rules to survive by | training

[SMOKESTAR]

He had humored Beesong long enough, the poultice on his face was ripped off with an impatient flex of claws and he flung it to the ground to examine his reflection in the river's shine. His eye seemed to work fine, perhaps things were a little more blurry than before and he could chalk it up to it being sensitive to light after being covered for so long; or maybe his vision was damaged-it was hard to say right now. Still, it was good enough and the scars around it were going to fade as most of them did. That rogue hadn't got a good enough hit on him for the wound to linger, wasn't deep enough because he'd reacted fast to pull away; all in all, he'd come out of it unscathed. Mostly. Back to business as usual. Smokethroat turned to head back to the camp, eyes narrowed against the light and sunset gaze darting from cat to cat for his charge. She'd been sparred his company while he languished in camp, miserable, though he was sure Iciclepaw took the break in stride. The incident had delayed their combat practice and so he was sure she was delighted to continue hunting and doing her own thing but he was about to break her heart. Sorry kid, it was a necessary evil in this world and he'd be the bad guy if he had to be.
"Iciclepaw!" The dark tom couldn't see her, wondered if she was chatting with friends or in the apprentice den and he didn't feel like dragging himself through the entire camp to hunt her down, "We're heading to the beech copse." It was warning enough for her what was to come. While he would not be doing any of the barbaric training practices Moss had forced him through, he was far from the kindest of teachers and the lesson sticking was his main goal; if the apprentice hated him as a result of it being dirty and unrefined work then so be it. That, he could live with. What he could not live with was the idea of the clan being attacked and her standing there unsure of how to defend herself because he'd failed her. Smokethroat paused for only a moment, moving to head out to the copse himself knowing she was in camp and heard the call even if she had not shown herself to him because he knew who was out on patrol at the time.

Black paws and a single white-dipped one scuffed the ground at the clearing to test the flooring, noted it was soft enough for heavier impacts but tight enough to not set a cat's footing loose and slipping about. Eventually they'd learn how to manage on different terrain but for now solid ground was adequate. With a sigh he sat down to wait the fire molded tortie to arrive so they could begin.


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[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw had been lying on her flank, grooming snow-soft paws, when she'd heard her mentor's call. Smokethroat had seemingly recovered from his bout with the rogue, and although he sports an interesting new scar across his face, he's still the same overworked lead warrior she'd always known. Black and ginger ears twitch with annoyance, but she is nothing if not obedient -- even if it's begrudgingly so, with a roll of the eyes -- and she heaves herself to her feet and begins to pad after him.

The Beech Copse. Iciclepaw's irritation begins to fade as she follows Smokethroat. She knows what the Beech Copse is used for. She is five moons now, has been training for two, and although she has seen a cat die, has hunted and fished and tracked, she has not yet begun combat training.

Is today the day Smokethroat begins to teach her?

She sifts her toes through the softer earth, curiosity sparking in pale blue eyes. "What shall I do?" She has no idea how hard the day ahead of her is about to be.

- ,,​

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[SMOKESTAR]

He had debated long and hard how to go about this, there were many ways he could teach her and he imagined each would be met with impatient tail flicks and shakes of her head as she complained he was coddling her or she 'knew this already' because 'what idiot leaves themself unguarded'. There were other scenarios he'd played through in his head, each more boring than the last and he knew if they didn't take this lesson with a degree of seriousness and get the blood pumping then he would lose his patience and Iciclepaw would make her boredom known. So they were skipping all the nonsense about basics and what have you. He'd find out what he was working with quickly and be able to gauge where to go from there while also keeping her on her toes; if she was doing her damndest to knock him down then she'd be too distracted to utter any protests and that was the goal. Peace and quiet and a good old fashioned brawl. While it lacked the usual life-threatening aspect of fights he had been in before, he was not going to lie and say that was unwelcomed. Smokethroat felt himself losing his edge the past few moons, this would be a good way to sharpen himself a little more.
"Try to take me out. Use your claws if you'd like, approach this like I'm an actual threat because I am..." A few bumps and bruises would get his point across; he wasn't going to batter and maim his apprentice but he was not going to be gentle about it either. "Hesitate and I will move first."
And if she did, if she vocalized a complaint, if she scoffed and lingered in her spot for even a moment longer than the end punctation to his demands he was going to rush forward and barrel the apprentice off her feet onto the ground to make a point.

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[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Smokethroat tells her to try and take him out, even using her claws if she needed to. Iciclepaw can't help but wrinkle her nose -- he wants her to hurt him? What sense does that make? She opens her mouth to voice her distaste for the command, but something in her mentor's body language gives her pause.

He is tensing, she thinks, and her heart skips a beat. Adrenaline shoots through her shoulders down to her paw pads. He is preparing to move first. I have to beat him to it.

She exhales sharply and drops into a fighting crouch. She's too obvious immediately -- her tail swishes, her eyes look and hang directly on her mentor's paws, where she intends to charge. Iciclepaw moves in a dappled blur, attempting to barrel into Smokethroat's paws and uproot him from the sandy earth.

- ,,​

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[SMOKESTAR]

At the very least his warning spurred her into motion quicker than anything else might have. There was only a moment of hesitance before she was going forward and low, aiming to catch his limbs to drop him to her level-he admired the gumption but he was already braced in such a way that only pure force would stagger him now and even if he wasn't she was much too blatant in her display. Every last movement of her rushing form, every sweeping glance, it all told of her goal and alerted him to her plans; Iciclepaw would need to embrace subtlty. A task he knew she would struggle with in more than just combat.
Smokethroat has only a few seconds to decide how to respond to the incoming charge, it would be quite simple to throw her over and send her rolling but he knew too much force would break the enthusiasm. If he bullied her too much, too soon, she would lose focus and then interest and it would be like hunting harmless prey. So he opted for a much less brutal reply to the attack. He moved. His shoulders tensed and he leaned to one side before swiftly jumping to the other, pulling his paws up and out of her path to rear back on his hindlegs; his shadow fell across the tortie apprentice and the sand; a shrouded warning of what he could do but didn't. A real enemy would have swung back down to trample her underfoot, but he merely dropped down to step back. It wasn't clear if she was moving fast enough to go tumbling yet, but if she righted herself quick enough she might be able to get another swing in.

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[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

She realizes, too late, that Smokethroat knows exactly what she's going to do. Where there was a foreleg before was only air as her mentor deftly side-stepped her strike. He towers above her, casting his shadow over her small tortoiseshell form. Iciclepaw thinks, for a moment, that he intends to drop all of his weight on her. He'll trample me!

But he doesn't; his movements are quick, practiced, and he steps back from her. Outstretched paws meet emptiness, and she does her best to prevent herself from tumbling away, putting the brakes on and stamping her back paws.

She pants and turns to face Smokethroat. There's something shining in her eyes now, through the ever-present mask of boredom and neutrality. Her limbs burn with adrenaline. She tries a different tactic for strike two -- she keeps her eyes rooted on his, pale blue simmering into yellow, before bouncing towards the black warrior on light feet. She will attempt to leap onto his back from his side and hook her claws in. Her leap is high, but it's not clear if it's high enough to achieve anything real.
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[SMOKESTAR]

There is almost a smile on his maw as she turned to look at him sharply, blue eyes cracking ice beneath heavy pawsteps, exhilarating, dizzy with adrenaline. There was a little pride there, Iciclepaw had not had much of an interest in anything but battle tended to bring out the best or worst of cats at times and while he doubted she'd ever find a thrill in it that made his own blood boil for war it was obvious something had changed. The tortie moved with a little more confidence, a little more determination and she locked eyes as he paws carried her forward to not betray her intentions. It was a good shift from her previous floundering, she is realizing he's serious and while he withdraw his paws before he would not grant the same mercy twice.
Smokethroat moves to turn only to find she'd darted to his flank, abusing her smaller size and swifter limbs to intercept his plan to dodge her and while this alone was a paw in the right direction it was the immediate weight at his side as she flung herself forward that told him he could take the gloves off.
That was more like it and that she was even utilizing her claws was a surprise but not an unpleasant one.
Too many cats were hesitant to train with them and while he himself would keep his sheathed given their clear difference in skill and size, so long as she left his face alone a few scratches here and there on his part were trivial and it taught her to not show restraint to someone who might mean to harm her.

The dark tom could have easily crushed her with a quick roll, dislodged her by throwing them both to the ground, but he was still keeping his wits about him so he did the lesser of the two evils and started to thrash from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the apprentice with a growl, making a point to occasionally snap his teeth as if in warning; she wasn't far enough on his side he wouldn't be able to take a bite if he wanted to.

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[iciclefang]

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮​

Iciclepaw succeeds in latching onto Smokethroat's pelt, and her self-satisfaction is immediate, her fanged grin smug and assured. He snaps at her with lips peeled back, and for the first time in her life, she gets a glimpse of a side of him that she has never seen. She can't imagine what it would be like to meet Smokethroat in battle -- had she been a different sort of cat, she might've shown fear in the face of his snarl.

But she only flattens her ears and hisses back at him, rattled and shaken by his vigorous attempts to dislodge her. Iciclepaw is beginning to feel battered by the attempts, and she decides to try a different course of action. Using the momentum of his shaking, Iciclepaw attempts to use her hind legs to batter Smokethroat and leap backward. It's an attack with a lot of power behind it, but the precision is off, and when she flies back it's awkward and unpracticed.

- ,,​

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[SMOKESTAR]

She is defiant, vicious, the moment she is forced into combat there is a quiet shift to the usually dismissive apprentice's demeanor; there's no doubt in his mind that if left in a dangerous situation she would fight violently until her last breath, make her attacker work for every drop of blood spilled. He would be proud in most circumstances, but she's unrefined. A sword flailed around may do damage but an untrained blade is not good enough when it comes to a true contest of strength. It might stall for time, it might save her from a more amateur opponent but against another clan's warrior she was as good as dead. The only difference is she'd leave a scratch to remember her by...

Smokethroat is debating being a little mean, a little cruel, when she surprises him. The sudden pressure at his back as she launches herself up and away from his snapping teeth is enough to make him buckle just slightly; legs giving more in startled alarm than actual force but he is already standing again and whirled around to face her as she stumbles and struggles to regain her footing. Unrefined indeed, but its a start. The dark gives a sharp exhale, straightens himself back up to stand and his fur slowly flattens back along his spine.
"Enough." He lets her have a moment to reorient, fix herself back up proper and stand with less uncertainty, "You're sloppy, but you've got the tenacity for it. We'll start with rolling maneuvers, get you more comfortable landing on your feet." He raises a paw, twirls it in a looping gesture.
"When you roll, you do so swiftly. The longer your stomach is exposed the more time someone has to stick their claws in it."


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