The River is our Home [c]

When Stormdance roused him from his new nest, Rowanpaw had put up a fit. A small one, by his standards– there was no shrill shouting, no sputtered curses apprentices shouldn't have even heard yet –but he huffed and puffed while blinking sleep from his eyes, and hissed to himself as he stomped out of the den. Did warriors always wake up this early? Was his mentor going to stay up every night just to wait for dawn, and drag him out of his nest flailing and screaming at first light every day? And stars, it didn't have to be so hot so early in the day. Already fussy, the apprentice padded out of camp on the warrior's heels, feathery tail dragging through the sand. Once they crossed into the territory though, his mood brightened in an instant; any of Stormdance's supposed wrongdoings were forgotten, and Rowanpaw jumped into a trot, hopping along at his mentor's shoulder.

He'd been waiting for this day a long time, getting to see what the world looked like beyond the wall of reeds that kept him from wandering too far, and green eyes glittered with excitement at the sight of it all. Instead of the soft sand he'd grown used to, the world beyond was covered in soft, damp grass, pleasantly cooling on his paws; with the gentle breeze, the rushes that marked their territory swayed, whistling and rattling against each other, a familiar sound somehow made more wondrous by the openness of their territory; in the distance, he could see the foggy shapes of trees, huddled together in a dark ring. And everything around them seemed to glow, lit golden by the morning light. The river, too, he could hear its chattering over stones, see its outline cutting through their fields. Warriors kept this from him as a kit why?

Oh, but Stormdance was still going– speaking, too, so Rowanpaw hurried along to listen. The river would be more than a babbling distant shape soon, it seemed; they were actually going down to it! The rushed mention of hunting made his ears flick. He was more interested in splashing about, teaching himself how to swim than learning how to hunt. It might have been necessary, but from what he'd heard, it was so boring. He was expected to just sit there and stare into the distance, waiting for fish to jump into his claws? As if! There were far better things to do with his time. Like...

When Stormdance asked him what he was most excited about, a bright and horribly mischevious grin split the apprentice's features. "Well, certainly not hunting," Rowanpaw answered levelly. They had reached the river– finally –and as they chatted, the ruddy tom wasted no time in skipping towards the water, sticking his forepaws gracelessly in the shallow end. It was shockingly cold, and he pulled back with a yelp, fur fluffed out and accusations waiting on his tongue. Gingerly stepping into the current again, he relaxed into the cooling tug of the water, kicking up water as he rounded on his mentor again. "Teach me to hunt if you'd like. For Mum's sake, I'll listen, though I'm none too interested in it. I have more exciting plans." The water tugged at his sweeping tail, and Rowanpaw looked almost ridiculous standing just off of the bank, water halfway up his legs and grinning like a fox. "I would like a goose, actually! Do you think you can find me a goose, Stormdance? I've seen their feathers before, in the nursery. I would like to pluck one and bring it back to Mum. I don't see any geese... but I don't know what they look like. In any case, I guess," Rowanpaw lifted a leg, wobbling slightly when the current tugged at his off-balance limbs, before bringing his raised paw down on the water's surface with a cracking splash, "you could say I'm excited about the river. Well, I wish you'd told me the water was so cold, but I'll forgive you for that. I can't go swimming in camp, so I'm sure this will be fun."

Rowanpaw waited patiently to speak. Though he was quiet, his mood soured in an instant; the earlier irritation at being pulled from his sleep welled, and his tail bristled in response to it. But he'd wait. When his mentor sprang into the water shouting his name, Rowanpaw recoiled with a frustrated curl of his lip, but he'd stayed quiet. When Stormdance went on to lecture him about safety, he gave the rushing water as long a look of mock consideration as he could, but he stayed quiet. Even the softening of Stormdance's voice made him bristle, gentle tone forcing the apprentice's hackles on end. What did the darker-furred tom think to gain, talking to him like that? But Rowanpaw bit against his tongue, holding onto his vow of silence, even though the splash of his tail waving through the current gave him away. It wasn't until they circled back around to the mention of geese that his eyes narrowed, ears pinned low.

"You're no fun, Stormdance." He said it with a spit, smacking a paw against the water's surface– and smiling again when it splashed against his mentor's chest. Then he went wading off, kicking his way back towards the bank. "I am not a kit, and I am perfectly capable of swimming just fine. I didn't notice myself getting swept away, unless being a warrior makes you so keen you might predict the future." The ruddy tom snorted as he climbed ashore, raising a hind leg to shake off the clinging water. He had no interest in swimming if it was going to be so... sheltered. What was so bad about him standing in the shallows? What made him a RiverClan cat at all if he couldn't figure out how to swim? Swimming was in his blood. And he was an apprentice now! Only just, but he was big enough to look after himself. Poppyshine must have thought so, or he wouldn't be standing here. What did Stormdance's fretfulness have to do with him?

And oh, stars, the goose. That had burned him. "Also, you're silly for thinking I want any rat-touched feather we might find hiding in the reeds. I want Mum's feather to be special. I will take a goose, or I will take nothing." And that was that. Did the dark tabby think he could be swayed by that? Why go through the effort of giving Poppyshine a feather, if there were a pawful more scattered all across the territory? No, it would have to be special. From a special bird. "Honestly. Next I'll ask Mum to line her nest with sand." He hadn't meant to speak that, but he made no attempt at hiding it once the words were out, either.

With that and a painfully exaggerated huff, Rowanpaw turned his back on his mentor to stare into the light-touched distance of their territory. He was confident that he looked stoic and aloof, that Stormdance would crawl out of the river and apologize. Yet despite his own words, he looked little more than a kit: head bowed and shoulders stiff, hunched, a loose forepaw dragging absently through the mud while his tail stirred the silt behind him. Pouting. Under his breath, he muttered, "Perhaps if you grab me by the scruff and throw me into the current, you'll see that I am capable on my own. I do believe I know how to move my legs."