Minding my own meltdown [c]

Another day, another barely-successful hunt. Hunger clawed in Hawkpaw’s gut like a writhing creature threatening to rip out of him, and all the while, the half-moon rapidly approached, and with it, a level of change that made Hawkpaw feel so off-kilter and, if he was completely honest, afraid that he was half-tempted to start ripping his own fur out just to feel something other than this surge of absolute dread. Hawkpaw was an irritable cat by nature; but these emotions were driving him straight to the brink of absolute madness.

Worsening these feelings was a conversation with his father. He wanted to show Wolfshadow that even in these difficult times, Hawkpaw was still accomplishing something, something to show his own worthiness, show how he’d clawed his place as an apprentice through teeth and claws. Of course, the catches he’d made today weren’t enough. They never were. Hawkpaw could not solve his clan’s hunger with his own two paws, and apparently nothing less than that would earn a glimmer of pride in the golden eyes that matched his own. Hawkpaw was half-convinced that he could be the greatest warrior the forest had ever seen, and it still would not be enough to please Wolfshadow so long as it was Hawkpaw. And yet, stubborn as he was, Hawkpaw refused to stop trying.

Foolish and fruitless. Just like most things Hawkpaw did these days.

Arguing with his father was not satisfying like arguing with Silverpaw could be. Arguing with his father made him feel small, and weak, and useless; it made him want to bare his teeth and snarl at anything that got too close; it made him want to run out of camp and never look back. And he couldn’t stop thinking about how much was going to change in such a short amount of time. Even if leaving was only temporary, it was still leaving. Hawkpaw’s surroundings would change, their situation would change, and everything became this big, frightening unknown. Every scrap of familiarity will be gone. His mother’s grave, which Hawkpaw snuck out to visit frequently, would no longer be accessible.

Hawkpaw’s claws dug into the dirt. He was half tempted to sneak off now, go for a hunt on his own and hope he’d clear his head by the time he sunk his claws into a piece of prey. But then a familiar silver and white pelt caught his eye, and Hawkpaw’s plans immediately shifted course. He hung back for a moment, just long enough to see if Silverpaw was actively in the middle of something, and when he determined he wasn’t, he marched up to his friend.

“Come out with me.” He said, not bothering with a greeting. "I wanna spar." He and Silverpaw are well past pretending to be polite with one another and even if they weren’t Hawkpaw didn’t have an ounce of patience for pleasantries. He held Silverpaw’s infernally captivating green eyes for a moment, before he turned on his paw and marched away and out the camp entrance. Hawkpaw was leaving no matter what; let Silverpaw decide if he wants to join him or not. He’s certainly done the same to Hawkpaw plenty of times. They technically weren’t allowed to leave on their own, but Hawkpaw didn’t care much for that right now either. He didn’t want to go far anyway. Just far enough that he and Silverpaw could have some privacy. They fought plenty in camp, but the idea of being interrupted right now made Hawkpaw want to go for the throat. So… privacy.

Silverpaw

Both the patrols Silverpaw had gone on that day were hollow. The border patrol was incredibly mundane, a route to and along the stretch of land separating them from the opposite side of the High Pine. No SkyClan cats came to bicker with them, likely too busy settling in for the evening. There wasn't even any prey around to catch on their walk, or what they did run into was so far from reach that pursuing it would be a greater waste of time and energy than the reward. It was just... incredibly boring. Fine, but his brain itched afterwards. The hunting patrol he attended later in the night was no better: he pulled a frog from the earth as it tried to slide away into its burrow and caught a mouse that was more bones than coarse fur, but it wasn't enough. The flicker of pride he felt at his success did nothing to satisfy him. He felt restless, desperate to do anything. Stillness and mundanity would inflict madness upon him. Having his catches between his teeth was the only thing keeping him from gnawing fur off his shoulder on the walk back to camp.

The peculiarity only deepened on return, though the underwhelming aggravation shifted. As he dropped the frog and mouse off at the fresh-kill pile, his ears were turned toward familiar voices: Hawkpaw's and... Wolfshadow's. Deep wrinkles furrowed the bridge of Silverpaw's muzzle. He felt nothing but contempt for Hawkpaw's father. It turned the teetering feelings writhing around within him into a more palpable scratching. He'd often thought of shoving his way into one of their many arguments and tearing into Wolfshadow himself, but he rarely caught them at length. Even now, the snapping voices were growing quiet. Silverpaw still lingered by the kill pile, ears turned back to catch any particularly strained snatch of Hawkpaw's voice--which came, but only after the patter of approaching pawsteps, and came much closer than he'd expected.

Turning, Silverpaw looked to him with a slow brink. He'd been on edge since the decision to leave had been made (Silverpaw was, too, though he was trying hard to keep it down), but he was nearly shaking with his anger now. Silverpaw's mouth opened, wanting to say something snappish to such forceful demands, but the whorl in Hawkpaw's golden eyes kept him quiet. It was a stormy feeling he'd recognized in his own. With a chuff of assent, he padded right on Hawkpaw's heels leading out of camp again. When they'd made it to a relatively isolated spot and started to slow, Silverpaw padded on a few steps ahead, angling his head this way and that to digest their arena. The only sign he seemed satisfied enough to begin their spar was the flick of a singular ear and a soft, "Don't expect me to play nice." Then, in a whirl of fur, he dug his pads into the wet ground to spin around. With a forepaw scraping through the mud, shattering the thin layer of ice settled over it, Silverpaw sent a thick splash of grim directly for Hawkpaw's face, spattering across his white fur.

Night Finesse is active for this fight.
Silverpaw used Mud Slap, dealing 6 (5+1) damage and costing 10 SP. Hawkpaw is stunned for one turn.

Silverpaw
20/20 HP
50/60 (-10) SP

Hawkpaw [stunned]
14/20 (-6) HP
60/60 SP