Needing good active tutor

A strapping gale flooded through the moors, causing the grass to sway violently in seemingly unorganized directions. The smell of the sweet flowers that grew on the rather large grassland was swept away in a gust of air. A faint black figure, dwarfed by the massive world around him was traveling the treacherous journey back to camp. This was a freak wind, it had picked up while the apprentice was hunting. Halting most if not all the hunting Deviapaw was going achieve today. This made the tortie want to not eat tonight, his imagination processed the memory of an elder. Sitting by her den, looking forward to tasty piece of freshkill, to find nothing was there.

That cannot happen! A dominant voice in his head declared. There it was, it was final. He wasn’t go eat a morsel of meat tonight, not even a tasty, delectable, freshly caught rabbit. Just the faint whiff of the meal made him drool. “You greedy kit,” he suddenly scolded to himself. It was leafbare and the clan needed all the nourishment they could acquire. The tom suddenly raced ahead, his paws leaving deep imprints in the long grass. Every time he stepped, for a tiny moment the grass stopped moving in the overpowered zephyr.

He licked his lips, again the faint odor of a dinner he was depriving himself of flooded his nose. Making the feline close his eyes and slowly opened his mouth, he was taking a calm and deep breath. A desperate effort to get the thought out of his head, a sudden prick of pain made the tomcat spring backwards. Unsheathing the claws that could kill in an instant, the very weapons that the clans used to talk. It was the law of the land, the way of life. Without claws there would be nothing, it was a wonderful gift to have. At the same time the apprentice wished there were no claws, they had given him many scars.

Something moving crawled around cat’s tongue causing Deviapaw to freak out, poking out his tongue, paws ran down it at the speed of light. A yellow and black figure cascaded into the ground, the terrible draft swept it along so he could only get a small glimpse. “Was that a bee?” He questioned to no one. A sudden fear tingled up his spine making the tom shiver. This was turning out to be a terrible day, not only was he refusing to eat vital nutrition his body was so reliant on. Training with his nonexistent mentor was going to be cancelled for a while. At best the Medicine Cat was going to order him to sit and rest. That was something he absolutely disliked, lazing around while starving souls hunted and pampered him more than a kittypet. A tiny tear formed in his eye as his brain dwelled on the words being useless.

This moment reminded him of his kithood, gazing in amazement as the patrols returned to camp with so much food. Wishing that one day the treats being carried would be caught by him. The nest he spent his nights in, so much room for the lone kit, and the eery shadows created from the infinitesimal amount of sunlight shining into the nursery. Bothering the warriors about pointless questions, trying to sneak into the Leader’s den to see what it was like. Tasting all the herbs while the medicine wasn’t looking.
Unfortunately most of those memories he did not have, he never had very much fun as a kit. He mainly sat there missing his mother and family, then faking a tough act like nothing had happened. Cleaning out his spot on the ground that the queens had allocated to him. Without a mother he did not get the luxury of a nest, just because he was found abandoned. Not a single memory of his mom, nor his dad. Only the pain of the blank spot and anger they left him after they literally left him to die. It made his blood boil knowing that other kits went through this.

He reached a small game trail, then he proceeded to follow it. It led really close to the camp, his brain wondered why the quarry they stalked was oblivious to the danger when they wandered right past the camp. The compact dirt felt rather harsh against his tracks, it was similar to walking on the thunderpath, the closely attached pebbles scraping against your paws was extremely annoying. Occasionally even painful to cat’s with sensitive skin. This brought on a strange quietness to the immediate area surrounding him, it was like being engulfed by a soundless world. Again it caused him to consider seemingly pointless things, calculating them through with the best of detail.

The awkward silence was broken by an another yowl from the hills bellow, the faint glimmer from the sun peaking through the rainclouds was accompanied by a tiny droplet falling on his muzzle. Picking up his pace, a vague outline of the gorge filled his eyes, no birds were chirping today. They were most likely all curled up in their nests snuggle and warm, similar to the rabbits and hares he commonly hunted would be doing. A loud ‘crack’ beneath his front left paw revealed to be a shattered twig, any prey with in a hundred foxlengths would have been spooked. He lowered his head, ashamed that he had failed the clan. The Windclanner started back towards the camp. Tail between his legs, ears flat, it was like he just lost the most major battle of his life. It brought to attention the idea that he was just giving up. That was far from the truth, he wasn’t one to give easily. Some would say he was rather stubborn, however he thought of himself to be persistent. Not to mention over wanting of things he did not need.

Completely disappointed in himself. He begged in his half cogitated state to Starclan that no cat would see him, for he would be utterly humiliated to show himself to his clan. Especially in this belittled time.