Three sunrises had passed since Pheasantpaw the young tom had received his name and begun on the journey of his apprenticeship. Barleytuft, who had been assigned as his mentor, didn't want to press him too hard too soon and take him too far from camp with all the fox trouble, but aside from that some commotion in the camp of late had made for some very effective distractions from truly delving into the teachings of the life of a warrior. Since most of the issues had been resolved, and the weather was remarkably clear, Barleytuft intended to me use of it.
It was morning time, the dawn patrol long gone and the morning hunting patrol well on its way, too, as the senior warrior approached the apprentice's den, looking to see if his student had chosen to reside there. Barleytuft had always slept under the stars, himself, save for when he was confined to Aspenheart's den. His deep hazel eyes scanned for the familiar dark torbie pelt, and he meowed, "Pheasantpaw? Pheeeaaaasantpaaaaw, are you in there?" He withdrew his head and scanned the camp's clearing to check if he had perhaps glanced over his apprentice already.