Post by Shad on Nov 12, 2015 18:08:02 GMT
The grey and white splashed tom was sitting by the fresh kill pile. It was just after sunset. Almost time. Green-Orange eyes checked the sky. Yes, just about time. He straightened slightly, giving his fur a few self conscious licks. Frightpaw did not like the camp. There were too many cats here. Half of which he could not even talk to without looking like a complete lunatic and a good portion of that half were none-too-happy he could see them. The skittish apprentice's least favorite spot of all was the fresh kill pile, where every cat came to get their prey. Every Mystical brush and glare made the tom whimper unhappily, but for right now, for these few brief moments, he would endure it.
He endured it because every day, at about this time, if he sat just here and waited just long enough he would get to see-
"Food!"
"Star Clan, I'm hungry enough to eat a whole fox!"
"Not if I ate it first!"
"Race ya!"
"You're on!"
Two brown tabby forms tumbled out of the Nursery and behind them...
Would she come today? She did not always. Sometimes it was Swanstrike that accompanied the twins on their morning meal, leading a whole group of kits in tow. Frightpaw would tried to evacuate as quick as he could but he was not always successful. The tom's shoulders already tingled from where he just knew those two would jump on him, as they always did. He did not see her. He could abort right this second and- A soft brown head slipped out of the Nursery. Frightpaw's breath caught.
He was suddenly having a very hard time remembering how the complex process of breathing worked as he watched the long, gentle shecat pad over the ground as easy and softly as falling leaves. Her coat was slightly mussed from sleep, the dark stripes turned to swirls in her nest. Her tail curled out behind her, low but content as a cat could be. Her eyes though... the eyes were the most amazing. A wonderful, pale green. If the moon chose to be any color other than white, Frightpaw was sure that was the color it would choose, light and delicate and beautiful. Yes, that was what described this shecat most eloquently: Beautiful. Although, Frightpaw could think of many more. Stunning. Majestic. Pretty. Or even 'Purdy' as Specklefoot would likely say.
And that was when two somethings slammed into the tom's shoulders, knocking him face first into the ground with a startled yelp. As they always did. Star Clan, did those two never get tired of that game?
"Hey Quailkit. Hey Quiverkit," the tom mewed through a face full of dirt.
"Hey Frightpaw," the two mewed brightly, all smiles and grins as they climbed over him. "What prey do we get today?" Their voices ringing in unison was downright creepy sometimes, but Frightpaw was used to it. He actually was coming to think it strange when the twins did not agree on something.
"A blackbird," he told them, regaining his paws and letting the two kits slide harmlessly down his spine to the ground. Yes, today it was a blackbird, with soft and delicate feathers as cool and regal as- "You two want to be apprentices, don't you?"
Two very serious nods met his question.
Frightpaw put the bird in front of them. "An apprentice knows how to used every piece of prey he catches." The tom plucked a dark plume and put the feather in front of the two. Both toms reached out to bat at it curiously, before looking back to him, clearly waiting for more of an explanation. After all, it was just a feather. "These feathers are what line all good Apprentice's nests," Frightpaw explained. "Now, I caught this one, but if you two pluck it and make sure to prey is nice and clean before you eat it, I will let you have all the feathers to line your own nest, just like real apprentices."
"QUICK! QUICK!"
"YOU GET THAT SIDE!" / "YOU GET THAT SIDE!" The toms set into the birds like a pair of feather-plucking demons.
Frightpaw took a step back for his own safety as the feathers started to fly. He almost felt bad for the bird, even though it was dead.
Something caught the tom's attention, making him turn. This was not odd of course. He was at the fresh kill pile after all. Every cat came here to eat. It was usually crowded with all sorts of cats (and kits). He looked to see who had nudged him, or who he might have nudged by mistake. He hoped it was actually a living cat this time.
He endured it because every day, at about this time, if he sat just here and waited just long enough he would get to see-
"Food!"
"Star Clan, I'm hungry enough to eat a whole fox!"
"Not if I ate it first!"
"Race ya!"
"You're on!"
Two brown tabby forms tumbled out of the Nursery and behind them...
Would she come today? She did not always. Sometimes it was Swanstrike that accompanied the twins on their morning meal, leading a whole group of kits in tow. Frightpaw would tried to evacuate as quick as he could but he was not always successful. The tom's shoulders already tingled from where he just knew those two would jump on him, as they always did. He did not see her. He could abort right this second and- A soft brown head slipped out of the Nursery. Frightpaw's breath caught.
He was suddenly having a very hard time remembering how the complex process of breathing worked as he watched the long, gentle shecat pad over the ground as easy and softly as falling leaves. Her coat was slightly mussed from sleep, the dark stripes turned to swirls in her nest. Her tail curled out behind her, low but content as a cat could be. Her eyes though... the eyes were the most amazing. A wonderful, pale green. If the moon chose to be any color other than white, Frightpaw was sure that was the color it would choose, light and delicate and beautiful. Yes, that was what described this shecat most eloquently: Beautiful. Although, Frightpaw could think of many more. Stunning. Majestic. Pretty. Or even 'Purdy' as Specklefoot would likely say.
And that was when two somethings slammed into the tom's shoulders, knocking him face first into the ground with a startled yelp. As they always did. Star Clan, did those two never get tired of that game?
"Hey Quailkit. Hey Quiverkit," the tom mewed through a face full of dirt.
"Hey Frightpaw," the two mewed brightly, all smiles and grins as they climbed over him. "What prey do we get today?" Their voices ringing in unison was downright creepy sometimes, but Frightpaw was used to it. He actually was coming to think it strange when the twins did not agree on something.
"A blackbird," he told them, regaining his paws and letting the two kits slide harmlessly down his spine to the ground. Yes, today it was a blackbird, with soft and delicate feathers as cool and regal as- "You two want to be apprentices, don't you?"
Two very serious nods met his question.
Frightpaw put the bird in front of them. "An apprentice knows how to used every piece of prey he catches." The tom plucked a dark plume and put the feather in front of the two. Both toms reached out to bat at it curiously, before looking back to him, clearly waiting for more of an explanation. After all, it was just a feather. "These feathers are what line all good Apprentice's nests," Frightpaw explained. "Now, I caught this one, but if you two pluck it and make sure to prey is nice and clean before you eat it, I will let you have all the feathers to line your own nest, just like real apprentices."
"QUICK! QUICK!"
"YOU GET THAT SIDE!" / "YOU GET THAT SIDE!" The toms set into the birds like a pair of feather-plucking demons.
Frightpaw took a step back for his own safety as the feathers started to fly. He almost felt bad for the bird, even though it was dead.
Something caught the tom's attention, making him turn. This was not odd of course. He was at the fresh kill pile after all. Every cat came here to eat. It was usually crowded with all sorts of cats (and kits). He looked to see who had nudged him, or who he might have nudged by mistake. He hoped it was actually a living cat this time.