Things had been rough as of late and although life was going to improve with the passage of time, he could not help but think that the seconds that he was willing on were drifting by far too slowly. Of course, there was no doubt that he would complain at some point that change had occurred too quickly once something was to actually happen but for the time being, Rose felt that he was allowed to complain about the state that his present reality seemed to be in for now. He had to do better, not for himself but instead for the sake of the Sanctuary. What good could he do to make those around him feel safe and happy when he wasn't even about to help? Perhaps he was putting far too much pressure upon his own shoulders but that was the price to pay for one who was determined to prove himself to the world. Determined to prove that he was better than some good for nothing kid that just fucked around all of the time because the only outcome that he personally could see from living a life like that was an early grave.
It was that resolve that had lead him out of the comfort of where he had been comfortably sleeping in camp to the meadow that particular morning. Light drizzle descended down upon the lands though he could barely feel it as he pulled his cape tighter around him with a safety pin that he had borrowed from one of the other sanctuarian's that he had also found awake in the early morning grey before setting out. He had only really noticed that there was rain once he had stepped up and out of the gaia to actually see the mist like blanket of water but it barely even works to bother him, let alone deter him from getting out and doing something productive. Of course, that means that his head is still rather exposed to the elements and he finds that he must squint slightly to see where he is walking at times when the rain briefly grows heavier before settling down into fine drops once more or when the wind decides to pick up and stop him from walking for a few moments. It is on one of those frequent occasions as the wind buffers him that he happens to catch his leg on something and is sent tumbling.
"Fuck!" All air in his lungs is pushed forcefully out as his back collides rather hard with the ground, head following quick with a rebounded hit against the damp earth. There's no other option than for him to lay there on the wet ground for a few seconds of stunned silence, the rustle of tall grass and distant chirp of birdsong against the drone of sprinkling rain working as effective background noise to the sound of his shaky breaths. For a warrior in training, he's still not got his reflexes down as well as he would have liked them to be, that being reflected through his inability to response quick enough to whatever was going on around him. He's not in danger, at least he would like to believe so since nothing is at his throat tearing out his vocal chords yet, but if the circumstances were different? Who knows what would have happened to him. Although he liked to think that he would not go down without a fight, there was always the chance that he could not respond swiftly enough and it was those few moments in which he had been shocked that could contribute to whether he were to live or die in the future. He really needed to get himself together.
Presently, that was not what mattered. Pulling himself up into a seated position, grimacing at the way that thick clumps of mud cling to his cloak, staining the green fabric in a disgusting brown, he almost forgets to look up at what had caused him to fall in an oh so graceful manner onto the ground. It is when he shifts the focus of his cornflower blue gaze from his own body to what was before him that he actually acknowledges the cause of his drop and is forced back into a surprised state. "Whoa." Barely even breathing, the feline reaches out a paw, touching the cold metal before instinctively withdrawing it at the chill that snapped at him. Uncertain about the origins of the object, he feels as if it is safe to say that he believes it to be a sword, sticking out of the mud in a manner that is both fitting of the glory that it carries as well as sorrowful at the way that it has clearly been mistreated. Never having seen such a thing in real life, he finds it difficult to actually confirm his suspicions though he's read enough fairy tales (or, it would be more accurate to say that he had seen enough picture books of common fairy tales since he was to some degree illiterate) to have a general idea about what it looked like. Such an object of personal myth, here before him. Something that young warrior has wanted for a long time is now here, set out before him as if it were meant for him. Yet, all he can do is stare, pressing a paw against the cool blade once more in disbelief, to make sure that it was still there.