Dewkit's Apprentice Ceremony

Marshstorm padded out of the leader's den. The lichen parting, leaving gifts of icicles on his forehead and back. His pelt twitched from the sudden cold, a shiver wracking his body. He was glad that Leopardstar agreed that it was time to apprentice the recent additions to the clan. His and Dustcloud's kits. Though his gaze fell to the hardworking tom who had brought them in. Beartooth really needed his own family. He wondered if his and Bushfang's relationship would result in kits of their own? A soft huff of laughter escaped him as he leapt to the top of High-rock. It was hard to imagine his apprentice with kits... it made him feel old. Recognising the wariness that sank into his bones.

"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath High-rock for a clan meeting!" His sharp yowl cut through the soft chatter of camp. The centre of the snow cleared camp was clustered with the pelts of various cats. His gaze fell to a little ginger tom. One who's turn it was to finally recieve his apprentice title. He'd finally get to see outside the camp, though Marshstorm loathed that it had to be leafbare. When the world was cold and hiding. "Dewkit, step forward."

Dewkit jumped up and dashed out of the nursery, his front paws skidded and his back paws flailed as he trued to stop himself. He came to a abrupt stop, mouse lengths away from high rock.

Marshstorm didn't hold back his amused smile as Dewkit skidded to a stop in front of him. Instead he looked through the various cats that had gathered, gesturing for a light grey tom to step forward.
"Dewkit, you have reached the age of six moons. It is now time for you to become an apprentice. From this day on, until you recieve your warrior name, you will be known as Dewpaw." He turned his amber gaze to the grey tom with a tilt of his head. "Your mentor will be Flintfang. A tom of great intelligence, I hope you can learn much from him." He added before he leapt down from High-rock to join in the celebration of the tom's promotion.

A rock sunk in Flintfang's chest as his name was called. Me? A mentor? The tom knew he wasn't one of the clan's favorites. Being quite rebellious in his early moons, and sarcastic and dry in the present. Marshstorm either had a horrible hate toward Dewpaw, or a strong trust in Flintfang. Both of the options sounded highly illogical. To add to the gray tabby's confusion, he was also incredibly young, only being named a warrior himself a moon before. Maybe Thunderclan is just low on warriors...

Not wanting to draw attention to his hesitation, Flintfang stepped forward to receive Dewpaw as his apprentice. Green eyes closing in dismay, the warrior bent down to touch noses with the tom.
"Hey, kit." He grunted, searching the apprentice's eyes. Great Starclan what am I going to do with you...

Dewpaw stood proudly but he froze. "Flintfang?" He whispered. That tom?! AS Flintfang approached him he tried to stay calm and touched noses to his mentor. I might be learned on my own.. He thought