Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2016 7:41:22 GMT -5
HE'S GOT LIONS IN HIS HEART, A FIRE IN HIS SOUL
HE'S GOT A BEAST IN HIS BELLY THAT'S SO HARD TO CONTROL
HE'S GOT A BEAST IN HIS BELLY THAT'S SO HARD TO CONTROL
NOW LIGHT A MATCH, STAND BACK, WATCH HIM EXPLODE
Weaselpaw nudged the last bit of moss into place, circling a couple times to make sure it was padded enough to be comfortable. Once he was satisfied, he crawled out of the small rabbit hole he called his den and stretched. His legs were long and the hole was small, but it was comfortable enough when he was settled down to sleep. Now that his bedding had been taken care of, he turned his focus to what he had planned today: solo battle training. It wasn’t the best way to learn, but Firestar was busy with her other duties, which Weaselpaw no longer felt bitter over, and he felt bad asking others to take time out for him. And he definitely wouldn’t go ask the other apprentices to spar with him. The weird looks he got from most of them was enough; he didn’t need them upstaging him and giving them more reason to look down on him.
The black tom padded out of the camp, breaking into a trot once he cleared the outer ring of stones. He headed toward the trampled clearing, half-hoping no one would be out practicing. It was a beautiful day for it, though, so he knew his chances were slim. However, when he broke through the long grasses, the clearing actually was empty. Weaselpaw allowed himself a small smile as he trotted to the center. He stretched out a little, closing his eyes and preparing himself.
He opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on his invisible opponent. It was something he had gotten used to, sparring with air. Keeping his breathing steady, he rocked back on his hindlegs before pushing forward, bounding once before stepping to the side and striking out at his opponent’s side. As he darted past, he snapped his jaws in the general area of where a cat’s tail would be, picturing himself biting down. He kept his jaw closed and swung his hindquarters around. He imagined the cat twisting around, and he let go of the imaginary tail, lashing out with both forepaws. He leapt backward, springing away from his opponent’s strike.
Already, his breathing had grown heavier, but Weaselpaw clamped his jaw shut, breathing hard through his nose. Moons of training to control his breathing were paying off, and he allowed an almost confident smirk at the thought. As his sides slowly stopped heaving, he thought back on the recent moons.
He still had a ways to go before he could fit in with warriors his age, but he was far better than he had been. At Rookfrost’s orders, he had vacated the apprentices’ den, and now held his own small den in an unfinished rabbit hole at the edge of the camp. He changed his bedding daily and spent time each day focusing on breathing in and out through his nose. As long as he was in control of his breathing, he was in better control of his body. And it helped. He was taking better care of himself, and his daily routines seemed to be improving his overall health. He was still skinny and smaller than average, but his ribs and spine no longer showed, and his pelt and eyes weren’t dull and lifeless. He was on his way to earning his place in the Clan. There were still obstacles in his way, but he was more determined than ever to clear them and finally earn his warrior name.
With a determined fire in his eye, he turned back to his invisible opponent.
The black tom padded out of the camp, breaking into a trot once he cleared the outer ring of stones. He headed toward the trampled clearing, half-hoping no one would be out practicing. It was a beautiful day for it, though, so he knew his chances were slim. However, when he broke through the long grasses, the clearing actually was empty. Weaselpaw allowed himself a small smile as he trotted to the center. He stretched out a little, closing his eyes and preparing himself.
He opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on his invisible opponent. It was something he had gotten used to, sparring with air. Keeping his breathing steady, he rocked back on his hindlegs before pushing forward, bounding once before stepping to the side and striking out at his opponent’s side. As he darted past, he snapped his jaws in the general area of where a cat’s tail would be, picturing himself biting down. He kept his jaw closed and swung his hindquarters around. He imagined the cat twisting around, and he let go of the imaginary tail, lashing out with both forepaws. He leapt backward, springing away from his opponent’s strike.
Already, his breathing had grown heavier, but Weaselpaw clamped his jaw shut, breathing hard through his nose. Moons of training to control his breathing were paying off, and he allowed an almost confident smirk at the thought. As his sides slowly stopped heaving, he thought back on the recent moons.
He still had a ways to go before he could fit in with warriors his age, but he was far better than he had been. At Rookfrost’s orders, he had vacated the apprentices’ den, and now held his own small den in an unfinished rabbit hole at the edge of the camp. He changed his bedding daily and spent time each day focusing on breathing in and out through his nose. As long as he was in control of his breathing, he was in better control of his body. And it helped. He was taking better care of himself, and his daily routines seemed to be improving his overall health. He was still skinny and smaller than average, but his ribs and spine no longer showed, and his pelt and eyes weren’t dull and lifeless. He was on his way to earning his place in the Clan. There were still obstacles in his way, but he was more determined than ever to clear them and finally earn his warrior name.
With a determined fire in his eye, he turned back to his invisible opponent.
Phoenix
Greenleaf 18
Greenleaf 18
WEASELPAW