed to notice that his paws never stopped kneading, but were only escalating with the cold fronts happening to squeak past the clearing’s edge. Mothpaw found this chill awfully convenient.
The young tom then felt a source of warmth navigate closer. Lilypad had finally approached his side and he could feel her body-heat expelling rapidly- he inferred from this that perhaps she had been jogging.. Rushing... most likely, on his account. Lately the two had been experiencing conflict, and though they had never said it outright, Mothpaw knew that his mentor was frustrated with him. Unfortunately, they were both avoidant in nature leading to, at least on his side, a turbulent bout of doubt and insecurity. Such as this morning, when the tom had attempted to find the she-cat only to see her exchanging words with a few of the Thistleclan warriors. Mothpaw had tried to grab her attention believing for a brief moment that they made eye contact, coming to a general consensus that they were departing. Not wanting to impose, he impulsively escorted himself outside camp, expecting her to follow. They were not vibe-ing, and this tension only compounded by the actions that followed.
Mothpaw felt the she-cat barely caress the side of his pelt with a spotted tail. He swallowed, interrupting his stagnant breath that had been held since the moment she approached. After a moments pause he decided to be brave. Swerving his honey-colored eyes, Mothpaw looked towards Lilypad. But, she was already engaging in conversation with Thievingstar and Cedarflame.
"With Blazingpaws size I think Mothpaw and Willowpaw should try to take him on as a team. Afterwards they can go against each other. Is that fine with you Cedarflame and Theivingstar?"
Thank starclan, Mothpaw retorted to himself, feeling the fear of just moments ago fade into abysmal relief. Suddenly, he was caught hanging by the scruff, his paws just dangling above that comforting, warm oasis. "Mothpaw will fight Blazingpaw alone,"
…. what. Immediately wandering eyes raised to the large figure before the white furred apprentice. Since Mothpaw's arrival, they had not exchanged even a single word. He hates me…
"Ratwhisker says he is still healing, so he is at a slight disadvantage. That doesn’t mean he will go easy on you, though."
Mothpaw aspired to be relieved by this news. No luck, as soon as he approached Blazingpaw head-on, Mothpaw's small inkling of gratitude quickly blinked from existence. Facing the tom, Mothpaw's own brow seemed to come to his chest at best. Though most likely equal in length, Mothpaw’s short pelt clung to wiry limbs and a drawn-out tail, typically only serving as a tripping hazard in battle. In a weak attempt to appear admirable, Mothpaw lifted his muzzle to face the likes of Blazingpaw before backing up to face him across the clearing.
Thievingstar is right. What kind of warrior will I be. But…here. now. Everything is all wrong.
“Alright”, he finally called as Mothpaw moseyed his last few steps. “I uhm… I trust you’ll want me to go easy on you since you’re hurt and all…but don’t count on it”, the tom taunted, a quiver mercilessly ebbing at his trailing voice- The wind. Let them think its' the wind. He would try his best, he couldn’t let all of his clan mates down. It was better it be here, now, during a trial run...right? Truthfully, Mothpaw had never fought anyone. Battle practice with Lilypad were hardly a one on one match. Mothpaw always knew that they had only ever met eachothers' pelts with kit-gloves. No, Mothpaw had never fought anyone before.
The calico tom lowered onto his haunches from his seat and observed his clan-mates with a silent, irritable ire. As the tall calico she-cat crossed the arena to make casual chit chat with the other, nervous white tom, Blazingpaw flicked his ears in their direction at the mention of his name. I bet if we team up against Blazingpaw, we might win! The calico tom snorted as Willowpaw shot him a hastened comment, flecked with a brazen smile, and the tom retorted with his own audacious sneer. He was too frustrated with his mentor, the black she-cat a mere frosted, blue stare as she entered the clearing, and the hatred he felt for himself to throw out his own taunt, vile and rude; so instead he redirected his focus on the two warrior she-cats who ruled over them, words harsh and cold.
Oh, how he wished for his warrior name, so he didn’t have to listen to them, or anyone, ever again. This was such a waste of time. He knew he could defeat both of them, even with his wounds, in a few calculated moves. The fact that he had to demonstrate it to some mouse-brained audience confirmed that his mentor wanted to further chastise him for his mistake. The tom flicked his narrowed stare in her direction as the bitter, black she-cat addressed him with a snarl: Cold kills. The tom flinched at her words, his brows furrowed in frustration. So? The calico wrestled to understand the intent behind her accusation, his claws burrowed into the earth, and then his focus crumbled as another warrior she-cat hurried to meet them, her breath shortened from her trek. Lilypad nodded to the other warriors and neared them from the trees.
Once settled, she hastened to make her own recommendation, a move the tom was sure his mentor would hate, and he cast his stare toward the black she-cat, interested in her rebuttal. The idea to battle them as one, instead of two, meant little to the calico as he slid his claws, like teeth, further into the frosted underbrush. His muscles flexed at the idea, charmed with the sudden task. It would be harder to take them both down, he considered, his teeth snarled beneath his maw, but his mentor shot it down faster than it had risen; his wounds labeled as the reason he would not be able to take them down at once. The calico threw his mentor another irritated look, frustrated with her lack of faith in him, and then clenched his teeth as he removed his stare and shattered their silent confrontation.
The air was thick with their vile hatred for one another, and the tom wished for time to hasten, so he could channel this fire, this hot ember that burned in his chest, into battle. To his distaste, His mentor continued and announced that his first combat would be with the nervous white tom, the one that looked like he would wilt beneath a sudden breeze, and his chest sunk. “So much for a challenge,” he muttered under his breath. He was sure then that the entire lesson was created to humiliate him, demonstrate his demons and ostracize him from the clan. Oh, his mentor was cruel. With one last cold look over his shoulder at Thievinstar, the tom sheathed his claws and readied himself for battle.
As the calico raised to his feet, his shook his massive coat to loosen his muscles, and then strode toward the head of the arena. Blazingpaw stared down the other tom with a small smirk. While he did not relish in an unfair skirmish, he would never turn down a chance to demonstrate his brute force and wit, even if the tussle lasted for mere seconds. As he considered his first move, the voice of his mentor cut his concentration with a bite. Did she ever shut up? With another vile look, he met her stare and held it until each word left her mouth like ice. “I know,” he snarled, the fur over his hackles now raised and needled. “You’ve already told me this a hundred times now.” His voice waxed bitter and horrid as he continued. “I’m not some cripple with a superiority complex, I know how to fight like a normal cat."
Then with a stare like fire, the tom redirected his ire toward the white tom, his meek taunts lost on Blazingpaw’s ears, drowned in his own ire, and launched himself, chaotic and unfettered, claws outstretched into Mothpaw’s chest. He hit the white tom with a loud crack and sent him back into the frozen earth. Mothpaw’s head hit the undergrowth with a thud as Blazingpaw scoured his unsheathed claws into his chest and snarled, his muzzles inches from the other tom’s face. “Your move, Mothkit.” The calico did not care that the move was unfair, he was too mad to care. All he wanted to do was shred his claws into someone's flesh, and the white tom, corned beneath his massive size, was his unfortunate victim.
Willowpaw was perfectly fine with not teaming up against Blazingpaw. He didn't really need that anyway, what with recent events. Plus... There was an invisible static line of electricity throttling itself back and forth between Thievingstar and Blazingpaw, sometimes in the form of glares - other times in passive aggressive remarks. Willowpaw was a bit stunned by their tension, but then again... Blazingpaw was so difficult almost all the time... Maybe Thievingstar didn't have the patience to deal with it, or maybe Blazingpaw had gone too far with one of his blazing remarks.
Thievingstar instructed the two toms to fight, and gave invaluable tips all along the way. Willowpaw found herself leaning more and more forward from her position to concentrate on the words of her leader. It was both special and nerve-wracking to be working in front of her leader. Even though she tried not to let it bother her, the more Thievingstar spoke and glared at Blazingpaw, the more anxious Willowpaw felt. Not just for herself, either.
Turning to where Cedarflame would settle in the clearing, Willowpaw bounded over and stood beside her. Her head was held a little high and proud at the prospect of being the one the two were fighting to face, and with a small smile wondered if that meant anything to either of them. Eh, probably not. They're so wrapped up in their own fight. I would be too.. I will be, soon. Willowpaw flexed her claws involuntarily at the thought, and remembered what Thievingstar said to Mothpaw about staying active in the cold to keep warm. It made a lot of sense.
Willowpaw walked in place every now and then, and made sure not to sit or crouch down. She kept her body relaxed, though, for she didn't want to expend too much energy. Her whiskers quivered with a mixture of excitement and nerves as she watched Blazingpaw frustratingly pounce at Mothpaw. His anger felt so unnecessarily tangible. It was a little scary how real it seemed this time, not just some snarky attitude. Though she did also admire it most of the time, she wondered what was troubling Blazingpaw so badly. Her brows furrowed.
"Come on, Mothpaw! You got this!" she called, tail lashing. Although, she wasn't trying to be a distraction so that was all she'd say unless something else would be worth saying during the rest of the fight. Even though she hoped Mothpaw would win, in truth it was Blazingpaw that she really wanted to fight.
"Nnngha", the air blurted from Mothpaw's jowls. His eyes widened so that the lids curled to stretch towards the arch of his brow. A minute trail of blood lurched from the tom in a single choke. Amidst this chaos, all the soaring apprentice could hear was the delightful chattering of finches. Their feet rustled the snow that shook of hovering pines in dainty splatters. Calls of alarm they sounded to one another, disturbed by their own misplaced steps.
He listened to the finches, as a sense of sadness enveloped the tom. It cradled him in his pathetic, projectile state. Chirp. Chirp, chirp. How sweet they sounded. Mothpaw lifted his gaze towards the gleaming sun. It's translucent beams of white compartmentalized his vision into technicolor slices. This sadness developed to pity as Mothpaw lethargically opened his eyes to watch a distant Blazingpaw chase after him. Chirp. Chirp, chirp. The finches conversed in jubilee quips. Below him, the calico-pelted opponent was gaining speed with powerful strides. Immediately, Mothpaw noticed a smug look plastered on Blazingpaw's face. He's impressed himself...rightfully so. That's what Mothpaw pitied- not himself, no, he was not quite the type to be self-victimizing. Mothpaw pitied the need for one to prove themselves by inflicting pain on others.
His whiskers bore so long that as the tom soared, they tickled behind his ears. Thump. The wind cracked from Mothpaw's chest as he landed on the ground with a harsh thud, the thin trail of blood painting a wayward sizzling line strait through the snow. Blazingpaw was already there, pinning the groggy apprentice with a heavy paw, claws unsheathed. Mothpaw turned to meet the gaze of Blazingpaw, fear beginning to cascade down his lean body. His pupils trembling in hay-thin slits as he attempted to swallow. Dry, his throat was dry.
Why don't I care..that I'm in the heat of battle. Everyone's watching me, and my minds is every other place but here. Where I'm supposed to be. Mothpaw questioned, a quizzical expression transmuting before the fierce gaze of Blazingpaw. How do I make myself care, to hurt my comrade, he pleaded, wincing with flattened ears beneath Blazingpaw's mitts.
"Your move, mothkit", he replied, much to Mothpaw's relief. Not even a hair lengths away, Mothpaw curled from the steamy breath of his opponent. He could smell the remnants of grey squirrel. I...caught that squirrel. For my clan mate...You are my clan mate. A lame attempt for a growl, Mothpaw bared a tiny row of white incisors attempting to rile something inside his fragile frame.
what do I care about.....right now..... to make me want to fight....a battle I'm never going to win.....,"Come on Mothpaw! You got this!"
Mothpaw's mind flickered to the start of their fight, his opponents belligerence towards his mentor...his leader. The two's exchanges were cring worthy to the tom, who could only sit in his own fear and silence, a simple distraction to the strikes of turbulence that rippled between them in large, bellowing waves. At the time, Mothpaw had been too preoccupied by his own fears for this very moment. Mothpaw's small growl spread into a sneer. That was right, how disrespectful this brute was...how self-involved...how.....
"You don't deserve Thievingstar as a mentor", he shouted. if I have to fight.
"It's about time you show our leader some respect", Mothpaw hissed, his pelt bristling as he began to combat the tom's belly with unsheathed claws. I have to just try and find something..to fight about.
With utmost force, he rabbit kicked in rapid strokes, soon finding himself tangled in the nest of Blazingpaw's thick undercoat. Only a single claw made through, to only which become more matted in the clumps of fur and blood weakly trickling from the fresh wound. STUPID, I should have known!, The white-furred tom exhaled a frustrated gasp, but it was too late. Realizing his mistake, Mothpaw maneuvered swiftly from Blazingpaw's grasp in a single roll, but leaving the claw behind. He winced, blood tearing from his toes and splashing the ground in steamy drops. Mothpaw pivoted to face Blazingpaw a tail-length away. His chest heaved in exhilarated bouts, jowl open and gasping for air.
"Ya'know.... Blazingpaw......, I think you might be projecting. You really do seem to have a superiority complex", he taunted between exasperated huffs. Yes, this was good for him. Immediately, Mothpaw braced himself for the next attack, his nine claws gripping the frigid earth. He flexed, ready to stand his ground. If I can stand up against Blazingpaw, then I can stand up against any warrior. And in the real world, I will have Blazingpaw on my side. At least..I hope.
Cripple. The insult rolled off her back as easily as water off an otter’s oily pelt. How many times had she been called lame, weak, disabled, useless? It was all white noise to her now, blending with the chirping of the finches in the trees above. She would not even dignify this slight with a response, further proving how little it bothered her, at least on the outside. Her steps did not falter as she paced back and forth, away from the group, observing the fight.
But superiority complex? Now that hit a nerve, and her indignation glowed like cold fire in her blue eyes. A retort was forming on her lips, but Mothpaw beat her to it and she smirked at his observation. Blazingpaw was projecting. And Mothpaw -- perhaps thanks to Willowpaw’s cheers, perhaps because of Blazingpaw’s brazen affront -- had finally found his inner fire, his fighting spirit. She had doubts about the white tom’s willpower when the fight began, but it was clear now that the tide had changed. Blazingpaw, however, had not changed -- he still carried the same arrogance that he’d had since he first earned his apprentice name, and she hated him for it. Had he learned nothing of her teachings? The cunning feints, the sly moves, the secretive tricks that ThistleClanners had built over generations of clever battles?
No, he was still fighting with raw, uncontrolled power, with brute strength and chaotic rage, and the thought laced through her like an untreated infection, making her sick with disgust and anger.
At the rate this was going, Thievingstar did not want her own apprentice to win.
The smaller apprentice had shown respect in defending his leader, and he would be rewarded in kind. If Blazingpaw would not take his advice, she would offer her encouragement to the white apprentice instead. As a stream of blood trailed from his torn claw -- not Blazingpaw’s, but blood that was his own -- the black she-cat called briskly, "Don’t let the pain distract you, Mothpaw!" She circled around, back to the group and, speaking to the other apprentices and mentors, she praised him further. "See, now that is a swift recovery. Lilypad has trained him well." There was a crisp certainty and clarity to her commendations, one that the two battling apprentices were sure to hear from the sidelines.
If Blazingpaw took this to heart as she suspected he would, it would only make him angrier -- and she was counting on it. The more infuriated he was, the more likely he was to throw caution to the wind, and this could give Mothpaw the advantage. If the calico could make a fool of himself in this fight, perhaps he would learn a more valuable lesson than teeth or talons could give: one of humility.
As the finches called to one another in the trees, Blazingpaw widened his maw into a bare-tooth snarl, his amber stare a wick orison for blood. Fight me! Saliva flew from his throat and showered Mothpaw like a warm and viscous rain as he flashed his teeth with a buck. Come on, fight me! Coward! His claws tore into the other tom, shook him from the earth, and flushed him back down with a wack. Do it! Fight me. The woodland around the massive calico roared, a thunderous rush that filled his head with a barbarous wrath.
He never once heard the birds.
Only a wild thrum as vicious as a forest fire reverberated his skull and lit the trees into a violent blur. Even as the meek tom shouted beneath him, the massive calico wrestled to unravel his words. Then it hit him, a low hiss that careened into the air like a blow: Show our leader some respect! His amber stare flashed. Shut up! With a caterwaul, the calico thrust the other tom further into the snow-covered terrain and raised his enormous mitt, claws unsheathed, when a sudden series of kicks thrashed into his stomach from below and stole the breath from his chest for a second.
He retracted his forearm back into the earth and steadied his feet beneath him as the other tom continued to kick him like a rabbit, the blows more like an itch than a serious hit. Bewildered, the calico tom simmered for a second, his hatred sidelined as the white tom rolled out from underneath him and wobbled onto his feet like a leaf in the wind. Save for a loose claw, fastened somewhere in his matted coat like a burr, Blazingpaw was unmarred. What was that? With a hesitant blink, the calico returned to an offensive crouch and slunk toward his white-coated comrade, his snarl bared into an irritated sneer, as his former ire returned with a lash.
The massive calico inched forward, his mouth wired to taunt, when the white tom beat him to the derision, his words like thorns in his flesh. Him? Projecting? A superiority complex? Blazingpaw narrowed his stare into violent slits, and then, with a hiss, smashed his unsheathed claws across Mothpaw’s face. A sheen of fresh blood trailed his mitt and drenched the alabaster snow like a red mist. “Say that again,” he snarled, his fur around his neck as bristled as the needled trees in the coniferous forest. “Come on, I dare you. Say it again.” The calico tom flexed his blood-strained claws into the ice and rolled his shoulders, his muscles contracted to strike and decimate the meek tom into mush.
He heaved forward when another voice, as cold as the water in the lake, cut into the air like a blade and deterred him mid-strike. The calico faltered on his feet and skidded to a halt inches from the other white tom. Mothpaw! Thievingstar enunciated his name with a fervor, as if each note carried a derisive scorn, one meant to humiliate and shame him in the same breath. His amber stare burned as he turned to face the black she-cat, his fur a disastrous bristle over his back, reds and whites and browns amiss. “What do you want from me!” he screeched, his voice shrill and unfettered beneath the wood.
Blazingpaw took a furious stride toward his mentor, his head bent toward the earth in both shame and frustration. "Do you want me to grovel? To beg? Oh, Thievingstar, I'm so sorry! I only tried to save your life! I'll never do it again! Please forgive me." The tom ended his sneer with a hiss and lashed his tail. With a snort, he moved to turn, snark beneath his breath, and muttered. "Starclan, you're such a bitch." Then like a sudden summer storm, clouds thunderous and loud, the white tom struck.
“You…fucking…honor….less….rogue”, Panted the apprentice. Sweat perfused from his rosy paws in seeping beads. Mothpaw glared at the shrieking Blazingpaw; His own vision was heavily distorted as water collected along his lower lid, a generous gift by the wind’s piercing blow. Just wait. Just give it time. “For star clan’s sake, you can’t even give me the time of day!”, Growled Mothpaw with an uncharacteristic sneer, finding himself settled into the crestfallen reality that his sparring partner not only viewed him as an unworthy opponent, but worthless enough to completely dissipate his defense. Mothpaw waited for the last of Blazingpaw’s quip, its’ sizzling lambast still snaking from the massive calicos jowls.
Mothpaw knew the pivotal moment to deliver a strike, as this accrued to his hunting success. The sensory oriented tom excelled in patience and in turn, this allowed him the opportunity to observe. Not think, feel, or judge…but, to observe. With this, the young solid-pelted tom had realized that the most opportune moment to hunt was in fact, when his prey were hunting for themselves. Whether it be a squirrel distracted by the pressures of leaf-bare, it’s scavenging frantic and off-alert, or a finch with its’ beak grasped around the ruby promises of snow-blooming fruit... Mothpaw knew. And, much to Mothpaw’s dismay of this very situation, he was not his opponents hunt. Mothpaw, was nothing, for Blazingpaw was hunting Thievingstar.
With claws fanned, Mothpaw sprung onto Blazingpaw. He did not shriek. There was not a single sound expelling from the tom other than the swift waft of his air-bound strike. Blazingpaw hobbled to an unexpected fall. A fall that an acute Blazingpaw would have easily foreseen and defended with little effort…but this was not the case. Mothpaw shoved the tom onto the virgin snow with a crunch; A large powdery huddle beneath an untouched pine- two cat lengths in size. The snow’s piercing crisps whispered in Mothpaw’s ears as they dove deeper into the icy powder. In this cavern they were isolated and submerged. Perhaps this would have even been a romantic exchange for another pair of duelers but...The shadows of the surrounding snow came to encompass them in a huddle, their blue shadowed hues reflecting onto the off-white cat’s pelt and around the isolated burrow. Beneath him, Mothpaw locked eyes with Blazingpaw, his claws latched in a desperate grasp around his muscular neck. With grandiose effort, he dug them in deeper between the masses of armored fur. Did it ever end? Or did the massive tom's pelt go on forever. A moments pause, and then the only subtle movement was the tremor of Mothpaw's pupils, sporadic and rapid; his tiny needle-thin slits vibrated against their honey-colored backdrop. One single spring onto Blazingpaw's paws, and the calico could hoister them both out of the self-created cavern onto fresh earth….Blazingpaw at the advantage.
Mothpaw's glare pierced harder into the eyes of his screamingly livid opponent, fear pulsating his heart into a tachycardia of frenzy. For a few more moments, unsure of its' true time, there was more silence. Was he waiting for his next move? Was the tom confused? Amused? What was happening.... With no thought (which was quite a rare occasion), Mothpaw acted. Mothpaw smacked his head just above Blazingpaw’s eyes. Bone met bone with a horrible clank, and a single trickle of blood burst from the angry vessel that had protruded on Blazingpaw’s forehead. Mothpaw was unsure whose blood to which it belonged. ...oh.....oh..no
The sudden blow careened the colossal calico into the hardened ice; and beneath their combined mass, the snow buckled and sent the two toms further into the earth. Encased in an alabaster cavern, Blazingpaw released a vicious snarl, his stare clouded with the dirtied snow and sweat. With a sneer, he showered the white tom with his saliva; a warm and viscous mist that frothed from his maws as he wrestled to loosen the other tom’s claws from his flesh. His needled talons scoured into Blazingpaw’s shoulders and neck, a mere fire that burned with each slice. “You spineless coward,” he snarled, his amber stare narrowed into vindictive slits. “Can’t even attack me like a real warrior.” Then without a word, the white tom headbutted him from above with a crack! as if meant to silence him. His world swam as his head throbbed from the immediate hit.
A sudden rush of blood, warm like shared coats beneath the moon, trailed from a broken vessel on the calico’s forehead. Blood, his own blood, dribbled down his nose and into his mouth, metallic and thick between his teeth. Red colored his vision as he stared into his opponent’s troubled honey-colored eyes. An emotion flickered there, one Blazingpaw wrestled to read, and then it hit him like a claw to the face. Panic. The realization settled over the calico, and then an ire unlike one he had never felt before swelled in his chest, his throat, his teeth with an relentless fire.
Fight me like a warrior! You coward!
With another low snarl from his throat. the tom used his entire force to shoulder the tom into the snowy encasement, watched as he slammed into the slush, which rained into the air like a shower of sleet, and then rolled onto him with a caterwaul. Blind hatred channeled, cursed in his veins, and clouded his head as both his malice for his mentor and this foolish kit channeled into one massive blow. With a thud, he raked his unsheathed claws over the tom’s head over and over and over until his meek, callow blood drenched the alabaster snow red like a listless rain.
Blazingpaw attacked the tom, drove his shoulders further into the snow, kicked and bit him, his mind a wild, unfettered force of sheer hate as he worked to silence the fear, the panic in the white tom’s widened stare. He would never learn! Another hit. Real warriors aren’t scared. Another bite. Fight me! Just fucking fight me! He slammed the toms head back down with a violent blow as his mind reeled, wrestled to vindicate his furious tirade. No moral conscious shadowed over the tom. No second reason to halt or slow or let the other cat retaliate. Red. Red like the blood on his nose, the snow, shrouded his world, colored the island in his sinister hate. Hate for them.
Hate for himself.
Then a sudden force barreled into the calico and drove him far from the battered and bloodied tom. He smashed into the hardened ice until it crackled beneath his mass. His head swam as his vision blurred -- tried to name the cat who stood above him now -- and then her dark coat, stare like ice careened into him like teeth. A shuddered exhale left his mouth and he breathedas their stares threatened one another: fire and ice, hot and cold, amber and blue. Two souls severed from the same cat. "You," he snarled as his mentor used her mass to ensnare him like a rabbit, cornered in the snow.
