[Insidious]

Grayowl

Nights were growing colder under the influence of snow. Rapid winds peeled through canopies, and carried with it was the tinges of an unbearable chill. It was too late for most to be functioning. Plenty, if not all, had likely retired to their dens at this point of the moon’s rising to be collected by slumber. It was precisely the right time for him to return. The shadows were disgraced by the momentum of their own monster, lethal yellow penetrating any and all who would dare to interfere with his path. The tantalizing aroma of blood clinged to his jaw, and to the creature hanging limp by its tail with fur ripped and torn to leave in its placement the specifications of one that had perhaps endured far more agony than was necessity. A suitable meal, nonetheless, and so his sights sought out the den with a darkened silhouette under moonlight’s reign, home to the apprentices of his clan.

It would come as no surprise to see the warrior emerge, only to depart with his prized daughter set firmly at his flank. It seemed as though Mockingpaw was always in his company, the clear favourite, and the one that would surely come to benefit from his teachings with time. She was so promising, so confident, and in the makings of becoming menacing. She did not require any extra assistance, because regardless of whether or not she had it, Grayowl was certain of what she would become: a monster. It was fate, was it not? This family was full of demons, and since she was so clearly willing to oblige to her purpose for being brought into this world, she was not currently the one that he needed.

The graceful warrior stepped over sleeping apprentices, even his daughter, until he reached the form of his son. For a moment, he simply watched him, as though he needed to ensure he was familiarizing with the correct feline. It wasn’t exactly fatherly of one to forget their own son, though it was equally as unusual of him to be a father, and such was somehow enough to make it appropriate. A sharp claw prodded the neck of his son, gesturing for his following before he pivoted, stepping around the forms of the other apprentices until he had successfully reached the exit. It was unclear precisely what the warrior wanted with his son at this hour of rest, though it was painfully clear that he had no intention of enlightening him. Once outside, the mouse specimen that lay deceased in his jaw was dropped to the ground, a meticulous paw shoving it in the direction of where sooner than later he was expectant of his son to appear. “Hungry?”

OOC: Phoenix !

[Phoenix]

Sootpaw

- - -

Much he like the way he regarded nearly everything around him, the dark gray apprentice viewed sleep in a utilitarian manner. It was needed to renew one’s energy and restore him to a fully alert state, nothing more, nothing less. Never had he found himself longing for it as he knew some of his den mates did, though that hardly came as a surprise, for he had never longed for anything. Sleep simply was. It was equivalent in necessity to breathing, and he could not stop sleeping no more than he could stop breathing. There was no point in trying to change what was fact, so he merely accepted it with the same indifference that he did everything else. Perhaps this apathy was the reason why he never had any dreams.

Something sharp jabbed him in the back of his neck, and his eyes snapped open as his body stilled. He paid no mind to his racing heart and the linger pain from what must have been a claw, instead choosing to lift his head slightly and cast a cursory glance around the den. It did not take long for pale blue eyes to notice the feline silhouetted against the moonlight streaming in from the entrance, and in a moment, he had identified the warrior. Moments later, he had risen to his own paws and picked his way through his den mates, his expression impassive, though he could not help but idly wonder what had caused his father to call on him so late at night. As always, he could not pick out any of the older tom’s thoughts, Grayowl as enigmatic to his own son as he was to the rest of his clan. Unlike his sister, he was his father’s son in no more than blood. But it hardly mattered to him.

A chilling blue gaze fell upon the rodent’s carcass, studying it for a moment, almost curiously, before rising to meet the piercing yellow of his father. He was sure that there were those far hungrier than himself – he did not make a habit of sacrificing his own strength for the sake of others’ and so had no qualms about taking a piece of prey for himself from the diminished fresh-kill pile – but it would hardly be beneficial to turn down another meal so freely offered to him. ”Yes, Father. Thank you.” Remaining acutely aware of Grayowl’s presence, he nonetheless bent his head and after a few mouthfuls, the scrawny mouse was little more than bones and tatters of flesh. Pushing the remains aside with a paw, the apprentice turned his full attention back to the warrior, the unspoken question rising to the surface of his pale eyes. Why have you woken me?

- - -

[Insidious]

Grayowl & Crimsonpaw

Food replenished hunger, though it also served a purpose in igniting one’s formerly lost strength. He watched, silent and still, as his offer was accepted and Sootpaw began to enjoy the meal that had been so politely extended toward him, the flecks of a grin present at the corner of his dark gray jaw. He attempted to ignore how little he could read into his son’s absent expression, searching diligently for any trace of genuine interest upon the surface of the tomcat’s expression. It was rather disturbing of one so young to seemingly have no heart, no motivation, no emotion or sentiment. Perhaps he had inherited his coldness from none other than Grayowl himself, though even if so, the trait had certainly been blown out of proportion. Even he sometimes revealed what his sculpted features would otherwise disguise: be it anger, or lust for death and decay. But Sootpaw was different, if not unusual in the workings of his unreadable mind. He possessed no care for the reason that he was given life, no true desire to follow in the footsteps of his sister. He had become a machine, and that was too swell, though he functioned so gracefully for all of the wrong reasons.

Rising to stand on elegant paws, the warrior spun a tight circle, the tip of his tail flicking, acting as a signal to motion for his following. “How is your training going with Sixtoes, Sootpaw? I assume he is teaching you of the most beneficial assets, yes?” His tongue was equipped with a quiet hiss, forcing the name from his mouth, no genuine care for the tomcat existing upon the forefront of his sour expression. He recalled his journey into the mountains with Sixtoes and a few others that he couldn’t bother himself to remember. Out of all of them, it was no secret that he had faced the highest amount of difficulty in bending to the authority of someone elected by Lionstar. He had been unable to respect Sixtoes in a position of leadership, for he had been pathetically undeserving when in his wake was one of far greater capability. He had made peace with the patrol that they had faced, and though that had been their strict order, it would have been more fun to return venomous words of their own and begin to spill the blood of their enemies, or he supposed, the ones they had now aided in returning to the valley. He would never be able to understand Lionstar’s way of thinking, or how it was he could possibly face his clan with finalized decisions, only to change his mind and do something completely different. He had denied StoneClan their assistance when they had needed it most, and he should have stood by that. All he had done was involve his clan in a dramatic situation that they had no former purpose being in. No longer interested in allowing his thoughts to concern themselves with those he despised, he cast a mildly interested gaze upon his son, curious of his response for the sake of intellectual preparedness for what was to come as opposed to any true longing for such insight in particular. He wanted to know of his battle training above all else, for it was of the most relevance at this point in time.

In the trees, a panther-like creature stalked nimbly upon the branches. His legs folded beneath him into a finely poised sit, spotted tail hanging lifelessly from its ledge. Lately, he had been more confident in himself than ever before. It was time for him to become a warrior, and the day would certainly be upon him any day now so long as Lionstar did not delay out of distrust. His eyes glowed like emeralds against the background of black, analyzing the ground beneath him in search of a gray form and his robotic companion that would surely be upon him in due time. Crimsonpaw had been given extremely detailed orders from his mastermind of a self-elected mentor, and with every intention to impress, he did not descend until the second that Grayowl and Sootpaw were seen and had arrived at a timely stop in front of the tree that currently sheltered him. It was like a spider that was accustomed to dangling from fragile strings, working its way down from its web to arrive slyly upon the ground. The red-and-black-spotted tomcat was performing such eloquent maneuvers precisely as so, and he continued to carefully pick his way down from the rugged bark until he could leap to the terrain waiting to greet him below and not feel pain surge through his limbs upon impact. Delicate steps graced the grass below, implanting himself at the warrior’s side and meeting the glassy blue of Sootpaw’s uninterested gaze with liveliness and hunger reflected in his own. To the fellow apprentice, a curt nod was offered before he glanced up to Grayowl with eyes and ears expectant of his orders.

“I take it that you know your den-mate, Crimsonpaw.”

[Phoenix]

Sootpaw

- - -

Following the unspoken command, Sootpaw rose to his paws in a manner eerily similar to that of his father and filled the position left empty in the notable absence of his sister, who slept unawares in the den he had recently vacated himself. At the mention of his mentor, the dark gray apprentice flicked an ear, the only indication that he had heard the inquiry as he considered the past few moons he had spent under the tutelage of the amber-eyed feline. The other tom had quickly shown himself to be everything that TreeClan promoted: companionable, wise, devoted – and ultimately, far too sentimental and emotional to have the ruthlessness required to acquire any kind of real strength and power. Given the reputation and nature of the clan into which they had both been born, however, the apprentice knew that Sixtoes was hardly an anomaly. Rather, it was he, who did not fit into the mold of the ideal TreeClan feline. But he could not bring himself to care; in fact, it was almost a blessing. He was not burdened with the emotional weight of obligation spawned merely from the moral grounds upon which the rest of his clan seemed so keen to stand.

”It hardly comes as a surprise to note that my training has been everything that can be expected,” Sootpaw responded neutrally, pale blue rotating upward to watch a piercing yellow. ”’Beneficial’ is a relative term, Father.” Indeed, there had been a lack of emphasis on the offensive area of battle training. Of course, it would hardly have been prudent for an apprentice to not know how to defend against opponents larger and more experienced than him, but it had not escaped his notice that his mentor had seemed rather reluctant to breach the other half of battle training. Perhaps it was because of his parentage and the paranoia that seemed to shadow his father as closely as his sister. Or perhaps, by nature, Sixtoes was a rather reluctant fighter and hoped to instill the same hesitation in his apprentice. In any case, one might consider it beneficial to know how to defend himself and ensure that he remain well-fed by his own ability; if those were the assets required to have the lessons be defined as ‘beneficial’, then the black warrior had certainly met his mark. ”However, I expect that your definition of the word differs from that of my mentor.”

They continued in relative silence, and he drew to a halt as his father stopped at the base of a tree, stepping away from his position by the older tom’s side. After a brief glance at Grayowl, pale blue eyes scanned their surroundings for some hint of the warrior’s intentions. It came, a moment later, in the form a familiar red and black feline, who seemed to have materialized out of the boughs of the tree above them to stand beside the older tom. Sootpaw’s attention was drawn back to the newcomer, and he returned the nod with a brief inclination of his own head as he began to piece the puzzle together. Of course, it would have been too simple to assume that his father had roused him merely to inquire about his training. The move was too obvious, and Grayowl undoubtedly intended to put the imparted information to use in some way or another. Perhaps the warrior intended to provide him with additional lessons, ones of a nature he had yet to truly encounter. Actions frowned upon by the rest of the clan certainly called for the sunset, as the darkness spread and cloaked everything in its path – including the skeletons lurking in the recesses of the mind.

Even he knew the warrior well enough to understand that Grayowl hardly did anything without a purpose in mind. Pale blue eyes fell upon the spotted apprentice in front of him, coolly assessing his den mate. ”I do,” He confirmed evenly, smoothly. It was not recognizing that his father had ulterior motives that posed a challenge; it was figuring out what they were.

- - -

[Insidious]

Grayowl & Crimsonpaw

There was yearning in the tomcat’s eyes to experience the feel of Sootpaw’s grayed fur shredding within the grasp of his lethal claws, to see something otherwise foreign inscribed beneath his vacant armour through methods of his own doing. He could predict the results that were to come from this exchange, because merely throwing a sideways glance into the eerie pools of gold that were centered upon the warrior’s features supplied him with a surge of familiarity. He recognized the undertones of sadism that gleamed in the glassy reflection of Grayowl’s hollow gaze, and to any other it would surely be sickening that such a gaze could be fixated upon his own blood, but Crimsonpaw expected nothing less from the warrior, and in some equally sickening way he had began to feel joy course through his cold veins at the mere idea of what could possibly be churning beneath his blank expressions and twisted sneers. The warrior in question dipped his head in approval of Sootpaw’s recognition, sparing the young apprentice and his analytical mind a few moments to attempt and fiddle with the puzzle at hand. He was an intelligent creature, no less the devil’s spawn than Mockingpaw, for his quiet calculations and distant voice depicted a corresponding noxiousness to the former. Although he was not as driven, in a sense, to accede the purpose behind his existence, that did not lessen the usefulness that he held within his father’s eyes. There was hope buried deep within his core, hope that his father clung to, and he would continue to bend and twist what of it exposed itself to the manipulative lashing of his tongue until there was nothing left and he was, furthermore, left for dead.

Crimsonpaw understood that there was to be no death at his paws tonight, but his orders did not exceed that. The spotted tomcat took such vaguely spoken of details into consideration while he had time to ponder prior to the duo’s arrival, and in the addressed time period he had concluded that general harm would not be frowned upon. His muscles flexed beneath a smooth layer of red and black fur, green eyes alight with anticipation. He was nothing more than Grayowl’s submissive puppet, notably deadly in that he would willingly plunge himself into battle at the warrior’s beckon and call. The pair held between them a relationship of utmost oddity: while care and genuine concern was revealed in Crimsonpaw’s eyes for the best interest of Grayowl, the latter had no such similarities when to glance upon the former. His puppet’s strings were tightly woven, so tight that he would die for the sake of his puppeteer, but he would never bother himself to do the same.

Grayowl’s muzzle lightly motioned to the left, and it sparked an immediate reaction in Crimsonpaw’s body, the almost-warrior swiftly rising to all fours and stalking what appeared to be a circle’s pattern around Sootpaw’s body, abruptly stopping when he reached the fellow apprentice’s behind from where he back pedalled a few short steps. To his son, Grayowl offered the closest that he could achieve to a warm smile, grayed tail collecting itself at the base of his forepaws. “You deserve only the best, Sootpaw.” Rising as had previously been done by Crimsonpaw, the warrior paused and angled his body with the nearby tree that had sheltered said apprentice, approaching the tree’s base with fluid strides. He settled into a comfortable sit, the rugged bark digging into the fur of his spine before returning the dark gold of his eyes to that of his son’s ghostly blue. “I recall receiving your consent on a past outing with Mockingpaw, and with this in mind, I will be honoured to witness how you may excel from your choice.” One cannot excel without first facing pain.

There was a brief silence, a curt tip of the warrior’s head, and then a frenzy of unsheathed claws was unleashed from behind the apprentice’s form, aimed for the back of his head with the intent to ki -- severely injure should their target be met.

[Phoenix]

Sootpaw

- - -

An emotionless gaze returned to Grayowl just in time to see the warrior tilt his muzzle slightly to the left, and on cue, his fellow apprentice rose to his paws. Pale blue tracked their companion’s form until he passed beyond their range of sight, at which point the impassive gaze found and held the yellow eyes of his father once more. Though he refused to turn his head or betray any other sign of unease – which, in this crowd, would be translated to weakness, and that, no one could afford – he could not deny the instinctive prickle of discomfort toward having his back toward a predator in such close proximity. Shoulders tensing slightly, he stilled as he became acutely aware of the steady gaze burning into the back of his head. His claws itched to be free of their sheathes.

Clearly there had been communication between his two companions before the presumed instigator of the outing had roused him from his rest. Crimsonpaw’s presence alone confirmed that much, for it was far too convenient to be mere coincidence. Select few made a habit of haunting the forest after the moon had risen, and far fewer did so without an explicit purpose in mind.

What are your intentions, Father?

As if sensing the unspoken question, the warrior allowed a mockery of a smile to cross his features, and Sootpaw stiffened slightly at the sight of his father’s uncharacteristic expression. The accompanying words did little to reassure him, but he had long since learned that if he wanted comforting, he would be met with far more success if he sought out his mother. Inclining his head ever so slightly, he accepted the hidden compliment, though he knew that more, perhaps less favorable, words would soon follow. Manipulative and enigmatic, Grayowl was as likely to bring him out here simply to shower him with praise as he was to enter their esteemed leader’s den and request that any animosity between them disappear. A slight pause, and then the yellow-eyed tom relocated to the base of the same tree Crimsonpaw had abandoned moments before. That his father brought up their previous outing with his sister indicated that he could expect actions of a similar nature in this one. And what significance lay in the matter that Crimsonpaw, rather than Mockingpaw, made up the third member of their party? There was another pause as silence reigned supreme. Something was about to happen. Anticipation hung thickly in the air, nearly tangible. It seemed to stretch on, and he became very aware of his steady breathing and of the apprentice at his back and of his father seated before him.

The brief nod was his only warning, and the instant he saw that sign – and a second later heard paws crunching on snow as they pushed off the ground behind him – he, too, sprung into motion, turning his head quickly to face the threat. That brief moment, perhaps, saved him from the most dire wound. Sootpaw had barely an instant to recognize the incoming apprentice before unsheathed claws connected with the side of his head, and at the sudden flare of pain, a low hiss escaped through gritted teeth. His own claws dug into the snow as he buckled under the sudden impact, and as he crouched low to the ground, the side of his head throbbing and bleeding, he found himself hoping that Crimsonpaw’s momentum had carried the almost-warrior beyond Sootpaw’s current position. Distracted by the pain and somewhat disoriented as he searched for his attacker, he shook his head to clear the blood from his face, only stop abruptly, wincing slightly at the motion agitated the open wound.

Pale blue eyes pinpointed the spotted apprentice’s location, and he was racing toward his opponent a moment later, Grayowl’s intentions suddenly shining with clarity in his mind. Whether this was to be more of a test for him or for the other apprentice, he could not know for sure – nor did such a distinction significantly matter, so long as he showed himself to be a worthy opponent – but the warrior had come to watch a fight between his son and his protégé, where the former was at a clear disadvantage. Unlike his fellow apprentice, Sootpaw had never had any formal training in offensive fighting, but he did not think that it would be that hard to pick up, particularly when his two options were to do so or return to camp with his smaller frame littered with wounds.

Various options flitted through his mind, and he snatched at one. If he could trip up Crimsonpaw and knock him off balance, then that would give him both time and an opportunity to land more blows. Outstretched claws reached toward his opponent as he leapt, aiming to sweep the spotted feline’s paws out from under him.

- - -

[Insidious]

Grayowl & Crimsonpaw

He felt his claws slice through the sensitive skin of Sootpaw’s head, and with it was a pleasurable sensation that rocketed through the length of his body as he soared directly over top of the crouched apprentice, an awkward landing forcing him to slide a few paces across the slippery coating of fresh snow and ice before he could successfully pivot to face his opponent, already having collected himself and began his triumphant momentum toward where Crimsonpaw now stood in idle wait. Momentarily, he zeroed in on the location of the tom’s head that was littered with blood, a smile greeting his lip before his shoulders tensed in preparation for the collision that was to come. When the younger tomcat leaped forward, claws aimed at his paws, Crimsonpaw had a moment to predict his move, driven entirely by impulse as instead of awaiting his fate or attempting to dash out of the way, he propelled his larger frame forwards and met his opponent in the middle. It was a dangerous move, and surely it’d cost either participant a lethal scratch or two, though he was depending entirely upon the size difference and hoping that any extra strength on his part would be enough to overthrow that of his opponent’s.

How interesting. Crimsonpaw’s motives in battle remained mysterious, the tomcat willingly throwing himself into a dangerous situation that, dare he say, was refreshing from the ordinary caution that riddled every cat’s move. The warrior possessed no genuine worry for his son, nor for the head injury that now burdened him. Crimsonpaw was aware of his limitations, and such had stated that it was of no relevance precisely how injured Sootpaw was as long as he’d be able to recover in a timely manner. Perhaps, the spotted apprentice was underestimating Sootpaw to a degree of too much severity. It was plausible, given how he matched the feline’s offensive attacks with strange and unexpected defenses. It seemed as though he had no desire to give Sootpaw any openings, or to allow him to believe that he had gotten himself an advantage through forcing him to dodge. He was becoming more and more like a machine, a cruel one at that, for there was no fear of death alight in his emerald eyes, hungering only for the death of his opponent, or at least as close as he could muster without forcing Grayowl to involve himself in something he’d otherwise enjoy observing.

As was he, ever at the will of his master. He did not want any part in this violence, for it was monstrous at best. Sootpaw would learn at the best of his potential from someone of a similar age group, someone that did not share his blood. Crimsonpaw was a fine quality candidate for the job, as he’d happily take on a wide range of injuries if to please the one he pursued at the heel. However, such was not something that he truly paid any mind to, and in all honesty he wasn’t expectant of a wide range of injuries to follow his sudden initiative to burst forth in a flame of energy. He felt Sootpaw’s small claws pricking at random portions of his body, the pain apparent, though he refrained from trying to release himself from the frenzy that was entirely of his own doing. The spotted feline was aiming to either force Sootpaw backwards, or have him face the less appealing of the two options and risk a claw finding itself tangled in an unpleasant danger zone, be it his neck or the same general area that had been recently struck on his head. The farther he pressed, the more agony that coursed through his veins, but it did nothing but ignite an adrenaline within. He was certain that something good would come from his substantial efforts, and if not than it’d be nothing but a lesson well learned, and something he could look back to upon a later date if ever to be faced with another battle of similar setting.

[Phoenix]

Sootpaw

- - -

Though he had little experience of his own in the area, Sootpaw was not completely ignorant as to the general fighting style that most cats utilized, particularly the various defensive strategies, and because of his knowledge, however limited, faint – but genuine – surprise flickered through him when pale blue eyes registered that instead of leaping away, the spotted feline was leaping toward him. But his paws had already left the ground and there was little he could do to slow his movement or attempt to dodge the unsheathed claws of the other apprentice, which were aimed straight for his head. An idea struck him as the inevitability settled in; if he would leave the fray wounded regardless, he might as well get as many hits in as possible before he was forced to retreat. At the very least, he found himself musing idly, his sister would do so, though he doubted that she would fight for herself as much as she would to put on a good show for their father. She lived to impress him, for him, where Sootpaw lived – debatably – simply to live.

Claws dug into open wounds as the two apprentices collided, and forcing himself beyond the sharp, piercing pain clouding his mind, which dictated that he let go and flee, the youngest of the three toms, in turn, rammed own set of daggers into the spotted feline. A hiss left him as he grappled for a purchase, claws clinging to whatever he could find and inflicting whatever damage he could, before his breath left him in a huff as they – or rather he – hit the ground and rolled. Stunned by the impact that had torn Crimsonpaw from his grip, the gray feline lay still for the briefest of moments as fresh blood leaked from his various wounds. His body stung and protested as his presence of mind returned and he shot to his paws, just in time to be met by his opponent once more. Quick reflexes saved his head from another cut, and as unsheathed claws lashed out in retaliation, the two began to trade blows once more.

He could feel his inexperience taking its toll. The spotted apprentice was relentless, and nothing seemed to faze him, where any spontaneous attack that broke the pattern was cause for a brief hesitation on his own part as he worked out how to adjust to it. Sheer determination could only carry him so far, and it was clear that Crimsonpaw was dictating the fight. Moons of practice under the watchful eye of Grayowl had given the emerald-eyed tom more than enough time to perfect the art of anticipating attacks. For every blow he managed to land on the older apprentice, he was hit with two. Reluctantly, Sootpaw was forced to give ground, backing away slowly as he buckled under the force of the attacks. Crimsonpaw was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Pale blue eyes hardened, and he shook his head to rid himself of the blood that threatened to his vision. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and every part of his body stung from where his pelt was littered his cuts and scratches of varying size and severity. He was tiring – slowly – but tiring all the same. From the beginning, he had known who would be the victor in this drawn out match; it all made sense. Crimsonpaw had the experience and formal training, as well as a debatably stronger drive – he and Mockingpaw could easily compete with the other about who valued Grayowl’s attention more. Gritting his teeth as he was forced to sidestep to avoid a blow, he decided that he would not lose defending himself against the spotted feline’s relentless attacks. Hind claws dug into the frozen ground as though to brace himself. Perhaps he could change the pace and surprise Crimsonpaw for once. With outstretched claws, he lunged toward his opponent.

OOC: I'm thinking end the fight in your post? Feel free to have Crimsonpaw just pin him or something~

- - -

[Insidious]

Grayowl & Crimsonpaw

With seething wounds littering his chest and shoulders, a tear oozing blood into his mouth from the corner of an awkwardly hooked lip, he watched in minimal surprise as, once again, the dark gray apprentice collected himself from the floor, bleeding severely, in preparation to combat Crimsonpaw’s attacks one last time. He positioned his front paws defensively, lashing tail but a semblance of his alluring taunt, wishing to teeter with the younger apprentice’s common sense so that he may attempt a strike that would, finally, allow Crimsonpaw to finish him off for good. It seemed as though Sootpaw was not willing to grant Crimsonpaw any time longer than necessary to prepare himself for further battle, the tomcat in question spurring into abrupt action as elongated strides cleared what distance kept them apart. A lethal hiss, a battle cry, roared through bared teeth as gracefully, the spotted tom leaped out of his path, quick to pivot on his heel and begin charging his opponent from the behind. Front claws sunk into the fur on the back of his neck, a harsh twist to the side acting as an anchor, meant solely to pull Sootpaw down beneath his weight when all of his efforts attempted to do otherwise. But Crimsonpaw was undoubtedly bigger, notably stronger, and such made Sootpaw’s efforts useless when fatigued limbs failed to withstand his cruel power. His tongue swiped across his bleeding lip, pulling his face closer to Sootpaw’s to match his pale blue eyes with ethereal green, every tensed muscle in his body pushing him to partake in the insane, the vicious, the sadistic, until the mere flick of a warrior’s ear as he rose to all fours and approached made him release his weight from on top of Sootpaw’s, but a clear portrayal of his victory.

Amber eyes held the power to make Crimsonpaw shrivel into the background, observing the apprentice as he gathered himself into a patient sit in order to listen to Grayowl’s words to come, spitting globs of blood from his jaw in the process. His son had managed to hold his own suitably, seeing as how the older apprentice’s mouth was now forced to accept the bitter taste of blood, though it would certainly heal quickly, and he was not certain as to whether or not he could predict the same for Sootpaw. His father, knowingly a malevolent cat, one of pure spite and the thrill of danger, looked upon him with praise despite his loss. He was not meant to win this fight, Grayowl had not expected to be impressed, he had only wished for Sootpaw to be exposed to the ordeal of pain, to how it felt to balance so delicately upon the thin lines that differentiated between life and death. If he had not been present, if this fight had not been organized, than surely he could have died and, as a result of such, his father would not have interfered. If the spar had been of Sootpaw’s own doing, of his own misguided conflict with Crimsonpaw’s rather stubborn views, than Grayowl would not have sought to aid him when his life was on the line. Upon this occasion in particular, he was in control, he had the ability to save him from any deepening harm, and with such power in his paws he had done just that. Sootpaw was now familiarized with what pain truly was: It was no mere feeling, no mere burden, but a relentless battle, a perpetuated scar. As a result of such, he would hopefully come to understand what was at stake for future reference when he was expected to fight, and how badly he would have to win, would have to destroy, if he did not want to be left in such a state of bruises and blood as he was. “If you must seek out our medicine cat, you encountered a fox and our beloved StarClan watched over you tonight, saving you from the brutal clutches of death.”

“Otherwise, consider yourself thoroughly enlightened. I hope Sixtoes teaches you splendidly in the near future so that you may avoid these most unpleasant exchanges, lest you wish to continue learning of survival under my guidance?” Grayowl did not await his son’s response, gesturing for him to rise and follow in pursuit to the camp if able to do so, Crimsonpaw following in stride at the flank of his supreme, a sharp glance and entertained sneer thrown over scraped shoulder blades, as though to congratulate him on a satisfactory effort.

[OOC: End thread here, or finish off with Sootpaw's input? c:]

[Phoenix]

Sootpaw

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As the rapid tattoo of his heart pounded in his ears and his lungs heaved for air, Sootpaw stilled for the first time since claws had raked down the side of his head. Those very same daggers dug into the back of his neck, and instinct caused him to become immobile more than anything else. The proximity of Crimsonpaw’s claws sent off alarms in his mind, and as he lay there, feeling the blood trickle down the side of his face and ooze from the various wounds that littered his body, he became acutely aware of how easy it would be for the other apprentice to kill him. Any sudden movement in the wrong direction, and he would skewer himself on the claws, completing the task for his opponent. Complaining muscles tensed at the thought, bracing themselves for the expected attack – though his mind told them otherwise. Clear as ever now that the task of dodging and leaping had ceased to distract him, he thought it unlikely that Grayowl would order his protégée to finish his son. Not this early in the game, at the least. Therefore, all Sootpaw had to do was wait.

At long last, the pressure rose from on top of him, and he pushed himself to a sitting position, ignoring the way his limbs protested at the action. The weight of his father’s yellow-eyed gaze rested heavily on him, and jaw clenched against the pain in his head – though, in retrospect, that probably did little to help matters – he raised his chin and pale blue locked with deep gold. Approval lurked within those depths, but the emotional effect was lost on the apprentice. He felt no pride nor any of the warm glow that should have come from earning the praise that was so rarely handed out; instead, his body stung, his limbs were tied, and his muscles were sore. But he knew that any complaints would have fallen on deaf ears.

When Grayowl spoke, he had just noted that the steady throbbing of the wound on his head told him that his heartbeat had slowed to a normal rate. It seemed to pulse with his father’s orders, and silently, Sootpaw nodded slightly to show that he had heard and understood the order. It was unlikely that he would stop by Littletimber’s den to have the wound cleaned and bandaged, as he was disinclined to visit the vile smelling den unless he was dragged there. Medicine cats were for the weak who could not take care of themselves. Even if he had just lost to Crimsonpaw, he did not fall into that category. In a fluid motion, the gray warrior before him was on his paws and padding away, the spotted shadow by his side. Pale blue watched them leave before he pushed himself to his own paws.

Any other cat might have found offense at the cold treatment, but, like many things, it had never bothered the young gray tom. There was little sympathy to be found in the nearly non-existent bond between father and son, and even less love; only potential – an apathetic outlook. Sootpaw had inherited that from his father, whom he eerily resembled as he made his own way back to camp, as collected as though moonlight did not glint off of the many wounds scattered all over his body. Such was the cost of his extra training. But no matter. He had learned long ago that there was always a price to pay.

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