private trust is not given // training // it's forged

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing waits at the edge of the camp, her tail flicking in impatient beats against the soft earth. The first rays of dawn filter through the canopy above, casting long shadows across the forest floor. She breathes in deeply, the crisp leaf-fall air filling her lungs. Today is a new day. It's not the Gathering. It's no border patrol along the river where she might see her kits or lost love. Today is about Coltpaw and Mottledpaw.

Her gaze shifts to the apprentices' den, where her two charges are likely still stretching off the remnants of sleep. She hopes they're ready. They've gone over the very basics, but today she's going to be a little harder on them. There's so much potential in both of them - in different ways - and she won't let her own emotional turmoil get in the way of that. She pushes herself to her paws as the pair of them begin to emerge, her expression calm. "Come on, you two," She calls firmly, steadily, betraying none of the storm that rages inside of her. "I wanna get started early while the forest is still quiet. We'll be working on battle moves today."

She waits for them to join her, her golden eyes sharp as she sizes them up. "Let's head to the Sandy Hollow." As they fall in step beside her, she heads out of camp. "I want to see how much you've picked up from the warriors' spars we've been watching. But remember - claws sheathed." She casts a pointed look at Mottledpaw...just in case there's still any desire to harm the kittypet-born Coltpaw within her. Besides, she'd had enough negative experiences with Fallowbite hurting others that the caution is second-nature by now. The undergrowth rustles underfoot, and the cool breeze sweeps through her tabby fur as they make their way to the training grounds. The warrior keeps a steady pace, her mind already running through the battle moves she hopes to teach them today while casting occasional glances back at them.

The sandy floor of the hollow comes into view ahead, and she slows, turning to face the pair. "Alright, show me what you've got," She commands, eyes gleaming with excitement and focus.

// @COLTKIT @mottledpaw ​

 

[mottledpaw]

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Another day another round of torture under the disguise of training... Stormywing's gaze is as sharp as her claws and though Mottledpaw has never felt the sting of them in her pelt, she's certain they would feel like fire ripping through her skin. What efforts she puts into hiding her disdain are undone in the patient glances afforded to Coltpaw that do not mimic the sour gazes she gets in turn. Mottledpaw is fine with that... and honestly, wishes the striped she-cat would stop pretending to tolerate her. It's all anyone ever does... tip-toe around her, hiss behind her back. At least the tortoiseshell wasn't a liar! At least she had the guts to say what she felt, stand by who she thought was right and admit when she was wrong.... sometimes.

S... sometimes... for sure.

A drawn out sigh escapes her as they trudge along the paths outlined for them by moons of other paw-steps... She is relentless, to say the least. While the forest is still quiet? She can hardly make out what the point of that was. It wasn't as if the silence would make them better fighters. It's as they near the Hollow that Mottledpaw's ears finally twitch forward, eager to do something she's actually any good at- but it goes immediately ruined by the sore glare of liquid gold.

The young molly grits her teeth in frustration, "I'm not stupid." The only times she'd ever used her claws were times she'd been asked to. Told to. And still she was being treated like some sort of tornado of wanton violence. 'I didn't kill anyone, she pleaded with Nightbird....

No one seemed to care.

Turning towards Coltpaw as they shuffle into the middle of the clearing, she sizes them up with a frustration that should be directed at their mentor instead. She doesn't bother to make the first move, lest she be labeled something like... combat-hungry or... prone to lashing out or whatever stupid narrative fit the venomous tongues of others. "You go first..." Besides... Coltpaw's the one here with hardly any training at all... as fresh to apprenticeship as he was.​

 

[COLTPAW]

Stormywing is his mentor! Every time he thinks about it, his chest glows as warm as the greenleaf sun he used to nap under, and the corners of a jaw growing square turn invariably upwards. She might be the coolest cat he's ever met—scratch that, she is the coolest cat he's ever met. She fought real good in the whole uprising-rebellion-taking-back-ThunderClan thing less than a moon ago, 'n she taught him cool battle moves out in the scrublands, 'n ... she's just cool! Coltpaw feels cool, too, buoyed by his freshly awarded suffix, his extremely awesome mentor, and the staid conviction that if he could survive all the kittypet stuff, then, well, there's not much he can't survive now.

His heavy muzzle cracks into a yawn as Stormywing meets him and Mottledpaw just as they emerge. His folded ears twitch as he observes with some measure of pride that he's already nearly at his mentor's eye level. Man, if he keeps growing like this, they're gonna have to make a whole new den for him. That'd be kind of cool, actually ... oh, right, training. " Battle trainin'? Oh, cool! " he chirps with unadulterated enthusiasm as he breaks into a grin, oblivious to the bitter mood of his co-apprentice. " Okay! "

They square off in the Sandy Hollow, which Coltpaw also instantly deems very cool, and Stormywing begins her instructions. The sour energy crackling between his mentor and Mottledpaw's gazes flies far over Coltpaw's head (an admirable feat, given his growing stature), so he merely bounces on his paws and waits for the training part to begin. Energy thrums through his veins, familiar and welcome—his kithood trance of laziness has given way to seemingly boundless electric-crackling energy in apprenticeship, so much so that his tossing and turning at night annoys his denmates. His face is still turned up in a cheerful expression, albeit a little more subdued than the widened grin he displayed in camp.

" 'Course you ain't, " he replies amiably to Mottledpaw's assertion that she's not stupid. The sentiment is there, even if the words come out in a roiling twang dredged up from a forgotten infancy: coss y'ain't. His tail wags puppyish behind him as they square off, all loose joints and long limbs—not quite a battle stance. Mottledpaw beckons him to make the first move, and he nods obligingly, rolling his forepaws from pad to toe as if in thought. Or in memory, rather, as he tries to dredge up withered scrubs and long lonely days and the smell of dust in his nose, and Stormywing giving him a lesson.

Coltpaw steps back and slides into an approximation of what he remembers of Stormywing's crouch; having gone through two layers of memory, it's more than a touch unrefined. His brow crumpling in concentration, he lunges at Mottledpaw and aims to deliver a pair of blows with his outsize forepaws. An imitation of what he had learned in exile, but not quite a passable one, although good instinct drives it.

OOC : —

☁

​

 

[STORMYWING]

Stormywing watches Coltpaw eagerly bounce into position, his enthusiasm evident in the looseness of his stance. For a moment, it draws a small, fleeting smile from her. At least one of them is excited. But then her gaze shifts to Mottledpaw, catching the frustration simmering beneath her pelt. The sour response to her warning wasn't entirely unexpected, but it still grates on Stormywing's nerves. "I'm not treating you like you're stupid," She responds evenly, voice firm. "I just need to be sure." I don’t know what Skyclaw taught you. It goes unsaid. Her golden eyes linger on Mottledpaw, sharpened and narrowed, but not entirely unkind. "We're all here to learn."

She keeps her focus on the pair as they square off, watching Coltpaw with a critical eye as he prepares for his first move. His energy was a boon, but his inexperience was clear in his clumsy stance and awkward pawwork. She recognizes the move she taught him while they were in exile together, nodding approvingly. But we need to refine that. The moment Coltpaw lunges, Stormywing steps to the side, circling them slowly, her gaze flicking between the two. "Watch his forepaws, Mottledpaw," She instructs, her voice calm and deliberate. "Coltpaw, focus on your balance. You're too loose - tighten up. You want your paws to hit harder? Then you've gotta make every move count." Her tail flicks behind her, signaling for them to continue.

She can see the tension between the apprentices, especially from Mottledpaw, but she doesn't press it. Unfortunately, she doesn’t realize that tension is actually directed at her. But right now, her goal is simple: get them focused on their training, and keep her mind from wandering to her kits, to Pebblestep, to Iciclefang, to Wrathpaw. "Alright, Coltpaw, after this round, you're on defense. Mottledpaw, I want to see you take initiative. Show me what you've got."
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[mottledpaw]

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Coltpaw seems to respect her at the very least, which earns him a tight-lipped smile. A sort of 'thanks' for backing her up against Stormywing's unnecessary instructions. She glances towards her mentor with a still-present glower, listening to her explanation for her nitpicking with a flick of a dissatisfied ear. Yeah right... 'Just to be sure.' "Just to be sure I'm not my uncle," she mutters bitterly under her breath, uncertain if the silvery she-cat will hear her retort.

It doesn't matter... Coltpaw's excited and raring to go and Mottledpaw won't disappointment him by being an inattentive combatant. He lunges forward with paws outstretched, slapping them at her to make good use of their size- He's not very small, she observes, stumbling back to dodge the first before trying to swipe at the second leg to redirect the end of his assault. The barking of advice is probably meant to be helpful, if she were to give Stormywing any benefit of the doubt at all... but she'd hope that her fear of Mottledpaw's likeness to her former mentor might suggest some amount of competency when it came to fighting...

At the call to swap, the tortoiseshell lets out a huff. "I'm being nice so..." She hopes he understands that it takes a solid amount of effort to restrain her misdirected fury so he doesn't get a healthy beating instead. Without waiting for him to prepare any further, the speckled cat tucks in her chin and rams her head at his chest to knock the wind out of him, it would hurt her head a little regardless but... it might stun him long enough for her to slide her forepaw around his neck and wrestle him to the ground.​