Pop Goes the Weasel! [c] Oct 27, 2016 14:19:03 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 27, 2016 14:19:03 GMT -5
A shiver rippled through the skinny tom as he peeked out of his den. The sun was just barely over the valley, and the grass was still coated in a thin layer of frost. Weaselpaw's short fur did nothing to stifle the chill in the air. Ignoring the way his body protested the cold, he went through his morning routine, cleaning out his bedding and replacing it with fresh moss. By the time he had buried his old bedding and collected fresh moss and relined his small den, the sun had managed to burn through the frost and the air was marginally less chilling.
With a brief thought to the conversation he'd had with Firestar a few days before, Weaselpaw glanced around camp. He didn't see his mentor, though. A small frown tugged at his mouth, but he shrugged it off. Oh well. He turned and left camp, paws finding a familiar path. He originally wanted to meet with Firestar to show her what his solo battles were like, but he would have to settle for just practicing alone.
He stepped into the clearing, thankful to find it empty. Walking in on a training session could have proven a blow to his ego, especially if the mentor invited him in. He didn't need an apprentice completely showing him up with his lack of proper training.
A light sigh left him as he started to stretch, warming up his muscles in preparation. A few minutes later, he was ready, stepping up to the center of the clearing, squaring off against the invisible cat a few tail-lengths across from him. He took a steadying breath, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with a determined light, and he flicked his tail sharply once.
He lunged forward. Steps from where his opponent stepped up to meet him, Weaselpaw slipped to the side, turning and raking unsheathed claws down an invisible flank. He spun around quickly, hopping backward out of reach. He dipped low and darted in again, aiming his claws at the cat's paws. He ducked low, dodging a blow aimed at his face. He skittered backward, breathing in sharply through his nose, maintaining his control over his breathing. His eyes narrowed as he stared down his opponent.
A sound behind him caused his ears to perk up and he pivoted, staring down the tall grasses around the clearing. "Who's there?" he called out. His eyes were still narrow, but he wasn't hostile. He wasn't hopeful, either. If it was a cat somewhere behind him, the chances that they'd offer to help were slim. In his experience, cats would laugh and scorn him far more readily than ever offer to help.