You'll Never Tame Me (closed)

Flamepaw darted down the slope that led to the hollow he'd spent his whole short life stuck in, moor grasses springy under his paws and branches from the scraggly heather reaching out to brush his pelt. A sharp-toothed grin spread over his maw, ears flicking every which way and breaths quick as he zig-zagged in a half-skidding rush. Expertly, he switch-backed and ducked into a thicket of gorse, heedless of thorns and prickles, following a trail blazed by a rabbit or something. All those times climbing up the side of the hollow and slipping back down again were paying off.

And, 'course, he kinda had a reason for the whole "running like a maniac" thing.

After all, his new mentor just so happened to be Timbersun, of all cats, and that tom was horsing bent on making sure he turned out as boring and fun-killing as any poor lifeless soul could. If anyone was going to try and drag him back to camp straight after he'd just been told he could go out whenever he wanted, it'd be him.

His ears flattened against his head, and he broke through a gap into the chilly, buffeting wind again, hissing under his breath, "If you want to train me, you'll have to catch me, dung-eater."