Post by Phoenix on Aug 14, 2014 20:49:17 GMT -5
TRY AND DIG DOWN DEEPER IF YOU CAN
He had decided, in the end, that it was not Grayowl's actions that had caught him off guard; it was the fact that he had allowed himself to get caught. The slip up in his plan to finish off Willowfur once and for all was quite unlike the version of his father that he had begun to piece together. It meant that Grayowl had made a mistake. Based on speculation and observation, the apprentice's approximation of his rather enigmatic father was just that - an approximation - but he was very confident in his belief that his father did not make mistakes. He almost expected it to be a calculated plan, for his father seemed to enjoy his manipulations; after all, freedom from a clan also meant freedom from the moral laws and warrior code that restricted all of them. The idea was a curious one, and from the whispers that still traveled around camp like wildfire, it seemed he was the only one that had even considered that possibility.
Predictably, whenever the rest of the clan mentioned his exiled father, it was with lowered voices and furtive glances around them, as if they expected that by simply mentioning the name Grayowl, its owner would suddenly appear from the undergrowth. And then inevitably, they would cast what they thought was a subtle glance toward him or his sister. Sometimes, he ignored the look and let it roll off his back. Other times, he returned it, his pale blue gaze turning to pin them in turn until they turned away with shame. Yes, he was his father's son. No, he would not shy away from the fact or cower in the corner until the whole mess blew over and his father became nothing more than a memory.
If the whispers and the looks ever truly bothered him, he would consider today another very long day, he mused idly as he ducked his head and entered the apprentice's den. It was pathetic, what the rest of the clan cats considered subtle. Their tricks might work on each other, but on a cat who could actually see, who made a habit of observing and maintained a heightened awareness of his surrounds, they failed miserably. As he had taken to doing lately, he had ignored them as he walked by, going through the motions of a good, dutiful apprentice. He had trained, hunted, and patrolled, just as he had every other day. But for the actions of his clan mates and the absence of Grayowl lurking on the edge of his consciousness, he could almost fool himself into thinking nothing had ever changed.
Not that he was so foolish to think that that had been the last he would ever see of his father.
Gray paws carried him to the corner where he had chosen to make his nest those many moons ago. Taking up his post as he had every other evening, he settled himself down, facing the entrance. It was uncanny, how still he could become at a moment's notice, as if a living, breathing feline had been replaced by a statue. Silence reigned in the den, unbroken by the bustle of camp as warriors returned from their duties and the trees cast long shadows across the ground. Apprentices would be returning soon as well, he noted idly, and when that happened his pleasant solitude would once again be shattered.
Predictably, whenever the rest of the clan mentioned his exiled father, it was with lowered voices and furtive glances around them, as if they expected that by simply mentioning the name Grayowl, its owner would suddenly appear from the undergrowth. And then inevitably, they would cast what they thought was a subtle glance toward him or his sister. Sometimes, he ignored the look and let it roll off his back. Other times, he returned it, his pale blue gaze turning to pin them in turn until they turned away with shame. Yes, he was his father's son. No, he would not shy away from the fact or cower in the corner until the whole mess blew over and his father became nothing more than a memory.
If the whispers and the looks ever truly bothered him, he would consider today another very long day, he mused idly as he ducked his head and entered the apprentice's den. It was pathetic, what the rest of the clan cats considered subtle. Their tricks might work on each other, but on a cat who could actually see, who made a habit of observing and maintained a heightened awareness of his surrounds, they failed miserably. As he had taken to doing lately, he had ignored them as he walked by, going through the motions of a good, dutiful apprentice. He had trained, hunted, and patrolled, just as he had every other day. But for the actions of his clan mates and the absence of Grayowl lurking on the edge of his consciousness, he could almost fool himself into thinking nothing had ever changed.
Not that he was so foolish to think that that had been the last he would ever see of his father.
Gray paws carried him to the corner where he had chosen to make his nest those many moons ago. Taking up his post as he had every other evening, he settled himself down, facing the entrance. It was uncanny, how still he could become at a moment's notice, as if a living, breathing feline had been replaced by a statue. Silence reigned in the den, unbroken by the bustle of camp as warriors returned from their duties and the trees cast long shadows across the ground. Apprentices would be returning soon as well, he noted idly, and when that happened his pleasant solitude would once again be shattered.
Sootpaw | TreeClan | Apprentice | Welcome to the Masquerade - Thousand Foot Krutch
@nadia
@nadia
WELCOME TO THE MASQUERADE
