Splash Zone[C]

Fishpaw was nervous about following Quillsplash into the territory. The big, mottled tom had seemed kind so far, so there was no trepidation about being accepted by him. Quillsplash had been an outsider like him once, too--he felt safe with his… mentor. But he was nervous about performing. He was a poor hunter and he knew it. This assessment would be nothing but a failure from him. Fishpaw swallowed tightly as they started to slow and Quillsplash turned to speak to him. He nodded and murmured, ”Yeah… try.” before turning away again.

At least he did have some experience in hunting, and knew the usual scents of prey. It did not take long for him to scent a water vole and begin picking his way through it. The mud sucked his paws in and his crouch was wobbly as he tried to sink into it, but Fishpaw pulled himself forward regardless. When he was close enough to the creature, and it blessedly hadn’t fled yet, he gathered his muscles and sprang. To his surprise, his clumsy leap did not alert the vole to his presence--or, at least, its concern came too late for it to flee. Fishpaw closed his claws around it and quickly bent down to nip its neck before it could finish wriggling out from between his toes.

For a moment, Fishpaw just stared down at it. Then a big laugh left him and he spun around to search for Quillsplash. "Did you see that?" He called, tail waving mirthfully. "I knew I could do it! I'm a great hunter." He went boasting on. Pride was blooming in his chest and his smile was wide and toothy.

Fishpaw attempted to catch a vole... attempt successful! -2 EP.

The pride that flourished in Fishpaw’s chest strengthened at Quillsplash’s praise, growing until he could feel it through his entire body. His smile got even wider. But then Quillsplash corrected himself: it wasn’t perfect. Fishpaw visibly wilted. He set his vole down beside him and watched as his mentor sank into a low crouch. He only half-listened to the instructions presented to him. He knew how he was supposed to crouch! He was young, but he and his siblings had been fending for themselves for moons now. He’d been hunting before. He was just… poor at it. His body seemed to lack any desire to balance him properly. Maybe his just now had only been a fluke, a stroke of pure luck. Maybe…

Fishpaw caught his thoughts getting stormy and shook his head. ”Okay,” he muttered dryly when Quillsplash gave him the instruction to try. Sinking into his weight was uncomfortable. It made his muscles flex and shiver oddly and he felt off-kilter. Fishpaw’s tail ruddered to counterbalance the wobble in his legs. At the very least, he did not fall. But it did not take him very long to get fed up with the uncomfortable position and rise back up to height. He tipped backward slightly as he stood, weight sinking into his hips, before gathering himself to stand properly. ”I can’t do it!” He declared with a scowl. He turned away from Quillsplash and glared down at the vole laying beside his muddy paws. ”I can’t do it,” Fishpaw repeated, a little quieter. ”Catching that vole was an accident. I’m never going to get this right.”

The silence between them, though not long, felt heavy. Heavy with the weight of disappointment and scorn. Fish knew it. He could feel it. It was not just his inability to maintain the crouch, but also the fact he’d given up so easily, and that he’d had an outburst about it--Quillsplash would reject him now. He knew it. Quillsplash was good and seemed kind so far but Fish knew better. If he turned around, he might have found resentment in the big tom’s eyes. That was too much for him to face.

Then Quillsplash was speaking, and the words, spoken so simply, made Fishpaw blink with surprise. He turned and looked back at his mentor. Fishpaw wanted to wilt under the words, but… none of that rejection he’d been expecting tinged Quillsplash’s voice. That alone intrigued him enough to listen. He blinked hard to recenter himself and then focused on his mentor. He felt a little surge of indignation when Quillsplash batted the vole away. Even if it had been an accident, it was his accident, and he was proud of it. He wanted to keep it. But Fishpaw resisted the urge to turn and search for it. He listened.

He had to care for himself now… but he had never truly had to care for himself. There had always been others around to help support him. Until his siblings grew older at least, spent more time away from home; until Grub died. Fishpaw did wilt, then. Maybe he would never be capable of taking care of himself, or of anyone. Even with the support of an entire Clan, he still had to be one of the contributing paws. Maybe this had been the wrong choice. Maybe his grief and his affection for Hedgepaw had led him astray. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But Quillsplash was continuing. And right, Fishpaw was listening. His heart started to squeeze tightly in his chest as Quillsplash went on. The idea to do things how he needed to rather than how it was expected--that seemed revolutionary to him. His heart had grown so equally constricted and full that Fishpaw thought it might burst right in his chest.

You’re going to get it right. It’s time to start making accidents happen.

Fishpaw sniffed. He turned his head away again, ducking into his shoulder for a moment, so Quillsplash could not see the way his eyes were starting to mist. Where had his family gathered the legend that Clan cats were cruel? Even the ones that attacked them were only defending their homes… from, apparently, a murderer. The remembrance put a little shudder through Fishpaw. His mouth felt dry with the realization that these Clan cats, Pineblossom and Quillsplash and Hedgepaw, had given him a greater sense of hope and self in the short time he’d been with him than his uncomfortable time with the crumbling Crew had. ”...Right.” Fishpaw said once he gathered himself. He was no fool; he was a very bright young cat. And he was going to get this right.

It was just a matter of breathing deep and feeling the air around him. A gentle breeze stirred through the marsh, tugging through the fur at the back of his head. Fishpaw turned into it, and on the air, he could scent… what was that, a frog? He was still unfamiliar with their particular smell, but he imagined that was it. And with the wind blowing squarely into his nose… the frog would be entirely unaware of him.

Fishpaw took a deep breath. Quillsplash would help him, if he needed it. Quillsplash… was one of the first cats to offer him help with learning rather than insisting he figured it out. The cynical part of Fishpaw wondered when his mentor would tire of his uselessness and antics, but he pushed the thought away. He had a frog to catch.

He did not bother with the low crouch that made his limbs ache and his body tremble. He only made his body lower so much as it wanted to. It looked a little like he had simply forgotten about crouching halfway down, but it was manageable. And Fishpaw knew he could not just pad around gracelessly and expect to catch something. Even with all his wits, he could not engineer that. So he would split the difference. Then, with his tail held straight behind him, Fishpaw moved slowly forward. Stealth was not in his favor, so he would rely on taking things slow and processing as he moved. His steps were as light as he could make them as he walked into that weak draft. He still felt unsteady on the mud, and occasionally it squelched underpaw, but he was remembering to spread his toes more. He found that that helped with his poor balance, as well. Fishpaw pulled in another breath and looked forward. He could still smell the frog. When he turned his ears forward, he could hear it croaking quietly to itself. He then looked back down at his paws, watching where they stepped to ensure he did not trip.

On he went like that, moving one uncertain step at a time, until the amphibian came into view. Another deep breath, and then he held it. The frog sat perched on the tangled roots of a stunted tree. Its throat filled and bobbed with a low-bellied croak. It was fat, and turned mostly away from him. The wind was still in his favor.

Fishpaw took another step forward. One at a time. Then another. Then he sank back into his hips with intention, and he did not allow the fear when he wobbled to take root, and then he forced his body to move forward in an arc. He heard the frog make another noise, this one of pointed alarm, and Fishpaw was scared he would lose it as it started to gather itself to leap. But he was faster. Even though he could not catch himself, rolling tail-over-ears over the roots until he came to a halt, Fishpaw had landed the catch. His claws had dug into the frog moments before his body flipped and it stayed with him while he rolled. It squirmed frantically in his grip now, but Fishpaw stretched to bite the back of its neck. He held on until it went still, and even a few moments after, just lingering in the reverie.

Twice in one day, he'd caught something. And this second attempt had felt better. Whether it was the technique or just knowing Quillsplash was behind him... it felt good. Fishpaw's tail thumped the body ground happily before he wriggled around to get himself back on his paws. He picked up the frog and padded to meet Quillsplash halfway as his mentor followed to watch. "Did you see that? That's twice I caught something." There was a tinge of that boastfulness, especially apparent with the way Fishpaw's little chest puffed out. But when he went on with a quiet question, something else became apparent in his mew: a desperation for acknowledgment and approval; a hunger just to do and be good. "...How did I look?"

Fishpaw attempted to catch a frog... attempt successful! -2 EP.

At the sight of his mentor’s smile, Fishpaw lit up even more. When was the last time someone had looked so pleased with him? Fishpaw couldn’t remember. His heart was starting to thud hard in his, and the feeling was a little uncomfortable, but it was warm, too. Quillsplash called his tactic revolutionary. Strange didn’t matter at all. Fishpaw’s tail waved happily back and forth and a loud purr rumbled up in his throat from Quillsplash’s praise. In the back of his thoughts, he wondered why he couldn’t have been so lucky as to be born in ShadowClan rather than coming to them as an outsider. But… it didn’t matter. He was here now.

And… it wasn’t just Fishpaw’s imagination, the light he saw in his mentor’s eyes. Quillsplash said it himself: he was proud. Fishpaw’s brain spun backwards briefly through his memories, but he couldn’t recall a time someone had said that to him. He beamed under the commendation. With no warning, he shot forward to collide straight with Quillsplash’s chest, where he buried his head and let his purrs roll. Fishpaw rubbed his head up and down to emphasize the gesture before pulling back to grin up at his mentor, nearly dropping his frog from the breadth of his smile.

And he did set it down, for a moment, so he could speak a little more clearly. ”I knew I could do it,” he said smugly, earlier tantrum apparently forgotten. Then his ears tilted back, and Fishpaw looked suddenly sheepish. With a faint laugh, and a more sincere tone, he went on, ”I, uh… thanks, Quillsplash. I hope I keep making you proud.” He rushed through the last words so they didn’t seem so embarrassing. Then he was regathering his frog and trotting happily past his mentor. ”Okay, if we’re done then hurry up! I’m hungry now.”