i wanna travel the world, i wanna stay in my bed[p]

[shoomy]

wolfcoil didn't have an apprentice. he considered himself lucky for that! red had one that was fairly silent, but he didn't want to risk constantly being nagged for training. he probably should participate in training apprentices, which is why he was going to take uhh yeah their name is gladepaw on a territory tour. "have you had a territory tour yet? no? good." he said, signalling for the apprentice to follow him into the territory with his tail.
[ @iliri - sorry for the short post my brain is running on hamster power right now ]

[iliri]

Gladepaw
long-furred, scarred, dark brown classic tabby with amber eyes
purrks: n/a
she/they | rc apprentice | 6 moons

---

Gladepaw had been pawing idly at a loose stone near the edge of camp, turning it over again and again with a slow rhythm that barely disturbed the dust around it. Her thoughts wandered as her paw moved, the scrape-scrape-scrape of stone against dirt barely registering in her ears. It was a habit; something to do with her paws when her mind was elsewhere. She wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular. The day was warm, and the camp buzzed faintly with scattered conversation and the rustle of activity. It made her feel even quieter by contrast. Her ears twitched faintly to the sound of distant conversations reaching them, but she didn’t look up. Her eyes were half-lidded, amber gaze fixed somewhere just past the stone she kept nudging, watching the way it rolled and settled with every touch. The repetition was comforting. It let her feel invisible in the way she sometimes needed - tucked away and left alone. But even that kind of quiet didn’t last long in a place like this. A shadow crossed into her peripheral vision, and her paw paused mid-motion, resting lightly against the stone. She blinked up slowly just in time to see Wolfcoil approaching, his pawsteps not particularly loud but distinct enough to cut through her haze. Her ears perked faintly, the same way a bird might lift its head at the crack of a twig.

He didn’t waste time on pleasantries, which she didn’t really mind; she wasn’t particularly good at those anyway. Gladepaw blinked at him, processing the words he spewed with a slight delay, her paw still pressed against the stone. Then, almost reluctantly, she rose to her feet. She didn’t speak, but her paws carried her forward anyway, the familiar tightness curling in her belly as she fell into step behind him. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Wolfcoil wasn’t her mentor, and she hadn’t really interacted with him before outside of a passing glance or two. She knew of him in the same way most apprentices knew warriors who didn’t speak much: through the space they occupied, through what others said - or didn't say - about them. He didn’t seem cruel or unkind, just... blunt. Which she supposed was fine. Maybe even preferable. As they passed out through the camp entrance, the trees folded open like the slow turning of a page. Gladepaw took a breath and let the scents of the forest hit her all at once: pine and damp earth, the sharp tang of old claw marks on bark, a faint trace of prey from some day long past. Her shoulders tensed automatically, though there was no immediate threat. It was just instinct.

She hadn’t been out here often. The clearing and camp were places she could navigate. But the forest? It felt big in a way that pressed down on her ribs and made her steps careful. Her eyes flicked toward Wolfcoil’s retreating form, then quickly back to the trail ahead. He didn’t look like he cared whether she was nervous or not. She doubted he even noticed. And yet, in a strange way, that helped. The less attention on her, the better. Still, she found herself wondering why he was doing this. Not her mentor. No responsibility toward her. He’d sounded almost annoyed at the idea of training. Maybe this was a favor to someone else? Or just a way to get out of camp? Gladepaw didn’t ask. Instead, she kept her focus on the path beneath her paws, trying to match his pace without stepping too loud or looking too lost. Every so often, her ears would flick toward a birdcall or the distant crack of a branch, alert but unsure. She wanted to ask questions - wanted to know where they were, what border they were heading to, what she should be paying attention to - but the words stayed trapped behind her teeth. Wolfcoil didn’t seem like the type to want chatter. And she didn’t want to bother him. So instead, she walked. Perhaps he’d say something to her beforehand.

@shoomy