Quote:
Originally Posted by Lonestar23
A black Maine Coon entered the apprentice's den, his lantern-yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. His paws fell softly on the ground as he made his way towards his nest - the day had been a long one. A long day that the tom was not planning on having a repeat of. Hard work was not something that Nightpaw was afraid of, but long days? He didn't like those whatsoever. Mainly because they seemed to hint towards soreness and exhuastion the next day, which might keep the black tom from giving it his all. As his eyes adjusted from outside to inside, he could see the various cats who were hanging out in here. At the end of the day, it was quite a good place to gather. That or the clearing, and Nightpaw appreciated both. Right now all he wanted to do was sit and be alone. Without his annoying brother or those crummy apprentices who had been bothering him lately - Nightpaw was glad of the alone time. His yellow eyes gleamed once more, their lantern-like appearance eerie among the quiet chatter of the other apprentices. He remained silent. No effort to join the conversation was made by the tom, and he seemed to like it that way.
Nightpaw wasn't really one to engage others in conversation. He never had been. He was more of the 'snap at others to go away' type then a really friendly type. Slowly, the large feline lowered his head to groom his thick fur. His ears were still up and alert, waiting for anyone to approach him. The nests beside his were vacant... Nightpaw wasn't sure who they belonged to because frankly, he had never cared enough to take a look at the other cats in the Clan. They were useless to him. Everyone but Foxpaw, and the ginger tom was quickly becoming annoying as well. Nightpaw wasn't a fan of the other cat. Sharp yellow eyes glanced up at the other cats for a moment, before he returned to what he was doing. Strong, determined licks quickly cleaned his fur and he stopped after a moment to stretch out. The tom was getting bigger every moon, and his nest was almost too small for him now. In another three or four moons... he would be a warrior. A strong warrior. A warrior that others would fear, and those who had been mean to him in his kithood and apprenticehood? They would pay. They would all pay. They would be very, very sorry for what they had done to him.
@meraki |
Staring out into space, the young tortoiseshell-and-white apprentice hardly even noticed the entrance of the large, black Maine Coon. Nettlepaw didn't know Nightpaw well at all- in fact,
she'd doubted he'd ever spoken to her once. Of course, that was no surprise to the mute she-cat; most avoided her. Found her 'weird', but Nettle couldn't blame them. She wasn't at all normal; she knew that for a fact. Normal cats weren't scared of everything that moved. Normal cats made friends. Normal cats talked.
But Nettle was perfectly fine without talking. She was a listener; a good listener. Though eavesdropper would be more accurate, as no one really told her much. She didn't exactly have friends, and she doubted anyone even knew her name. Nettle had been brought to the camp by a warrior who'd found her as a kit. She'd run away from abusive twolegs at a mere 3 moons old, though must have come a long way because there weren't many twoleg dwellings anywhere near the SkyClan camp.
Since then, Nettlepaw had only said one thing; her name. That was the last time she'd spoken.
But now her gaze drifted from the wall, and fell upon the Maine Coon once more, who seemed to be angrily licking his pelt while sitting in a nest that was becoming too small for the large cat. Thoughts returned to Nettlepaw's head, questions that most likely wouldn't be answered.
What is your name?
How many moons are you?
Are you excited to be a warrior?
Do you like your mentor?
Have you learned any new hunting tips?
Do you like hunting or fighting more?
Would you be my friend?
But none of those questions would ever be asked by the selectively mute she-cat, who was scared to approach a kit let alone a cat her own age. Nettlepaw's gaze fell down to her paws as she shifted awkwardly in her too-big nest, staring at the feathers and leaves that made up the cozy bed. The feathers were all different colours, some grey, some brown, some white, some black. She wondered who caught the bird who's feathers had been used to give her comfort at night. Who'd eaten that bird? Did the bird have any chicks of its' own? Had they seen things indescribable as they flew above the clouds? Or had they spent their moons quiet, silent, and never flying for fear of falling?