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Post by Insidious on Jul 29, 2016 23:55:37 GMT -5
It was impossible for a cat to trudge through the muddy pools gracefully, but Dimstar somehow managed. He gave off the impression that he was regal even with mud dripping down the sides of his legs every time he took a step. It was slimy, and at times a hindrance, but he did his best to maintain an even pace, and he expected the same effort from his apprentice despite everything he knew to be true about him. Every once in a while he tossed a cautionary glance over his shoulder to make sure Bonepaw was keeping up, but it was just as much to make sure he wasn’t trying to sneak away when Dimstar wasn’t looking. It was time for Bonepaw to outgrow his laziness, but the NightClan leader had a startlingly abundant amount of patience.
A low-pitched ribbit caught Dimstar’s attention, and he paused, motioning for Bonepaw to do the same with his tail. This was an ideal hunting ground for reptiles and amphibians; it was an uncommon source of prey for cats of the other clans, but in NightClan they were something of a delicacy. It was difficult to pinpoint the frog’s location, its shiny, splotched skin melding into the mud, but all it took was another ribbit for the clan leader’s pale eyes to lock onto it. He instinctively lowered himself to the ground, but this wasn’t going to be his hunt. Glancing behind him, he demanded his apprentice to move ahead with a curt tip of his head. He was nearing his warrior ceremony—there was only a couple of things Dimstar wanted to address before he received a name—so he refrained from guiding him through the steps of hunting like he was still on his sixth moon.
Date: greenleaf nineteen Tag: Fawn |
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Post by Fawn on Jul 31, 2016 20:58:15 GMT -5
 15 Moons. Tom. NightClan.
⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
Frog hunting. Was he serious? Dimstar's no-nonsense order that they were to go hunting in the marshes today was nearly met with a scoff, Bonepaw suppressing it at the last second to save himself a cuffing. Or an icy stare. Likely both.
When he was sure the eerie gray Clan leader wasn't looking, Bonepaw threw a mutinous glance at his mentor's back. Frog hunting. He was taking a white cat frog hunting. What a foxheart. Bonepaw looked down at his paws as they walked, watching with building resentment and disgust as the muck and swamp ooze began to coat his normally pristine paws. It was going to take the entire night to clean them off.
Unless he found a fresh water source to use. The others would likely snap at him if he dared use the ambush pond just to clean his feet—considering cats drank out of that. Puddles were not frequent enough to drink from in NightClan territory, and if they were, they were usually stagnant, scummy and covered in tadpoles. Disgusting.
Ribbit.
It was a miracle that he glanced up right then, otherwise he would've missed Dimstar's cue to go ahead and hunt down that stupid frog. I hate you. He repeated this mantra a few more times, wanting to scream as he felt the long undercoat of his belly brush faintly against the mucky, filthy ground.
He was going to murder that frog, because he couldn't murder a cat with nine lives. That was just way too much work for a cat like Bonepaw.
Bonepaw's bicolored eyes narrowed, haunches wriggling. His hunting crouch wasn't perfect, as he struggled with his vanity over his desire to perform well so he wouldn't have to do it again, but it got the job done. Bonepaw launched himself at the well-camouflaged frog, and smacked it with more force than necessary, hissing for catharsis.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 335 Words
Tags: Insidious
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Post by Insidious on Jul 31, 2016 22:43:39 GMT -5
Dimstar watched Bonepaw’s hunt so closely he appeared mesmerized, but in his mind, it was like the white tom-cat was a list with four paws being graded on its performance. Anyone who called it mesmerized was in dire need of a re-evaluation, because by the time the frog was dead—or perhaps paralyzed—the clan leader could do nothing but shake his head at the sloppiness. His apprentice had hissed when his paw collided with the frog’s body, likely to make a point to his mentor that he was angry and unamused, but the point didn’t reach him as was to be expected; the sound of bared teeth was unnecessary, especially during a hunting lesson that had resulted in no escaped prey.
“Prey is killed only to be eaten.” Dimstar said monotonously as he padded closer to his apprentice’s kill, finding it shameful that he needed to repeat that portion of the warrior code to a cat on the brink of its warrior ceremony. “You struck your prey like the hunt was for sport, and I will not condone that kind of wastefulness. If you cannot respect the lives of the animals in this forest that save us from starvation, then you will go without a meal tonight.” He gently closed his jaws around the frog, moving ahead to find somewhere clean to bury it until they were ready to retrieve it. “Again. Do it properly this time.”
He didn’t so much as toss a glance over his shoulder as he commanded Bonepaw to repeat the entire process. They could’ve been finished a lot sooner if he had only taken this lesson more seriously. He didn’t think of himself as a cruel cat by any means, but he always meant what he said, and he was fairly certain Bonepaw wouldn’t need to look him in the eyes to understand he could very easily and very quickly end up without something to eat before bed.
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Post by Fawn on Aug 2, 2016 15:07:07 GMT -5
15 Moons. Tom. NightClan.
⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
That was it. He'd had it with Dimstar and his ridiculous teaching methods and stupid expectations! Bonepaw, his bicolored eyes narrowed into furious slits, glowered at the Clan leader with so much condensed loathing, he trembled from the effort. "Why? Why does it matter how I kill a frog? It still feeds the Clan whether I'm bashing its froggy brains out or not!" What did he expect him to do, say 'sorry little frog, I need to kill you now to feed my Clan, no hard feelings'?
Ridiculous. Frigging ridiculous!
Bonepaw's tail lashed, his front right paw twitching as if to swipe back the frog he'd caught, but Dimstar had already taken it from him and given him another order. So furious he could spit, Bonepaw glanced murderously around the marshlands, just daring another frog to ribbit at him wrong.
He was muddy. He was mad. And he had reached the end of his rope. Getting into a big argument with Dimstar would cost him more than just dinner—the gray warrior might never let him get his warrior name—but bowing to the older cat's orders and corrections was gnawing at his bones like termites.
"Why do you care, anyway? Just because its in the code? Hunting for sport and hunting for food is the same thing." It was impossible for the white long-haired tom to grasp Dimstar's strict adherence to the code; Dimstar always seemed... rational, and 'giving thanks to StarClan' after every catch, that wasn't rational, that was just an annoying waste of time.
Of course, StarClan had given Dimstar nine lives. Maybe that deserved a certain amount of reverence for their ancestors; Bonepaw would probably build StarClan a shrine if they'd given him eight extra lives. It wouldn't make him any braver or less lazy or less interested in himself, but he appreciated the gift. Dying was hard work. If he could get the process over with and come back to life afterward, that'd be great.
Bonepaw adopted another hunting crouch, his claws sheathing and unsheathing as he struggled with his temper, one ear cocked towards Dimstar to actually catch the tom's words. He was, he would admit, a little curious about Dimstar's answer.
The rest of him, however, was privately and malevolently wishing Dimstar would get sucked into a sinkhole the next time he went for a walk.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 410 Words
Tags: Insidious
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Post by Insidious on Aug 5, 2016 11:47:12 GMT -5
He waited out the length of his apprentice's wrathful rant in deafening silence. He didn't turn to look him dead in his bi-coloured eyes and, frankly, he didn't even flinch because Bonepaw's anger - as was all anger - did nothing but waste time and make a cat appear weak-minded and poorly composed. There was undoubtedly a better way to get his point across, but Dimstar had learned to expect these kinds of deficiencies from Blackwolf's son. Slowly, and only after he had buried the young tom's disgraceful catch, he turned to face him. His white eyes were as empty and cold as always.
"Hunting for food and hunting for sport are not the same thing. One feeds us, and one robs us of a valuable source." He was taking mental notes, as he always did, about how many times he needed to repeat this to Bonepaw before it sunk into his thick, irrational skull. "My expectations are what they are precisely because of the code. I do not always agree with it - for we need to do what's best for our clan, not the rest - but it says we hunt to feed the clan, and that we are to be mindful of the lives we take for that cause. If that is what it says, that is what you will do, no further questions asked." Dimstar didn't lift his eyes to the sky and give thanks every time he hunted, so Bonepaw didn't need to do that, either; but he needed to be aware of what his claws were doing. He didn't want to see his clan-mates feasting on a mangled, broken corpse with hardly any meat left on its bones. NightClan had a foul, cruel, and untrustworthy image; he intended to see to it that his peers were feared, but revered nonetheless as respectable warriors where it counted. The small rules were easy to follow. It was the big rules that had to be bent, but only when it was absolutely necessary.
"I am the leader of NightClan whether you wish me to be or not, and until that changes, these will be the expectations placed upon each of my clan's warriors. If these expectations are too senseless for you, or too difficult for you to grasp, then you are not being forced to stay." Dimstar wouldn't bat an eye if his mate, or one of his kits, decided in their lifespan that NightClan no longer suited their needs, so it would be easy enough for Bonepaw to figure out how little his own departure would effect the stone-faced leader. He would be disappointed, but only in terms of a useful set of paws no longer being of the proper service to his clan. "If you want to be a warrior then you will disregard your pride in your pristine paws, and your self-interest towards a good night's rest, for the sake of your clan. If you can't do that, then I will personally escort you off of NightClan territory, because a warrior who can only think for his or herself is not a warrior I intend to have."
He walked away from Bonepaw, but not because he was upset or annoyed. There were frogs to be hunted, and he aimed to continue his lesson with or without the white-furred apprentice. If he wanted to continue to work at being a warrior of NightClan, then he was welcome to join Dimstar, but he would no longer force him if it wasn't something that interested him. There were other apprentices that would be honoured to learn from a clan leader, and they deserved the chance.
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Post by Fawn on Aug 6, 2016 19:42:48 GMT -5
15 Moons. Tom. NightClan.
⇒I'm bad behavior but I do it in the best way⇐
Only threat of banishment helped him rein his temper in; Clan life was hard, but a loner's life, of having to fend for yourself and constantly looking over your shoulder for potential threats—that was even harder. Bonepaw gnashed his teeth. He was willing to suffer now, just for another half-moon, to avoid unending suffering later should he accidentally get himself banished.
Fine. I'll hunt your stupid way then. Sour-faced and making sure it showed, Bonepaw didn't bother to disguise the glare he threw at Dimstar like a spray of mud, and went back to focusing on the frog hunting. Maybe Blackwolf can overthrow him and become Clan leader. Bonepaw knew that was as far-fetched an idea as frogs sprouting butterfly wings, but it helped him plod through the mud, picturing Dimstar's likely brutal murder as the Clan all realized they had a fox-hearted stone-faced jerk for a Clan leader.
Bonepaw traipsed through a mud puddle, making a noise of distaste as his right front limb sank up halfway to his shoulder into the sucking ooze. Disgusting! At least if he was a loner, he wouldn't have to live in NightClan territory anymore! Suppressing the maddened hiss of a tom who hated being so filthy, and knew he would be tasting swamp muck on his tongue for days after this fun little outing with his favorite cat ever, Bonepaw raised his chin in defiance and plodded after Dimstar.
You can't catch frogs by being the noisiest thing in the forest! He could hear his irritating sister's voice in his head, nagging him when they'd gone out hunting together earlier (never again), but he had to admit she was right. Taking in deep, calming breaths, he started to count back from one-hundred, and by the time he reached the 50s, he could make sense of his surroundings again. He could zero in on the frog-peeping from the smaller ones; the louder they were, the closer they were.
Bonepaw's gaze narrowed, half to shield his eyes from any splashing, foul-smelling liquid or mud, and half to narrow his field of concentration, scanning the environment for something worth killing. Bonepaw would sooner be crow-food than admit that the mud was helping him hunt (his pelt was not much of an advantage otherwise), and he slowly, as if struck with a bad case of arthritis in every joint, moved into the shade, his quarry a medium-sized frog croaking on a half-rotten log nearby.
I'm gonna rip your head off, little frog. Just you wait.
No, no he wasn't. Dimstar would probably lecture him all the way to the border, then kicked him out. But it made him feel better to threaten dinner.
⇒I'll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams⇐
Word Count: 468 Words
Tags: Insidious
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