[I messed up tonight, I lost another fight] pearpaw

Pearpaw was beginning to find that he enjoyed hunting more than anything else. He was aware this would anger his father—that Stoatclaw would prefer he loved battle training more than hunting. It wasn’t that Pearpaw necessarily disliked the rush of learning a good fighting move or two either, but he preferred the peace that seemed to settle easily on his back whenever he crept through the undergrowth. He liked the glow of pride that filled him at a good catch, and enjoyed seeing other cats eat the prey that he had managed to gather. It reminded him of the first thing Featherstone had taught him during his apprenticeship, that he was a small part of a bigger whole—and every bit as important as any of the warriors ahead of him.

It was when he was out hunting on his own that he felt more like himself than most other times. The anger that had begun to flare in him seemed to make his father proud, but the more volatile he found his temper the more frightening he found himself. Pearpaw preferred to walk through the forest with the wind gently bringing scents to his nose and his mind focused on the hunt. He preferred to be peaceful, and he wasn’t sure if that meant that he was a bad warrior yet or not.

Gently placing one paw in front of the other, Pearpaw crept forward. His eyes were focused on the prey in front of him—a blackbird—and he was gathering his haunches for a massive leap when the sudden yowling and spitting of fighting cats filled his ears. Pearpaw jolted up right, pelt bristling in alarm as he stared in the direction of the noise—the blackbird took the chance to fly away with a loud cry that would warn any prey in the area of danger. Not that Pearpaw was thinking of hunting anymore.

Is there an invasion? Pearpaw thought, sudden panic rooted the young apprentice to the spot. Should he rush back to camp in search of Falconstar? Or should he try to help whatever Clan-mate was in distress? Deciding that he was probably closer to the fighting, Pearpaw hared in the direction of the noise, his indecision quashed by sudden urgency. Mousebrain! What if they’re hurt?

Pearpaw burst through the undergrowth in time to see… Gingerstorm and Loudpaw. Bewildered—pelt bushed out so that the young apprentice was already twice his size—Pearpaw stared dumbfounded toward the two cats. Had they been battle training? No, that didn’t make sense. Pearpaw winced as Gingerstorm raked her claws over Loudpaw’s face, and watched with dubious surprise as she stalked angrily away toward camp.

That’s Locustflight’s sister? Pearpaw could hardly believe that the two cats were kin at all. Loudpaw seemed to have actually been hurt though, and Pearpaw felt an unexpected stab of worry for his Clan-mate. He didn’t want to damage the other cat’s pride, he could remember his own discomfort when Skunkstripe had stumbled on him in the same hollow shortly after he’d been apprenticed.

“Was it a good work out?” Pearpaw winced at how loud he sounded. He bounded forward, blinking at Loudpaw and angled his ears toward Gingerstorm’s retreat with a slightly forced mrrow of amusement, “What got her tail in a twist? Sheesh, she looked ready to try and rip your pelt off for a bit there. I came running all this way thinking some cat was fighting a rogue.”

“Though… Gingerstorm could probably be mistaken for a rogue sometimes…” His words were a little forced, but he didn’t want to leave Loudpaw all alone at the moment. He blinked, wishing oddly that he had asked Peachpaw about herbs. Not that he ever talked to Peachpaw. The tom flattened his ears briefly and narrowed his eyes. “Er, do you need help? With your face—I mean the cut on your face not… not your whole face. Which is fine. I mean, besides the cut. What?”

Pearpaw blinked, momentarily bewildered—he couldn’t help it. Of course he knew that Loudpaw wasn’t exactly the quietest cat in all the Clans. After all, his name was Loudpaw, and it wouldn’t have made a good deal of sense if he happened to be a shy and quiet cat. Even so, Pearpaw had never really directly spoken to the apprentice. In fact—besides his sister Kinkpaw—the only cat he’d really spoken to in the Clan that was still an apprentice was Woollypaw. The ginger-patched-apprentice wasn’t certain if he had made the right choice suddenly, how was he supposed to keep up with Loudpaw if he didn’t know how to say anything himself? The conversation was already shifting drastically to Loudpaw’s side, and all Pearpaw could manage to do was try to make it clear that he was at least listening.

“Oh—uh, yeah,” Pearpaw mumbled, twitching his ears and looking behind him. Featherstone “fought like a girl” too but Pearpaw was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to make his mentor well and truly angry. He remembered their first training session and how easily she’d pinned him and felt a rush of heat flood to his ears. The fury along the base of his spine prickled a little, but he continued nodding nevertheless. “Yeah! That old fox—h-heh…”

The younger apprentice flashed a nervous look toward where Gingerstorm had vanished only a few heartbeats before. If she overheard him he knew there’d be hell to pay, and Loudpaw was much more experienced than he. Pearpaw twitched his whiskers in amusement at the mention of the she-cat’s aim—at least she hadn’t managed to half-blind his den-mate he supposed. Pearpaw felt a flutter of nervousness in his gut suddenly, and he sank a little low to the ground with a repressed groan. Great, of course Loudpaw wasn’t going to let that go.

“Look I didn’t—wh-what? Huh? My face?” If cats could blush, Pearpaw would be redder than his father’s pelt. As it were, his face and fur felt hot. He sprang to his paws and bounced away from Loudpaw on the tips of his toes, his amber eyes focused on the other cat’s face. “Me? What—wait what?”

There’d been something else asked in there somewhere, but Pearpaw was hyper-focused on the fact that Loudpaw had just said he had a nice face. Holy crap. Okay wait, it wasn’t like he necessarily said that. He just said his face was fine. Which was… what? Him turning around Pearpaw’s words and teasing him of course, it was nothing—and even if it was something there wasn’t a reason to get all worked up right?

So why was he? Pearpaw was undeniably flustered by the phrase. It was everything the apprentice could do to even think straight, let alone get a sentence out proper. The young cat twitched his ears, feeling incredibly stupid for the way that his heart was suddenly pounding. Embarrassment made him want to bury his head underneath his paws. Great, now he couldn’t even talk to a den-mate right. Ugh.

“Uh—spar. Right. Sparring. Totally, sure, yeah I can—we can totally do that.” Why was he so tongue-tied now? Words seemed to be tripping over themselves in his mouth, and he was all but sputtering. He crouched low, tail twitching in a clear display of agitation. However, Pearpaw couldn’t quite bring himself to pounce or spring at the other apprentice. The idea of touching Loudpaw was sending him into a weird little tizzy. He couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do if he managed to catch the other cat, and he couldn’t help but think that he was getting in way over his head with this. “Er…”