pafp MYRMIDONS | spar attempt



Limbs clashed, and warriors danced.

It was often the way things were whenever the spotted tabby entered the Sandy Ravine, with or without his apprentice there was always an opportunity to learn, always a chance to improve. His challenges to other strong SkyClan warriors were often insistent, and the one before him now was no exception, a former kittypet with so many scars of warfare it was difficult to tell where injury ended and a cat began. The golden tabby was wider than him, heavier by only a pound or two, but the spotted tabby carried the height advantage and used that to swipe when the other and stay out of his range. Silversmoke's pale fur was matted with dust, as was the creature opposite him, neither willing to concede defeat fully. However, whilst the other grew frustrated at the mirrored stubbornness, Silversmoke's eyes were alight with amusement. No noise could break his focus, no moral dilemma could break how much he enjoyed being in the fray.

His opponent charged forward and claws instinctively popped out and dug into the sand. In a swinging motion, he kicked the soft material up, blinding the other as they barreled right through it. The other let out a yowl of surprise, colliding into the former Lead Warrior without nearly the same impact. The golden tabby swung sightlessly and the silver tom ducked, ramming his head into their ribcage, and then leaped atop the staggered creature. Paws settled upon greasy mats upon the other's neck and, as the sun-hued cat began to shake, Silversmoke's hind limbs kicked down upon their back legs until they buckled and collapsed to the earth.

Silversmoke's breaths were quick and hard as if he'd forgotten he needed them for the duration of the fight. He loomed over the other until they gingerly tapped a paw against the sand, then, the spotted tabby released them. "Try that in a real fight and see what happens," the ex-kittypet huffed, bitterness seeping into their tone as they began to move away from the Sandy Ravine. Silversmoke's tail lashed and his head tilted upwards. "If it was a real fight, you'd have been dead the moment the sand hit your eyes." Then again, there was a time when, had their spar been 'real', he may have also sustained serious injuries. A big opponent was one problem; a big, smart opponent, who knew how to maneuver around Silversmoke's poor vision was another danger entirely.

Thankfully, the other had been too smart, believing the warrior would never resort to throwing sand. But the battlefield was where his honour ended, where all that mattered was surviving, and making sure SkyClan survived too.

He closed his maw and looked to the spectators before eventually, his blue and green eyes settled upon Ekat. She was an unknown, a wolf either hiding behind the anxious exterior or not. Still, with adrenaline flowing through his veins, he felt compelled to know. "Spar with me?"

@Ekat

 
Ekat couldn't help but be drawn to the spar unfolding in the ravine, slowly padding to join the other spectators at the clearing's edge like a moth that's found a distant light. The midnight-furred warrior tends to avoid the company of their Clanmates when she can afford to, yet still she sits hesitantly beside the others that watch Silversmoke in battle with the other tom. Silversmoke is that distant light, for the scarred tabby makes the spar appear easy, even as his sides heave and his fur runs unkempt. He makes his movements look like a calculated, precise choreography, his opponent left scrambling in his wake — and Ekat can only wonder how he manages to think so quickly and coherently in the heat of it. As former loner, the she-cat had experienced her fair share of battles over scraps of food, over territory laid claim by no one — and panic always burned white-hot through her during them. She hadn't been thinking, planning. She'd been desperately fighting for her life. Panic settles into Ekat now, flaring in her chest as Silversmoke's mismatched gaze meets hers.

It's too intense, fiery with adrenaline and it makes the warrior feel small as a mouse — especially as he invites her to spar with him. Her heart stutters and pounds in her ears, and the she-cat glances about in the hopes that perhaps he was speaking to someone else beside her, someone more capable. But no, his gaze holds hers unwaveringly, and the world around her seems to shrink and leave her exposed. Ekat lets out a short, awkward laugh, more akin to a weak breath of air. "Wh... M-Me? I..." she stammers, and the urge to crawl out of her pelt runs rampant in her panicked mind. Every instinct screams at her to run away, maybe to start crying — but the she-cat can only stand rooted to the spot with her paws trembling. Was there a reason he'd singled her out? Was it a cruel joke, or a test? Ekat had never believed herself worthy of the warrior title, even after she'd settled into SkyClan life. Does Silversmoke feel the same? She can't prove that fear right, and it's for that reason Ekat stumbles out a, "Well, I... Okay..."
 
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Never, not in a thousand turns of the moon, would she have thought the Sandy Ravine would become one of her haunts—or at least, that's what she would've told you a matter of seasons ago. Sparring had been something for the more aggressive cats, the assertive ones, the ones who luxuriated in the satisfying thump of a successful hit. She hadn't considered herself one of those cats, just over a dozen moons ago; it's funny how things change, she muses with a soft, needling reminder of old hurt. Doeblaze sits on the Sandy Ravine's edge with ears at a twitch, half - watching as Silversmoke sparred with a scarred golden tabby and occasionally offering commentary to her apprentices, or anyone else nearby.

It's brutal, the way he kicks sand into his opponent's eyes and slams them into the ground until they concede. She can see where Emberpaw got it from, she muses with a mrrp of amusement at the blessedly faded memory of the cinnamon apprentice employing the very same move against her. A sore loser, this one, huffing a bitter concession as they turn golden tail and lope away from the ravine; no doubt offended at the underpawed tactics, she presumes. Doeblaze's lone eye watches the silver tabby warrior with interest, wondering if she'd resort to the very same . . . probably, she decides, if it were in defense of SkyClan. Rarely had her opponents shown much honor, anyhow.

The memory of Harrierstripe's ambush presents itself then, sacrificial and nearly inviting—in the way prodding at a sore wound is. Muscle ripples tight in her jaw as she projects a mental image of re - burying the risen memory, forcing her eye to focus on the very tangible present. The smell of dust and kicked - up sand, the sound of spars and mrrows around them, the sight of Silversmoke fixing his heterochromatic gaze on Ekat's dark - furred form and issues a request. Rather understandably, the warrior seems . . . hesitant, and Doeblaze can't say she blames her. The work he'd made of the golden tabby had been nothing short of ruthless, after all.

She can nearly admire that, despite her lack of surety in where she stands with the silvered tabby warrior. However, she also finds herself sympathizing with Ekat's trembling forepaws and wavering tone; not too long ago, she doubtless would have had the very same reaction—and Silversmoke was a formidable opponent no matter your temperament. " You don't have to do it, Ekat, " she offers in a low voice, blinking at her fellow spectator. She looses a soft chuff of amusement and adds, ears twitching, " You wouldn't catch me fighting him for a hundred jays. "
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Figfeather murmurs a good job to the sparring cats, even if both were walking away a tad sour from the ordeal. The large orange furred tabby leaves blinking sand from his eyes while Silversmoke is still hungry for more. Figfeather could not blame him for being hungry for practice, she too was a feline who’s worked herself until her muscles turned to jelly or she hit perfection. More often than not, her muscles gave way first.

He ropes Ekat into sparring with him. The dark-furred she-cat appears apprehensive; Doeblaze reminds her that she doesn’t have to accept, commenting that she wouldn’t fight him for a hundred jays. Figfeather snorts amused, ”For a hundred jays I’d wrestle with a boar.” Maybe she was exaggerating, that would be a death sentence. Silversmoke was a formidable opponent but like all cats he would have his weaknesses- actually- his was a bit easier to find than most cats. The two scars that gorged down his eye was a dead giveaway.

Still, even knowing this she doubts she could take him. Figfeather was a poor fighter, her back leg was not strong enough to lunge her onto opponents nor good enough to help her escape. Against most cats she would fail, but she was good at telling others what strategies to use in order to win.

”Do you not think you’d win?” She asks Doeblaze light-heartedly, a challenging smirk rolling on her lips.
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MY WORLDS ON FIRE, HOW 'BOUT YOURS?
THAT'S THE WAY I LIKE IT AND I NEVER GET BORED."



”Stars, look at him.” fawned Johnny from where he lounged near Doeblaze, sungold eyes fixed on the large silver tom with nothing short of pure admiration.

Every ripple of muscle, every split second decision- it was clear that Silversmoke was entirely in his element, and the daylight warrior was powerless in its presence, unable to look away. He was poetry in motion, war and blood and ruthlessness speaking in a language only cats like them could truly understand. Silversmoke would look good in red, he thought to himself idly. Red like the collar Johnny wore. Red like blood, so long as it was their enemies.

The rather shameless reverie was only interrupted when his mate turned to find another opponent and set their sights on Ekat of all Skyclanners. Johnny blinked in surprise as he glanced toward the shecat in curiosity of her reaction, not surprised to see her looking like an anxious met. A part of him wanted to scold Silver for putting pressure on someone who was so obviously nervous about being called out like this, but he was also curious. What were they up to? Surely they knew Ekat wasn’t the type to come down here and spar for the fun of it?

”If you whip sand in her face I’m not spending the night.” he warned lightly as he caught his mates eye with a smirk, only half serious. It was one thing to go all out on an opponent like the golden tabby, but it would be bad form to do the same with someone who might not even be on the same level skillwise. Luckily, he trusted that Silversmoke knew that. Formidable as he was, he was not a cruel cat without reason. And at the end of the day Ekat was his clanmate, someone he would sooner die to protect than bring to actual harm himself. It was one of the things that Johnny loved so very much about him.


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Seated next to Johnnyflame, amber eyes also flicked to and fro as Silversmoke plied his trade, the difference being Chickbloom’s were narrowed with focus, while his peer was positively love-struck. “He’s v-very skilled” The milksop mumbled in agreement, too occupied with studying the other’s moves to pick up on what exactly Johnnyflame meant.

Study, study, study. The Scottish Fold had been doing a lot of that of late, acting as spectator to try and pick up some new tricks. Truthfully he was at the point where it was time to put what he’d learned into practice, but the coward was in no rush to get into a fight. That was the biggest difference between the boy and his pseudo-mentor, he supposed. No matter how long he watched, Chickbloom could never fathom why Silversmoke enjoyed combat so much.

The whelp winced as the match concluded, and the air grew thick with the loser’s anger over the other’s dirty tactic. For a moment the warrior worried there would be an impromptu round two, only for Silversmoke to call Ekat out of the crowd. Seeing the she-cat so nervous made Chickbloom’s heart pang with sympathy as an anxious mind was cast back to his own assessment with Silversmoke. “Don’t - D-Don’t overdo it, p-please…” he cautioned, feeling guilty writing off Ekat’s chances so easily but also worried for her safety.

Dinner-plate eyes angled to the side as Johnnyflame shared a similar sentiment, and Chickbloom felt a gnawing sort of shame in his stomach seeing the other’s smirk, quickly turning his attention back towards Silversmoke.​