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Post by PAWPAWPAW on Sept 10, 2013 18:58:43 GMT -5
Pawpawpaw wasn't sure what to think. His apprentice ceremony had been something of a dream; he had fought for what seemed like forever, but was only a moon, to get the right to even become an apprentice. Naturally, he was given the clan crazy: Smokestorm. Did he mind? Not at all. Smokestorm was talented and strong, something the small white tom aspired to be. Why they had chosen to meet at the Crumbling Tunnels, however, was beyond the young white apprentice. This place was just about as dangerous as the Feather Stones, considering Pawpawpaw had a pure lack of grace and definite balance. How in the world was he supposed to jump precariously from stone to tumbling stone?
Maybe, though, they would only be sparring on the ground, or learning how to hunt within the crevices of the stone. The apprentice hoped desperately that Smokestorm would not be too upset with his injury; he knew he would be difficult to teach, but he wanted to learn so bady that it might make up for it. Then, of course, there were the rumors that Smokestorm was a demented murder anyway- rumors that Pawpawpaw tried hard not to believe. It was hard to give the older warrior the benefit of the doubt when his eyes shone with a blazing wrath of hell and hatred, and when he constantly shrieked at nearby others for staring too long or whispering things they never said. Needless to say, Pawpawpaw was fairly nervous for his first day of real training, despite the fact that he had been waiting for this moment since he could remember.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Sept 12, 2013 12:04:31 GMT -5
Noon high sun blazed high over head, vanquishing the sketchy shadows that littered peaks and valleys that were the cliffs to mere whispers. A powerful, brawny gray tom moved fluidly across the rock face, picking his way easily along the crumbling niches leading to a dark, looming tunnel a little ways off as if he knew this pathway like the back of his paws. Yellow eyes stared straight ahead unblinkingly, searching and finding the white apprentice that was his own. Ibis-star had held an apprentice naming ceremony the night before, and she had given Pawpawpaw to him. Pawpawpaw; the weak, sickly cat with a twisted paw. Given him to Smokestorm, one of the strongest if not the strongest cat, the swiftest and most skilled cat in CliffClan. He had accepted his Clan leader's 'gift' grudgingly, staring straight ahead with dead eyes during the part other cats seemed to share tongues and fawn over their new apprentice. Smokestorm would not. His clanmates called Pawpawpaw's name happily, cheerfully, but he did not miss the pointed, sometimes frightened stares some would shoot in his direction. He assumed they thought he would kill this cat, too, but they were wrong.
They were wrong.
Smokestorm had told the noxious cat they would begin their training in the morning at the Crumbling Tunnel, but he had not said when. He had wanted the tom to come out here early, to bake in the sun to cleanse him of his evils. He would not tolerate corrupt behavior from the cat who fell off the cliff and should have died. He should be dead. He should be dead and buried, just like all of the others. Instead he was cursed to plague the camp, tying up the medicine cat's herbs for moons that could have been used for other, more worthy warriors. Instead, Smokestorm himself was cursed, cursed to train this cat that should be dead and gone. But he would train him, and though conflicting emotions, whispering voices, told him this cat should die, he would not let him die because now, now he belonged to him. And if anything happened to this damned cat, the repercussions would fall back on him. He wouldn't let it happen; not again.
"Pawpawpaw," Smokestorm's gravelly voice rumbled out as he approached the small, white loathsome figure. Barren yellow eyes raked across the tom's body, accessing him. In the light of day, he could see his apprentice more clearly. He was small yes, but that was expected as he was only several moons. He was wiry, lanky. . . he would do. But as his eyes skimmed over his one, broken paw, his eyes flicked upward to the white tom's face to settle with a sneer. "That will obviously be a problem," Smokestorm's voice, whisper soft, penetrated the air. He stared an Pawpawpaw for an uncomfortably long time, waiting, daring for him to defend himself. When he did not, Smokestorm snorted and padded past the cat, shoving him unceremoniously to the side as he took the lead to cross the final expanse into the tunnel. He had decided, sometime late last night, that they would be practicing battle training today. And if the ground crumbled beneath Pawpawpaw and his unequally weighted form, well. . . 'You will save him.' Smokestorm's nostrils flared as the seemingly calm voice breathed into his ear. He snorted, flicking his ears back. Of course he would save the damn thing, didn't he say that before? He couldn't let this one die.
Padding into the tunnel, he stopped relatively close to the entrance as he settled himself upon an uneven ledge on the rocky floor, giving him an easy vantage point. Even now, he could hear the tunnel sigh, faint echoed voices of pieces of rock falling to the cave floor. He smiled without humor as he waited for Pawpawpaw to take a seat before him.
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