the death of me || tagged Dec 16, 2019 19:45:24 GMT -6
Post by wish on Dec 16, 2019 19:45:24 GMT -6
The cold air bit into Yewthorn’s skin, his dense fur somehow too thin to withstand the recent frosty weather. He involuntarily released a shiver as he shouldered further into the woodland. Behind the brown tom, his mischievous and immature apprentice trailed in a rare moment of silence. Maybe the cold froze her mouth shut, the tom mused as blast of winter wind soared over his head. The tom hesitated, a paw poised over the icy tundra, and then he continued onward with an incomprehensible mutter. While he would rather brave a snowstorm than a heatwave, the brown tom decided then and there that it was far too cold for a battle lesson today.
Yewthorn was sure his limbs were chilled to the bone, too cold and stiff to demonstrate moves for the tabby she-cat. His stare darted over his shoulder, and he released another mutter. Never mind. The moons would not wait. Rain or shine he had to train the she-cat, and the lesson on their docket was offensive moves. With an inward moan, the tom returned his stare forward and led the she-cat northbound. Near the falls there was a small, treeless area where the terrain was low and smooth. His idiotic apprentice could tumble about and fall flat on her face all she wanted without a single trip to the medicine cat’s den.
With their luck, however, she would stumble head over tail and contract a concussion, or worse a broken back. Shaking his head, the brown tom trekked onward until the trees thinned and falls thundered in the distance. When they reached their destination, he slowed the silver she-cat, his tail delicately over her throat, and meowed. “So, we’ve covered defensive moves.” His low voice carried far out into the icy woodland. “Which, remind me,” he continued. “What are the most effective moves in a defensive attack?” Yewthorn maneuvered forward and settled into a sit over the snow. He circled his tail across his feet, fixing Sleetpaw a steady stare. The tom raised his brows in anticipation of her answer.
While she had demonstrated some progress over the last few moons, the tabby she-cat still had her issues. For one, she was easily distracted. Yewthorn had once watched the she-cat trail four different birds in one hunt; her attention so little that when she finally settled on one, she missed it due to a noisy mistake. Secondly, she was reckless, which was painfully evident in battle. Their lesson on defensive moves concerned him so much that Yewthorn feared she would either die immediately in her first skirmish, or somehow start a war with the entire island due to her careless behavior. Either death or war, she needed consistent attention from the tom, and as the season waned, his frustrations with the adolescent she-cat waxed.
wc 465 | rain