- Oct 22, 2022
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Bloodpaw's tutelage has, up to now, been immersed in ambiguity and double-edged ironies. Moons later, Smogmaw has yet to reconcile how he'd been assigned a second apprentice, right as Ashenpaw stepped into the most rigorous phase of his training. Moreover, Bloodpaw ranked among the ludicrous slew of apprentices who'd been barred from leaving camp altogether; hence, the responsibilities assigned to him were outright incompatible with one another, inasmuch as the duties expected from him included babysitting Bloodpaw and perfecting Ashenpaw's movements in one breath. Sheer folly.
He does not know what Bloodpaw has made for herself in those in-betweens, nor could he rightly claim to have an inkling regarding Bloodpaw's true strengths. What training exercises had occurred had largely been abstractive quizzes centered on interpreting clan lore, which was essentially no training exercise at all by any means. Oral tradition is futile to a fault when it is applied to instruction, and especially when the learner in question is one so irredeemably young and naive.
Again, sheer folly.
At last, though, the she-cat under his wing has crossed that threshold separating her from the greater marsh, and today, Bloodpaw will truly begin her ascent into a warrior's identity.
"Heh. Even more frogs than yesterday. Look." They'd trekked not far from camp's pine barrier, taking what footpaths remained risen above the flooded bog. Sure enough, the marsh teemed with amphibious life. A forest's population's worth could be found in every mire and pool which spread around thick fern beds. Each water body he gaped upon seemed to pulse with motion, wriggling and twitching, jumping, writhing, tensing, trembling. And even the swamp mud itself pulsed.
He halts his step with Bloodpaw at the edge where land and water converged. A tail-flick accompanies his head-swivel in the apprentice's way. "You're going to learn how prey feels between your paws and teeth when you catch it," he informs her coolly. "I'll give you no example; there's plenty for you here. Don't fret over hunting postures or movements yet. I want you to get the idea for yourself."
She best not drown.
He does not know what Bloodpaw has made for herself in those in-betweens, nor could he rightly claim to have an inkling regarding Bloodpaw's true strengths. What training exercises had occurred had largely been abstractive quizzes centered on interpreting clan lore, which was essentially no training exercise at all by any means. Oral tradition is futile to a fault when it is applied to instruction, and especially when the learner in question is one so irredeemably young and naive.
Again, sheer folly.
At last, though, the she-cat under his wing has crossed that threshold separating her from the greater marsh, and today, Bloodpaw will truly begin her ascent into a warrior's identity.
"Heh. Even more frogs than yesterday. Look." They'd trekked not far from camp's pine barrier, taking what footpaths remained risen above the flooded bog. Sure enough, the marsh teemed with amphibious life. A forest's population's worth could be found in every mire and pool which spread around thick fern beds. Each water body he gaped upon seemed to pulse with motion, wriggling and twitching, jumping, writhing, tensing, trembling. And even the swamp mud itself pulsed.
He halts his step with Bloodpaw at the edge where land and water converged. A tail-flick accompanies his head-swivel in the apprentice's way. "You're going to learn how prey feels between your paws and teeth when you catch it," he informs her coolly. "I'll give you no example; there's plenty for you here. Don't fret over hunting postures or movements yet. I want you to get the idea for yourself."
She best not drown.