I Make a Wish and Hold my Breath (c)

Cricketpaw slunk into the makeshift warrior’s den, quick and light on her silent paws. She made no sound in the snow as she turned her intense mis-matched eyes on Stoatclaw. The tom was still sleeping. The den was empty as the sun bathed the space in light. SkyClan had stopped late the night before, and they were waiting until the temperatures rose a bit before moving on. The matted space beside him was still warm, as if the nests other occupant had left only moments ago. He was vulnerable here. Cricketpaw crouched by his nest, watching the steady rise and fall of his flanks, the gentle bob of his pale white throat. He looked terrifying too, muscular, with the skills and prowess to snap her neck if he wanted. It was tempting, maybe she should press her advantage right now. Take an eye, take both of his eyes, so he couldn’t hurt her.

She reached out perfectly white paw towards him, raised and ready for a strike. Protect herself first, but the thought of his blood on her paws made the apprentice gag. She couldn’t stomach the thought of hurting a clanmate, at least, not one who hadn’t threatened her. Her suspicion laid heavy in her gut. He could hurt her. He could hurt her so easily, it’d be over in a second, and she would be powerless to stop it. But Stoatclaw hadn't hurt her yet, and the same things that made him dangerous could also keep her safe, if she played her cards right. Cricketpaw wouldn’t strike first. Not now, not so soon. She needed to give him a chance. She needed his favor first. Analyze what made him tick, where she could wiggle in, where she could be safe. She would do anything to protect herself.

Cricketpaw poked the warrior in the shoulder, and then immediately fled to the entrance of the den in case he was mad about her waking him up and took a swing at her. “S-stoatclaw.” She said, so softly it was almost lost in the warm hush of the den. “You said we’d train today.” She softened the skittering fearful glance of her eyes. Helpless. Look helpless, not frantic, not calculating. Look too pitiful to be worth striking, too soft and easy on the eyes to snuff out. Make him hesitate to react with anger. Soften the sting of a mistake.

Her wide blue and green eyes shifted from apprehensive to a fragile curiosity, all gentle and shining in her pale face. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” She added quietly, ducking her head in apology, but one ear still flicked toward him, listening intently for signs of movement that would signal an attack. The fluffy she-cat held her body close to the ground, every muscle coiled so tightly she almost trembled. It was obvious she was ready to flee at the first whisper breath of danger.

Cricketpaw saw one beady amber eye turn on her, and her heart stopped. For a terribly long moment she froze, scarcely daring to breathe, but no blows came raining down on her. There was no flash of fangs in the dark. She stayed where she was, defensively crouched against the ground until the warrior passed her. She slipped from her stance and followed behind Stoatclaw on silent paws like a too-small shadow. Her ears flicked back briefly as she tried to find the hidden meaning under her mentor’s words. Was sleeping through the day what he wanted to do? He didn’t seem too upset, so maybe she hadn’t messed up. Was he just being polite? It was impossible to tell. She let the relief ease the flighty throbbing of her pulse. She had managed to navigate that hurdle without incident. Keep calm, keep cool, listen, watch, stay on your toes. Her strange mis-matched gaze followed the tom’s as he smiled at a pretty she-cat. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She would remember that. Competition, but also a weakness. Another path into her mentor’s good graces would be befriending that molly. It would be a task for later.

The familiar suffocating shroud was descending on her again as she obediently followed the tabby farther and farther from camp. Where were they going? He wouldn’t try and off her so soon, right? She hadn’t even messed up yet. Maybe he was angry about being woken up. Finally, they stopped. Cricketpaw let out a quiet breath of relief, only to immediately flinch when her mentor rounded on her. Her eyes darted back towards camp, she was smaller and weaker than the tabby warrior, but maybe she could outrun him, or try to hide in the snow? Could she scream loud enough to alert the rest of SkyClan below if he went for her throat right now? But when he spoke he didn’t sound angry. A hunting crouch. She could do that. She could definitely do that. Do it right. Make him proud of you. Don’t let your guard slip.

Her front paws trembled slightly as another roaring wave of anxiety crashed over her. What if she was too good? Then he would know her strengths. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? How much should she give away? The fluffy apprentice nodded once, trying to find some calm in the sting of the frozen ground against her pads. Too soon to tell. Be honest for now, and see what happens. She spent so much time slinking around it was easy to fall into a balanced stalk, one white paw silent against the snow, then a brown paw. Her back feet followed, her fluffy tail held perfectly still so it didn’t brush the ground. She flattened her ears back to her skull, and tucked her shoulders back, freezing in her form to turn her head and look up to Stoatclaw. At least he hadn’t tried to ambush her while she was focusing on getting it right.

“Is this good enough?” Cricketpaw asked softly, and braced her muscles in case he took a harsh approach to fixing her stance. Surely he dragged her all the way out here so the rest of the clan wouldn’t judge his training methods. It made perfect sense. She was more than happy to endure that then constantly check over her shoulder for a death-bite. Afterall, bruises could heal, she could survive that.

Cricketpaw felt that familiar jab of satisfaction click into place in her chest. Stoatclaw was impressed with her. It thawed the icy grip of her suspicion just a bit. She could sing this song. She could sing it well, and her mentor wouldn’t cast her aside or leave her to the wills of strangers. He would not skin her alive if she was useful. She met his amber gaze, softening her own with hesitant joy. There, not too fast, not too strong. She flicked one ear forward and ducked her head a little, like she was embarrassed.

“Th-thank you.” She said softly, almost to the ground. She nodded once, casting a wary glance at the terrain beyond. Her paws longed to sprint away from here and return to the comfort of her littermates. But she needed Stoatclaw. She needed to make him feel fulfilled, like he had achieved something. She needed to be his shining prodigy, a warrior made from a timid, unlikely prospect. She would sing his praises as a mentor, and he would protect her. “I’ll do my best.” She said, a flicker of determination flashing across her features.

Cricketpaw slunk off into the snow, her brown and white pelt vanishing into the whirl of rock and snow. Every ounce of her body was carefully controlled, nothing slipped. She was a ghost passing through, bringing easy death with her bright teeth. Out of the watchful gaze of her mentor, the molly sighed quietly in relief, a single breath out her nose, and then she was zeroed in on the hunt. Her claws ached to bring him something back. A prize. A boon. A step towards his praise and protection. A sleek bird stood out like a small void against the sheer whiteness of the snow. A crow? Or a raven? Either way, it was hers. Cricetpaw dropped into a silent stalk, one careful paw step at a time. Her heart was so quiet and slow it may as well be stopped. The calmness that descended was eerie, every small movement dripped in the savage grace of a predator. And then she leapt, casting a shadow that hung like death over the snow.

The raven had time for one alarmed cry, and then her teeth sunk into the back of its neck, snapping clean through its fragile spine. She shook it savagely, her blood rushing against her ears in a triumphant roar. She dropped it in the snow, licking the blood from the white of her muzzle. Its glassy eyes stared up at her, and she smiled back. Too bad for the poor bird, but such was the world. You either die quick or die slow. At least this bird died quickly. She scooped up her catch, leaving a vibrant splash of red and a few black feathers behind. She came trotting back to Stoatclaw, nearly tripping over the massive bird as its limp wings dragged on the ground. She couldn’t hide the pleased look on her face as she looked up at her mentor, looking a little silly with her strange mismatched eyes and the sleek black body of the bird hanging from her jaws.
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Cricketpaw attempted to catch a bird, costing 5sp
She was successful!