|
|
Post by Kin on Dec 30, 2012 22:45:00 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i907.photobucket.com/albums/ac277/Myrrdyn/Grousefoottable_zps6c2e503b.png); width: 490px; height: 600px;border:1px solid #000000][style=margin-top: -20px;margin-bottom:-15px;] Grousefoot was long since accustomed to rising just before the sun. No matter whether or not she was assigned to a patrol or ordered to hunt or left to decide her own duties for the day, the she-cat's body roused her just as the moon set behind the trees. Without fail, her eyes sprang open, mind alert the moment she regained consciousness. Her body was not quite as swift to wake, and required that she lay in her nest a moment, blinking owlishly around the warriors' den. Bits of shiny objects gleamed from various positions around the den, littered there by the warriors who were, like their ancestors for generations, enamored by the sight of pretty things. After the sensation that her bones had been replaced with wet sand had faded into a morning lethargy, the brown tabby stood and shook herself, scraps of moss falling to the ground. She yawned and carefully threaded her way toward the entrance from the back of the den. Several warriors shifted as she neared them, and Grousefoot slowed her motions so as not to step on any wayward limbs or appendages. Wending her way through her fellows took longer than striding straight ahead, heedless of the nests dotted around the den. Cloudeyes had used such a practical stride, and hadn't made any friends through it. While the tabby she-cat had picked up a lot of habits from the albino, she'd consciously avoided forming the ones she thought rude. Grousefoot had been brought up with a healthy appreciation for and love of sleep. Most cats wouldn't guess it, thanks to her habit of rising early, but Grousefoot adored the sleep she got, and the feeling of sharp mental clarity she experienced in her first wakeful moments. And, as she respected her Clanmates' space and resting time, they tended to respect hers in turn. Which made it all worth the zig-zagging path she had to take out of the den, really. Observing the faint, grayish tinge of pre-dawn peeking over the treetops, Grousefoot spent a moment searching out the stars of Silverpelt overhead. With all that had happened in the past moons, the bloodshed and fighting and mistrust, there were some who had lost their faith in StarClan. Grousefoot believed in them, but not in their status as utterly reliable guardians of the Clans' collective wellbeing. They were dead, for the love of all that sustained them! If Grousefoot made it to the afterlife without losing her mind or being pulled to the path of the Dark Forest, she'd like a break from actively guarding her Clan, thanks kindly. Certainly, their ancestors could look down and watch-- because they had to get bored of each other eventually, no matter how many of them were up there. A brief image of the legendary Clan founders lounging, bored, atop a starry version of the Sunningrocks crossed her mind, and Grousefoot refrained from snorting. Yes, the oldest dead were likely the most bored by their ethereal home, and the most likely to gaze upon the realm of the living. However, she liked to think that Cloudeyes passed some of her time peering down from her own star in Silverpelt, watching her former apprentice with detached red eyes, the ghost of a satisfied nod moving her features at the milestones of Grousefoot's life. She could almost hear the she-cat's flat tone and rusty laugh, uttered more for her own benefit than to express amusement. "Squirrelfoot with her head in the clouds, as always." It brought a smile to her muzzle, and the tabby shook her head. While the thoughts were pleasant, she had duties to attend to, and an apprentice to pass her wisdom and Cloudeyes's lessons to. Flicking her right ear decisively, Grousefoot turned and stuck her head into the apprentice den, seeking out her apprentice's pelt. Once she spotted the familiar gray-patched white pelt, she called quietly to the younger she-cat. "Pebblepaw." Pausing a moment to watch for signs of Pebblepaw rousing, the brown cat continued. "Training this morning in the grassy field. Up!"Once her piece was said, Grousefoot withdrew her head and padded away, moving to sit by the entrance of the camp, tail wrapped neatly around her paws. If Pebblepaw did not show up in a near enough time, she would return to the den and drag her out by the scruff. Thorn-nose claimed that Hawkstep's mentor had been forced to do the same to him each morning in order to wake the tom for training. Her mother's laughter had been cut off by Hawkstep's grumbling, her father's eyes twinkling with humor that contradicted his supposed irritation. 766 words -- no notes -- tagged! pebblepaw |
|
|
|
|
Post by makronyx on Dec 31, 2012 0:21:05 GMT -5
"Pebblepaw."
A foggy, familiar voice broke through the serene dream Pebblepaw was having. Slowly, unwillingly, and groggily, her mind dawned from her deep sleep and into reality, but her body stayed stiffly still, giving no hint to her awakening state.
"Training this morning in the grassy field. Up!"
Pebblepaw still gave no signs of being conscious, relief flooding her when she heard the footsteps of her mentor trot away. Had she been in a better mood and more awake state of mind, she would have noticed once more how her mentor's gait was as light and brisk as the famed cats of StarClan, a walk she would hope to learn and employ when hunting. Now, however, she was just relieved to be given the opportunity to go back to-
No. No mentor in all of the Clan's histories would let that happen. With a loud yawn, Pebblepaw painfully pulled out her front legs from under her; they had become stiff after such a long time in an odd position. Once the muscles relaxed, The she-cat groggily rose to her feet and stretched her body out, greeted by the usual cracks of her joints. Green eyes droopy, the she forced herself forward, dragging her paws against the soil with every step. Pebblepaw was rather envious of her brother, Icepaw, and Minnowpaw at the moment, and a bitter part of herself felt like 'accidentally' rousing them from their sleep. That thought was quickly swept from her mind, however, and she almost regretted just thinking something like that. She sometimes thought and acted like grouchy old elder the few minutes after being awakened.
The cool air of morning greeted her when she made it outside the den, the frigid air of leaf-bare piercing her fluffy, gray patched coat and making her shiver. The young apprentice felt like curling up against Icepaw again, but forced the tempting image from her mind. She soon spotted her mentor, Grousefoot; the tabby she-cat was sitting with her tail curled around her at the entrance of camp.
"Morning." Pebblepaw murmured, plunking down her hind legs to sit once she reach her mentor's side. Though she tried her best to sound sincere and polite, the young she-cat's expression said otherwise. She was unaware of her half-closed, unblinking eyes and rather droopy maw that made her look both grumpy and tired. The young she-cat apprentice was not used to the early-bird schedule, but would soon need to learn to grow used to it.
[/justify][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/FONT][/size] |
|
|
|
Post by Kin on Dec 31, 2012 2:31:09 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i907.photobucket.com/albums/ac277/Myrrdyn/Grousefoottable_zps6c2e503b.png); width: 490px; height: 600px;border:1px solid #000000][style=margin-top: -20px;margin-bottom:-15px;] The tip of her tail curled and uncurled around her left forepaw, keeping time while Grousefoot waited for her apprentice. Light, trilling notes sounded in the quiet air, more of an accent to the stillness of the early hour than a break in the silence. Its trilling, almost whistling notes hinted at its species, and she searched her mind for the name of the species whose song matched the one drifting into camp. A high, lingering note eliminated many species, and the following chirruped series placed the song as belonging to a thrush. Amber eyes flicked shut for a moment to listen, and flicked open again when she heard pawsteps approaching the entrance. Pebblepaw hadn't tried to fall back asleep, and had roused herself enough to come out and take on her training. She looked sleepy, and Grousefoot spared a moment to sympathize with her apprentice. "Morning."She nodded in satisfaction at Pebblepaw's appearance, as sleep-ruffled as it was. "Morning," the tabby returned the greeting quietly. Standing, she stretched and loped out of the camp, crooking the tip of her tail to beckon the white and gray apprentice after her. Frost limned the dried, brittle brown leaves that coated the forest floor, painting the world a ghostly gray. Combined with the pale gray of the sky, it made Grousefoot want to shiver, and prompted her to pick her paws up the moment they touched the ground, loathe to linger where cold might invade. Their pawsteps were accompanied by the thin trills of the thrush, which petered out not long after they left camp. A thought flicked through her mind, sending a cold chill up Grousefoot's spine. She could easily picture this area filled with dense, rolling fog, her sight limited to only a few cat-lengths ahead. Every sound would be eerie, each rustle and snap the movements of an unseen enemy. It seemed almost the landscape of StarClan itself, ghostly and solemnly silent, watchful of the intruders. Beneath her paw, a leaf gave, interrupting her stride with a stumble and jolting Grousefoot out of her imagination. The brown she-cat blinked hard and rapidly, amber eyes sweeping over the territory before her. Unlike in her imagination, the air was clear, if crisp and cold. It carried the sharply cold scent unique to leafbare, as well as the usual scents of the territory-- stale trails from Clanmates and prey, the scent of mud and water and fish, of trees and rotting leaves. She had continued to lope toward the clearing automatically, her body no longer needing her mind's guidance to escort Grousefoot to her destination. If she allowed herself to think of them, she knew her paws would carry her to the trees with the best boughs and splits for curling up on, or for looking out over the river into other territories. During the moons of conflict between the Clans, Grousefoot had often found herself ordered up trees near the borders with WindClan and ThunderClan, acting as a sentry hidden behind the spread of leaves, the height of the trees, and the width of the boughs on which she chose to perch. Her amber gaze had sharpened during that time, and she'd learned to observe small details that she hadn't noticed before. If nothing else, her time as a sentry had taught the she-cat to observe long before making a call, making sure she had all relevant information she could find pertaining to the subject of her thoughts. She'd learned a lot about the way cats moved when in certain frames of mind, and even the differences between the way cats of different Clans moved. Observing others had led to changes in her own motions, which were now smooth and as light as she could manage. These motions were combined with a long, economic stride drilled into her by her mentor the first time she failed to keep up with the older warrior's long legs and powerful strides. Grousefoot herself hoped that she could successfully impart it to her own apprentice before Pebblepaw became an apprentice, knowing that it could be of aid in any of a warrior's duties. Ahead, the trees began to thin, growing further and further apart, eventually ending with trees widely spaced from one another, ringing the grassy clearing like silent sentries, watching over generations upon generations of RiverClan cats. Grousefoot slowed as her paws hit grass, still soft despite the layer of frost over the clearing, and despite its brown-tinged blades. She padded to the center of the clearing and turned, eying Pebblepaw expectantly. "We'll be working on your fighting skills today," she mewed softly. Her amber eyes analyzed every shift and ripple of the younger she-cat's muscles, mind interpreting each to divine her intentions and next move. The older tabby's own muscles were relaxed, and her stance wide. Her joints were held loosely in place, and her claws were firmly sheathed. "Let's start with some sparring." Chin raising from its slightly tucked position, Grousefoot met Pebblepaw's eyes, one ear flicking; the moment the apprentice struck she would move, and no sooner. 839 words -- no notes -- tagged! pebblepaw |
|
|
|
|
Post by makronyx on Jan 1, 2013 14:21:28 GMT -5
Obediently, Pebblepaw rose to her paws and trotted after he mentor, still small enough so that two of her paces were worth one of Grousefoot's. Even for an apprentice, she was rather small, and hoped with the coming moons that would change.
Slowly, Pebblepaw felt her energy returning. Her muscles moving and the cold, crisp air of leaf-bare were opening her droopy eyes and making each step fill with more bounce. Now that she felt up to it, the she-cat was looking forward to being able to train with her mentor. But what sort of practice were they going to do? Hunting? Sparring? Her heart starting thumping a little harder at that idea, and she filled with anticipation. The image of being on a large battlefield, surrounded by cats clawing each other wildly, screeching with every taken blow, and blood splattering everywhere...maybe even death...it frightened her to no end. And now she was going to have to prepare for it, it...made her shiver. But she had to. For her Clan. Besides, the only way to get out of those fights was to become a Medicine Cat or a Queen, and neither seemed appealing at the moment for the young apprentice
Pebblepaw's nervousness grew as they neared their destination. The trees were growing wider and wider apart, until they ceased to be there at all. Before them was a large, brown field, and for a moment Pebblepaw became at ease. With a wild giggle, she bolted forward and started rolling in the grass, aware of how kit-like it was, but to overcome with the strange urge and energy to care. The way the long, stiff blades tickled her back and sides made her giggle more. Her fun was ruined when the cold of the ground settled in, making her spring to her paws just in time to hear her mentor's words
"We'll be working on your fighting skills today, let's start with some sparring."
"O-okay." Pebblepaw replied, stuttering for a moment. The apprehension returned, and increased twofold under her mentor's amber gaze. Making sure her tiny claws were firmly sheathed, and hoping to StarClan she would keep herself together enough not to draw them out, she tensed into a slight crouch. She almost felt like simpering under Grousefoot's analytical look and tall, firm stance that seemed relaxed and prepared. She took a few steps sideways, knowing her mentor would reposition herself and not allow the advantage, but this was more so for the sake of buying time. It was just a simple concept, attack!, but for some odd reason the she-cat was at a blank on how to do so without easily getting swatted away. Pebblepaw was smaller and less experienced. Her nervousness was clouding her mind of any battle moves she had been told.
Finally, in somewhat frustration, she just sprang forward and weakly rose to her hind paws, aiming a bat of her paw at her mentor. She knew this was terrible, that the second her swipe was done and momentum lost she would stumble back on front paws and leave herself completely open. But her racing heart-rate and shaky nerves drove away any common-sense in this spar.
[/justify][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/FONT][/size] |
|
|
|
Post by Kin on Jan 2, 2013 21:37:16 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i907.photobucket.com/albums/ac277/Myrrdyn/Grousefoottable_zps6c2e503b.png); width: 490px; height: 600px;border:1px solid #000000][style=margin-top: -20px;margin-bottom:-15px;] Her apprentice's emotions were plain on her face and posture. Apprehension tightened her stance, making rigid muscles that had been relaxed and loose when she rolled and tumbled in the grass. In that moment, she'd seemed a kit, carefree and innocent. It warmed her heart that Pebblepaw was able to do so rather than look grimly toward the edges of the territory, on edge and anticipating an attack at any moment. Now that the wars were over and peace had returned, fighting skills were kept polished more for what-ifs and just-in-cases, hunting skills brought to the fore. Still, peacetime or wartime, battle skills were not to be ignored. The other Clans were not the only cats who were potential threats to RiverClan. Rogues lived around the area, and some were not frightened of Clan reputation or puffed-up pelts and threatening words. Some had to be chased off with fang and claw, shown to whom the territory belonged. And no matter how much Grousefoot preferred stalking through the forest on silent paws to standing against an opponent in this grassy clearing, she would not neglect her apprentice's education. Pebblepaw had the potential to be a fine warrior, and she was growing into that potential a bit more every day. With training and care, Grousefoot would be proud to claim she'd mentored the gray and white she-cat, proud to see her curl up in her own nest in the warriors' den. She didn't have any illusions of having impacted Pebblepaw in nearly the same way Cloudeyes had impacted hers. Grousefoot was the mentor, the one who passed down skills RiverClan had been honing for long moons before their fathers' fathers had been a glimmer in their mothers' mothers' eyes. There were other cats more worthy of admiration, cats who'd fought fiercely in the various conflicts of the past moons. Foxstar was typically one of the chief cats kits and younger apprentices admire, the leader's sharp mind and cunning features that Grousefoot herself respected. Pebblepaw's posture shifted, drawing her attention from her thoughts. The younger she-cat had crouched slightly, moving to one side. Grousefoot automatically shifted her orientation to keep the apprentice from being able to approach on her side. She watched as Pebblepaw sprang forward, rearing up and aiming a blow at Grousefoot's shoulder. Rearing up on her own paws, Grousefoot walked backwards on wobbly paws for a couple of steps before falling to resume all four paws. Her amber eyes tracked the apprentice, and she circled for several heartbeats. Without warning, Grousefoot lunged forward, aiming a blow at Pebblepaw's head, claws firmly sheathed. Her paw was moving at a diagonal angle, coming from high and sweeping low. She remembered dodging this very blow from her own mentor, could feel the phantom sensation of crashing to the ground when her knees buckled and her nose stinging at the harsh contact, body rolling to avoid it. Pebblepaw had more than that option to avoid the blow, and Grousefoot would base her next move off her apprentice's reaction. 500 words -- no notes -- tagged! pebblepaw |
|
|
|
|
Post by makronyx on Jan 20, 2013 18:54:26 GMT -5
Heart slamming against her chest, Pebblepaw watched in fear as her blow completely missed when her mentor raised to her back paws and took a few steps away. The apprentice dropped back to her forepaws and observed, incredibly nervous, as Grousefoot circled her for a few moments. The small she-cat's body was beginning to noticeably quiver now, and she was fighting the urge to just curl up and-
Grousefoot sprung at her, raising her paw and swiping downward. Pebblepaw tried to react, but only could manage a cringe before the blow hit her and knocked her down.Though it was relatively light and her mentor's claws were sheathed, her head began to throb; maybe more from stress then the actual hit.
After a few moments of heavy panting, the young she-cat's heartbeat finally went down and the throbbing subsided. "That...wasn't good." she mumbled, getting up to sit, not looking her mentor directly in the eye. Pebblepaw felt frustrated that she couldn't think of anything to do then, and tried to fight back the image of what could have happened in a real fight, when the opposing cat's claws would have been unsheathed.
[/justify][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote][/FONT][/size] |
|
