private ˙ ˖ ✶ earning bright spoils ┊ slate.

[Cherryblossom]

After onlookers had untangled Cherrypaw from Doompaw, and after a minute of insistently licking down her rumpled fur, she and Slate were ready to set off. As ready as the unlikely pair could be, anyway.

Had it been anyone else, she would've found the immense size difference between them funny. A single, tufted paw of his was the size of her head, ears not included. If she'd been deferent enough to trail behind him, she could've been swallowed or swept off her feet by his swishing tail. Her efforts to keep up with him at his size aren't any less punishing: she quickly learns to slow her wild scampering into the steady but unfamiliar sensation of jogging, but her breath comes in gasps and pants and won't stop.

So she does, stubbornly skidding her paws into the middle of the leaf-strewn trail and letting her head hang low. "Stop...walking!" she puff-growls. As soon as she's able, she grimaces up at him. His orange eyes are twin suns relentlessly beating down upon her, and though she just wants to let her head dangle down, she forces her gaze into a glare back towards him. "What are we...doing...anyway...?" He better not stiff her like he has with every other kit, because she's an apprentice now. And even if she threw a tantrum in the middle of camp, or begged with her forehead pressed to the floor for Blazestar to reassign her, she knows her mother would never let him. Hmph. She hates him already.

@SLATE​

 

[SLATESNARL]

To say that Slate was displeased would be an understatement.

The Maine Coon practically storms out of camp, hefty paws thudding against the needle-covered earth as a pair of dulled amber eyes stare ahead. He has a general idea of where he's going - anywhere away from camp. The noise, the congratulatory meows, the excitement of the newly-made apprentices... it was too much for Slate and only aggravated his frustrations. He didn't particularly like young cats, especially annoying brats like Cherrypaw, so his new assignment to the deputy's daughter wasn't exactly a thrilling occasion. Orangeblossom was... Well, Slate's relationship with her was storied and complicated, to say the least, but she was perhaps one of the only SkyClanners he felt he could confide in. Her kittens, on the other hand, were nothing more than typical snot-nosed, boisterous bundles of energy.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Cherrypaw began to complain, as if the two had ventured out on a grueling quest to distant lands. In reality, they had only made their way halfway across the territory. "You don't tell me what to do; I tell you what to do." Slate growls a warning, an unamused half-lidded stare boring down onto the multi-colored she-cat. "Keep walking. We'll get there quicker if you quit complaining." Something of a lie leaves his lips, but perhaps there is some truth to the statement - time would go by quicker if Cherrypaw simply kept her trap shut and kept up with him.

Whether the apprentice abides by his words or not, the two eventually reach the edge of SkyClan's territory to the east - the river. Slate figured that surrounding himself with the serene ambiance of the running waters would be a nice way to destress for a little bit while Cherrypaw could, well, do whatever she wanted. As long as she didn't wander too far or fall into the river. "This is SkyClan's border with RiverClan. ThunderClan's border is also toward that way." The lead warrior gave a pointed look toward the north, up the river in the direction of Sunning Rocks. "Just don't be stupid and get too close, yeah?" Slate grumbled, taking a moment to swat at a fly that buzzed near his ears. ​

 

[Cherryblossom]

No one's ever spoken to Cherrypaw like this before.

Most of the adults adored her (in her opinion). The precocious daughter of their deputy, fire-footed and all too ready to grow up. She thought she'd be an exemplary pupil, driven and beautiful and always right. Before her apprenticeship ceremony, Cherrypaw had felt like a present. A nice shiny gift, primped and preened and even topped with a glossy red bow, to be opened by her eager mentor and held aloft like a child's newest doll. Why wouldn't they be excited to have her as an apprentice? Why wouldn't anyone?

Slate hadn't been any of that. He hadn't been enthused at all to be saddled with another apprentice; StarClan daresay he'd be more excited to prance into WindClan and pledge his allegiance to them than teach another so soon after Howlfire. Then again, Cherrypaw hadn't exactly been the best present either.

The warrior's gaze is somehow intense and dismissive when he deigns to look at her again. It reminds her of the heat of Greenleaf sun, setting fire to their thick little pelts and scorching off the budding pine needles, but unaware of itself even as it annihilates everything below. Why should he care about the scrap that trundles along at his heels? His face is far away but looms over her all the same, like a dark lip of a cliff curling shadows over her miniscule form.

She glares right back at him. "How do you know?" she challenges. He answers—or doesn't. It doesn't affect them either way, because he's already trudging forwards again. Having caught enough of her breath, she scrambles after him with renewed, angry vigor. "Slow down!" She would talk as much as she pleased! Although, there wasn't much to talk about in the first place. Cherrypaw doesn't actually want to have a conversation with him, and he sure as StarClan doesn't want to volunteer any more words for her.

. . .

The river sounds like trees. A comforting, rustling sound, whether its water over rock or wind through needles. It'd be easy for it to lull her into as close to a state of ease as she could get around Slate, but for that one thing: water. Up till now, the most water she's ever seen had been in puddles around camp, reflective little curiosities gathering in the divots of large rocks and etched into the after-rain mud. The water in camp had been tamed. It'd been caged in small pools, used mercilessly by thirsty mouths, and beaten into submission by the sun. Here, though, it runs wild. A sheer torrent, raging blue. It swells in her vision, intense and awesome enough to rival even the densest patches of the SkyClan canopy.

Without moving her head, she casts a dubious glance at Slate. She's supposed to believe that RiverClan—other cats—are just across this thing? Cherrypaw tilts her head. How would they get across in the first place? She easily recalls dipping a paw into a muddy puddle and instantly recoiling from the cold, slimy sensation. Now, if she took that feeling and covered her whole body with it...Ugh. "I'm...not stupid," she huffs back, still a bit winded from the rest of the walk here.

The calico then plops down with a sigh. It seems they've reached their destination. About time too: her fur is the ickiest it's ever been, which she was expecting but still not happy with. Carefully, she licks a paw, then uses it to smooth back the fur on her head.

ooc: sorry this is so late & you don't have to match!!​

 

[SLATESNARL]

Cherrypaw's inquiries would only be met by a metaphorical stone wall, as Slate was a steely brute who left no room for nonsense or dumb questions. The spunky tortoiseshell would soon come to realize that his style of teaching was very much geared toward "don't question it, just do it", whether she appreciated it or not. No apprentice that he trained would grow into a cat who constantly complained and pestered their clanmates, and he would make sure of it.

The Maine Coon stands tall, a light breeze ruffling his coat of charcoal and causing streaks of sunlight to shimmer across dull tufts of fur. He takes his time, sweeping his gaze across the coursing body of water — everything looked to be normal. It was peaceful, serene... For a moment, he forgets that he has a brat of an apprentice with him.

Breaking away from the brief intermission, the lead warrior turned his head toward the pouty she-cat, flicking a shredded ear in annoyance. Slate supposed that he should at least try and make this a learning experience so that Cherrypaw could accumulate something valuable in that cotton-filled brain of hers. "Take note of what RiverClan smells like. If you find this scent anywhere on this side of the river, then we'll have a problem." SkyClan did not house any sunning rocks for the fish-eaters to try and claim for themselves, but Slate would still remain vigilant either way. They could easily swim across and waltz along the riverbank should they be bold enough to do so. Whatever the political alliances, neutralities, and tensions were, Slate didn't put his trust in any of the other clans at all. Trust could be taken advantage of and broken at any moment's notice. If SkyClan were smart, they'd be sure to upkeep their scent as frequently as possible and keep a close eye on anything that seemed out of sorts.

Slate moves now, approaching a stray rock that juts out from the ground. Leaning down, a broad muzzle makes the gesture of practically nuzzling it, much like what a mother would do to her kitten although he couldn't be further from a paternal type of cat. Simply for the purpose of reinforcing the border, Slate leaves behind his own brand of marking, before remarking in the direction of the deputy's daughter, "The border's stale. Start marking it. Make sure they know that it's there."

// okay THIS is v late i apologize!!​

 

[Cherryblossom]

The RiverClan cats have yet to show their faces on this particular outing, and Slate takes this opportunity to remind her of the importance of their borders. Yeah, yeah. She'd been accustomed to the existence of the five clans since she was a kit, thank you very much. Her childhood squabbles over territories a fox-length long had taught her the value of borders, except as an apprentice she was to fight alongside those she'd fought against as real clanmates. The lead's gaze is storm-dark as he stares over the river, but Cherrypaw doesn't see why he has to be so brooding. The other clans would have to be thoroughly mouse-brained to try to cross into SkyClan, like WindClan had quickly learned!

Slate remarks that the border is stale, but it's hard to tell for someone who's never smelled the border at all. And besides— "But my fur's dirty," Cherrypaw whines, staying stubbornly rooted to her patch of rock. Yesterday's rain had left it gleaming and remarkably dust-free, making it a delightful seat. To get up and intentionally rub the cheek fur that she had just untangled against all the grime and grit of tree bark sounds unimaginably unappealing compared to sitting there and continuing to groom. "I'm not doing that." Without lifting her head she petulantly stares up at Slate, who by now had no doubt twisted around to give her an incredulous glare. To twist the knife in further, she guilelessly begins to draw her paw through her cheek fur again.

ooc: you me
responding late to this one thread​

 

[SLATESNARL]

If it were physically possible for pent-up steam to billow out of his ears and nostrils, Slate would be spouting like a hot spring right now. He had never anticipated having an apprentice being this difficult. This was their first border outing and Cherrypaw couldn't even so much as rub herself against a rock? She was stubborn like her mother, but in a far prissier way. Ugh.

Slate was no chump. He wasn't going to let this kitten refuse his words and dictate their training session. He was expected to teach, and if she didn't listen to him then it would reflect poorly. "It wasn't a request. It was an order, and you'll do as I say. Got it?" The Maine Coon curtly responds, his tone as icy as a pond in leafbare. Narrowed pupils glared down at the tortoiseshell for several moments, daring her to argue with him. "This is the easiest thing you'll learn. I can only imagine how you'll handle battle training." Her fur would get more than messy in a fight — it would get torn out, bloodied even. Would she be complaining then? Sobbing, shrieking at the state of her glorious fur? Or would she learn to focus on the more important matters at hand? Soon, Cherrypaw would discover that there were much bigger problems in life than keeping her fur groomed. Hopefully.

✰ INFO

• don't feel pressured to reply, but i wanted to write up his reaction rq!! hehe
  
• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

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