Look! I'll be a warrior, too. [Carot]

[Fablie]

[[Carotius, apologies for the quality. I just felt I had to get something posted. ^.^;]]

"Rowanpaw!" Foxpaw's mews were heard around the camp. Where is she? She wasn't out with her mentor -- he'd checked a long time ago. This wasn't fair at all! The ginger apprentice twitched his whiskers in thought, tail waving back and forth behind him. It was evening; the border patrols had just returned. She wasn't in the Apprentices' Den -- and why would she be, at this time of day? -- nor was she hanging out with the elders or the nursery kits. Foxpaw sighed; if he was unable to find his own sister, how could asking around the camp do any good? All the same, the apprentice hesitantly waved over one of the warriors in camp and asked if they'd seen her. He repeated this several times; none of them had. He was already about to go out and look for her himself when one apprentice's answer confirmed to him that she was not within camp. Thanking the apprentice, Foxpaw resigned to go and search for her in the territory.

He'd already hunted for the kits and elders today while he was out with his mentor, but Foxpaw's manner was furtive all the same as he padded towards the freshkill pile and pulled out a stingy, leaf-fall sparrow. It was gone quickly; he hadn't had anything to eat yet that day, and the sparrow was below average in size. With the meal to hold him down, the bulky apprentice strode briskly to the camp's main entrance and began searching.

The birch trees towered over him, but their leaves were all colored the odd shades they get in leaf-fall, dying and beginning to fall; some of the trees were near bare, though others remained laden with red and orange and brown. "Rowanpaw?" he called, his voice scaring away a tiny vole that had been foraging nearby. I'd better be more careful next time, he thought to himself chidingly.

[Carotius]

Tags: Fablie
OOC: Time for some bonding! Attempt #3 to reply. XD

---

The leaf-fall day had gone pretty well. In the morning, Rowanpaw was up and about outside the warriors' den, her green eyes eagerly seeking her golden-pelted mentor in the among all the other mingled pelts of brown, ginger, and grey, with the odd splash of white tossed in every few bodies. It didn't take long to sought out the specific warrior's scent, and it was with little effort that she woke him and brought him up into the open (wouldn't you have done the same, if your apprentice blabbered loudly in your ear until you got up?), where they got a good stretch before heading out into the forest.

Rowanpaw had missed a squirrel on the hunt, but made up for it with a shrew which barely escaped her claws. She knew every bit of prey they found was precious in the changing seasons, so it went without saying that the missed prey made her sullen for the rest of the hunting session, to the extent that Sparkleap decided to switch to battle training just to keep her mind off of it and also for her to vent out her frustrations on whatever target dummies there were, the mentor himself included. The ginger she-cat wasn't sure how many times she batted the older tom too hard, but he'd assured it wasn't much.

They had returned to camp with their catch - the shrew and Sparkleap's twin pigeons - before having their meal together. Rowanpaw had sassed her mentor about something she now forgot about; Sparkleap's golden fur had bristled in alarm, but he'd relaxed just as quickly, amber eyes a refreshing shade of gold from the mirth they shared, talking about life in the Clan and the strange yet memorable incidents that have happened. but Rowanpaw's green eyes couldn't reflect those bright amber ones in terms of emotions; something bothered her, and when she was done with her meal, she'd bolted out the camp without another word to her mentor, whom she knew was staring at the entrance in confusion as she left.

Now that she was away from camp, the ginger apprentice had ran through the territory, not really knowing where to go or why. She just felt the need to get out of there, away from the camp where everyone was; somewhere where it was quiet enough to think was a good place, but she didn't know where, and she continued her blind sprint, ignoring the cold wind that tugged at her fur, as if begging her to turn back. Somewhere... Anywhere but camp now! Her thoughts began to swirl with strange memories, many of which she had shoved to the back of her mind since her early days as an apprentice. She didn't want to remember those ones, not when it made her heart wrench, her limbs weak, and her eyes teary. No, she didn't want to look emotional in front of her Clanmates.

And so it was just right for her when she crashed into a fallen log, its inside still intact, though moss was beginning to grow on its edges. No matter. Rowanpaw got up from her unceremonious tumble, shaking off the leaves from her pelt. Without hesitation, she leapt onto the log, not clearing it completely as she needed to scrabble with her hindpaws to heave herself up. She settled herself on the top of the log, her tail dangling loosely behind her as she watched the birch trees in the season of leaf-fall - quiet, undisturbed, changing their appearance only when it was needed.

It seemed like ages before she heard something in the distance, and she whipped her head around, looking for the source of the noise. There was nothing there. Well, except for the vole that scuttled from out of nowhere, squeaking in horror.

[Fablie]

[[So sorry. I tried to send my post and this thing deleted it completely; it was a bit discouraging, along with how behind I am in threads. (Aaaaaaaalso, I have no idea what that final exam apprentices take before becoming warriors is called if anything, and Google yielded nothing, so I dodged around using the term. Oopseh.)]]

The breeze picked up, buffeting Foxpaw, and the young tom had to tuck his chin inward to avoid the whipping of wind at his eyes. He let out a little sigh of complaint before it quieted again -- enough for him to look up and see the displaced leaves fluttering down around it without squinting, but not quite enough that he didn't feel chilled and shoved about -- and Foxpaw slowed to a halt. He wasn't particularly winded, nor was he entranced by the tranquility of his surroundings; it was more of a cautious stumble, as if some possible threat had only now occurred to the wide-set apprentice. He opened his mouth briefly, tasting the air, and was rewarded by a familiar tang mixed in with the flurry of fading vole and forest musk.

"Rowanpaw!" he yelped, a mixture of relief and excitement coloring his tone. She wasn't with her mentor, so he wouldn't have to explain himself or apologize for interrupting their training session... Right? A pinprick of doubt didn't fail to enter his mind, but he quickly brushed it away. Surely, Rowanpaw couldn't be taking any kind of solo exam yet, could she? She couldn't become a warrior without him and leave him behind because he slept in! That wouldn't be fair at all.

He'd taken a step back at his own thoughts, but now the ginger-furred cat padded forward determinedly, almost sprinting to catch up with his sister. She wasn't far ahead, and he found her perched atop a toppled log only several foxleaps away. She was staring at a spot a bit to the side of him, and he adopted a leisurely pace as he approached. "Why didn't you wake me up?" he whined, muddled amber eyes turned sulky.

A clumsily large, white-tipped paw was sent flying at the tawny-red she-cat, claws remaining sheathed. He reared up in the process, unbalancing himself a bit. 

[[EDIT: So apparently that post did go through. I thought I'd checked the night I sent it. Oops. u_u

Well, my muse for this character is just beginning to seep into existence, and I feel this post is better than the last one in terms of quality, even though neither has a whole lot of content. At least, that was my logic behind deleting the other one when I saw both were there. I now realize you probably already read that one, so, uh, oops... I hope that didn't bother you!]]

[Carotius]

OOC: Weeeeee! I have reminded you of the word! XD

---

Where did that vole come from?

The ginger she-cat flicked her ears, not really knowing what to think of a piece of prey suddenly fleeing in terror for no obvious reason. Those things were easily spoke, if she could say so herself, and it often made cats jumpy without much warrant. So it happened that she followed the small creature's path of escape briefly before she retraced where it had come from, noting that it was headed in the same direction she herself had blundered through. Familiarity struck her nose as the gentle breeze brought a scent to her, one that she had grown up with since her nursery days, even when...well, that happened. 

Rowanpaw's ears flicked in surprise when she heard her name being called, though maybe she was just dreaming it. Yeah, she was probably dreaming it, considering the stillness of the birch forest in the embrace of leaf-fall; she had been taught that silence could make one mad if they were subjected to it long enough, and they would get strange hallucinations with regards to all of their senses. Of course, the apprentice didn't really believe it, but if this was what's happening to her right, then maybe she'd start to. Furthermore, her mentor seemed a bit distracted lately, muttering to himself and staring off into space often; Kinkpaw hadn't been seen around camp either, so Rowanpaw didn't have anyone to ask about Sparkleap.

Blinking her green eyes, Rowanpaw watched as another ginger apprentice materialised from the shadowy undergrowth, amber eyes muted but still a bright contrast against his pelt that was intermixed with white. Those same amber eyes were staring up at her piteously, akin to a pout, while the white muzzle whined about not being woken up. Woken up for what? Rowanpaw wanted to say, staring back at her brother as he approached the fallen log with a leisurely lope. 

This was Foxpaw, Rowanpaw's older-by-a-few-seconds brother. His markings were pretty identical to hers, but instead of cream against ginger, they were a stark white against ginger - this appearance was what led him to be named Foxkit when he was born, for he even possessed the distinct white tail tip that Clan cats usually saw foxes to have.

"What do I need to wake you up for? I was out training with Sparkleap," she huffed, carefully turning around, leaning her head forward to face him. "Even if I did try to wake you, you'd probably just continue snoring until leaf-bare!"

The she-cat would continue her little rant if she could; the thing is she couldn't, for Foxpaw aimed a sheathed blow at her, connecting with the muzzle she had put forth towards him. Hissing with surprise and slight pain, Rowanpaw locked smouldering green eyes onto her brother, lips curled in a snarl as she watched him rear backwards, looking like he was about to lose balance. Mouse-brain! She launched herself from her perch on the log, forelegs outstretched as she flew towards the unbalanced Foxpaw.

[Fablie]

((Urp these posts are consistently small and I'm sorry about that.))

Rowanpaw's green eyes flashed with anger, and her lips curled back in a snarl; this was not the reaction Foxpaw had been prepared for. He had, however, already been braced for a retaliation on his sister's part, and was unsurprised when he saw her forepaws hurtling towards him. he stumbled in a frantic effort to get back on his feet.

"Oomph!" A quick, involuntary noise escaped the apprentice as the impact hit his chest. Rowanpaw was smaller than him, but he felt himself being knocked backwards at the force of her paws and landing with a thump on the grass. The incongruous white of his underbelly was exposed to the air, and -- while Foxpaw never was good at fighting -- he knew this was horrible practice; with a heaving effort of his shoulders, he rolled over, doing his best to knock Rowanpaw off in the process. He backed up,

"Well..." Foxpaw started, contemplating his sister's words. "I-if you woke me up then, I could have... I don't know," he stuttered, lowering his head and his guard. "I could have asked Laurelheart to let me train with you. That would be funner, wouldn't it?" With that burst of enthusiasm, Foxpaw looked up, making an effort to catch his sister's gaze. He couldn't keep behaving this way, so submissive and weak; Rowanpaw was his littermate, and she was smaller than him! There was no reason for him to treat her as his superior, even if he felt that way. Foxpaw cringed at his own thought. He probably had an anguished expression on his face now, too.

At least it's just Rowanpaw around, he decided. If it had been anyone else, they would have seen such embarrassing and kit-like behavior -- but it was Rowanpaw, and only Rowanpaw. Having known him his entire life, there was little he could do or say that would alienate her. She wasn't like their father, who practically abandoned the both of them when their mom died.

He let out a frustrated sigh, forepaws scuffing the ground. After the slight, irrational fear that had come over him as he searched for his sister, the embarrassment of waking up later than her, and the further shame of being overpowered by the smaller apprentice even though neither was a particularly skilled fighter, he was feeling especially downtrodden. Even the dirt and grass reflected the season, for the strands of green that poked through seemed sickly and chilled, and the ground was packed tighter than usual -- as if teetering on the verge of being gripped by frost.

[Carotius]

The attack connected, and the siblings landed with a thump on the forest floor, the she-cat pinning the tom to the ground with a fierce growl and lashing of her tail. Rowanpaw would have applied her training with Sparkleap - to rake her opponent's exposed belly with her hindlegs - if her brother wasn't as equally informed; she was unbalanced by Foxpaw rolling to the side with a push of his shoulders, successfully dislodging the smaller cat off of him and get back to his feet. Hopping back onto her own paws, Rowanpaw got into a defensive stance, teeth bared, ears flattened, lips curled in a snarl as she waited for another opening to get at the other ginger-furred apprentice.

When Foxpaw spoke, she eased up, retreating from her stance and into a normal posture but still maintaining her glare. It won't be that fun if your mentor isn't there to watch! She wanted to retort at her brother's lack of brains in that answer of his; several times had that happened, and she wasn't too pleased at his way of thinking sometimes, and on more than once occasion had she physically showed it by cuffing him on the ear, though she was always chided for it afterwards by her mother.

...Mother.

Their mother had died from a fall within the first quarter-moon of them becoming apprentices, and things went wrong from there, things that made Rowanpaw wish StarClan could have interfered with how her life was going to turn with a flick of their paw - their father acted as if they were not his family, but mere apprentices born in the same Clan as he, and their trainings had gotten a little behind because both of them were distraught by the loss. Rowanpaw herself had grown a little bitter, lashing out at anyone whenever they got on her fragile nerves, and she couldn't focus on training well enough. but she knew even her warrior ancestors could do no such thing as control their fate...could they?

Her thoughts were ceased when she settled her green eyes on Foxpaw, taking in the golden eyes that stared glumly at the leaf-strewn ground. Those eyes were from their mother - it was the thing that reminded Rowanpaw of her most, and secretly, it angered her. It was her mother's eyes that gave her comfort when the nights got too scary, and when she needed comfort from the annoyances of Clan life like training; her pelt colour was shared by both siblings, though Rowanpaw was the one who received the cream markings - Foxpaw received his white ones from their father, with Rowanpaw getting her brown paw blotches and green eyes from him.

"What are you so glum about?" she muttered, kicking away a loose pebble nearest to her forepaw. "I thought you were gonna play moss ball with the kits or something."

[Fablie]

Foxpaw glanced up again, stopping to watch the little pebble his sister had sent tumbling to the side as it came to a standstill near his forepaw. After a heartbeat, he reached out and batted it lazily away for no reason in particular. "...What's that supposed to mean?" he challenged meekly when she finished, inclining his head sideways and watching Rowanpaw through the corner of his eye. She had an odd expression on her face; Foxpaw couldn't quite pinpoint what it was, but it wasn't the first time he'd noticed it lately.

Her eyes were green, just like their father's -- perhaps a little less intense, but similar enough that Foxpaw often had to fight down a horrible mixture of emotions when he took notice of them. Rowanpaw isn't like Dad, though. Foxpaw often reminded himself that, even now, moons after all that had happened. Rowanpaw wasn't like their father. He didn't have to fear the look in her eyes, and he didn't have to avoid looking at them when he spoke. He did need to learn to be himself, one of these days, and part of that meant he needed to forsake the remnants of what used to be a strong reverence for his father. His father wanted nothing to do with him, and so Foxpaw -- Foxpaw should want nothing to do with his father, either, right? He aspired to be anything but similar to a warrior who would be so irresponsible.

It bothered him that, though he didn't mean it, he had yet to shake the habit of whining like a kit over every little problem that affronted him. He wasn't really sure where he got it from; neither of his parents acted like that around Foxpaw, though he supposed his mother had sort of encouraged the behavior by trying to get him to stick up for himself.

Rowanpaw wasn't like their father; aside from her eyes, even her appearance reflected this in the way her fur and size matched their mother's so well. Her inflections rarely matched the ones their mother had used with Foxpaw, but there was a resemblance there, too. Foxpaw suddenly found himself wishing he'd spent more time with their mother, and not trailing after his father the way he did; he had loved her, and she had been so kind to him. Why had StarClan let things turn out the way they did?

Amidst all of his introspection, the large apprentice -- almost a warrior now -- found himself wishing to confide in his sister. The two had coped in different ways all this time, but something about the atmosphere now was making Foxpaw feel particularly helpless; he wanted to break down, and he wanted to know if Rowanpaw was doing any better. The fiery ginger-and-white tom stayed silent only out of fear; no, Rowanpaw was not like his father, but what if she was? What if he was wrong all this time? What if that look in her eyes had been one of bitterness, or contempt, or jealousy, and he'd just been too blind to recognize it in his sister? No, that wouldn't do; he wouldn't say anything about how he was feeling; his piteous thoughts would remain as secret as he could make them. He wouldn't ask Rowanpaw what she thought of him, either; he was too scared of the answer. Wait, actually...

"Um, Rowanpaw?" he mumbled, unsure if his voice was an unwanted interruption, but intent on speaking up.

Do you think I act like Dad? He would ask her something like that; he wasn't sure how to phrase the question. It was simple enough, right? If she thought he was too much like their father, maybe she didn't like that about him, and maybe he could change for his sister. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, one day, he'd be more like their mother. Their mother would never have abandoned them, no matter what; besides, no one could hate someone like their mother was. He knew he was romanticizing that; she'd had flaws, of course -- but Foxpaw had been too young to notice them. She loved me, though. That was one thing Foxpaw believed he could be certain of, now, reflecting on what it was like in the nursery and what it was like now. Rowanpaw... She loved him, too, he hoped; he just couldn't be sure of anything. He thought his father loved him.

Rowanpaw isn't like Dad.

[Carotius]

OOC: Guuuuuh, laaaaaaate....

---

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

Rowanpaw bore her green gaze into her brother's amber oculars, daring him to stuff the wrong words into her mouth within the next few seconds that she was silently offering him. It was a challenge - one of many that the ginger she-cat had thrown the other's way whenever her nerves were about to be touched, to give him a final chance of piling his words together and swallowing it back down his throat before she herself shoved it down for him.

She always wondered why Foxpaw rarely ever seemed to be as outgoing and energetic as herself. Even way back when they were kits, the male sibling tended to hide behind the parents and wail whenever he was being bullied, relying on the protection and comfort of their mother or father to save himself from hurt or embarrassment. Well, Foxpaw always did retreat to their father the most despite all the comfort that was usually from their mother; Rowanpaw had been selfish in harbouring the idea that in doing so, she had had her mother all to herself.

Oh, how wrong was she on that fateful day, feeling as if she'd lost both her parents. Extreme sadness and a heavy load of bitterness swamped her overtime, and Rowanpaw became an increasingly difficult cat to communicate to for about a moon, or maybe it was more than that. Who knows? It felt like ages for the young apprentices, for time seemingly slowed down in their mourning for their loss, making the passing day strangely unbearable.

Flicking an ear at the memory, Rowanpaw blinked, watching Foxpaw through the haze of thoughts. "What?"

[Fablie]

Foxpaw was staring at the ground near Rowanpaw's legs -- where her fur faded from ginger to cream, just like their mother's had. The ground was covered in green, like their father's eyes; it reminded Foxpaw where he was supposed to be looking as he spoke. His sister's eyes remained thoughtful and almost faraway, but she was waiting for him to say something. He inhaled deeply, his chest puffing out with air. Scents were carried on the breath, many scents -- all the scents of a quiet forest with only two occupants and then some, for there were more than two occupants; there was prey concealed in the bushes, and flying above, and things were moving all around while the two cats weren't watching for it.

It was only the space of a heartbeat, surely, that he was holding this breath; he was supposed to breathe again, he was supposed to let it out, but he didn't. He would speak when he let it out, and he didn't know what to say. Then, he exhaled; the breath was loosed before the effort to hold it in became a fully conscious one, before the action became observable. The words weren't carried on his exhalation, or anything like that; he deflated first, remembered all the times he'd been relaxed around his sister and tried to return to those times. "Do you hate-," he blurted out, almost finishing his sentence before he stopped himself. It was no good; he couldn't keep from feeling anxious here and now. When he was nervous, he said all the wrong things, all the things he didn't want to say -- out of habit, insanity, he had no idea what. Me. Do you hate me? That was the question he'd nearly asked, although he knew how pointless it would be; even if some part of Rowanpaw did harbor a grudge against him, she would never answer "Yes."

"Dad hasn't talked to you lately, has he?" His voice was quiet again, a hushed mew that barely carried to the cat in front of him. He wouldn't know what she thought of him yet, after all. A part of him was almost grateful. It still felt satisfying to finally let out a hint of what he was thinking about -- and to get his bearing on the event that he and his sister had shared, once more after so long. He wasn't sure either of them had discussed it much; Rowanpaw had been hysterical over the death of the she-cat who bore them, and Foxpaw had worried she would never recover. In the end, though, that was one way she was stronger than her brother. If she had recovered from it already, and he was simply scrounging up unwanted memories, the apprentice wouldn't have been shocked. If that was the case, maybe she would lash out by cuffing his ears like she always used to when he did something wrong. That didn't happen much anymore, now that they were apprentices, training by and for themselves and not lumped up together in the nursery. She didn't do any of the things that used to feel unfair to Foxpaw, now that they had no parents to stick up for him. Okay, I guess she still does some of them, he supposed, but at least now -- now that mother wasn't there to help, and father wasn't there to be impressed -- he didn't think so much of it.

Rowanpaw wouldn't confide in him, not when their mother had died; Foxpaw often couldn't help but hide his feelings, and his sister did it deliberately, so it was a rare moment when the two talked about issues like this. He wanted to be there for her, now that their mother couldn't and their father wouldn't, but a part of him still felt like a kit. Did his sister -- born a few seconds after him -- did she ever feel the same, even now that they were almost warriors?

[Carotius]

OOC: Probs short post ;w;

---

Rowanpaw could only cock a metaphorical brow at the abrupt cut in her brother's voice, as if he suddenly thought better of whatever he wanted to say at the last second, and resorted to keeping it under lock and key. If she didn't know any better, it was probably fitting to add the word 'again' at the back of that sentence, all things about the white-patterned tom considered. What caught her attention was the last word he blurted out before the halt, the one word that had such strong meaning when you were in the younger stages of your life - 'hate'. As Foxpaw attempted to form up his words once more, the ambient noises of the forest filled whatever awkward silences were lurking around the siblings, though the she-cat was quickly becoming impatient at waiting.

"Dad hasn't talked to you lately, has he?"

What are you trying to get at? She gave him a look made up with the intense mix of irritation, curiosity, and inner despair, the last on the list being the emotion she fought very hard to tone down, or even rid of completely. She did NOT want anyone, much less her brother Foxpaw, to see her when her emotions spilt out into a mess of tears and unprovoked torture of plant life - yes, she uprooted a few young shoots in her short lifetime when she got angry about the past, all in a bid to keep her embarrassing feelings in check. I hate what happened to us, if that's what you want to ask. She let her eyes remain locked on Foxpaw's wide amber ones, her learnt stoicism coming into play as she waited for else to come from his white muzzle.

The she-cat knew she had to answer her brother somehow, so she settled first with a loose shrug, turning her head in the direction of the enclose where the horrid memory took root. "Does he to you? He's acting like we never were his...kin."