[redshiftreign]

I BROKE FREE ON A SATURDAY MORNING, PUT THE PEDAL TO THE FLOOR.
[ @Mica [mistlewhisker]]

sore muscles, sore shoulders, sore paws. though their training was fleeting, mistlewhisker always seemed to make it more arduous and rigorous than the last. grousepaw had his suspicions as to why- maybe spite. he wasn't so sure his mentor was terribly fond of him (though, she was fond enough not to run to dawn begging to be rid of him. he figured that if that happened again, he'd be kicking rocks in the outskirts or maybe he'd be alleviated of his beautiful, mottled coat, and it'd sit in a den somewhere to cozy up to in the cold seasons), but he didn't think it was spite. he considered that, perhaps, it was to distract him. keep his mind off the troubles of the clan. he'd worry himself to death if he could, even if no-one noticed his anxieties. even if he was. . .

alone.

no one saw things the way grousepaw did. no one saw the injustice and the tyranny and the control- nor how it was created, how it was made. it fascinated and horrified him in equal measure. the cruelty of cats. he'd come to know it knew no limits. if left unmetered, untapped, it'd fester into absolute control.

he wanted to scream. he wanted to dig a grave and lie in it. he wanted to shred them all, all the liars and the cheats and the cats who exploited and groveled and sniveled for a scrap of power. the ones who prolong the system.

"i'm just saying that it's-" he was saying to mistlewhisker as they entered camp, before his words fell away. his amber gaze caught on a figure, shrouded in the dark glow of night.

trembling.

a familiar ache whelmed him, something he identified as sympathy. forsaking mistlewhisker, and picking up his stride, he made sure to keep a measured ease and relaxedness in his pawsteps as he made his way over to the fellow apprentice.

"'ello, mate." he greeted, voice a perfect laid-back, friendly cadence with the strange accent he picked up from his father those moons ago. when a moment, too long for his tastes, elapsed, he kept talking. canting his chin upwards to look at the stars, he stepped up besides her- a cat he recognized as brownpaw.

"rough night, eh? yeah, i've been there. its like, one good day in this hell leads to a million bad ones. what's got you down?" he smiled, easy and soft. the faintest, slightest undertone of nervousness in the crinkle of his eyes and the tenseness in his chest.

grouse was good at that- being everyone's friend. acting like he's known someone for moons. for his whole life. getting buddy-buddy, remembering all the little details and being kind and caring. because, truly, that's what he was built for. being a friend. it was a damn shame that the way things were dealt, he had to fight the system 'cause heaven forbid anyone else do it. he could hate shadowclan with everything in him. he'd still love his clanmates.

he'd still try. forever.