private athene steels my soul | assessment

[Cherryblossom]

The pines were never quiet, but there was something about the gossamer sheet of rain, the pale glow of sun behind, and the stolid wool of clouds that made it all feel muted. Daisy-hued eyes stare into the sky, narrowed against the thin raindrops, as though mere imitation of the sun would be enough to burn them away. Rivulets of water whisper across the rocks and budding leaves, puddling in divots left behind by snowmelt. The outer porcelain of her grows cold and heavy, but the drizzle has yet to penetrate the inner cashmere of her pelt, nor the still, small flame nestled in the deep of her ribs. Deep, even breaths pull banners of pine-scent into her lungs, unfurling like falling ribbons in the white cave of her chest. In the shadowy greening canopy, birds chatter away, unbothered by the significance of one moment to one cat.

Cherrypaw shifts her weight from paw to paw. She'd begun favoring her left after the rogue sunk their fangs into her right; what had moons ago been a well of angry, raised gashes is now a dotting of hairless patches, revealing baby pink beneath plush white fur. The progress of her left ear, however, remains to be seen. Her tussle with Doompaw had only happened a quarter-moon ago, or so she remembers it. The tears down tender cartilage sting slightly in the humidity, a memory of the cobwebs and poultices that had weighed it down a few sunrises earlier.

The calico is not surprised, and therefore not grateful, that something as little as a torn ear would not delay her assessment. Maybe their matching ears would even curry her some favor with Orangestar. Certainly it did no wonders for her vanity, but she assuages it with the memory of her oldest rival fleeing back to where he was welcome.

Her gaze flicks across the only other two souls present. Slate, amber-eyed Leviathan, stands next to her mother, queen, and commander. Somehow, Cherrypaw feels like an amalgamation of the two, as though she were born snow-white then blackened and burned with time and tutelage, until her head and spine became permanently annoited in their hues. Their knowledge, their pride, their legacy.

Like a stray wisp of dandelion fluff, the thought of a certain smoky molly drifts into her mind. Spiderpaw never even got the chance to prove herself as a warrior. Cherrypaw feels the immensity of the moment building, and dispels it with an impatient flick of her tail. "I'm ready," the apprentice announces.

@SLATE @Orangestar​

 

[SLATE]

The day was here. The day when Cherrypaw would hopefully rise to her full potential and prove to SkyClan that her bite could amount to her bark. Slate knew she was capable when she applied herself; she had the size and muscle for it, and he had taught her the most effective ways ( at least in his experience ) of using it against opponents. With her mother's help, too, she was not only trained to navigate the ground but also the trees as well.

With the exception of a few shared words, Slate waits in silence next to his leader as Cherrypaw makes her arrival at the agreed-upon spot. You know what to do. You've been training for it. Don't screw it up. And what if Cherrypaw did not pass today? Slate didn't even want to think about it. He wanted to see his trainee graduate with the rest of her peer group, for the sake of his own pride. Silversmoke would surely have something snarky to say to him if she didn't. Most of all, he did not want Orangestar to raise a brow toward him and his ability to train an apprentice.

With Cherrypaw affirming her readiness, Slate gives one last glance to Orangestar, pesky nerves beginning to crackle like lightning in his chest. The lead warrior knew what to do, but then again, this was his first time doing something like this. Ah well, there was no time to overthink it. He just had to initiate the assessment and hope for the best outcome.

The Maine Coon holds his head high and states aloud the detailed question he had thought up prior to this test, "A RiverClan warrior crosses the river to visit their SkyClan mate. The SkyClanner catches a squirrel for 'em to share. What laws of the Warrior Code are they breaking?" He waits for an answer, gazing down expectantly at Cherrypaw.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐜𝐞

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  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

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[Cherryblossom]

The exchange of glances distracts her, just a little. The fact that her mentor sought refuge in her mother's den, for more than one night even, was a positively flaming topic of gossip. It reached Cherrypaw's ears before Slate even emerged from beneath the elderberry bush that first, wintry morning. She wonders, ever so briefly, if their combined presence here was contrived.

As much as she tries to contain it, just the implication forcefeeds a short reel of film into her mind, shots of her father's great head shuddering uncontrollably into the dirt. The cries that came from her mouth were, frankly, embarassing. More embarassing should be whatever cavorting her mother and mentor did and still might do, hiding from her father's death behind the shorud of night and elderberry leaves.

It's too easy to hate Slate, but far harder to hate her mother. And then again, was it her business at all? Orangestar and Ashenclaw hadn't slept in the same nest for moons. Maybe it was just that her mother, hard-hearted and harder-faced, managed to find two cats who loved her before Cherrypaw even found one.

Pale features sour just slightly as Slate poses his question. That's it? She glances at Orangestar, then tips her head. "Well, the one where you can't have mates in other clans, obviously. And, hmmm..." Slate said codes, plural. She's heard the Warrior Code plenty of times before, whether being enumerated for the first time to new warriors, daylight or not, or being droned in the green ears of young apprentices. "Trespassing on SkyClan territory, for the RiverClanner." She absentmindedly combs a paw through her chest fur. "There's also, like, eating prey before giving it to the queens, kits, and elders."

The flick of her flame-flecked tail signals the end of her guessing. The Warrior Code was kind of intuitive, really. As one of the only barriers between the clans and barbian hordes of rogues, Cherrypaw doesn't consider it that hard for educated, civilized cats to deduce for themselves. If she ignores the fact that she grew up on the Code, which she does, then it's like taking prey from a kitten. Sparring was sort of the same way, except much more enjoyable.

Speaking of her assessment, if she didn't get this right, would they just cancel her assessment right here? That would be so embarrassing. She'd probably exile herself that instant, and for good reason if she couldn't remember six measly little laws that governed her entire life.​

 

[SLATE]

The questions were straightforward enough, Slate figured. Even though there were multiple laws to take note of, he knew that Cherrypaw could answer promptly. Every apprentice was schooled on the laws of the Warrior Code on nearly every patrol, just to keep their minds sharpened. She was no exception; Slate had often taken the opportunity to quiz her knowledge when a situation presented itself.

He gives a single nod to his apprentice. "Correct." That was the easy part. Now was when Cherrypaw's physical form and ability would be put to the test. As per SkyClan customs, warrior assessments were performed in the trees; Orangestar would truthfully know more about her climbing skills than he would. In fact, Cherrypaw could outclimb him. The Maine Coon could not bring himself to venture higher than the lowest branches, no matter how much he practiced. So, hopefully her training with her mother and the other climbers would pay off.

Now, for the next portion of Cherrypaw's warrior test. Climbing came naturally enough for the tortoiseshell she-cat, so he would make her task a bit harder — she was to bring back a bird, a small bird at that. Finches were harder to sink one's claws into, especially while in the branches. She would have to be stealthy. "Take to the trees and catch one finch. I ain't givin' you all day, so make use of your time." In other words, don't stop and fret about how your fur looks or something. They still had the combat section of the assessment to get to, which Cherrypaw would need to save her energy for as well.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐜𝐞

•  

• 

• 

  ₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾

  slate
  

  — he/him; lead warrior of skyclan
  — a hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  — "speech", thoughts, attack
  — link to full tags; @ on discord or dm @beaaats for plots!​

  ​

​