under gray skies ---{Open}

[Dusk]

A bit after sun-high, in an ideal world the sky should have been bright with brilliant shades of blue; spotted with white cotton-candy clouds that drifted lazily across the dome overhead. The real world, however, is anything but ideal. The heavens above were dark with gray clouds that occasionally released a light drizzle that -while not massive- served plenty well to soak paws and weigh down fur. So thought the sable-furred apprentice who wandered slowly towards camp -jaws full with a white-patched hare. His paws were stained black with the moisture that had collected on them, and they would take time to dry without the sun to warm them.

Hunting had seemed like a good enough idea earlier that day, when the sun had come out to make a visit on the Zephyrclan moors. A crisp breeze that gently tugged on the lush grassland had carried with it the pleasing scent of prey. Dunepaw would have been made to hunt sooner or later; sooner was the preferable option. When he'd first caught scent of the hare the golden-eyed apprentice had worked to suppress the doubts that his twisted paw would prevent him from running fast enough. In fact, he'd started to search for a different quarry twice before working up the nerve to keep after his original prey.

As for the chase, it wasn't much of one as the hare he'd been after had seemed oddly oblivious to it's surroundings. It had sat that, pink nose twitching idly and bright black eyes staring at nothing as Dunepaw crept within mere tail-lengths of the creature. When finally it had started and sprang away all that was necessary was a quick sprint to close the remaining distance and then a swipe at it's hind legs to knock it over; followed by a killing bite to the back of the neck. As the dark tom had stood over his kill he'd practically glowed with pride, knowing that his training with Fleetfoot had been successful thus far.

Then it had started to rain slightly, to Dunepaw's dismay. Although he'd worked to get back to camp quickly, his paw -with the added burden of the hare- slowed him up greatly; leaving him to gather water in his pelt as he worked his way pack to camp. His spirits could not be dampened completely, though, for he was still proud as he lowered the white and brown catch on the fresh-kill pile. He ran a pink tongue around his muzzle, jaws relaxing as they were relieved of their burden. Golden-eyed gaze passed through the busy camp as he leaned back on his haunches; contemplating what he should do next. Maybe he could have a few minutes to himself, with no hot-headed; quick to fight cats to cause problems.

[steps `]

___aspenstrike

[/color]
[/size]love,
you are foolish.[/font][/size][/right][/color]

He strode out of the warriors’ den, proud and magnificent as always – or at least he often thought himself to look – and let his bright ochre gaze pass lazily over the clearing, looking for something, anything that could be of interest. Letting his mind wander at the sound of the birds chirping in the distance and the cool breeze rustling his impeccably preened coat, Aspenstrike stood stock still at the entrance of the dark den, head raised regally and eyes closed as he took a deep breath of fresh morning air through his nostrils. Today was another day, one to be filled with wonder and beauty and to appreciate everything that the world had to offer, that Mother Nature had chosen to throw upon a cat as perfect as he. The warrior gave his ebony-hued fur a shake and, after pausing to note that there was a speck of moss tainting the purity of his dark coat and removing it with an exaggeratedly disgruntled air, padded towards the growing freshkill pile, his head cocked playfully to the side to inspect what food had been brought in. It was still meagre from the destruction of leafbare,

Leafbare. At the thought, he let his head rise gradually and his eyes stare deeply and – profoundly, he hoped – into the distance (like some kind of bad soap opera) and reminisced at the memories of those dark days. Struggling through the meagre rations, constantly weak from hunger, the clan has survived and pushed through, now to emerge in this new season stronger than ever. The tom nodded thoughtfully to himself, jaw set in determination, and gracefully picked up a white-splotched hair from the pile, it’s body plump and warm. The scent of a certain apprentice coated the hare’s frame and Aspenstrike sniffed before pricking his ears and glancing at the lean form of the nearby Dunepaw, quietly sitting by himself a short distance away. Ah, Dunepaw. The apprentice. The young tom reminded him of his younger days – well, not really, but he often liked to think that many apprentices reminded him of his younger days for no good reason other than to reminisce about how awesome he was (and still is) back then – and he did not find himself crossing paths with the lanky, dark-furred cat very much. Padding over, the tom grinned and spoke, his voice booming and commanding as always. ”Dunepaw! Morning, young ‘un. You caught this?” Gesturing towards the body of the hare with a slight flick of his head, the tom gave his bone-white chest fur a quick lick before continuing, his glittering goldenrod gaze fastened on the young apprentice. ”Fleetfoot must be teaching ya’ well. Looks like a real fast ‘un, this hare, must’a been hard ta’ catch. How’s your training goin’? Been pickin’ up any lovely ladies recently?” Aspenstrike winked roguishly, before turning his head to give his fur a quick preen.

[/size]

[dawn]

Stormtrick -

[/font][/color]
The walls start breathing
My mind's unweaving



Falling gray rain, casting a dreary, mournful appearance over the camp, had stopped for a while. It came haltingly, falling here and there, as though building up for a heavy rainfall, a storm that would crash over them and fill the lake. He couldn't help but think this was a good day for a death; the perfect setting, as though something terrible had, or would, happen. But, such thoughts gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, and he tried not to think of them, as if even the thought might come to life. Might take a mind of it's own, and carry itself out. A shiver from the thought, and the cold, rippled down his pelt. They didn't need to lose any warriors at a time like this.

The dusty black tabby, his pelt darkened further by rain, tipped his muzzle to the veiled sky as thunder rumbled. It startled him from his thoughts, but he was almost glad for the disruption. It shook the earth with it's thunderous roar, and claws of lightning struck the gray clouds, sending down a small downpour. Stormtrick had been ready to go out for a hunt, had already been able to taste the warm rabbit in his jaws; his heart sank now, and against his will he let off a quiet groan. Normally he would have tried to be stone faced, matching the gray day, keeping his disappointment to himself.

The dark tabby cast his blue gaze, fading from a vivid indigo blue to a clear pool like color, about camp. It didn't seem as though anyone had heard his complaint. Dunepaw had just returned with a nice catch, a hare, of which the fresh kill pile was severely lacking. It seemed Aspenstrike was already giving him plenty of praise, thinking himself quite dashing in the dim light. Stormtrick rolled his eyes, giving a snort of irritation, and padded over to the two toms.

There wasn't much hope in going out now; but if the rain let up the stubborn tom might still try his luck at it. "Hey, Dunepaw, Aspenstrike." He meowed warmly, gruff voice taking up a space of the still air as he joined them. "Great catch." He nodded to the other warrior, agreeing quietly that Fleetfoot indeed was teaching him well. Dunepaw would make a fine warrior when his time came.

[/blockquote] [/size]

[Dusk]

The day, it seemed was progressively growing worse as the churning, gray skies overhead rumbled dully. The apprentice's golden gaze flicked upwards to look at the darkened dome overhead before he released a mild sigh. Nope, it was more than likely that he wouldn't go out hunting again for a good while. Dunepaw fluffed out his still-drying pelt it a half-hearted attempt to keep out the cold. Thunder didn't please him. With nerves as easily frayed as his, the lanky tom found himself too often jumping in surprise to the booming only to feel embarrassed moments later by his over-reaction.

Lost in the idle wanderings of his mind, the tom failed to hear the approaching pawsteps of a familiar warrior. The dark-furred cat jerked his head forward in surprise as the booming, attention-demanding voice reached his ears. He plastered a grin on his face as he spotted the prideful -if somewhat arrogant- black and white warrior. Aspenstrike. Loud, proud, and occasionally too full of himself, but a good and loyal warrior; Dunepaw knew that every cat had to be indulged in when it came to their quirks. The grin warmed into a truer smile as he let the warrior's praise warm him. Just in time the tom remembered to give the respectful bow of his head to the other tom before speaking.

"It's my catch, yes," he replied, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. Thinking back on the past few days of training, Dunepaw chuckled gently. "I hope my training is working out. Been working hard after all." The apprentice paused to watch another cat walking up to them, he recognized the signature pelt of the dark tabby with ease. Once again the tom's head dipped in a bow to acknowledge the older warrior. "Thank you, Stormtrick!" came the grateful reply.

Looking back at Aspenstrike as the tom continued speaking, it took a moment for the warriors last question to sink in. He blinked slowly, golden gaze disappearing into the dark fur of his face as his mind fumbled to find a reply to the roguish question. "Ahhh," was his eloquent response; pelt heating slightly despite the cool weather. He gave a few quick licks to the fur on his chest nervously. "I dunno what you're talking about," he managed to mumble, burying his muzzle in his fur embarrassedly. He looked to Stormtrick desperately for some sort of help.

[steps `]

___aspenstrike

[/color]
[/size]love,
you are foolish.[/font][/size][/right][/color]

The tom’s tail twitched at the sight of a certain dark-furred tom approaching, and he nodded at the older warrior in greeting, a grin lacing his muzzle. He always found Stormtrick somewhat dull and would often lose interest in most conversations he had with the black-pelted cat, he had found no significance in small talk and would rather spend his time flexing his muscles for the she-cats than talk about the weather. And besides, the older warrior’s pelt was quite ordinary, but who could blame him. Not everyone was blessed with as spectacular a coat as he. Giving his dark fur a shake, Aspenstrike licked his porcelain-white chest carefully, ochre eyes fixed on the apprentice who seemed to suddenly turn shy as soon as she-cats entered the conversation.

A sharp, loud laugh escaped from his muzzle – though not in a patronising manner, it was more an exclamation of something interesting crossing his path – and he eyed the young tom with interest, an amused smile drawn upon his white muzzle. ”Ah, no need to be shy, Dunepaw! Who’s the lucky she-cat?” He was not one to peek into other’s business, he often was caught up by his own magnificence to worry himself with the doings of others, but he was always one for helping those in need – not many were as lucky to be as splendid as he and were unfortunately tied down, agonizing over life when they should be living it in the moment – and this young apprentice was no exception. ”As my father always said, ya’ gotta be bold to get what ya’ want. Don’t wanna end up like Stormtrick over here, no mate and already nearing his 50-th moon!” His booming voice escaped deep and commanding from his muzzle, eyes fixed thoughtfully into the distance before turning to the older warrior, a playful grin laced upon his dark features. Aspenstrike was never condescending in his words, though he often thought himself better than others, but normally came off as disdainful in his bluntness, stating the truth without thought to others. And besides, the warrior was old. No doubt about that.

[/size]

[dawn]

Stormtrick -

[/font][/color]
The walls start breathing
My mind's unweaving


Stormtrick exchanged a glance with the apprentice, and, blue lights gleaming as lightning broke the clouds, rolled his eyes. The way the other warrior carried on made him want to mock him severely, but he stifled it by clenching his jaws firmly and biting his tongue. His tail lashed quickly against the falling rain, in a singular motion. A whip. This was why he didn't care for Aspenstrike. He had to be the most annoying tom in the clan, and in all of the land surrounding. Not only was he a massive, pompous lump of ego, but he was also cruel, it seemed. Putting Dunepaw on the spot. "Now, Aspenstrike, let the apprentice alone..." But already the tom was droning on and on, drowning out his warning to let it alone. Dunepaw seemed embarrassed, at which he sighed, and curled his dark tabby tail about his paws. What an obnoxious tom...

He hadn't really been listening much, catching only snippets of the diatribe. His ears flicked back and forth, listening to the rain dancing about camp, and enjoying the majestic thunder and lightning. He was more at home with it than the other cats; it darkened his deep tabby pelt, coating on like a second layer. It was unpleasant, but he didn't complain. His paws itched to be out on the moors, chasing a rabbit, instead of enduring this painful display. But then he heard his own name mentioned, listened just enough to hear it, and a growl rumbled quietly in his throat, rough and threatening, as he turned his flashing blue lights upon Aspenstrike. "And tell me, high and mighty fool, just what she-cat who wasn't either dying or dead could stand you?" He smiled, then, as though he too had made a joke, and yet it was just as insulting as Aspenstrike's, if not more outright. He chuckled, turning his gaze distastefully away from the younger warrior, and glancing at the apprentice.

"Pay no mind, Dunepaw." He murmured, with no attention to 'young one' or 'son' or any such stupid title that Aspenstrike might use. "You're doing well in your training, and that's all that matters." He meowed steadily, seemingly relaxed from the flames dancing in his eyes again. His anger had been shown for only a moment and then it was gone, relaxed back to the simple, warm blue of his eyes.

[/blockquote]

[Dusk]

Dunepaw's eyes widened in dismay as the rather self-centered -although he probably thought himself amazingly magnanimous for assisting a young cat in need of "love help"- tom continued on with his "helpful" advising on the proper way to pick up a she-cat. As a kit, the sable cat had heard other apprentices muttering quietly among themselves about the pomposity of the white splashed warrior. He hadn't quite understood what they held against the cat at the time, but now having been drawn into a conversation with him Dunepaw understood all too well. "There's no she-cat," he said weakly, doubting that the other warrior had even heard him as Aspenstrike continued, blissfully unaware of the mildly offensive things he was saying.

At the mention of the senior warrior, Dunepaw switched his attention over to Stormtrick. The dark tabby tom was looking at Aspenstrike with distaste, to Dunepaw it seemed like the glare in the tom's blue gaze was reminiscent of the dislike one would have at receiving a particularly bad-tasting tidbit of fresh-kill. He smiled weakly at the older warrior's thinly veiled insult to the chatterer. The lanky apprentice never would have dared to go about mocking Aspenstrike. But then, Stormtrick had more moons on him than Dunepaw and Aspenstrike combined. He supposed that with age came the ability to "mock" without fear of reprimand.

"But it's a bit much, isn't it," the apprentice began to Aspenstrike's mention of age, "I'm mean, I haven't even reached my seventh moon yet." That was true, besides there truly were no she-cats that the tom found himself drawn towards as of that day. His yellow-gold gaze flicked back to Stormtrick as he gave gentle praise to the apprentice. "Thanks," he murmered. "I'm sure Fleetfoot would be happy to hear that as well."

[steps `]

___aspenstrike

[/color]
[/size]love,
you are foolish.[/font][/size][/right][/color]

A deep, rumbling laugh exploded from the sabre-hued warrior’s throat, his bright golden eyes sparkling as he nodded sagely to the older warrior’s, agreeing with his words. ”Aha! Exactly! ‘Tis a difficult feat indeed to find such an admirable creature to stand beside me. I have yet to find a she-cat that could prove to be a worthy adversary to one as adroit as I, but in your case, I am sure many she-cats would be befittin’ to your standards.” Aspenstrike spoke vivaciously, his bone-white chest fur puffed proudly and majestically, and grinned affably at Stormtrick. He was glad that the dark-furred tom had finally found something more interesting to speak about, and even more so since it was about himself. The ordinary clanspeak of hunting and patrols and weather could get so dull, and one could get sick of hearing how cloudy it was or how fast the hares were running.

The relentless drizzle pounded lightly against his thick fur, dribbling down his muscular flanks to splash messily onto the sandy ground of the camp clearing. Ash-gray clouds floated lazily overhead, shielding the area from the warm touch of the sun’s gentle rays, and a frigid wind danced carefully around the dens, it’s chilled tendrils caressing his sinewy build. However, the tom was in his element and paid no heed to the unfriendly conditions, focusing his attention on his future student, the unfortunate Dunepaw. Oh how unfortunate he was indeed, forever watching from a distance, too afraid to approach the one who caught his eye, who might never acknowledge his shy presence. It was his duty to prevent such an adverse future from happening and he would stop at nothing to ensure that the young apprentice break out of his shell and be free of the restraints that tied him down. ”And my dear Dunepaw, there’s no need to be shy! It is never too early to start searching for love, such a wondrous emotion cannot be withheld no matter how young you are.” He spoke powerfully and passionately, his glittering golden-rod used fixated on the young tom. ”And once you find her, you must never let her go, let me tell ya’ that. Ya’ have to get rid of all your opponents, and stop at nothing to make her yours! Of course, not in a stalker-ish way, you should always be a gentleman. Treat her right, and treat her well, as my pa always used to say!” Nodding genially, the muscular tom drew his intense gaze away from the apprentice to give the coal-hued fur of his shoulder quick lick, having been put out of place by a powerful raindrop. The rain always seemed to put his fur out of place; It was difficult, though not very much so, considering how dapper and comely he already looked (perhaps the rain gave him the virile, handsome, rugged look of a vagabond?), to keep himself preened and proper in such messy conditions.

[/size]

[Dusk]

Dunepaw hid a look of incredible surprise from the black-and-white warrior as he spoke high and mighty, as if Stormtrick's "joking" reply had truly been an innocent and curious question. Did the haughty tom really not pick up on -or maybe understand- the underlying tones of scorn in the senior warrior's words. The apprentice resisted the urge to lower his head and sigh in exasperation. How could Aspenstrike be so thick as to not realize just how offensive every other word that came from his jaws was? What had the lanky cat been enjoying earlier; a moment to himself without these sort of self-righteous cats? Huh, that had not lasted long. Dunepaw looked up in time to see Stormtrick get to his paws and walk away with a curt good-bye. For a moment the apprentice envied the warrior, but then returned his focus to the cat at paw.

The younger cat gave a nervous chuckle -to be more accurate, it came out a bit like a high-pitched squeak- and let his gaze quickly flit through the camp in a desperate search for some sort of rescue or diversion. He could see none. He opened his mouth to speak, but then thought again before promptly shutting it. He pawed the muddy ground uneasily, churning the grass and soil beneath him and regretting the move a moment later as gunk gathered between his toes. Maybe scuffing the ground was not the best nervous habit to turn to while in the rain. "Erm... Really, that's alright, he muttered uselessly. How had the conversation turned from a good hare catch to learning the right ways to gain the love and respect of a she-cat? That was something that the tom still couldn't figure out, and his thoughts were growing scattered. "Of course you should," the apprentice paused before continuing, "'Treat them right' as you say, but doesn't that apply to all cats, not just she-cats?" The question which had come without much thought cause Dunepaw regret instantly. The last thing he should have done was given the warrior more material to work with.

ooc// Sorry for the power-play there, but I don't think Stormtrick will be making any more replies.

[steps `]

this thread is dead~