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Post by Insidious on Jan 24, 2016 23:50:11 GMT -5
When he fetched his apprentice, it was late at night.
The cold seeped through the thickest of coats, especially at this hour, but, trudging through the snow on unfeeling paws, he did not so much as shiver. The moonlight painted the sky a murky shade of silver, casting the trees, weighted by snowfall, into a foreboding personification of monstrous, otherworldly creatures. The clan leader ducked when necessary, but did not advise for his apprentice to do the same. He would need to learn how to see in the dark and how, when his eyes betrayed him, to sense; it was not something that he could teach, but it was something that he could sharpen.
Bonepaw had never been a particularly... motivated cat, and while Dimstar thought rather lowly of his apprentice's laziness, he did not correct it. Instead, he worked around it and, sometimes, purposefully worked within it, pushing the white tom beyond that which he would otherwise accomplish on his own. With every few strides he turned his head to account for Bonepaw's whereabouts, making sure that he did not fall behind, whether because he could not keep up or simply did not want to of little importance to his mentor.
There was hardly a doubt in Dimstar's mind that his apprentice would rather be curled up in his nest, but the life of a warrior would scarcely align with his preferences. It was cold, it was late, and both of them would need to be up early, but such was the way of a clan cat - of an efficient, competent clan cat, and his apprentice would be nothing short of that.
After the pair had traveled a fair distance from camp, Dimstar came to a sudden, unannounced stop, pivoting to face his apprentice with eyes as white as the blanket of snow. "Tell me -" he began coolly, stepping forward, "- how you can remain aware of something -" he brushed past Bonepaw and disappeared into the shrubbery behind him, "- that you cannot see." He kept his steps light as he moved through the snow, crouching, stalking; he watched through the thin veil of leaves and advanced to a spot that, while still hidden, lined up with his shoulder as opposed to his tail.
If he was not sure of the answer, then Dimstar would grant him a hint. When he charged, moving forward with the phantasmal speed of a panther, he pressed his paw onto a twig and snapped it. The sound, alone, would alert Bonepaw to which side he was coming from if, of course, he was quick enough to properly react to it. In the future, there would not always be a hint, or a sound, but this was called training for a reason. His tactics would be tricky, but not impossible. His lessons would be challenging, but doable. In mere seconds he would be upon him, a paw - while with claws safely sheathed - aimed for his shoulder blade with enough force behind the swing to leave a memorable bruise.
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Post by Fawn on Jan 26, 2016 16:53:00 GMT -5
B O N E P A W 9 Moons. Tom. NightClan. ⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
It upset him a little that he didn't have a broad enough vocabulary to call Dimstar anything other than 'toadfaced', when the NightClan leader himself had pulled him from his cozy, warm, comfortable, snug nest and into this mess of a leafbare.
Actually, not even toads went out this late at night and during this season, of all things. He felt the chill seeping up through his toes as if it were deliberately trying to freeze his blood in his veins. He vindictively thought of the nastiest turn of phrase he could imagine, and directed it towards the snow for being there, for the stars for shining too brightly, for the wind for blowing too hard, and to Dimstar who thought it would be just PEACHY to train at night in leafbare.
Maybe he hates me. Bonepaw almost snorted. At least this would make sense. A quiet little tendril of thought crept into the back of the young tom's mind, just then. What if Blackwolf had told Dimstar to be extra hard on him? He knew of his father's infamous training regiments, of his stalwart and brutal apprenticeship with Tigerscar—and he wanted no part of it.
Bonepaw wasn't a big supporter of violence. Not because 'violence is bad, we should solve our problems with words and not claws!' was a motto he personally ascribed to. He just didn't like getting his pelt stained. Why StarClan had given him a white one instead of black like 4/5ths of his family, he'd never understand. Following in the wake of NightClan's newest leader, instead of feeling honored to hold the coveted position of the leader's apprentice, his thoughts turned to mutiny, wondering if he could fake an injury to be sent back to bed early.
I could sleep in the medicine cat's den. I bet it's warm in there.
"Tell me -" he began coolly, stepping forward, "- how you can remain aware of something -" he brushed past Bonepaw and disappeared into the shrubbery behind him, "- that you cannot see."
"What." Mewed Bonepaw bluntly, his mismatched gaze searching through the surrounding shrubbery to pinpoint the charcoal gray tom. At first, he simply ignored the question, a natural thing for a tom of his caliber of laziness to do. If you ignored the question, the question would eventually be dropped. But this wasn't the day-to-day interactions with his Clanmates.
And the small part of Bonepaw that maybe wanted to answer the question began to rouse itself, waking up from a long dormancy in a never-ending winter of apathy.
I can't see anything with all this stupid frogging snow! Bonepaw hissed in frustration, and then, without really thinking about it, he closed his eyes. The shadows of the foliage and the sharp contrast of the snow made it hard to pinpoint Dimstar by sight, so he stopped trying. Bonepaw concentrated, following the snap of a twig that was not nearly as distant as he'd been expecting. He did that on purpose. The white tom's tail twitched irately at the tip, but he was at last focused on the task at hand. Slowly, unwillingly, he hunkered into a battle stance, a move he had copied from his father. With a cold twitch of the nose, Bonepaw waited, his head slowly turning in the direction he suspected Dimstar to be.
Bonepaw almost gritted his teeth. He'd better not have to go home bruised. So then don't let him hit you. Needled the voice in the back of Bonepaw's mind. With more begrudging reluctance, he accepted this one, simple directive. When Dimstar attacked —and he would, eventually, attack him—Bonepaw would do his absolute best to avoid it.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 610 Words Tags: Insidious
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Post by Insidious on Jan 31, 2016 12:35:41 GMT -5
He was the harsh bite of the wind. They moved in unison, two lethal combatants tangled into a fierce competitor, and while, like a true hunter, his eyes strayed to the jugular, the NightClan leader did not waver from his original plan and aimed a swipe of his paw for the young tom's shoulder. If he met his target, it would not be too difficult to overpower his apprentice with a few aggressive knocks of his body, but this fight was not about immediate victory. He intended to make this into a challenge. He intended to prolong the fight, to slip in and out of the advantage, so that Bonepaw could experience the upper-hand alongside crushing defeat.
That single syllable - what - had not gone unnoticed, and it was a perfected depiction of his apprentice's lack of motivation. The tom did not want to be out here in the cold. He did not use his words to communicate that simple truth as much as he used the hunker of his shoulders, and the cold slit of his different coloured eyes. Any protest on his part would have been futile and, it seemed, it had not taken much time under Dimstar's tutelage to reach that understanding. His lackadaisical disregard for the job description of a warrior was almost baffling, but the stoic tom - covering ground hastily - did not dwell upon thoughts that poised an ascension of confusion or frustration. Bonepaw was problematic, and that was precisely why Dimstar had accepted the privilege of mentoring him with ease of the mind before it was even him who appointed the pairings.
Had he been leader before Bonepaw was assigned to him, the apprentice's fate would have found its way into the same set of capable paws.
Just as he moved with the wind, he was as quietly foreboding as the wind. He did not announce his predatory prowl with a battle cry but, perhaps, because it was not needed, for Bonepaw had deducted his whereabouts from sound as opposed to sight. That was what Dimstar had wanted from him, and that he consented without complaint - aloud, at least - was a step in the proper direction. Now it was up to him to take this seriously for, if he failed to do that, his body would suffer on behalf of his incompetency.
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Post by Fawn on Feb 6, 2016 22:01:31 GMT -5
B O N E P A W 9 Moons. Tom. NightClan. ⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
It was at times like these that he actually envied that layabout, Hazeheart. The tortoiseshell warrior could just fall asleep and all of his obligations would vanish like a snowball in greenleaf, and no one would expect anything more of him than to just lie there like he was dead to the world. What did he have to do to get that kind of condition?
SOME cats are just born lucky, apparently. Without thought, Bonepaw's face contorted into a fierce grimace, channeling all of his unspent energy into glowering at nothing and no one in particular, lamenting his unlucky lot in life. The faint rush of the winter wind, strengthening, directed his attention elsewhere, and some sixth sense, some inheritance from Blackwolf that snarled at him to move his lazy tail finally reached him.
Bonepaw sprang away, feeling somewhat offended as Dimstar's paws clipped his shoulder. You'll pay for that! His eyes opened, white brush tail sweeping with irritation; a sudden surge of dislike for his mentor bubbled over the surface. They had been training for even less time than it took to make dirt, but Bonepaw was already hating this session. He didn't like working in the cold. He didn't like working.
Now he had a choice to make. Did he throw himself into this training session, determined to get it over with quickly? No way. He'd just make me do it all over again later, and even harder than this. Yuck. If Bonepaw could refuse a thousand times over without having to pause for breath, he would.
So what was the other choice?
Bonepaw looked down at his paws, watching how the pristine whiteness of his fur made him practically invisible against the shapeless expanse of snow that covered NightClan's territory. The unwilling apprentice stared, the gears and cogs of his mind, like a well-oiled machine, began to turn. He can't train me if he can't find me.
Stealth was part of being a warrior, wasn't it?
Bonepaw, keeping both eyes peeled for his mentor, wherever he'd gone off to, slowly began to creep out of this section of the forest, edging his way over to where the snow was high—high enough to hide in. With perhaps more energy than he'd ever cared to show, Bonepaw sprang into a run, bounding through the snow like an ermine, svelte and poised for action. Mentally cursing to the stars and back, Bonepaw dug into the snow, tunneling until he'd considered himself 'suitably hidden', turned to face the entrance to his own little burrow, and closed his eyes. This idea was stupid. Said a voice in his head. Getting bruises is worse. Said another.
While most cats had a metaphorical 'angel' and 'demon' on their right and left shoulders, Bonepaw had a 'lazy cat' and a 'slightly less lazy cat' on his. They were currently in a halfhearted debate of whether hiding in snow was even worth it. Bonepaw shut them out, holding his breath, trying to listen for approaching pawsteps.
He would count to twenty toads and then leave, if Dimstar couldn't find him.
Surely his mentor couldn't be upset that he'd outsmarted him.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 553 Words Tags: Insidious
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Post by Insidious on Feb 8, 2016 12:05:33 GMT -5
His paw swiped across the young tom's shoulder, but no satisfaction, no thrill, coursed through his body. There was nothing beyond a mechanical shift inside of him that pushed him towards continuing his own success. Despite the little voice that told him to turn around quickly, and to minimize his opponent's time to react, he did not move. A stillness overcame him, no movement beyond that of a slow, steady swish of his tail, and the slight twitch of his ears to better prepare himself for his apprentice's counter attack.
An attack that never came.
He thought he detected the patter of paws on top of the snow, but the sound carried its owner farther away, not closer, and that was reason for suspicion of an entirely different kind. Dimstar finally turned, then, but had lost the predatory set of his shoulders, the dangerous line of a jaw that was open and ready to close, and replaced it with the quiet expectation that his apprentice had a plan for him that was worth waiting for - and he did wait, but not for long.
There was a skeptical rise in the snow, and while the better part of him did not believe it possible, he could not hold his apprentice to a standard that he was capable of reaching when he quite simply did not go out of his way to reach it. On silent paws, he approached, and as he neared, Bonepaw's features became scarcely visible to him. He could make out his eyelids, his nose, and the set of his mouth, and that was when he knew that his apprentice had taken the easy way out. Or so he thought.
With phantasmal speed the leader's paw crushed the snow directly in front of the tom's face and, had he moved so much as a mouselength further into Bonepaw's clever little burrow, it could have come down right between his ears or, perhaps, even on his neck. "Your neck would be broken if I wished it." He had no sympathy for those in his clan who did not work to be there; from the way he spoke, shallowly, absent of devotion, it was plausible that wishing it was entirely a possibility. "Should you choose to again think so lowly of me that I will not find you hiding in the snow, I will show you an outcome to your cowardice far more realistic than this." He destroyed the burrow with a puncture of his paw, and then backed away, inviting him to stand and recompose himself with a curt lift of his head.
On the plus side, disappointment did not reach Dimstar's eyes, but that hardly meant that Bonepaw had not just lost his favour. On a real battlefield, if he pulled such a stunt he would be lucky to be alive, and luckier still to not become the laughing stock of the clans. He would not be able to weasel his way out of training and, more importantly, he would not be able to take away from the lesson by being scolded in the place of taught. Dimstar would be swift in the delivery of correction, and would be just as swift to get back on track. Bonepaw would either learn how to ignore his laziness, or how to rid of it entirely - for it was a rather inconvenient trait - and there was no third option.
"Attack me."
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Post by Fawn on Feb 15, 2016 21:33:30 GMT -5
B O N E P A W 9 Moons. Tom. NightClan. ⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
No sooner had he begun to mentally pat himself on the back when a paw thrust through the roof of his borrow, a mere mouselength from his nose. Startled, Bonepaw's ears flattened with embarrassment and aggression both—how dare he talk to me that way! What kind of a mentor threatened to kill his own apprentice?
Looking to Dimstar with a mixture of bruised ego and deep dislike, the white tom slowly retracted himself from the snowbank, shaking off the now useless clumps of snow from his pelt. Who the Dark Forest does he think he is?
The leader of NightClan, reminded a solemn voice in the back of Bonepaw's mind. His dual-colored eyes narrowed with contempt, the sore spots on his pride slow to subside. Had Dimstar been any other cat, literally any other cat save his father, he would have mouthed off freely and without worry for much consequence.
"Should you choose to again think so lowly of me that I will not find you hiding in the snow, I will show you an outcome to your cowardice far more realistic than this."
"I'm telling Ghostlight that you threatened me." Bonepaw mewed stiffly, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. He must be kidding. He wouldn't murder a Clanmate. What kind of a toad-brain would do that? Despite the certainty of his own inner voice, Bonepaw still felt fear settle somewhere in his chest.
Leaving his own 'threat' in the air, the apprentice adopted a battle stance. Despite a preference for extreme sloth, Bonepaw's form was good. Better than good. It was not for lack of talent that the white tom did not throw himself into his training. Apprehension kept his mouth shut, and his eyes forward. When the order to attack came, just as Bonepaw suspected it would, he zeroed in on the charcoal-hued pelt of his mentor. What's the point, Bonepaw sulked. You'll never defeat him and he'll just bat you around like a mossball. This train of thought nearly stopped him in his tracks, but Bonepaw promptly shut out that sulky, spoiled voice.
Truth be told, Bonepaw didn't think there was a point to this exercise—was it to teach him humility? What a harebrained waste of time!—but he would still do it. As he glanced briefly to the clear white eyes of Dimstar, staring into the cold void and seeing no kindness there, Bonepaw steeled himself to strike.
In a lunging-side-step he had seen his father perform, Bonepaw kept his claws tucked as he aimed a deliberate blow to the tall tom's flank before leaping back to avoid a retaliatory strike.
Tense, Bonepaw's heart thundered like pawsteps on flat terrain, and he watched Dimstar with a mixture of anxiety and displeasure.
He obeyed for the same reason he obeyed Blackwolf. What would happen if he didn't was too unpleasant a mystery for Bonepaw to want to solve.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 514 Words Tags: Insidious
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Post by Insidious on Feb 19, 2016 14:42:58 GMT -5
If Dimstar had not flicked an ear, there would have been no indication that he had even heard his apprentice's bold attempt at a threat. A mother's wrath was seldom negotiable, but he thought highly enough of the she-cat who tamed Blackwolf's heart to think she would understand his teaching methods. Bonepaw required a no-nonsense mentor who would be equal parts firm and strict, lest he retract into his laziness never to be seen again. The trait itself was an inconvenience, but he was confident that something could be done about it in time. That his words had gotten him out of his little burrow in the first place was a step, and the young tom's battle stance was another.
The NightClan leader readied himself for an incoming attack. The young tom lunged with an impressively executed side-stepping maneuver, and even though the tall tom curled his body away from the blow, Bonepaw's strike landed just above where it was aimed for, and Dimstar tipped his head in a brief show of approval. The apprentice made to create distance between them, but his mentor did not allow it. Bonepaw sprung backward, and Dimstar sprung forward, swiping at his lower legs. He intended to test his reflexes, and to see how he would react to being pursued.
If he tried to hide again or, even worse, ran away, there would be a high price to pay. At his age, he probably thought differently, but there were far worse things than a bruised ego, or a dislike for the activity, and Dimstar - alongside the tom's father, surely, for he did not seem like the type to condone his son's cowardice - would reveal that to him with force if necessary.
Ravenstar's reign was over, and her successor was hardly one to take it easy on the weak-minded or bodied.
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Post by Fawn on Feb 23, 2016 22:00:59 GMT -5
B O N E P A W 9 Moons. Tom. NightClan. ⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
It was obvious in the quick intake of air into the white tom's lungs that he hadn't anticipated being aggressively pursued, and some choice profanity hovered on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spring into the open air as the Clan leader's paws aimed for his legs. Fox dung, he's fast!
It became obvious to Bonepaw that moving forward was easier than moving backward. To lunge back was a necessary move—a survival reaction, more instinct than thought—but cats didn't fight battles with instinct. They fought battles with... wits. It was about outsmarting your opponent, or at least making it harder for brute strength to dominate the fight.
It was easier to move forward. Standing still is even easier, he grunted belligerently, gathered his strength in his hind legs and tried to leap over Dimstar's head. The tom was tall, and having his belly so close to his mentor's teeth was the furthest thing from ideal it might as well've been in another valley but he didn't trust his own footwork otherwise. He couldn't lunge back so quickly like that.
Praying that his paws would connect with the earth and not his mentor's back (something told him that landing on Dimstar was more mistake than artful maneuver), Bonepaw tried to make that single leap count. He could worry about counter-attacking after he was safely on the other side of the gray tom.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 268 Words Tags: Insidious Notes: Shorter post to keep the thread moving! =)
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