private A RED, RED SKY — smudgepaw

[RACCOONSTRIPE]

As soon as the meeting concludes, Raccoonstripe heads for the gorse tunnel and slips through, padding through cold and stiff foliage until the ground becomes shifty and gritty. In the Sandy Ravine, he sits and waits for his new charge to appear. It has been sometime since Wildheart and Moonwhisper had been apprentices—he almost, almost misses the sensation of seeing one of his lackluster protégés learn a decent hunting move or master a fighting technique he’s spent hours teaching them. When the ferns rustle and Smudgepaw appears, he will rise to his paws and begin to pace.

“Took you long enough.” He flicks his tail out behind him. “It’s time to figure out what you’ve managed to learn from Iceshadow. We’ll start with hunting.” He pads toward a mound of sand and scribbles into it with his claws. “This is your target. Show me your best hunting crouch for a rabbit.”

[ @SMUDGEPAW ]

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[SMUDGEPAW]

Following instructions, Smudgepaw had set out after the conclusion of the meeting, wasting little time in seeking out any of his friends. Eyes rolling behind his new mentor's back as he comments on his arrival time (He wasn't even late! What was that even supposed to mean?). Suppressing a groan, Smudgepaw concludes already that Raccoonstripe was not going to be as easy to manipulate and pull one over on as Iceshadow had been. "Easy enough." Muttering softly, he drops into a hunter's crouch, holding his tail out steady behind him, careful not to let it drag against the dirt beneath him.

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[RACCOONSTRIPE]

Though there are mutterings of dissent, Smudgepaw obeys orders easily enough—the pointed tom drops into an easy approximation of a hunter’s crouch, his tail lifted and out behind him so as not to drag the earth. Raccoonstripe studies him for a moment with critical near-black eyes. “Not bad. I guess you didn’t play nursery games the entire time.” He rises from his sitting position, letting his own tail brush the sand and whip a small cloud of grit and dust behind him. His whiskers stiffen, jaw setting.

“A good warrior can catch a rabbit, but I don’t train good warriors. I train great ones.” He smiles, though it’s hard and flinty, devoid of good humor. “Attack me, Smudgepaw. Imagine—I’m a RiverClan warrior, and Sunningrocks is mine!”

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