Post by Phoenix on Dec 25, 2014 0:55:24 GMT -5
TRY AND DID DOWN DEEPER IF YOU CAN
The thought that his hunting abilities would improve further under the tutelage of his current mentor seemed founded more from dreams than reason. It was not as though Sixtoes was an incompetent warrior – far from it, as he was a very respectable senior warrior with many moons of experience behind him – but rather that the tom did not have the same ruthlessness as his other mentor, who had recently been rendered clanless due to a misplacement of trust. Cloaked by the dead of night, Grayowl had begun to teach him and his sister how to hunt an entirely different type of prey, cultivating within his offspring the same monstrous brutality that ran through his own veins. Although he carried nearly imperceptible scars from the lessons, the apprentice never forgot what he had learned. An ear flicked, nicked slightly at the top where Crimsonshadow’s claw had caught him during one such lesson. An icy chill – frozen anger, perhaps? – swept through him at the thought of the tom’s betrayal; it was his fault alone that Grayowl was exiled. Regardless, Sootpaw would never make the same mistake his father did.
Pale blue eyes scanned the clearing as he broke from the undergrowth, stepping forward into the morning light. After he had returned from the dawn patrol, an unusually small tabby she-cat – he had neither the need nor desire to learn beyond the bare minimum of his clan mates’ names – had found him and told him that he was wanted for hunting practice. He seemed to have arrived before his mentor. No matter; he could wait. Hind legs folded beneath him as he settled down at the base of an ancient tree, its branches gnarled and trunk thick and sturdy. Though he tended to avoid such thoughts, Sootpaw found his mind wandering down a lane traveled by many generations of apprentices, both before and after him. When would he become a warrior? Any particular feeling of impatience had yet to truly strike him – perhaps it never would, for he was rather lacking in every other emotion – but he could not deny that he was the oldest of the apprentices in the den and very near the size of a warrior.
The approach of another feline interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head slightly toward the newcomer. It took only a moment for him to recognize the other tom. “Good morning, Sixtoes,” He greeted politely with a slight inclination of his head. Some might consider him a monster - or perhaps the son of a monster - but he was a courteous one nevertheless.
Pale blue eyes scanned the clearing as he broke from the undergrowth, stepping forward into the morning light. After he had returned from the dawn patrol, an unusually small tabby she-cat – he had neither the need nor desire to learn beyond the bare minimum of his clan mates’ names – had found him and told him that he was wanted for hunting practice. He seemed to have arrived before his mentor. No matter; he could wait. Hind legs folded beneath him as he settled down at the base of an ancient tree, its branches gnarled and trunk thick and sturdy. Though he tended to avoid such thoughts, Sootpaw found his mind wandering down a lane traveled by many generations of apprentices, both before and after him. When would he become a warrior? Any particular feeling of impatience had yet to truly strike him – perhaps it never would, for he was rather lacking in every other emotion – but he could not deny that he was the oldest of the apprentices in the den and very near the size of a warrior.
The approach of another feline interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head slightly toward the newcomer. It took only a moment for him to recognize the other tom. “Good morning, Sixtoes,” He greeted politely with a slight inclination of his head. Some might consider him a monster - or perhaps the son of a monster - but he was a courteous one nevertheless.
Sootpaw | TreeClan | Apprentice | welcome to the masquerade - thousand foot krutch
WELCOME TO THE MASQUERADE