learn to toughen up, would you? [p]

[iliri]

Sootpaw
short-furred, dark, charcoal-gray tabby tom with white markings, and sharp amber-copper eyes.
purrks: prison escape - tier 1
he/him | shc apprentice | 16 moons

---

The pale light of dawn had given way to the crisp chill of midmorning, the camp bathed in a thin wash of sunlight that did little to thaw the frost clinging stubbornly to the earth. A quiet stillness hung in the air, broken only by the faint murmurs of cats going about their tasks—the scratch of claws against old brambles, the muffled sound of paws brushing over packed earth. Sootpaw stood near the edge of the clearing, the cold biting through his short fur and making his whiskers twitch in irritation. His copper eyes narrowed as they scanned the camp, catching glimpses of movement but finding little of interest. Warriors were filtered in and out of the camp’s thorny entrance, heading to patrols or returning with prey clenched between their teeth, while a couple of apprentices batted lazily at scraps of moss near the fresh-kill pile, clearly wasting time. Sootpaw watched them for a moment, his tail flicking sharply behind him, before he turned his attention toward the warriors’ den. He didn’t have the luxury of lounging around like the others. Restlessness burned in his chest like a hot coal, and the idea of another wasted day—of sitting around camp, tending to mundane chores, or listening to meaningless chatter—made his fur prickle. He needed to train. He could feel it in his paws, that persistent itch to do something, to test himself, to sharpen the skills that would make him stronger, faster, better than before; he neglected that before when he left, now he wasn’t gonna make the same mistake twice.

Padding across the clearing, his steps were steady but purposeful, the faint crunch of frost underfoot punctuating his movements. His copper gaze was fixed on the dark entrance to the warriors’ den, where shadows stretched and pooled beneath the protective tangle of brambles. Sootpaw wasn’t entirely sure who he was expecting to find awake—most of the warriors not already out on patrol were probably curled up in their nests, catching what little sleep they could—but the thought didn’t deter him. Someone had to be willing to give him battle training. If not? He’d make it their problem. He stopped just short of the den’s entrance, his ears pricked forward as he peered into the dark. For a moment, there was only silence, save for the soft rise and fall of breathing inside. A faint draft carried the mingled scents of old moss and fur, sharp and earthy in the cold morning air. Sootpaw’s tail lashed once behind him before he stepped closer, raising his voice just enough to carry inside the den without sounding like he was trying to wake the whole camp. “Anyone awake in there?” he called, his tone edged with a careful mix of patience and impatience, like a cat who wasn’t entirely sure which one would get results. He waited a beat, the cold seeping up through his paws, before he added, “I’m looking for someone willing to give me a round of battle training. If you’re not busy.” The words came out flat, like he wasn’t expecting much of a response.

Still, he lingered, his gaze flicking toward the shadows in search of movement. He didn’t like asking for help. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, like chewing on a leaf that wasn’t quite meant for eating. But training wasn’t something he could do alone, and he wasn’t about to let his skills go soft just because the other apprentices were content to waste their time. Sootpaw had spent enough of his kithood and early apprenticeship feeling like dead weight. He wasn’t about to let himself fall more behind now.

@Daragca

[Daragca]

​​​​
Owlthroat
he/him | Shadowclan Enforcer | 43 moons
Killer Aptitude T3 - Just A Scratch - Silver Tongue T2
The Dancing Bird

Owlthroat’s eyes gradually opened as he heard a voice ringing through the den. Battle training, something he was unlikely to refuse. His favourite, the art of claws. The tom had never been good at much else, his charisma and intellect made it easy to brag through the rest. But the great oaf truly became a spectacle on the field of battle.

”Sure.” His low voice was mixed with a yawn. He gradually rose his haunches, taking the time to shake his thick pelt free from dust. ”You done much battle training yet?” Owlthroat questioned him coldly, locking his yellow eyes upon Sootpaw’s own.

[ @iliri ]
[ Apologies, this is short! Recovering from a cold ;o; ]

[iliri]

Sootpaw
short-furred, dark, charcoal-gray tabby tom with white markings, and sharp amber-copper eyes.
purrks: prison escape - tier 1
he/him | shc apprentice | 16 moons

---

Sootpaw’s ears twitched at the low rumble of Owlthroat’s voice, the faint grogginess in the warrior’s tone doing little to blunt its weight. He hadn’t expected anyone to actually respond so quickly, let alone so willingly. His copper gaze flicked to Owlthroat as the larger tom rose, his broad shoulders cutting a sharp silhouette against the den’s shadows. There was an air of rugged strength about him, a confidence that came naturally to warriors who had already proven themselves many times over. It sent a faint ripple of uncertainty through Sootpaw, but he pushed it down, forcing himself to meet the warrior’s steady gaze without wavering. He wasn’t here to falter. At Owlthroat’s question, though, his confidence faltered ever so slightly. He hesitated, his tail tip flicking once in irritation—not at the warrior, but at himself. The truth was almost embarrassing, a thorn stuck under his fur. Admitting weakness, even to someone who might help him overcome it, wasn’t easy. His jaw tightened, the words forming on his tongue and refusing to come out for a heartbeat too long. But Owlthroat’s yellow eyes were locked on his own,and Sootpaw knew there was no hiding from the question. No room for bravado. “Not much,” he admitted finally, his voice quiet but clipped, as if saying it quickly might make it sting less. He shifted his weight, his claws flexing briefly into the frost-hardened earth before retracting.

“Most of my training so far has been hunting or learning the basics. The only thing close to battle training was a skirmish with a rogue when I was still in the Outskirts before I returned… Other than that, I’ve had nothing else.” The bitterness in his tone was hard to miss. He hated the idea of being unprepared, of standing in front of an enemy one day and realizing too late that he wasn’t ready. As that had already happened once with him with the scar apparent over his face. He exhaled sharply, his copper eyes narrowing as he continued. “I know I’m behind. I should’ve asked for this sooner, but I can’t change that now. I just… need to catch up. Fast.” His tail flicked sharply behind him, betraying the frustration simmering beneath his surface. “ShadowClan doesn’t have room for cats who can’t fight, and I’m not planning on being dead weight.” The admission felt raw, the vulnerability in his words hanging in the cold air like frost on a leaf. Forcing himself to meet Owlthroat’s gaze again, Sootpaw straightened his posture, his voice hardening with determination. “So if you’re willing to teach me, I’ll put in the work. Whatever it takes. I don’t care how hard it gets.” His claws flexed again, this time out of anticipation rather than frustration. “I want to learn how to fight like a ShadowClan warrior—properly. Not just the moves, but the instincts. The things that make a difference when it’s your life on the line.”

His chest felt tight as the last words left his mouth, but he held his ground, his copper eyes blazing with resolve. Sootpaw knew his lack of experience wasn’t something that could be erased overnight, but it didn’t matter. He’d work himself into the ground if he had to. Anything to become the kind of warrior ShadowClan needed.

@Daragca

[Daragca]

​​​​
Owlthroat
he/him | Shadowclan Enforcer | 43 moons
Killer Aptitude T3 - Just A Scratch - Silver Tongue T2
The Dancing Bird

Owlthroat found himself smirking at Sootpaw, he was indeed a little bit too old to be an apprentice. But he appreciated the cat’s honesty, determination lacing his voice with every meow. He couldn’t help but wonder why he was so far behind, it was puzzling. But Owlthroat had been in the same boat himself before, he wasn’t exactly made a warrior late. But his maturity at that age had always been lacking, it had taken substantial time to get to his rank. If only he’d knuckled down when he was younger then perhaps he’d have more to show for his age. But there was comfort in what he had now, a real family. Full of life and something akin to love, that he could get behind. Making his own legacy strong and clear.

”Some real experience is good, I take it you don’t plan on leaving again anytime soon? Don’t want to waste my training.” His voice almost had a chuckle to it. But Sootpaw had come to the right cat, Owlthroat’s sheer knack and passion for fighting rubbed off well on youngsters. He didn’t skirt around either, not afraid to teach them some dirty tactics to ensure they won or left an opponent debilitated. His tail lashed as he finally shook out the remainder of the dirt, the brute making his way over to the entrance. Gesturing for the youngster to follow. He knew a good spot to train, finding himself automatically weaving his paws to his battle hollow.

The roots of the trees were gnarled and ugly, making way for a soft mud pit. It was sheltered from the biting air and most of the elements, only a few shafts of light slipped through the canopy above. ”If you’re committed, you’ll soon learn. Nothing’s stopping you from becoming as formidable as me.” Of course his ego slipping through the cracks, no cat could ever be as formidable as himself. It wasn’t like he’d willingly admit he had rivals to his prowess, it was true to a certain extent. He was an extremely competent fighter, much more so than others. But he hid behind that, making up for his lack in other areas. Quite honestly his penchant for violence was nothing more than plain disturbing at times, despite the softness underneath his hardened shell. He wasn’t about to go as easy on Sootpaw as he did on other youngsters, the apprentice was too old to be gentle with.

[ @iliri ]

[iliri]

Sootpaw
short-furred, dark, charcoal-gray tabby tom with white markings, and sharp amber-copper eyes.
purrks: prison escape - tier 1
he/him | shc apprentice | 16 moons

---

Sootpaw's ears flicked slightly at Owlthroat’s smirk, the subtle amusement in the warrior’s expression digging at his pride, but he kept his own face impassive. He knew what he looked like—too old to be fumbling through apprentice duties, too young to carry himself with the confidence of a seasoned warrior. It was a bitter position, one that he had no choice but to claw his way out of, and if Owlthroat was going to judge him for it, so be it. Still, the faint chuckle in the tom’s voice stung. Sootpaw straightened his posture, his copper gaze narrowing slightly, though he bit back any retort. Proving himself through words wasn’t going to mean anything—not here. “No,” he replied firmly, his voice clipped but steady. “I’m not planning on leaving again.” His tail flicked sharply, brushing the frosted ground behind him. The memory of the Outskirts lingered like a phantom in his mind, a constant reminder of everything he was trying to leave behind. The lawlessness, the lack of structure, the vulnerability—it was nothing compared to the power and unity ShadowClan represented. His claws flexed briefly against the earth, a quiet show of resolve. “I’ve made my choice, and I’m not looking back.” There was a challenge in his words, as if daring Owlthroat to question his commitment further. As Owlthroat rose and gestured for him to follow, Sootpaw hesitated for only a fraction of a heartbeat before stepping forward, his movements smooth and controlled.

The warrior’s broad frame and confident stride spoke to the young tabby of countless battles fought and won, and Sootpaw couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the ease with which Owlthroat carried himself. He walked in silence, matching the warrior’s pace, his sharp gaze darting briefly to the gnarled roots and mud pit that marked their destination. The space was ugly, raw, and entirely practical—just like a battlefield should be. He could feel the weight of the air here, heavy with a sense of unspoken challenge, and his heart began to pound, anticipation coursing through his veins. Owlthroat’s words drew his attention, and Sootpaw met the older tom’s gaze evenly. Formidable. The word lingered in his mind, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine it—to picture a future where he could stand alongside ShadowClan’s strongest, no longer just an apprentice struggling to catch up. But there was no room for indulgent fantasies, not yet. The faint edge of Owlthroat’s ego wasn’t lost on him, and Sootpaw’s lips twitched slightly, not quite forming a smile. “If I wanted easy, I wouldn’t have asked you,” he said, his tone dry but respectful, the faintest hint of sharpness threading through his words. “I don’t expect you to go soft on me, and I don’t want you to. If you’re going to teach me, I’ll take whatever you’ve got. That’s the only way this works.” His copper gaze remained steady, unflinching, as he added, “And if it takes breaking me down to make me stronger, so be it.”

The apprentice shifted his weight slightly, claws briefly pressing into the soft, cold mud beneath his paws. He was keenly aware of Owlthroat’s reputation—of the brutal efficiency with which the warrior fought, the ferocity that made the enforcer both respected and feared. There was no doubt in Sootpaw’s mind that he’d leave this hollow bruised and battered, but he welcomed it. “I’ve already seen what it’s like to be the weaker one in a fight,” he said after a pause, his voice quiet but edged with steel. “It doesn’t just hurt—it stays with you. Every mistake, every hesitation—it’s like it’s burned into your fur.” His claws flexed again, this time more forcefully. “I don’t want to feel that again. Not ever. And I don’t want anyone else in ShadowClan to have to step in for me because I wasn’t strong enough to hold my own.” His tail flicked once behind him, the motion sharp and deliberate, as he took a step closer to the center of the hollow. There was no fear in his movements, no hesitation in the way he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “So let’s get started,” he said, his voice steady and low, the determination in his copper gaze burning like fire. “Show me what I need to know. Whatever it takes.”

@Daragca