pafp YOU DON'T KNOW MY KIND — training session

[SLATE]

As a lead warrior, Slate was expected to lead trainings and make sure that SkyClan was prepared for a real battle at any moment's notice. With the threat of the rogues now on their radar, the clan was taking as many steps as possible to prevent another takeover. Lunging, swiping, and dodging in the Sandy Ravine were groups of warriors and their apprentices, with some pairings training with one another and some apprentices testing their skills out on their peers. Still, what Slate was seeing thus far was not enough to impress him. "More aggression." The Maine Coon commands them; his words were critical to their survival. Some of these cats — new to the clan, young, or both — had never been in a real fight. They couldn't treat a run-in with the rogues like just another spar, where they'd sheathe their claws and go easy on their opponent to avoid hurting them. They had to fight for their lives!

Whether the sparrings halted to look up at him or not, Slate addressed his clanmates with a grim tone, "These rogues have a bloodthirst that rivals WindClan, but they're much bigger 'n stronger." WindClanners were known for being rather small, after all. Even then, some of them could really put up a fight on the battlefield.

He paces to the side, practically a commander lecturing his troops. Slate did not speak so passionately about many things, but this matter was quite serious. It felt... personal, in a way. Orange eyes flick toward his trainee as he speaks truth, gauging her expression to see if she is truly absorbing what he is saying or not. "They're hungry but they're desperate. They're ruthless. They'll stop at nothin' until they take everything we have. Everything we've worked for. They'll kill kits if they're able." They did not bat an eye at mauling young apprentices fresh out of the nursery — they certainly would not care about leaving the rest of SkyClan for dead if it meant securing their own survival. Slate knows this as an absolute fact. He does not need to have met these cats before to know what their prime motivations are.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

• wait for @Cherrypaw !

• 

• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[Cherryblossom]

Cherrypaw takes a step back from her opponent, shrugging the red film of the fight from her gaze with a blink. The bodies of Blazingpaw, Wolfpaw, and Hawkpaw lingered like a specter over the training grounds. Blazestar and Orangeblossom were the only ones who could command them into battle, but the motivation for any of them lay in spilled kitten-blood. Cherrypaw's claws have never seen the light of a real attack. Still, she is confident her limbs would obey whatever she asked of them.

Slate's voice carves through the moving mass of bodies. One ear twists towards him, the rest of her lingering on her partner. WindClan, huh? Her gaze narrows into an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression. Even after tens of thousands of tree-lengths walked alongside the cats of the journey, it seems Slate had never been able to let go of what he thought WindClan was. Cherrypaw knows better though. She knows the girl who had snatched a butterfly from the forest to decorate her ear with, who'd raced the dogs alongside her clanmates to draw them off. Such a girl could have never been raised in the den of wolves Slate has always claimed the moorlands to be.

The rogues couldn't be much worse. All they had were numbers, gained from the most recent reports, but the clan cats had skill. And honor, though her mentor makes no effort to hide his disdain for it. Her gaze turns towards him in full as he continues. To her surprise, he returns the favor in a stare laden with scrutiny. Her spine prickles uncomfortably. "You would know that really well, right?" she says, tamping down the feeling with a burst of noise. Her question wears no disguise innocence, undoubtably an adolescent challenge. His passion, so deep he hadn't even bothered to hide it, made her feel distinctly awkward. Her strident voice hides her own misgivings. Mostly in jest, she adds, "Have you ever killed a kit, Slate?" Would you kill one now, if it was on the other side?​

 

[SLATE]

"You would know that really well, right?" Slate, admittedly, did not expect such a response. He clenches his jaw as he glares down at Cherrypaw, lost for words as much as she likely expected a snippy retort. It's been so long since anyone has held his origins against him in such a manner; he nearly forgot that it was still common knowledge. Silversmoke had been the biggest culprit, leveling Slate down to nothing more than a lowly stray whenever he slipped up or did something the other did not agree with. Now Cherrypaw was going to do so as well?

The next words to leave his student's maw are even worse. "What do you think?" Genuinely, honestly, did Cherrypaw view her mentor as a killer? A child-killer, at that? Did his other clanmates still see him as nothing more than some unrefined menace? Instinctively, his fiery gaze flicks upward to briefly sweep over the others and gauge any reaction.

Slate hates thinking about this, so much that the pit of his stomach practically boils. He never needed to prove himself to anyone, or at least he never thought he had to, but Cherrypaw's words had struck a deeply-rooted nerve. How dare she equate him to one of those mindless murderers! He thinks of the time when he had publicly condemned Kuiper, another rogue who had murdered several clan cats for no reason other than his own delusions. He remembers being called a brute and a selfish rogue by other clan cats while on the journey. He had even accepted a place on Blazestar's council even when he felt he hadn't deserved the chance. Had none of that been enough to earn the trust of those around him?

The Maine Coon attempts to force his mind back into reality. Cherrypaw was just a shit-talker, someone who just wanted to push his buttons and provoke a reaction so that she could gossip about it to her peers later. "Enough out of you." The Maine Coon snorted, walking forward and rounding so that he now stood directly across from the tortoiseshell. "You're sparring me now. Claws out." Should any opposition or hushed murmurs arise from around them, Slate wouldn't care. His own claws remain sheathed, indicating that he would not be inflicting them upon his apprentice. His aim is simply to prepare Cherrypaw for a real fight should it come down to it. Orangeblossom's daughter is infuriating beyond belief, as stubborn as a mule, but he believes that she can channel her inner fire into something beneficial. She needs to, for her own survival's sake. She needs to, or else he will have failed her.

Cherrypaw may think she knows what she's dealing with, but Slate would not believe it until she can put up a fight. The charcoal-pelted tom exhaled through his nostrils, shifting his stance and giving his apprentice a look that said now.

₊ ⋆ * ⊹ ₊ ☾ —— 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠, 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙚

• 

• 

  ✰ SLATE
  —— he/him; lead warrior of skyclan; former rogue
  —— bisexual; single; not looking
  —— hulking, scarred charcoal-black colored maine coon with amber eyes
  —— "speech", thoughts, attack
  —— link to full tags; @ on discord for plots.
  —— penned by beatles

​

 

[CROWSIGHT]

Ears flick at the sound of a familiar voice as he is practicing with another apprentice. Pants escape his maw while he stares at his opponent head on. Under normal circumstances, he would be woefully agitated by Slate's words, but for once the lead warrior had a reason for such things. After what happened to Blazingpaw, Hawkpaw, and Wolfpaw there was no mistaking that all of them needed more work. He was not as young as those three and had moons of experience, but that wasn't a sign to become complacent. No, this was the time to push past his limits. I have to become stronger. I'll be the strongest warrior in Skyclan. His face morphs into a snarl, pearly whites bared at his sparring partner for the day. Said partner has decided to halt and so both of them would turn in the direction of Slate's hulking figure.

He tells them of the rogues. How they are akin to Windclan, but the difference is that these rogues are big and even stronger. In short, they're dead meat in front of these rogues should they ever come across them. It is amusing that despite the fact that every apprentice here had mentors of their own, for a moment they are outshined by Slate who speaks as if he the leader of all apprentices. That his word is law and with a flick of his paw they would do as he wished. The spell is broken however, when Slate begins to address his apprentice Cherrypaw.

Wait, what? Crowpaw knows not of Slate's past, caring little of what has transpired. However, calling or even suggesting someone was a kit killer is enough to raise some eyebrows. It is not something that should be said lightly or even as a joke. He could speak up and hiss in Slate's defense, but he would be lying to say he wasn't curious. Such curiosity is left clawing in the pit of his stomach due to Slate's refusal to answer a simple question. Come on old man, it's yes or no. Whiskers twitch in frustration.

Then, Cherrypaw is ordered to spar with her own mentor. Have I seen Cherry fight before? Hazel eyes linger on her form before moving onto the hulking black mass that is Slate. Watching is also learning. Dad said that fighting is more than using your claws. He moves away from his sparring partner, and towards Slate. He will not order the lead warrior to spar with him. All he desires is one simple thing. How do you use your claws, Slate? If he is given a questioning look he will answer with no trace of hesitation, "I want to watch." I want to learn.

‧₊˚✩彡 nothing compares to the fever dream

• — crowpaw / skyclan apprentice / masculine pronouns / 9 moons
  — undecided / single / not looking / open to flirting and crushes
  — long haired black smoke with hazel eyes with polydactyly
  — may powerplay minor harm / can powerplay healing
  — biography / @ on discord for plots
  — penned by velou

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