[gs29513]

And, just like that, Shrewstep´s inner monologue had been answered. His boredom assuaged, the inner voices quieted. It was like he was hearing them all constantly, sometimes. Foggybrook, Blackhaze, Frogfang. Somehow, it was nicest to hear the internal voice of his enemy. To yell at him. To tell him he was wrong, that Shrewstep had been the one to survive. To remain in Shadowclan, to remain in control of his own destiny as much as a cat could be, in the clans. Anywhere, probably, for even without the rigid structure of leaders and deputies and borders, twolegs and predators and other cats could rock your life, change your path, just as much if not more. It mattered not. What mattered was the onrushing battle, a wave which might sweep him off his feet if he was not prepared.

Shaking his head quickly (he was spending far too much time inside of it nowadays), Shrewstep strode as impressively as he could (which wasn´t very, given his diminutive stature) up to the crowd. A battle was a chance to win glory, to do something with himself. Frogfang, writhing within him, agreed. They had both lusted for battle, from time to time. A vent to release emotions. Blackhaze, too, would have jumped at the opportunity to prove himself. Foggy, and Lily, wouldn´t have been so enthusiastic, but he found he didn´t care. He headed over towards Lynxshade, not loudly seeking an apprentice to train but certainly available if one wished to catch his attention. (Open)