Shaping Up {CLOSED}

Flintpaw narrowed his eyes, scanning the dens. The gray tabby sat near the entrance to Thunderclan camp, his tail twitching with anticipation. The young tom had grown quite a bit from when he was first apprenticed, and had all the signs to show it. Three long scars stretched across his shoulders, a testament to the eagle he had killed with Swoopnose. His ears were nicked, and several long-since healed lacerations covered his back.
While Flintpaw thought all of these may have added to his handsome appeal as he called it, they certainly didn't do anything to help his reputation. Leopardstar had not been happy with the apprentice's "adventures" over the border, or his ever-growing disobedience of the code. Flintpaw realized with a wince that this may be why he was still an apprentice, still longing for his warrior name.
The gray tabby shook it off, letting out a long sigh. Leopardstar doesn't know what he's doing. None of Thunderclan does... Flintpaw's fiery deviance had been replaced with a constant passive-aggressive state. He'd oftentimes make small remarks to himself about something he found mousebrained that his clan had been doing. Something in his heart urged him to act on it, to put his ideas into motion, to talk to someone... But not today. Today Flintpaw just wanted to hunt. His too-smart-for-his-own-good mind was tired.

Unfortunately though, Flintpaw required a warrior to hunt with, but the apprentice's ego wouldn't allow him to ask. He simply waited by the entrance, watching as the leaves fell around him. Wishing he could go back to his kit-like state of mind.

Likely due to the lack of warriors, the young tabby had been put in charge of another patrol. Leopardstar seemingly held a lot of faith in him and tasked him with many responsibilities since the ceremony. His forest green eyes fell on a grey-pelted apprentice near the camp entrance as he padded towards it. Immediately, he recognized the tom as Flintpaw. Although Beartooth was not one for clan gossip, he was keenly aware of the type of reputation this particular cat held. Regardless, he was unbothered and padded over. Looking down at Flintpaw with an unreadable expression, a decisive nod caused his head to turn ever so slightly. His low voice rumbled, "You look ready for a patrol. Let's go."

Beartooth was a friendly cat, all around, but it was his formal manner of speech and driven nature paired with the outward appearance that often made him seem otherwise. In his head, the focus of the patrol was exactly that, hunting or defending the clan. There was no need for idle conversation so he turned and broke through the gorse tunnel without hesitation. His nose was met with the unpleasantly icy breeze that cut through the forest. As it grew colder, the prey began to disappear and become more sparse. The only decent thing about their clan being abnormally low in numbers meant fewer mouths to feed throughout the leaf-bare season. He shook out his coat in an attempt to dispel any cold chill. Thankfully, his coat and bulk helped to keep the pressing frigid air away. But he still did not enjoy it.

"We will check the Shadowclan border. But hunt along the way." Beartooth informed the apprentice. Not long before there had been a scuffle along the Thunderpath and he hoped to merely scent the air before continuing on with the hunt. Besides, the Shadowclan border was the closest to camp. As he led the way, the patrol leader tried to forget recent events. Pressing himself into the burden of work had kept the thoughts at bay. Inherently, the massive tom was a deeply emotional creature but for the sake of his duties, all of that was constantly shoved away. With a huff, he trotted with more urgency, allowing massive paws to thud softly again the freezing earth. As difficult as it was to keep his pawsteps soft, it appeared the squirrel ahead had not quite picked up on his presence yet. He slowed to accommodate and stalked slowly forward. With an arduous leap, the tom managed to snag it with his many claws before finishing it off with a swift bite. In moments, it was buried.

The member 'Reindeer Ripped' has done the following action : Dices roll

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'Hunting Dice' : 5

At the sight of Beartooth nearing the camp entrance, Flintpaw opened his mouth to ask the warrior if he'd accompany him on a patrol. He shut it quickly as Beartooth spoke instead, short and concise.
The apprentice didn't even ask to join a patrol, but before he knew it, the two cats were out on Thunderclan territory, hunting.
It took a special kind of cat to speak with actions rather than words, and from what Flintpaw could tell, Beartooth was an expert at it. Flintpaw's first instinct was to be annoyed with the tabby tom. You have a mouth for a reason, use it mousebrain. But after walking next to the warrior for some time, the apprentice had a change of heart. He liked not being ridiculed and bombarded with questions. Most other cats would scold him for his past deviance, and cast him sidelong glances filled with suspicion. But Beartooth was quiet. It was a simple silence that Flintpaw didn't know he needed until now.

He realized he didn't know much of the tabby tom, only that he had been made a warrior recently. Flintpaw remembered the whole scandal with Beepaw's death, and Beartooth in the center of it. Are you kidding? He wouldn't murder anybody. Flintpaw remembered thinking, watching from the apprentice's den as Leopardstar and Marshstorm lost their minds. And although Beartooth's size was intimidating, from what Flintpaw had seen of the tom, he knew he'd never lay a claw on one of his clanmates.

Flintpaw let a breath escape his nose as Beartooth pounced on a squirrel, burying it. The apprentice's breath was white in the crisp, leaf-fall air, and he shivered, hoping to find some prey to match Beartooth's. His green eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a mouse scuttling through the leaves, far away enough where he would be out of ear-shot. The gray tabby turned toward Beartooth, whispering impulsively; "Do you...ever think Thunderclan could improve?"
Flintpaw winced after the words came out of his mouth. It wasn't like him to seek out conversation. Without waiting for a reply, the gray tabby dropped into a hunting crouch and snaked his way over to the mouse, his question burning in his ears. Launching himself through the air, belly fur skimming the leaf mulch, Flintpaw landed on his prey, snatching it swiftly from the ground and snapping its neck.
He walked over to Beartooth, setting the mouse down on the dirt pile that housed the warrior's squirrel. Flintpaw gazed at the tabby tom expectantly, hoping he'd get an answer to his question, no matter how much he regretted saying it.

The member 'lemongrass' has done the following action : Dices roll

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'Hunting Dice' : 4

The bulky tabby was focused on the patrol, the catch, as usual. Doing so prevented him from ever thinking into much of anything else. Discussion was not something he planned on doing nor considered. But the young tom's words caught his attention. Change? It was something Beartooth hadn't once considered. He loved his clan. But perhaps Flintpaw had different ideas about the clan. Obviously, from what he had heard, this apprentice did not get along with the others. Although Beartooth was dedicated he had felt conflict in the past. Perhaps it was similar to what the grey cat was feeling. His ear twitched as his teeth clenched in thought. Fangs grazed the lower part of his maw and the warrior didn't even flinch. He had grown used to the sensation, given he had lived with it his entire life.

"What do you mean?" Beartooth finally asked lowly, fixating the younger cat with a nearly unreadable gaze. There were hints of curiosity that peered through his mostly neutral mask. Instead of trudging on ahead, the tabby slowed his heavy steps and returned his clanmate's gaze. What would it be like if Thunderclan changed? What was there to change? Thinking was something he did not indulge himself in often but Flintpaw had managed to spark his interest. His gaze flickered up to a fluttering of wings above before returning to the other cat's. He briefly considered continuing to hunt. That could wait, though.

ooc: sorry this is so short ;;

There it was, an opening. The four words that made Flintpaw's ears burn. What do you mean?
Flintpaw wanted to spill it all out, to tell this almost stranger everything he had wrestled with for the past few moons. And it hurt. It hurt because Flintpaw knew that if he told Beartooth his ideas, that it would heal him. Flintpaw wouldn't lie awake at night anymore, his mind would be calm. But it hurt because Flintpaw knew he couldn't tell the warrior everything. There was an opening to heal himself, but the apprentice couldn't take it. The gray tabby almost wished Beartooth hadn't asked.
The two stood in silence for a while, the hunt had been halted, and Flintpaw once again found himself tangled up in thoughts. He was well aware of the time that was passing. And with every second, the apprentice grew more and more thankful for Beartooth's patience. It hit Flintpaw that the warrior may actually be curious of what he had to say.
No one else ever showed curiosity toward his ideas. No one else except Chervilpaw. Maybe that was why it had hurt so bad when she passed away. He mostly blamed her death for the turmoil that plagued his mind. It was like losing his muse, seeing his sister lay there in the sand.
But here stood another cat that sat quietly, patient. It was unbelievable. Flintpaw cast Beartooth a sheepish glance from under his brow, and their green eyes meant for a split second. The warrior's eyes were unreadable, but it was enough. It healed a little part of the apprentice. Just knowing that someone cared. That someone was interested. A small smile crept onto the gray tabby's face, and he turned his head so that Beartooth wouldn't see.

"What if all the clans shared territory during leaf-bare? I mean, we all live the same lifestyles, the only difference is our hunting strategies. No cat should die from lack of food. Or! Or what if we make Sunningrocks neutral territory? We should stop fighting each other over them, they're just stupid rocks, and there's other threats to worry about..." Flintpaw trailed off, there was so much more he wanted to say, but it surprised him what his mind had let slip so far. The gray tabby raised a paw as if to stop the words that had fallen out of his mouth. He watched Beartooth's face with a wince. But he didn't feel bad. Instead, he felt... free. Flintpaw's ideas had left his head, and it was amazing... Thank you, Beartooth. Flintpaw whispered to himself. Even if the warrior didn't agree. He had listened. And in a way, that was more important.

His inability to read expressions well left him nearly oblivious to moment the apprentice had in response to his curiosity. For some reason, the warrior was not put off by the lack of efficiency on this patrol. Instead, he listened to the younger tom, finding increasing interest running through his mind. In his youth, Beartooth hadn't been similar to Flintpaw. He had always had a drive, always seen the goal and the mission of warriorhood. Aside from the murder accusation brought on by his adoptive brother, a young Bear had never gotten himself in trouble to the degree that the grey tabby had. But Flintpaw did not seem to be as misguided as his clanmates thoughts. Behind the bulky warrior, his tail tip slightly as he awaited a response.

When that response finally came, Beartooth found himself more in his head than he had ever been before. If there was one thing he had always managed to be good at, it was listening, especially since he was more inclined to be slow in speech. It took a moment for the tom to drink in the words and mull over them. Hm. He thought to himself, intrigued by the notion. Flintpaw certainly had thoughts that differed from his own, and from the normal of the clan. He had personally never paused to think about it before. All he knew was that the thought of cozying up to Riverclan cats disgusted him. Sharing Sunningrocks was idealistic. With a glance down at Flintpaw, the tom found himself hesitant in his bluntness. His paws hesitated alongside his tongue.

"It doesn't sound bad, Flintpaw. But we are too different. A squirrel does not swim and a fish does not climb." So many words flew from his mouth, more than usual. But the question deserved an answer. It might have sounded rather philosophical but all he was picturing was the Riverclan cats he had seen tread the water like fish. His whiskers twitched in a mild amusement at the thought before he gave Flintpaw a stiff nod and something reminiscent of a fanged, half-smile.

Even with Beartooth's disagreement, Flintpaw felt proud of himself. He knew. He knew from the start that any normal cat would disagree with his ideas. But it was the fact that Beartooth listened. It was the small two-fanged smile given to the apprentice at the end of his monologue. It made Flintpaw flash a smile of his own. A confidence had found its way into his heart, and it healed a broken part of him. And although Flintpaw would never admit it, he found that he quite liked Beartooth.

"I get it..." Flintpaw mewed, contemplating the warrior's response in his head. We worship the same cats, follow the same rules, abide by the same hierarchy. You have bees in your brain if you call the clans different.
But even so, the gray tabby tom couldn't be upset with Beartooth. He was mainly just thankful. The smallest idea came into his head, that if one cat could listen to him, how many others would as well? But it was too naïve. Flintpaw knew the reputation he had with the rest of Thunderclan, the scars that rippled on his back spoke of it every day. Maybe today, Flintpaw got lucky. But the apprentice knew tomorrow would not be as such. You'll have to make your own luck. Flintpaw told himself, the swirl of thoughts emerging in his mind once again. But not today...

Flintpaw cast a questioning glance to Beartooth, grasping his squirrel in his jaws. He hoped the warrior would allow them to return to camp. The wind had picked up and brought a cold draft through the forest. It cut through Flintpaw's short fur like eagle's talons, and he fluffed out his grey coat in defiance. Today had been productive. Flintpaw had so many new thoughts, new ideas. More so then when he started the conversation with Beartooth. But they didn't clog his mind, no, instead they enlightened it. Weirdly, Beartooth's disagreement almost gave Flintpaw motivation to prove him wrong. If anything, the tabby warrior gave him a sense of urgency. Flintpaw gave Beartooth a subtle nod, and murmured through his squirrel; "Thanks..." It was a distorted mumble, but Flintpaw meant it. Perhaps it was the first meaningful thing he had said since Chervilpaw's death. Thanks. Flintpaw repeated in his head, feeling content.