pafp SWALLOWING YOUR DOUBT — spar

[Thriftfeather]

It shouldn't feel so unusual for Thriftpaw, to be called upon by Shalestripe for a spar.

He had followed dutifully behind Shalestripe, head held to the height of his shoulders, and his long tail just above the sand-soft ground. It shouldn't be so unusual; age has stretched Thriftpaw to a size that others find impressive, despite Thriftpaw's best efforts to shrink himself small. What he did—what he and Bluepaw had done—flickers however briefly through his mind. He tastes the blood once again for only a moment and thinks once more to himself as he crouches opposite to Shalestripe: it isn't so unusual.

It's how he soothes his instincts quiet.

Shalestripe cuts an intimidating figure himself. Scraggly furred and scarred—perhaps he sees something of himself in Thriftpaw. Maybe that's why he'd wanted to spar. For once, Thriftpaw (twin scars on his shoulder, visible through his fur only when he turns his head in just the right way, a thorn-made sliver carved out of his ear that he often touches when nervous—not quite like the lines etched into Shalestripe's face.) doesn't ask questions. Instead he had followed quietly, and instead he had crouched, body surprisingly lax. Fluid, almost.

Thriftpaw's rabbit-heart gives three decisive thumps, and he nods as he says, "Ready."

@SHALESTRIPE
​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 9 MOONS ✦ TAGS​

 

[SHALESTRIPE]

Thriftpaw's nearly a warrior now, and Shalestripe figures he ought to congratulate the little thrip for a life well lived thus far. So he invites the golden-furred tom to a spar. It's exciting to feel blood pump through the veins, isn't it? What better than a little test of combat to ensure Thriftpaw felt that same excitement; that joy for claws tearing through flesh?

It isn't so unusual that Shalestripe of all cats would invite him to such a thing, anyway. He's a tom who'd cross claws with anyone if they let him. Lean muscle and sharp spires of fur and claws, Shalestripe fails to look soft in any respect, and he has many moons of scrapping to thank for it — Gin's rogues had not been the lackadaisical sort; sharing tongues, weaving flowers together, and playing dress up with feathers and wings had no place in the wild strength hierarchy that had been crafted there. If Shalestripe could beat the instinct out of the rest of his Clanmates he would. Perhaps it's what he's doing now, though Thriftpaw does not decorate himself — the apprentice is hardy, and had done well to fight off the rogues who'd threatened WindClan's camp, but there is still some forging that can be done.

"Remember, kid — no holds barred. I want you t' fight like you'd be dead otherwise." He hadn't asked Gravelsnap about the spar, but he thinks the young warrior would be stupid to stop it. When he turns to face Thriftpaw, the boy is crouched and comfortable, an adder ready to strike. Black lips twitch into a smirk. Ready. "Aye aye." Shalestripe's shoulders roll and he crouches, too, but a heartbeat can barely pass before he leaps forward and attempts to bring down his front paw on Thriftpaw's crown in a forceful blow.

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ✧ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐋!

• 
  
  — shale . shalestripe
  — he / him ; windclan moor-runner ; mentoring none
  — short-haired black smoke tabby tom with high white and amber eyes
  — "speech" ; thoughts
  — headshot by me, chibi by moonacre
  — penned by meghan; all opinions are IC!

​

 

[BRIGHTSHINE!]

After the spar Sootspot had organized between Brightshine's daughter and apprentice, she'd realized she'd need to go faster than she'd wanted with Bearpaw's training. Combat had never been her strength, but she could still fight, and she could prepare the young tom as best as she could so he'd be better equipped to take on any future challenges thrown at him. That is why she brings him here, to watch the spar between the warrior, and the apprentice who will soon be one. "Watch closely, and after we can work on some of the moves you see here," She chirps into Bearpaw's ear, emerald eyes focusing on the pounce Shalestripe starts with. She doesn't want to fail him. She wants him to thrive, and she owes it to him to try.

// @Bearpaw​

 

[GRAVELSNAP]

Watching his apprentice spar with another makes for fine entertainment, and Gravelsnap finds himself feeling grateful to Shalestripe, in a way. If the other tom is willing to spar against the apprentice, then Gravelsnap doesn't have to—not that the black-patched feline is avoiding Thriftpaw or his training, but he can still feel the fur of a rogue caught in his teeth. He can still feel the ugly, gnarled patch of his stomach where claws had raked deep into flesh. He can still feel the press of Periwinklebreeze's fur against his own. All of that had been weeks ago, but touch lingers in ways that he has never been comfortable with. The moor runner is happy to settle onto his haunches a few tail-lengths away from Brightshine and her apprentice, eel-black tail curling around pale paws as he watches. He’s already decided that Thriftpaw is ready to become a warrior based on his performance against the rogues; there are no stakes riding upon this sparring session.​

[ you put the fun into dysfunction ]​

​

 

[BLUEFROST]

A spar is nothing, surely, after what she and Thriftpaw had done to the rogue. Bluepaw drifts closer, giving Brightshine and Bearpaw a cursory look before settling neatly beside Gravelsnap. “He will do well. I can feel it,” she murmurs to her friend, giving him an almost friendly look. “You must be proud.” She would be, after all, were she assigned an apprentice with as much to prove as Thriftpaw had. She remembers the strength in those golden shoulders. She had felt it as the tortoiseshell had wriggled and wretched between them.

To Thriftpaw, she says nothing—but she turns her gaze his direction, watching the space between him and Shalestripe curiously.

, ”​

​

 

[FOXGLARE]

⁀➷ Settling on his haunches nearby, Foxglare joined the small audience of watchers as an island of his own to observe the spar. Thriftpaw seemed like a capable apprentice, but Foxglare knew his former mentor wasn't one to ever hold back on his spars. Shalestripe took pride in pushing to see what their limit was, and then pushing past it. He watched closely, taking sport in seeing clanmates show off their strengths. It felt almost normal—seeing the spar as simply the interesting bit of practice it was. If only he could get the nagging feeling off of his back, wondering darkly just how soon Thriftpaw would have to dive back into a real fight with the looming shadows within Windclan only growing taller, Shalestripe's own included. Foxglare's tail wrapped around his feet to protect against the frigid wind lapping at their pelts, tail-tip tapping the ground idly as he settled within his comfortable silence.

ALL IN ALL ⁀➷☾⁺₊ IS ALL WE ARE

• OOC:
• 
• 
  — sun . fox . foxpaw . foxglare
  — he/him. 12mo warrior of windclan
  — a large, scarred, medium-haired golden tabby with high white and grey eyes
  — smells like wet oak wood and dewy sedge
  — sounds like leon kennedy, with a vague texan drawl.
  — the straight-faced and taciturn adopted son of houndthistle, lived as a twolegplace loner until 7 moons old, now a moor-runner of windclan. stalwart and resilient, he is not easily shaken and lives by a very strict personal code of honor.
  — “speech”, thoughts, attack
  — hs by mercurial, fullbody by antiigone
  — penned by eezy

​

 

[REDHEART]

Redpaw's presence had been scarce in the training hollow with the absence of Venomstrike. However, today he had been given the choice to clean the elder's den or freshen up his moves. Having spent nearly a moon cleaning after other cats in Shadowclan made it an obvious choice for the youth. Trotting in, he was unsurprised to see a spar already in session - but the growing onlookers had piqued his interest. They didn't care much for violence even if it was just a friendly spar, but his curiosity lured him closer but intentionally steered far away from Bluepaw's general vicinity. Taking a seat nearby, Redpaw was intrigued to see the other progress. Green eyes falling onto the scene and widening as Shalestripe took a swing at Thriftpaw. Holding his breath, he waited patiently for his denmate's next move. A small part of him already rooting for the other to excel. His much quieter desire was for their mentor to make a quick recovery so they could also start on more serious training.​

 

[Thriftfeather]

Fight like you'd be dead otherwise, Shalestripe tells him, and Thriftpaw nods as if he hasn't already disregarded the command. Everyone talks like that before a spar. Others gather around to watch—Thriftpaw's eyes do not stray from Shalestripe. The others melt away, unnoticed. When Shalestripe does move, it's with the same abrupt fluidity of a striking adder. For a flash of a moment, he is suspended in the air, edges fringed with sunlight, and then he's landing—partially on Thriftpaw.

Shalestripe's paws knock the top of Thriftpaw's head, knock his chin to his chest. Thriftpaw is quick to retaliate. He rears onto his hindlegs and aims to rapidly bat Shalestripe's face with his white paws.​

WINDCLAN APPRENTICE ✦ GOLDEN TABBY TOM ✦ 9 MOONS ✦ TAGS​