* listen, honey, you're no fun ( SUN )

This is an archived version of FeralFront. While you can surf through all the content that was ever created on FeralFront, no new content can be created.
If you'd like some free FeralFront memorabilia to look back on fondly, see this thread from Dynamo (if this message is still here, we still have memorabilia): https://feralfront.com/thread/2669184-free-feralfront-memorabilia/.

    It was another unseasonably warm winter's day, and Foxpaw was bored, as per usual. He was bored most of the time. What he really wanted to do was to check up on those twolegs. The thought of all of the action he could be missing made his head itch. Instead, he had to learn how to kill a rodent with some middleaged warrior. Foxpaw rolled his eyes.


    He had been told to meet Silverstorm just outside of camp, so with a flick of his tail he pulled himself out from underneath the hedge to sit between two beech trees. Their massive trunks were slick with melting snow, and Foxpaw was not a fan. He glanced at the gray slush dripping across his paw and sighed gustily, making up his mind to sit somewhere dry.


    Daintily perching atop one of the trees' roots, Foxpaw let his gaze roam over the skyline. Where was his mentor?

    With a steady, medium-paced step, the silver tabby made his way back towards the camp. He had just finished a small hunting patrol and he had a large rabbit grasped in his jaws, swinging from sides to sides as he walked. He loved them; rabbits, hares. So... Windclan-like. Such a symbol. Bringing one to the camp always made him proud.


    That's when he remembered - he had been assigned an apprentice. Pesky little things - he never liked them. Even if everyone said he himself looked more like one than a warrior. Maybe that was part the reason, as well. But what he didn't like was their attitude; childishness, lack of appreciation of the amazing Clan they were in. The best Clan, that's for sure. Whoever he had - was it Foxpaw? - to mentor, he'd make sure they'd know well. If it had to be done the hard way, so be it.


    Finally approaching the camp entrance, the tom noticed him; indeed, his own apprentice sat just outside, on a tree root. The tom frowned, what, was the apprentice too scared of snow? Stopping outside the entrance, the tom dumped his catch onto the ground and sharply turned to face his new apprentice. "You. Foxpaw? Go put this in the fresh-kill pile in the camp and then come back out here. Hurry it up," he mewed harshly.


    Yes, Silverstorm could be a tom that was hard to handle. Usually, he'd be pretty nice, but this was an exception. He won't let his apprentice be like the others. This was his current goal - whether he'd accomplish it or not, well... it wasn't exactly up to him. After all, training was a mutual thing.

    A few more minutes had passed, and Foxpaw was growing impatient. He was not one to appreciate nature: he could care less about the warm golden sunlight streaming down on his back or about the warbling birdsong he was surrounded by. A few cats slipped in and out of the clan entrance, some of them nodding hello or ignoring him altogether. Foxpaw didn't mind. In a way, he preferred the ones who had ignored him-- at least they were being honest.


    Brisk pawsteps caught his attention and Foxpaw half-turned his head to investigate the approaching cats out of the corner of his eyes. In his peripheral vision he saw a sleek pale gray tom marching towards the entrance. This had to be him. He was vaguely silver, for one, which would correlate with the whole Silverstorm thing, plus... plus Foxpaw felt like he recognized him from the ceremony.


    Either way, he turned his head stiffly to the other side as Silverstorm came closer, and then jumped as if caught by unawares. "U-uhm, okay," he stammered, summoning the most wide-eyed look he could to his face. Starclan, he thought to himself. This dude clearly has anger management problems. Or family problems? What kinda big guy takes out his anger on a cat as young as me? I'm gonna have to play it meek.


    Darting a terrified look after Silverstorm's retreating back, he hefted the rabbit up into his jaws and then dragged it to the freshkill pile before scurrying after Silverstorm, making his gait awkward and jittery as if he was nervous. Ha. Nervous. As if.

    Silverstorm nodded curtly and watched the apprentice disappear into the camp, not fazed. Obedient. One good thing. But if he was too much a wimp, he'd have to go even harder. Windclan was no place for wimpy cats. At least he had some hope of their training. Now, how to start it off? Dive into the hard bits? Play it slow? The apprentice didn't put much of an impression, and judged by his wide-eyed look before he complied to Silverstorm's order, he wouldn't handle diving into anything. Playing it slow was too boring for him, though.


    When the tom came back, the tabby simply turned around and began padding onwards. Maybe some stamina training - otherwise, he'd never learn to fight. Yes, that sounded like a good start. The warrior glanced back to make sure Foxpaw was there, but seeing his shaky walk, his pupils enlarged in slight annoyance. "Calm yourself, apprentice. You're behaving like a weakling," he scolded, turning his gaze back forward. They were now out in the open Windclan grounds, surrounded by the tall grass and fields.


    The tom stopped walking. "And prepare yourself, we're starting with some stamina build-up. How's your current stamina, anyway?" he gave Foxpaw a mildly curious look.

    Foxpaw gritted his teeth, aware that his mentor couldn't see him, and increased his pace to a gangly skip-jog. He was careful to make plenty of panting sounds and yelps to show Silverstorm how at unease he was, whereas in reality, Foxpaw could care less. "I'm s-sorry," he blurted out apologetically, adding internally, oh great master.


    Silverstorm didn't seem to like Foxpaw as of yet, but Foxpaw was certain that it would only be a matter of time. Either that, or Silverstorm was just the type that didn't like people. Foxpaw had come across a few. Gruff, surly individuals incapable of forming emotional attachments. Foxpaw felt a curious connection to them.


    He noticed with an interested flick of his ears that they were headed towards the twoleg lands. Maybe they'd even get close enough for Foxpaw to observe the humans. Then again, that would somehow ruin the sanctity of his twoleg ritual, and suddenly Foxpaw knew with certainty that the last thing he wanted to do was run across any twolegs with his mentor.


    Lost in thought, he was caught by unawares -- genuinely this time-- and he stepped backwards mock-involuntarily as his mentor turned suddenly, stepping on a branch and pretending to wince in consternation and pain. "Uhm, not great?" he ventured with a self-deprecating smile. "I don't get to leave camp much, as an apprentice and all." Lies. It was true that Foxpaw didn't exactly train himself, but he was in fairly good shape from daily exercise.


    He blinked owlishly at Silverstorm, examining the tom's face. He looked like he was trying to be kind. The expression of benevolence settled quite naturally over Silverstorm's muzzle, suggesting that he was not always as gruff as he had behaved initially.

    Brilliant. Easy stuff it is, after all. Just when he hoped he'd get to do some proper training right off the bat, something exciting and useful all the same. But no. He had to start slow. Just his luck.


    Silverstorm sighed in annoyance, but then nodded. "Fine, let's do this then. We'll run from here all the way to the Thunderpath. Ready? Let's go," the tom broke into a sudden sprint, in the direction of Shadowclan and the Thunderpath, not looking back at the apprentice.


    For a few moments he simply ran on, but then realized that if Foxpaw's stamina really wasn't that amazing, then he might have difficulty keeping up for a longer distance. He slowed down to a half of his pace, glancing back over his shoulder to see if the tom was anywhere in sight.

    Foxpaw worked on looking appropriately cowed by Silverstorm's disgruntled expression. I'm going for the "please don't hurt me" look, he told himself with an internal grin.


    He opened his mouth to say something plaintive when he suddenly processed what his mentor had just told him. It was only his moons of practice that prevented Foxpaw's expression changing to one of horror. We can't go there! That's too close to my twolegs!


    It sounds strange, but Foxpaw's strange habit of visiting a certain twoleg nest was, to him, sacrosanct. It was the only thing he was really, truly invested in. It was his little secret. Even thinking about it gave him a warm glow in the pit of his stomach. But now his private ritual was being threatened by this great oaf. Foxpaw scrambled to think of an excuse: he'd had some trauma on the Thunderpath, he couldn't stand the smell, but he couldn't seem to open his jaws. He was still paralyzed with horror at the concept of Silverstorm corrupting Foxpaw's precious secret.


    Gnawing ferociously on his lip, he dashed off after Silverstorm, yowling, "I don't know if I can make it all the way there. It's really, really far. And my legs are short!" His feeble tone hid the true desperation that Foxpaw was feeling warm in his chest. For once, he had no smart-aleck commentary running in his head: just a burning desire to protect his twolegs.