- Mar 3, 2023
- 111
- 14
- 18
//References events in this thread. On with the angst!
Sun-drenched fur lay in the apprentice den, occasional shaky breath the only indication its owner hadn’t become part of the bedding, no matter how much the boy wished it to be. He’d been there for hours, and seemed set on continuing his time as a statue. That was another wish that passed through a racing mind; to turn to stone so he wouldn’t bother anyone else. It would be perfect. After all, there were no expectations for a rock.
As much as the Shinepaw wished no one would notice him, though, he’d managed to draw some eyes. Senses dulled by a pile of moss and leaves were still acutely aware of the other apprentices’ gazes on him; only one or two (the other occupants were either still finishing their duties for the day or filed out due to the awkward atmosphere in the den). Shinepaw knew it would be a problem when others eventually surrounded him come moonrise, but the boy was beyond caring. He wasn’t moving from his nest, no matter what. Everyone already loathed him, so what was the harm in adding to the hatred?
Yes, of that fact Shinepaw was quite sure. Burnstorm never liked him, and now the boy had given the other yet another reason. The solar-hued whip the whelp called a tail suddenly lashed his bedding at the memory; becoming a whining wreck when faced with his own incompetence. Shiningsun was more patient, but the apprentice knew he was teetering towards the truth. He could feel it. If he’d spoken those words aloud, told the beacon of positivity what he thought in that one instant, he knew there would be nothing left for him but disdain.
And what of Flycatcher?
Another crack of the whip sent a spray of moss into the air. Shinepaw felt awful about his thoughts, but the idea of telling the truth made him feel even worse. Flycatcher was an amazing mentor. Thunderclan’s deputy had been kind and patient when faced with his apprentice’s idiocy, and the boy had the gall to even think about tossing him away like some used toy? Passing the blame for his failings onto his teacher, or even considering it for the half-second the shaft of sunlight had, it was the height of selfishness as far as he was concerned. A sin for which there was no atonement.
But he could try.
And so the boy was determined to remain in his nest, bearing a sin he couldn’t tell anyone lest he lose what little he believed he had left. Thankfully for him, there was a remedy for such childish actions, no matter the age.
Shinepaw stiffened as he scented someone new come into the den, and for a moment he didn’t know whether to feel relief or rage. As he felt breath on his fur and her pelt pressed against his own, though, the boy bitterly admitted it was the former. Shinepaw’s mother was quick to shoo out the few remaining occupants with a silent, somewhat pleading glare so she and her son could have a moment. Thankfully both Shinepaw’s mind and senses were too overwhelmed by her arrival, otherwise he would’ve exploded with embarrassment.
Sunbeam knew her son, much to his dismay. Shinepaw tried to ignore her, to prolong the silence that hung in the air, but it wasn’t long before her concern sliced it to ribbons with a single question. “Do you want to talk about it?”
So she knew. If she knew, that meant someone came to her and said what happened. That meant they could’ve told others. That meant the whole camp could know. So much inferred, Shinepaw couldn’t even answer what she’d asked. Flame-tinted paws pressed his ears even flatter against his head in response, as if Shinepaw thought the story of him breaking into tears like a baby could be ceased if he couldn’t hear them.
Above him, Sunbeam couldn’t help but frown at the sight. A soft tongue helped a clump of fur on his forehead lie flat, and for a moment Shinepaw felt as if he were back in the nursery. Greedy claws grabbed hold of the feeling and held it tight. Why had he ever become an apprentice? Nothing was going how he thought. It was simple in the nursery. He missed the simplicity, the lackadaisical days spent daydreaming about nothing at all. His mother’s voice broke the spell.
“Making a mess isn’t the end of the world, you know.”
That earned another smack of the tail against undeserving moss. Shinepaw felt like he was going crazy, was he the only one who could see the big picture? It wasn’t about the prey pile, it was about what it represented. Why couldn’t they understand? Why could they only see the momentary mistakes, and not the trail of faults and fumbles that led him here? Saying the wrong things, jokes that fell flat, flailing claws falling short of easy catches, that was what this was about. His destruction of Thunderclan’s food supply was just a bitter comma, a stopgap until his failures continued.
Of course, what anxious minds never realize is that they’re the only ones who remember minor mistakes.
Still, Sunbeam knew her child. She could sense her misstep, and gathered that the problem was more than just a bad day. “are you hungry?” she asked after a moment. “I already ate. It was a delicious little mouse caught by someone very close to me.” That finally stirred the statue, eternally unable to take a compliment. “Burnstorm caught two.” he retorted, voice mumbled by the bedding beneath it. The she-cat’s eyes shone as she let out a sigh, draping her tail over her son’s flank. “Comparison is the thief of joy.”
At Shinepaw’s silence, she continued. “You know who’d be over the moon if they heard you caught a mouse? Even if it was just one?” Sunbeam had chipped away at the barrier enough, and now the apprentice had graduated to small responses. “…who?” he asked, sounding like a rather depressed owl.
“You. responses I remember my little Shinekit from just a few moons ago, and he would’ve been ecstatic if he heard he’d catch a mouse when he was older.”
“But Burnstorm caught two” The apprentice repeated, as if the only reason his mother wasn’t lamenting his failure was that she hadn’t heard the first time.
“Burnstorm can catch two or twenty, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that you caught one. It means you’re getting better, and that’s what growth is all about. You are exactly where you need to be right now, okay? And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, not even yourself.”
Shinepaw could feel her eyes on him, and part of the boy wanted to raise his head and meet her gaze, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could here a sigh above him, and for a second the shaft of sunlight was sure he’d earned his mother’s hatred on top of everything else.
“Alright, that settles it. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”
A sun-drenched set of ears shifted at the words, and soon sky-blue eyes were staring up at her in confusion. “The…nursery?” And like that, the cycle started all over again. He started thinking about what the other apprentices would say, what they would think about one of their own retreating to stay with the children. Sky-blue eyes started to swirl. Seeing his rising panic, Sunbeam cut in with more comforting words, born of the one thing her son was lacking which no training could fix: age. “No one will care, trust me.”
Shinepaw still wasn’t sure, but the idea of getting a full night’s sleep without worrying about judgmental stares from his peers persuaded the apprentice to acquiesce. As he stood up on shaky legs, the shaft of sunlight leaned against his mother as she led him away, still unable to meet the gazes of the few people still in camp. As the boy entered the nursery and shut his eyes, though, the softest of smiles crossed sun-drenched features. He would still worry, but for the first time in a long time the cat thought it could all wait until tomorrow.