You Gotta Start Somewhere [Lightpaw]

[nettlestripe]

Sunlight beat down mercilessly on Wildclan territory, filtering through the gaps in the foliage of the forest in the south east region and creating a thick, sultry atmosphere which caused the plants to appear to be swimming in the dappled heat. The tempting scent of prey came and went teasingly with the soft breeze and furtive rustling beneath the bushes kept the senses alert.

It was around midday and Nettlestripe was due to begin training with his new and first apprentice, Lightpaw. The red tabby tom slipped out of the comforting shade of the warriors den, recalling hazily the events of the previous night. The apprentice ceremony of three young kits; Badgerstar going on about new life and additions to the clan and all that; and then, haltingly, his name being called out by their one and only leader to come forth and be mentor to this little white scrap of fur. Although at the time he had been surprised to hear his name called, as Nettlestripe thought about it, he did remember some cat telling him a few sunrises ago that Badgerstar was going to make him a mentor to one of Appleheart’s kits. He must have been dozing or not paying too much attention at the time because he’d taken it as a joke.

Anyway, there before him had stood a young and excited apprentice, his apprentice, and Nettlestripe awkwardly standing there, having moved forward to touch noses with the small tom, not really having a clue what he was supposed to do at this point. As soon as the ceremony was over, when all his clanmates were shouting, Nettlestripe promptly turned and headed to the warriors den for some sleep. Sleep, he had often found, solved most of the more negative emotions when they came about. In this case, he slept off his confusion and anxiety at having to actually teach some overgrown kit to be a fully fledged warrior. He remembered thinking that he could barely support himself on his half-remembered hunting techniques and general skills! launch
That sunrise, or rather sunhigh, a friend of his woke him to berate him for not having gone out with his apprentice already.

“The poor thing’s probably been waiting for you all morning, Nettlestripe! You have to take initiative in these sorts of things!”

It was only to get her off his back that the orange tabby tom had lugged himself out of his nest in the first place. Now, slipping through the camp towards the apprentice den, he wondered what he was actually going to teach Lightpaw. What had his own mentor taught him in his first training session?

“Erm, Lightpaw?” Nettlestripe called into the apprentices den. He could see some shapes stirring in the darkness but perhaps Lightpaw was not one of them. Hadn’t his friend said something about Lightpaw waiting?

“Lightpaw!” the tom called again, this time in the general direction of the camp.

[lightpaw]

To say Lightpaw was excited would have been an understatement. Even knowing the reputation his mentor had, the young tom was almost bursting with hope and expectations at his apprentice ceremony – after all, having to wait another moon past his sister’s own ceremony had been about the worst feeling imaginable. That is, until his mentor disappeared shortly after the clan meeting. But hey, maybe he had been out and about that day and had merely worn himself out. (Lightpaw ignored the fact that, with Nettlestripe at least, that excuse was far from possible.) Besides, they would have plenty of time to get to know each other during their first training session in the morning. So little Lightpaw had merely shrugged off his mentor’s disappearance, and focused on finding the perfect spot for a new nest in the apprentice’s den – about as far away from his littermates as possible.

He awoke the next morning to some other mentor calling some other apprentice off to training. It was roughly around sunrise, so rather than curling back up in his nest, Lightpaw gave himself a long, leisurely stretch, shook the moss from his pelt, and slipped out into the camp. When he saw no sign of Nettlestripe in the early morning light, he decided a nice breakfast was in order – hopefully his mentor would be coming to get him soon enough. After all, he would much rather not have to get into the habit of early morning training – Lightpaw liked his sleep, however excited he was to finally start proving himself as a warrior-to-be.

But the plump greenleaf mouse he had picked from the freshkill pile came and went, and Lightpaw gave himself a quick bath to clean his muzzle and face. The whole time he kept half an eye on the warrior’s den, wondering if Nettlestripe was still in there asleep – or if he had left the camp on some errand or other. The wait was starting to irritate him.

And seeing Cloudpaw prancing out of the camp with his mentor only soured Lightpaw’s mood further. He sincerely hoped this waiting wouldn’t become a normal thing…

Tired of sitting around the camp, standing out like a sore thumb, Lightpaw made his way to the edge of the dens – nestled as they were around the Great Rock. Instead of focusing on his mentor’s lateness, Lightpaw wormed his way through the large roots of one of the four great trees that gave their camp its name – finding a nice little nook where he could sit comfortably and watch the cats pass below. That, or he could drift back off to sleep, since Nettlestripe didn’t seem keen on training him anytime soon.

Roughly around sunhigh, Lightpaw’s ears pricked up at the sound of his name – and after his jaw stretched with a wide yawn, he noticed the just who the voice belonged to. He squirmed back out of his little hiding spot – still well away from where his mentor was, over by the apprentice’s den – and gave his short pelt a shake. He glanced up at the sky, noting just how much time had passed, and frowned. So much for being excited to start his training.

However, his paws were quick as he loped across the camp to where Nettlestripe stood, and despite his rather obvious irritation, Lightpaw managed to keep his voice even. “Are we finally going to train? Everyone else already has half a day’s head start.” Cloudpaw was the one with the headstart, really, but Lightpaw refused to mention his brother’s name.

[nettlestripe]

A flicker of white against dark brown caught Nettlestripe’s attention as he twisted his body in circles, searching the camp for his apprentice. Focusing on the blur, it turned out to be Lightpaw himself, springing out from the roots of one of the four great trees that surrounded the Wildclan camp. As he watched the apprentice approach him he realized with no particular bother that the little tom’s white pelt would undoubtedly be a disadvantage for him in hunting.

“Are we finally going to train? Everyone else already has half a day’s head start.”

“Patience, grasshopper,” Nettlestripe responded automatically, lazily licking a paw before rubbing at an itch behind his ear, “we’ve got plenty of days ahead of us.”

Maybe if Nettlestripe had paid more attention he would have picked up some subtle sign of irritation in the young snowy tom but his mind was trying to formulate some sort of game plan while being constantly distracted by his still sleep-fogged mind. It occurred to him that he had not yet had any breakfast. Nettlestripe glanced longingly at the well stocked, green-leaf fresh kill pile, wondering how far he could test the patience of this apprentice. A mentor and his apprentice appeared over the ridge heading back to camp looking pleased with themselves. Nettlestripe’s eyes flickered back to Lightpaw and then up towards Badgerstar’s den. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to be pushing any limits. The lovely Wildclan leader had been a tad more prickly than usual these days, and Nettlestripe had probably never been a favourite of his.

“Well then,” Nettlestripe said, turning to begin trotting up one of the ridges of the great hollow in which the camp was seated and flicking his tail to indicate Lightpaw should follow, “we’d better get started if we need to catch up so badly.” The tom shook the remains of sleep from his bones as he propelled himself up and out of the Wildclan camp. His first instinct was to head for the moors, his favourite hunting grounds. While you couldn’t get Nettlestripe to roll out of his nest if the clan was being attacked by three-headed foxes, he would gladly go for a run on the wide open moors, where chasing rabbits was his greatest pastime. Many of his clanmates were led to believe that Nettlestripe’s laziness meant that he was unfit and incompetent physically. On the contrary, Nettlestripe had plenty of power and skill. He just couldn’t be bothered to use it.

However, today Nettlestripe found his paws taking him towards the forest; old Thunderclan territory. A distant memory of his very first day as an apprentice reminded him that his first training session had been in thick woods, not open hills. My mentor managed to train me. He must have known what he was doing.

After a minute or so, Nettlestripe slowed down to a strolling gait, giving his apprentice (whom he had not checked on since he left camp) time to catch up. As he walked he talked, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t talking to the air.

“You listening, kit? Okay. I guess this is your first time out of camp so a little introduction is in order. This is the forested area of the territory, right? More trees and bushes here than anywhere else.” He gestured with a wide sweep of his tail. “Thus, this is where the itty bitty, walking pieces of deliciousness that magically appear on the fresh-kill pile every day live in greatest numbers. I guess this is far enough.”


The red tom swaggered up to a great oak tree that towered over its competitors. The green-leaf air was practically buzzing with the sounds and scents of small creatures. He twisted about in aimless circles, looking off into the shadowy depths of the greenery absent-mindedly. He started to mutter casually to himself.

“What do apprentices need to know first? Hunting, right? Food is good, we like food. Pretty basic stuff.”

He turned to face his apprentice for the first time, looking him up and down lazily before cocking his head to the side, his eyes slowly blinking shut and back open.

“Well?” he mewed expectantly, looking at Lightpaw like he had missed some incredibly obvious request. He smiled warmly, as though he was having to repeat himself but was being incredibly patient about it.

“Go catch something.”

[lightpaw]

Lightpaw’s ears tilted downward at his mentor’s words, but he kept his mouth shut. Yes, they had plenty of days ahead – but if they continued like today was going, Lightpaw would be getting about half the amount of training other apprentices would be. That wouldn’t be too much of a worry if he had a bit more experience outside the camp, but new apprentices were generally not allowed out and about in the territory without their mentors. After a few moons, Lightpaw could go and do what he wanted and needed without Nettlestripe – if he had to.

But hey, maybe the pair of them were just getting off to a bad start. Maybe in a few moons he wouldn’t have to sit around waiting for his mentor, as opposed to having his mentor wait for him. The little apprentice could still be hopeful.

Lightpaw’s expression brightened considerably when Nettlestripe stood and started heading for the edge of the camp. The smaller tom wasted little time in bounding up beside him – silently cursing StarClan for the small size and short legs they had given him. Lightpaw would never let other cats comment on that sort of thing, but he knew that they were disadvantages from the start – and that much was obvious as he struggled to keep up with his mentor. Lazy though he might be, Nettlestripe was a warrior grown.

Lightpaw was grateful when Nettlestripe finally slowed his pace, and his ears perked up as the older tom started speaking. Unfortunately for him, Lightpaw didn’t react to well to his strange explanation – and instead replied (with a touch of sarcasm), “So this is the best place to hunt, then?” He could just say that. The apprentice’s patience had already been tested this morning – and while he was happy to finally be out of the camp, his opinion on his mentor wasn’t improving…

As the pair neared a great oak tree and Nettlestripe stopped, Lightpaw sat back heavily on his haunches – thankful for the rest. Their slower pace once they reached the forest had helped, but he was still breathing a tad bit harder than he should have been. (Which, in all honesty, might have been an added affect from the sun beating down, instead of just from the run.) He didn’t react at first as Nettlestripe muttered to himself, debating aloud what to start their training with. However, when his mentor turned back to him with the expectant look on his face, Lightpaw’s own expression soured. But all he said was, “Alright.”

He pushed himself to his paws once again, and turned to stalk off into the unfamiliar forest around them. Even untrained, he could tell the forest was filled with prey – Nettlestripe hadn’t been lying about that. So once the white apprentice was engulfed in the undergrowth, he slowed his paws and crouched low to the ground, ears swiveling as he tried to focus in on one particular source of prey noise. Mice scuttled across the ground nearby, and birds chirped overhead – but right now it was all just noise to him.

Thankfully, a movement in the undergrowth quickly captured all of Lightpaw’s attention – and he crept forward on careful paws. Nettlestripe should be thankful that he didn’t have to teach his apprentice to move quietly; that was something Lightpaw had always been good at. The mouse he had zeroed in on was oblivious to the predator sneaking up on it. It sat, nibbling on a head of grass, thin little whiskers twitching. A rush of pride rose up in Lightpaw – what other apprentice could say their first hunt went so well?

However, there are a number of things that Lightpaw couldn’t have already learned for himself – that was the whole point of training, after all – and so when he launched himself at the mouse, he made the grave mistake of being too far from his prey and giving it a chance to run. Even though the apprentice gave chase, the whole escaped ended quickly, and poorly, with the mouse scurrying deep among some visible roots. Lightpaw reached a thin foreleg down as far after it as he could reach, and then spat in frustration, tail lashing. So much for this going well.

[nettlestripe]

What a grouch, Nettlestripe thought to himself as he watched his apprentice move off into the undergrowth. Sure, he wasn’t being the best mentor ever but he’d have thought a new apprentice given the chance to go galloping after some prey for the first time without the idea of it being ‘training’ or (ugh) ‘work’ would have been fun. It figures I’d get an apprentice who actually wants to learn things, Nettlestripe mused. He wondered if he could somehow pawn his apprentice off onto some other unfortunate warrior by doing such a bad job with this one that Badgerstar would have to get little Lightpaw a new mentor. It was pretty unlikely though, and Nettlestripe realized this with a touch of annoyance.

The long-limbed tom gave a relaxed roll of his shoulders before falling into a practiced crouch which pulled all his energy into his taunt muscles. Then, with three movements, Nettlestripe scaled up the side of the great oak tree, placing his claws into practiced ruts of bark and reaching the first low hanging branch. Below the thick undergrowth covered the forest ground and hid the subtle movements of small prey but the right flash of white fur which could only be his apprentice stood out clearly from where Nettlestripe gazed. The orange tabby lay down, letting a forelimb dangle off of the low hanging branch as he watched.

From the confusion of mouth watering scents, it was difficult to tell exactly what Lightpaw was attempting to stalk. A convenient gap in the undergrowth showed the small grey figure of a mouse and Nettlestripe noted the focused, deliberate movements of his apprentice moving towards the prey. The little white tom was moving with unexpected control and stealth. Lightpaw’s pawsteps were slow and careful but Nettlestripe thought that perhaps he held his tail a little too high (probably feeling happy with himself) and was hesitating a bit too much. Oh, no wait. He wasn’t hesitating, he was preparing to pounce.

“You mousebrain, you don’t leap from that far away at a mouse!” he called lazily, just as Lightpaw sprung towards his would-be-prey. As expected, the little creature had already vanished and Lightpaw, who didn’t seem to have heard Nettlestripe’s call, gave chase. Nettlestripe snorted and rolled awkwardly off the tree branch, hitting the soft ground with a controlled thud. He trotted with his tail held high towards the frustrated sounds of his apprentice who was apparently trying to fish the mouse out from its den.

“Good news, kit! I’ve determined that you have no idea what you’re doing!” the orange tom announced happily, “Good news for the prey, that is. They get to live a little longer and get a little fatter.” Nettlestripe swung his tail along the ground to get some leaves out of the way and kicked aside an annoying twig. His whisker’s twitched in amusement as he indicated that Lightpaw should watch him.

“Now, your crouch wasn’t all that bad and your pawsteps were nicely muted so keep doing what you were doing there.” He paused to let the praise sink in before cheerfully moving along, “but no prey is going to stay still if they see you coming a mile away,” he crouched and waved his tail high in the air, “this is you telling every bit of prey looking in your direction that you’re here. This should stay down, but not here so they can hear you coming,” he smacked his tail against the ground, emphasizing the noise it made by brushing it against the ground, “so you keep it around mid-level, see? Erm, what else? Also! You never leap at your prey unless you’re sure you’re close enough to land on top of it. Otherwise,” he made an exaggeratedly dramatic and far leap, sticking his limbs out at awkward angles. He crashed into the ground clumsily, dust and leaves scattering, and turned to look at Lightpaw, “your prey will feel you coming. Even if you do manage to leap far enough to land where they are, the longer you’re in the air, the more time they have to run. It’s only when you’re on the ground that you’re unnoticeable.”

Nettlestripe paused. Was that useful? Did I teach him anything?


“So, you move like this,” Nettlestripe fell into a well practiced, forest-hunting crouch and started moving across the floor, starting with slow movements so Lightpaw could see what he was doing and then speeding up to his usual speed, “and leap like this.” Nettlestripe gathered his weight in his haunches and jumped a short distance onto a helpless, unsuspecting twig, snatching it up triumphantly in his jaws.

“Ta-Da! ‘resh Keh!” he declared, the twig still in his mouth. He spat it out and flicked his tail to indicate two trees a few fox lengths apart. “Your turn. There to there, hmmm, ssssix times and then go try again.” Nettlestripe glanced at the sun wondering how long he was supposed to stay here. He felt like he had imparted enough wisdom for one day.