Kits and Curses [Open]

Just over the shallow scoop of earth peered twin pools of deep hazel. They watched moorcats scuffle the earth, drifting in the directions of whatever task had been assigned. There were only mild hints of curiosity in the young kit's gaze. He had no desire to dance about and frolick like the rest of his denmates. What they deemed to be fun was little more than archaic wrestling through the dirt. Yewkit kept his pelt clean, more so than one might expect from a little creature that in his short life had shown care for hardly anything. Regardless, his own primal urge for entertainment drew him forwards.

Already, the stumpy legs of a kit he'd been born into had begun to stretch into lanky branches. Tottering back and forth, the kit sought something to keep him busy. To one side, the fresh kill pile seemed to have fallen sloppily sideways. In the other direction, the striking scent of herbs drifted from the medicine cat den. Poking around with various plants was enticing. Perhaps he could shred them and scatter the scraps around camp. Decided in his endeavor, Yewkit loped towards the den, but was stopped short as he ran headfirst into the side of a cat who had been walking in another direction.

Immediately his eyes crossed as he looked up at the opposition over the bridge of his nose, "S'watch where yer  going, rabb'tbrain!" Given his youth, the tom's voice cracked and squeaked, sounding off beat with the curse he snapped towards his senior.

After spending the entirety of the agonizingly long evening preforming the ceremonial task of keeping watch after earning his newest name, all Shrikecall wanted to do was sleep away the infuriatingly heavy remnants of drowsiness- and the absolute opposite of this rampant desire was definitely somehow stumbling into the little ratty furball that Heronfeather had adopted. The ratty furball that had disrupted his training to the point where he was simply saddled with a new name, so who knew that the line between blessings and curses were so painfully thin. Staggering slightly in his attempt to not fully crush Yewkit under the surprising heft of his full weight, the newly-named Warrior's dark gaze narrowed sharply at the little tom's bold proclamation. Swatting a slim forepaw in a few bark-worse-than-bite swipes with the hopes of chasing the tom away from their unpleasantly close proximity, the mottled tom's irritation and derisive lack of sleep was written plainly upon his angular features- so plainly that even one whose eyes were currently crossed could decipher the unpleasant energy currently permeating the air.

"Step off, runt." Shrikecall hissed, dark lips peeling back to reveal a mouthful of overly elongated teeth, "Maybe save the adventuring until you can successfully use your eyes and legs at the same time."

Tilting his head upwards, the kit found himself sizing up what appeared to be a warrior. They were supposed to be the great hunters and guardians of the clan. Earning one's name was supposed to be the highest honor a clan cat could recieve short of finding themselves in leadership like Heronflight. Yewkit's own snappish introduction was met with an equally displeased response. It took a moment for him to drink in the swatting paw and exhausted expression. Decidedly, Yewkit wasn't satisfied with this. Not only had the elder tom interrupted his endeavors, but he'd been wholely unapologetic.


Yewkit noted the sharp fangs but brushed it away as he padded closer to stick his nose up towards Shrikecall, "Yer just a big apprentice, what do you know! I'm jus' fine." He turned, teetering slightly and flicking his tail as he prepared to stalk off in the direction of the medicine cat's den once more.

The wind tickled Rainkit's fluffy fur as he sat in his nest. He only needed to raise his head slightly to be able to see the camp, the nursery being a mere dip in the ground. Two green orbs observed as his friend - well, denmate, maybe friend soon - Yewkit tottered around, eventually slamming into a rather grumpy-looking Shrikecall. Things only got worse as Yewkit refused to apologize, only antagonizing the warrior more. A mild curiosity caused Rainkit to tilt his head to the side. Breaking up this argument would be better than watching it escalate, wouldn't it? Either way, Rainkit didn't want to watch Yewkit get attacked by Shrikecall, something that was looking more and more likely with every passing second.

But now, which side to choose? Yewkit should've been more careful, and Shrikecall should've been nicer. There was no right side, meaning Rainkit would have to compromise. The gray kit stood up, size making him seem like an older kit, perhaps a newly appointed apprentice. Tail whipping around in the ever-present breeze, he walked up to the two other toms, trying to keep a reasonable tone as he spoke. "U-uh." Up close, Rainkit stopped, stuttering slightly as he saw the full extent of Shrikecall's fangs and angry glare. Yewkit was either brave or stupid for antagonizing the warrior. "Hey, you guys don't have to be so mad at eachother..." He hesitated, waiting for their response. He was pretty sure both of them had too much pride to listen to him, but only time would tell.

Lids trembling under the strain of such a fierce urge to roll his eyes, Shrikecall was quick to seize the irritable young Yewkit by the scruff- exponentially larger shape easily able to swing the much younger kit around without any significant strain upon his own muscles. Roughly dropping the younger tom a few paces away from his intended target of Softcloud's undefended den, the mottled tom merely rolled his eyes at Rainkit's halting advice. "On my authority as a bigger Apprentice," He began, swatting both kits with the roughly feathered weight of his tail - although the gesture was lacking enough power to hurt, it entailed enough weight to send both hopping back a step or two to avoid the inevitable pain of catching a tail lash to undefended eyes and noses - "I'm sending you both back to the Nursery. Other cats have things to do, and don't want to have to listen to annoying shrill shrieking or have to worry about tripping and listening to you two whine."

Sharp ears flatting against the hard lines of his skull, Shrikecall continued to loom above Yewkit and Rainkit, evidently unsympathetic to the adventurous nature often present in young kits. Mottled lips peeling back into a frightful frown, the newly-named Warrior practically oozed poor temperament. "Don't make me kick you two, because I've never been opposed to such behaviors before."

Eyes trained in the direction of Softcloud's den, he'd been frighteningly close to darting off in an attempt to slip past the warrior. It was the soft interjection of Rainkit that caused his head to swing around. Twin pools of deep amber light bore into the young kit. Yewkit was prepared to launch into some underdeveloped speech about why it was perfectly fine for him to be put off by Shrikecall. However, the prickling feeling of sharp teeth embedded into his scruff.

An indignant squeak of protest broke from Yewkit's maw as he was unceremoniously lofted into the air. Immediately, the kit's eyes crossed with frustration. Although it might have seemed that he might spew back words of disdain, it hadn't occurred to the little tabby that another cat would be capable of lifting him so easily. As he was placed nearer the den, the original goal had been forgotten underneath the immediate issue of an elder cat telling him what he should be doing. A tiny front paw was raised in defiance, only to be met with a sweeping tail. It swatted his maw and ruffled his fur. For every ounce of irritable nature present in Shrikecall's pelt, Yewkit was fueled with blatant disobedience.

"'ou're not my mentor or a queen so I don't 'ave to listen to you!" Yewkit snapped back, daring the other cat to kick him. He shook his pelt, fluffing it out, and turning towards the medicine cat's den once more. Out of the corner of his eye, the kit was reminded of Rainpaw. There was a flick of his tail and a decision was made, "C'mon, Rainkit, we're going to 'he medicine cat den. Our, uh, bellies hurt." Brilliance had never been the defining trait of a kit, and such a bold and blatant lie was almost humorous. This sentiment was of course followed by an attempt to tear away into the unguarded den. His goal of tearing the herbs would almost come to fruition.