- Jun 1, 2023
- 135
- 28
- 28
It's been days now, and still Luckypaw can't help but think of the mouse, limp and red-stained, held clasped in his littermate's jaws for all the world to see. A glimpse of a mouse atop the fresh-kill pile, the sound of chatter outside the tunnels, the quiet strength with which Scorchpaw always seems to hold herself - it's maddening, all of it, and worst of all is that he knows it shouldn't bother him, not like this. He should have been proud of her first catch, proud that her training is already sinking in, that Badgermoon is mentoring her well, and perhaps emboldened to go out and work twice as hard to keep pace, but instead he feels restless. Bitter jealousy wells up within him whenever he spots that familiar pelt, and it doesn't seem to be getting better with time - all he can think about is the widening gap between the two of them, the skill difference that feels so clear to him. They're focusing on different things in their training, and even though he knows that learning the tunnels and how to navigate them is more important than jumping right into hunting within them, something within him burns for more. To not be left behind, not by Scorchpaw and not by any of his other littermates, either.
The night is supposed to be a time of rest, the inky blackness swallowing them all up not unlike stepping into the tunnels, but lately he's been feeling a bit more wakeful than usual. Perhaps it's finally that he's adjusting to the life of an apprentice, no longer feeling quite so bone-tired from previous days' activities even after sleep, or maybe it's something else entirely; either way, Luckypaw finds himself unable to sleep one night, turning about with eyes cast skyward. When would he make his own first catch, he wonders? Would the chase be exhilarating? How would it feel to stand, flanks heaving, over his own mouse - or, if he's lucky, over a rabbit? Would Scorchpaw still look at him with such cold eyes then? For once, he finds himself wholly excited to find the answers to his questions, to chase them down one by one, but there's only one obstacle that stands in his way - himself, and his inexperience. There's a reason it had been Scorchpaw out there with her kill on the sun-tinged moors rather than him down in the pitch-dark tunnels; leaning to navigate down there takes time, and learning to hunt down there takes even more, so it will still be some time yet before Luckypaw is ready to take on that hurdle successfully.
Moor runners have it easy, he thinks - they don't have to relearn how to step before they can start hunting, don't have to learn anything before jumping right into the thick of it. It's why training to be a tunneler takes longer than to be a moor runner; things are much more complex without the light of day. If he were out on the moors, well, maybe he'd have caught something by now, too! Especially with all the training he's been doing with scent and sound - surely moor runners don't focus so heavily on anything like that. Who needs to see your prey with your eyes when you can see them with your other senses? Of course, it's not as though he can just bound on over to make a quick catch; there's no time with his regular lessons, and besides, Cygnetstare doesn't really go out unless the sun is hardly more than a shadow. No, the only chance he'd get for that would be...well, right now, really. And that's just silly, right? ...Right?
The moon illuminates wide green eyes as Luckypaw carefully extricates himself from his nest, tail tucked close and every step calculated so as not to bump into a fellow apprentice, or stars forbid one of his siblings. Rather than ponder just how crazy this idea actually is, he tries to put all his focus into weaving his way out of the maze; luckily for him, he's still settled near the edge of most of the nests. For a moment, he's certain that it's over when a paw rustles a loose scrap of moss, but against all odds, he soon finds his fur ruffled by the breeze running across the moors, heart racing. It seems so...lifeless, out here in the moonlight, and if possible even more intimidating wreathed in shadows. As though anything could be lurking in the thick moor grass, just waiting to slink out and into view. Hopefully only rabbits are out there, he thinks to himself, though it's still a moment before he can bring himself to move further out and away from camp. It'll be fine - just a quick little hunt, a brisk chase, and he'll return victorious. No matter any second thoughts he has; so long as he doesn't go into the tunnels alone, no harm done, really.
Already, as he slinks forward through the grass, it feels different. The darkness is familiar, closer to the conditions he's had his hunting lessons in thus far, but everything is far too open - it's hard to imagine that a rabbit won't just see him coming from afar. The scents are off, too; instead of concentrated, it's as if they've just traveled all the way across the moor, mingling with one another until it's hard to distinguish which direction they hail from. Maybe hunting out here isn't quite as easy as he'd thought it would be, but it's far too late to turn tail and give up now that he's already all the way out here. Puffing up his fur to retain a little warmth, Luckypaw continues searching, jaw set in determination even as he fights the tremble building up in his paws. What had he been thinking? Of course it wouldn't be that easy - he isn't nearly ready to do this, and especially not out of his element. He won't catch up to Scorchpaw like this, because at the end of the day, she's just better at this than he is, even if the thought makes him burn with shame. There was a reason it had been her to catch that mouse, while he had been proud just to hear it happen within the tunnels, after all.
In his dejection, he almost misses the fresh rabbit-scent drifting his way; by the time he recognizes it and quickly drops into a crouch, it's a miracle the creature hasn't already been alerting to his presence. For a moment, he catches himself straining his vision for his prey, but as that quickly proves fruitless, he switches to his other senses. The scent came from that direction, and with the wind blowing that way...with such a hush over the moors, it's possible to pick up a sound or two over there...aha! The rabbit's within his sights now, and his heartbeat begins to pick up. It clearly doesn't know he's here - does he actually have a chance at this? Bringing back a rabbit for his first catch - it'd be greater than he could have expected. Luckypaw's breaths are practically catching in his chest now, and though his paws are frozen to the ground they itch to leap forward. What had Cygnetstare taught him about hunting, again? Moor-hunting is different, far different than he had thought it would be, but things should still carry over - oh! It's moving now!
Even though it surely hasn't caught his scent in return, only searching for better grazing, his nerves get the better of him and, not wanting to miss out on this opportunity, he's off. Streaking across the moorlands, it feels - well, really good. Ground disappearing beneath his paws, every fiber of his being locked on the rabbit - which, of course, has taken off in the space of a sigh, tearing away at breakneck speed. He hadn't been close to it, too much distance between them, and suddenly he realizes it, seeing just how fast his prey moved. Initially, he'd closed the gap, but as his legs start to burn it's clear the thing's faster. Panic seizes him - he's going to lose it! His first hunt, and it's going to get away! Without thinking, paws hit the ground one last time and he's sailing, rocketing through the air and his claws are out and he's ready -
- and then he's tumbling, paws meeting nothing but the springy ground as his quarry darts away unharmed and he's left in the dust. The shock of it all keeps him in a tangle of limbs and moor-grass as he tries to process, blinking rapidly up at the stars. Just like being in his nest, he thinks softly, before the situation really sets in and he's trying to scramble to his paws, stumbling and snared and without. The rabbit's long gone, any prey in the area's long gone, and as he finally stutters to a halt, chest heaving, claws digging desperately into the grass, trying to keep him grounded. He'd failed - spectacularly, at that, even if nobody had been there to witness it. Foolishly, he'd thought he stood a chance, when even Scorchpaw had only been able to bring home a mouse for her first catch. He should have known better than that, and yet the worst part? The worst part is, he really had been convinced he'd be able to do it, when he had torn across the moor, nothing but the chase thrumming through him. It had felt so good, so right to be barreling across the ground like that, but it hadn't meant anything at all in the end.
As the adrenaline begins to fade, Luckypaw allows his legs to fold, collapsing quietly in a heap as the overwhelming hush of the land, punctuated only by the occasional insect, falls back upon his shoulders. Suddenly, he's so, so tired, and all he wants is his nest, and to be pressed up against Scorchstreak's side again like a kitten, walled in by his siblings, and -
It startles him, as the first tear falls, and then he's trying to stifle a sniffle, feeling even more foolish than before, if that were even possible. Not only had he missed the rabbit, but now he's sitting here crying over it? He should be back on his paws, tracking down the next piece of prey - that's what a good WindClan apprentice would do, he knows. But, even if he's sure it's self-pitying, he doesn't want to get back up yet. There'll be no more hunting from him tonight, not for awhile, and even at the site of his failure he can still so clearly recall just how good it had felt to imagine being so close to making the catch. Besides, it's not like he's quite collected enough to sneak back into camp, breathing still rough and eyes still damp despite his best efforts; out here, he's alone with his failures, and he doesn't quite have to think about facing anyone in the morning just yet. Luckypaw will just have to work harder - to train harder, to learn better - and, most of all, to take to heart this new lesson: to stick to the tunnels. He'd been uncertain about them, once upon a time (and still is to some extent, really), but now it's clear that if he's going to put his skills to the test and have any hope of coming away successful, it's not going to be out in the open.
Quietly watching the stars, he's not really sure how much time passes before his breathing levels out, tears all dried up, and if there's a new flame of determination burning in his chest, a promise not to fail so horribly like that again, then that's between him and the silence that stretches out over the moor and into the tunnels.
// TLDR: Luckypaw's really entering his #cringefail era sneaking out & then failing to catch a rabbit!!
The night is supposed to be a time of rest, the inky blackness swallowing them all up not unlike stepping into the tunnels, but lately he's been feeling a bit more wakeful than usual. Perhaps it's finally that he's adjusting to the life of an apprentice, no longer feeling quite so bone-tired from previous days' activities even after sleep, or maybe it's something else entirely; either way, Luckypaw finds himself unable to sleep one night, turning about with eyes cast skyward. When would he make his own first catch, he wonders? Would the chase be exhilarating? How would it feel to stand, flanks heaving, over his own mouse - or, if he's lucky, over a rabbit? Would Scorchpaw still look at him with such cold eyes then? For once, he finds himself wholly excited to find the answers to his questions, to chase them down one by one, but there's only one obstacle that stands in his way - himself, and his inexperience. There's a reason it had been Scorchpaw out there with her kill on the sun-tinged moors rather than him down in the pitch-dark tunnels; leaning to navigate down there takes time, and learning to hunt down there takes even more, so it will still be some time yet before Luckypaw is ready to take on that hurdle successfully.
Moor runners have it easy, he thinks - they don't have to relearn how to step before they can start hunting, don't have to learn anything before jumping right into the thick of it. It's why training to be a tunneler takes longer than to be a moor runner; things are much more complex without the light of day. If he were out on the moors, well, maybe he'd have caught something by now, too! Especially with all the training he's been doing with scent and sound - surely moor runners don't focus so heavily on anything like that. Who needs to see your prey with your eyes when you can see them with your other senses? Of course, it's not as though he can just bound on over to make a quick catch; there's no time with his regular lessons, and besides, Cygnetstare doesn't really go out unless the sun is hardly more than a shadow. No, the only chance he'd get for that would be...well, right now, really. And that's just silly, right? ...Right?
The moon illuminates wide green eyes as Luckypaw carefully extricates himself from his nest, tail tucked close and every step calculated so as not to bump into a fellow apprentice, or stars forbid one of his siblings. Rather than ponder just how crazy this idea actually is, he tries to put all his focus into weaving his way out of the maze; luckily for him, he's still settled near the edge of most of the nests. For a moment, he's certain that it's over when a paw rustles a loose scrap of moss, but against all odds, he soon finds his fur ruffled by the breeze running across the moors, heart racing. It seems so...lifeless, out here in the moonlight, and if possible even more intimidating wreathed in shadows. As though anything could be lurking in the thick moor grass, just waiting to slink out and into view. Hopefully only rabbits are out there, he thinks to himself, though it's still a moment before he can bring himself to move further out and away from camp. It'll be fine - just a quick little hunt, a brisk chase, and he'll return victorious. No matter any second thoughts he has; so long as he doesn't go into the tunnels alone, no harm done, really.
Already, as he slinks forward through the grass, it feels different. The darkness is familiar, closer to the conditions he's had his hunting lessons in thus far, but everything is far too open - it's hard to imagine that a rabbit won't just see him coming from afar. The scents are off, too; instead of concentrated, it's as if they've just traveled all the way across the moor, mingling with one another until it's hard to distinguish which direction they hail from. Maybe hunting out here isn't quite as easy as he'd thought it would be, but it's far too late to turn tail and give up now that he's already all the way out here. Puffing up his fur to retain a little warmth, Luckypaw continues searching, jaw set in determination even as he fights the tremble building up in his paws. What had he been thinking? Of course it wouldn't be that easy - he isn't nearly ready to do this, and especially not out of his element. He won't catch up to Scorchpaw like this, because at the end of the day, she's just better at this than he is, even if the thought makes him burn with shame. There was a reason it had been her to catch that mouse, while he had been proud just to hear it happen within the tunnels, after all.
In his dejection, he almost misses the fresh rabbit-scent drifting his way; by the time he recognizes it and quickly drops into a crouch, it's a miracle the creature hasn't already been alerting to his presence. For a moment, he catches himself straining his vision for his prey, but as that quickly proves fruitless, he switches to his other senses. The scent came from that direction, and with the wind blowing that way...with such a hush over the moors, it's possible to pick up a sound or two over there...aha! The rabbit's within his sights now, and his heartbeat begins to pick up. It clearly doesn't know he's here - does he actually have a chance at this? Bringing back a rabbit for his first catch - it'd be greater than he could have expected. Luckypaw's breaths are practically catching in his chest now, and though his paws are frozen to the ground they itch to leap forward. What had Cygnetstare taught him about hunting, again? Moor-hunting is different, far different than he had thought it would be, but things should still carry over - oh! It's moving now!
Even though it surely hasn't caught his scent in return, only searching for better grazing, his nerves get the better of him and, not wanting to miss out on this opportunity, he's off. Streaking across the moorlands, it feels - well, really good. Ground disappearing beneath his paws, every fiber of his being locked on the rabbit - which, of course, has taken off in the space of a sigh, tearing away at breakneck speed. He hadn't been close to it, too much distance between them, and suddenly he realizes it, seeing just how fast his prey moved. Initially, he'd closed the gap, but as his legs start to burn it's clear the thing's faster. Panic seizes him - he's going to lose it! His first hunt, and it's going to get away! Without thinking, paws hit the ground one last time and he's sailing, rocketing through the air and his claws are out and he's ready -
- and then he's tumbling, paws meeting nothing but the springy ground as his quarry darts away unharmed and he's left in the dust. The shock of it all keeps him in a tangle of limbs and moor-grass as he tries to process, blinking rapidly up at the stars. Just like being in his nest, he thinks softly, before the situation really sets in and he's trying to scramble to his paws, stumbling and snared and without. The rabbit's long gone, any prey in the area's long gone, and as he finally stutters to a halt, chest heaving, claws digging desperately into the grass, trying to keep him grounded. He'd failed - spectacularly, at that, even if nobody had been there to witness it. Foolishly, he'd thought he stood a chance, when even Scorchpaw had only been able to bring home a mouse for her first catch. He should have known better than that, and yet the worst part? The worst part is, he really had been convinced he'd be able to do it, when he had torn across the moor, nothing but the chase thrumming through him. It had felt so good, so right to be barreling across the ground like that, but it hadn't meant anything at all in the end.
As the adrenaline begins to fade, Luckypaw allows his legs to fold, collapsing quietly in a heap as the overwhelming hush of the land, punctuated only by the occasional insect, falls back upon his shoulders. Suddenly, he's so, so tired, and all he wants is his nest, and to be pressed up against Scorchstreak's side again like a kitten, walled in by his siblings, and -
It startles him, as the first tear falls, and then he's trying to stifle a sniffle, feeling even more foolish than before, if that were even possible. Not only had he missed the rabbit, but now he's sitting here crying over it? He should be back on his paws, tracking down the next piece of prey - that's what a good WindClan apprentice would do, he knows. But, even if he's sure it's self-pitying, he doesn't want to get back up yet. There'll be no more hunting from him tonight, not for awhile, and even at the site of his failure he can still so clearly recall just how good it had felt to imagine being so close to making the catch. Besides, it's not like he's quite collected enough to sneak back into camp, breathing still rough and eyes still damp despite his best efforts; out here, he's alone with his failures, and he doesn't quite have to think about facing anyone in the morning just yet. Luckypaw will just have to work harder - to train harder, to learn better - and, most of all, to take to heart this new lesson: to stick to the tunnels. He'd been uncertain about them, once upon a time (and still is to some extent, really), but now it's clear that if he's going to put his skills to the test and have any hope of coming away successful, it's not going to be out in the open.
Quietly watching the stars, he's not really sure how much time passes before his breathing levels out, tears all dried up, and if there's a new flame of determination burning in his chest, a promise not to fail so horribly like that again, then that's between him and the silence that stretches out over the moor and into the tunnels.
// TLDR: Luckypaw's really entering his #cringefail era sneaking out & then failing to catch a rabbit!!
[ PENNED BY HIJINKS ]
