LOSING YOUR WAY \ slate

[TALLULAHWING]

The massive dark-pelted warrior hadn't been first on Tallulahwing's list to free. Part of her, selfishly, had thought it would be justice for him to be converted into a kittypet, considering the intensity of his prejudice. Her one meaningful interaction with Slate, beside listening to his constant mutterings about the useless burden of daylight warriors, had been her teasing attempt at gifting him a bowtie to match her own. He'd not appreciated the gesture, surprisingly.

Still, the torbie is resigned to the fact he's her Clanmate. And a nagging part of her wants him to know and admit he's been proven wrong, that she is a fierce and capable warrior despite the frilly purple bow about her throat.

When Tallulahwing had asked him to hunt with her, she'd had no real ulterior motives -- nothing except to talk, really. She moves beside him with grace, with ease, her ears pricked and eyes alert for prey scuttling about in the trees. "Here, let's climb here," she says, her voice bright. They're near the Rockpile, but she'd rather stay amidst the tree tops if possible; she has better luck when aloft, when closest to the clouds.

Her quick ascent leads her to a low branch, thick at its base and sturdy enough for two cats. After she settles, she looks at him, smile small and tight, and says, "You might be out of practice, darlin'. Too much time spent sittin' in that Twoleg trap." She nudges him lightly with a forepaw, yellow gaze flashing. "Let a kittypet show you how it's done, hmm?

/ @SLATE ​

[ PENNED BY MARQUETTE ]​

​

 

[SLATESNARL]

❪ TAGS ❫ — Being wrong was not something that Slate easily admitted to. It was akin to a warrior accepting defeat on the battlefield, something to be ashamed of, something to avoid at all costs. It was his way or no way at all, right? That had been Slate's mentality for a lifetime, anyway. A revelation had recently dawned upon the former rogue, though, one that was nearly world-shattering for him. He had scoffed at the idea of daylight warriors upon first arriving in SkyClan, a firm believer that kittypets could never truly live the life of a warrior and bring value to the clan because of how pampered and spoiled they were. Needless to say, Slate had been pretty surprised upon realizing that the rescue patrol had been comprised of mostly daylight warriors. Their knowledge of twoleg objects had helped free dozens of cats from imprisonment.

Maybe it was wrong to judge them all in the same manner. Perhaps they were capable of earning his respect. Did this make him an instantaneous fan of all daylight warriors? No. However, Slate couldn't wholeheartedly claim that daylight warriors were useless or unworthy members of SkyClan. They had saved his life.

Still, Slate cannot help but feel a tad awkward as he accompanies Tallulahwing on an outing to the pines. He doesn't know if she's expecting him to say something or admit that he had misjudged her, but as long as she doesn't bring up the subject, he won't plan on doing so. Hopefully Slate holding his tongue about daylight warriors and being a smidgen more decent to her would suffice.

The Maine Coon scales up the tree trunk after the she-cat, pulling himself onto the branch with a deep huff and a roll of his shoulders. She was right about one thing; he was out of practice. After a moon of limited muscle use, he feels as if he's tweaked a nerve in his shoulder. "Urgh— maybe..." Slate grunts, wincing slightly. He'll be fine; it would take a lot more than mild discomfort to deter the former rogue.

He quirks a brow when Tallulahwing teases him, to which he snorts, "Show me how it's done?" Slate bites back a comment about how being served daily meals on a platter must have been such a difficult technique to master, but for once, the sharp-tongued warrior refrains. He wouldn't even be here hunting now if it hadn't been for Tallulah and the other daylight warriors. Dammit, he hates having things held over his head.

All he manages is a quirk of his maw, as if the spicy remark sizzles to crisp on his tongue, before deciding, "Let's see your technique, then."​