Warrior Cat Clans 2 (WCC2 aka Classic) is a roleplay site inspired by the Warrior series by Erin Hunter. Whether you are a fan of the books or new to the Warrior cats world, WCC2 offers a diverse environment with over a decade’s worth of lore for you - and your characters - to explore. Join us today and become a part of our ongoing story!
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11.06.2022 The site has been transformed into an archive. Thank you for all the memories here!
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Doestar had been awake since before sunrise, too excited and impatient and dreadfully, wonderfully nervous at the prospect of his first training session with Quillpaw to go back to sleep. It had occurred to him, briefly, that it had perhaps been a mistake to take it upon himself to mentor an apprentice that he cared so deeply for, but he was worried that anyone else woud crush Quillpaw’s gentle nature. He was also a little selfish, really, and didn’t mind the excuse to spend a little more time with the cat who was quite easily his favourite in the Clan.
And so, he’d dawdled for the past hour or two, filling in time cleaning his den and fetching flowers for the meadow to make it pretty as he waited for an appropriate time to wake his new apprentice. As the sun began to creep above the horizon and turn the sky a gentle dove grey, the trees’ dark shadows washing over the clearing, he sucked in a shaky breath and padded over to the apprentices’ den, ducking down to whisper, “Quillpaw, time for training.” He smiled to himself happily, tongue stuck between his front teeth, and sat back to wait.
The once tiny brown tabby had hit a growth spurt, and nearly tripled his size in the last two moons of his kithood. He was now all legs, gangly and tall and too skinny for his long frame- he often tripped over his own feet these days. He slept in a tight ball, but when his mentor whispered his name, he unfurled slowly, his awkward limbs extending in a lengthy stretch. "Doestar!" he whispered back hoarsely, an excited light chasing the sleep from his green eyes. "Good morning!" Despite his size, Quillpaw was still came off as a kit pretending to be older, and was easily excited.
He clambered to his feet, sinking into a stretch. On his way out he stepped on someone's tail, and was escorted out the exit by their sleepy exhale of complaint. "Oops," he mumbled, moving to stand before his mentor, who he now matched height with. "What are we doing first?"
Doestar let out a delighted laugh as Quillpaw emerged from the den. He still wasn’t used to looking the young tom straight in the eye — he was so used to looking down, to the days when the kit struggled to carry the weight of a mouse, to being able to balance him between his ears as they chased after butterflies. But it was a wonderful sort of different, and Doestar wouldn’t change it for the world.
“Good morning!” he purred back, heart filling with warmth at the way the apprentice hadn’t changed at all on the inside — he was the same kit, all bubbly innocence and childish wonder, just in a much larger, fluffier body; and Doestar was certain he was still going to get bigger before he was done growing. “What are we doing first?” he mused as he led the way towards the camp exit, slipping through the tunnel to the shade of the trees outside. “Well! I was thinking, how would you like to learn to fight? Just the basics — claws sheathed, no teeth, none of the nasty stuff. Yet.” He glanced at Quillpaw with a smile. “The way you’re growing, our enemies will just have to take one look at you and they’ll be running for the hills. Is that a bear? They’ll say. Nah, that’s just Quillpaw.” Doestar let out an affectionate purr and bumped against his apprentice with his shoulder. “Anyway! Fighting! Yay or nay, lil’ guy?”
Quillpaw ducked his head, a pleased smile crossing his face. "There's no way they'll think I'm a bear, Doestar," he told his mentor with a laugh. "But, yeah! Fighting sounds great. I'd like to think I have a head start on hunting, 'cuz of all the bugs I caught. But I never play-fought much, so I may be a little behind on that." Quillpaw was a little more gangly, a little more self-conscious than he'd been as a kit, but still found himself babbling automatically.
As they walked, his eyes were constantly moving, joyfully taking in the gray light of twilight, listening intently to the birdsong, trying to memorize the path they were taking. "I feel like it's going to be a lovely day," he commented, his whiskers twitching as he smiled again.
Doestar smiled, letting out an amused huff through his nose. “Oh-ho, yeah, those bugs?” He blew a raspberry. “No prey in SummerClan will stand a chance.” He flicked his tail against Quillpaw’s shoulder. “And, hey, I mean, my leg? You’ll be miles ahead of me on your first day.” He watched his apprentice as he took in the scenery, joyfully aware that this was one — if not the first — of his first days out of camp; he imagined the territory through Quillpaw’s eyes, the soft sunlight and delicate greenleaf leaves, the bright flowers and the sounds of mice scurrying through the undergrowth, and fell in love with it all even more. I feel like it’s going to be a lovely day. He smiled and let out a purr of agreement, heart as warm as the morning.
He led the way into the training pasture, the small meadow still dark with the shadows of the surrounding pine trees and the air noticeably chillier, and turned to face Quillpaw in the centre. “Alright,” he began, wiping the smile from his face as he tried to be serious; it was his duty to teach his apprentice the skills he would need to survive, and that was one thing he didn’t take lightly. One day, Quillpaw would need them to stay alive and he didn’t want to be the one responsible for leaving him ill-equipped to cope with the world, not when he cared so much for him. “Now, I fight a little differently to most cats — I’ve had to learn, and I had to learn quickly, because I was already past my apprenticeship when my leg was injured. So, a lot of it is self-taught and you might not see other cats move the same way. That’s okay — that’s good, really. It’ll give you the advantage of unpredictability, with the added bonus of experience facing an unusual opponent.”
He took a few steps backwards and flicked an ear, raising his head. “Attack me. You’re big; I’m small. Should be easy for you, right?” He smiled warmly; it faded a moment later as he shifted a little in place, watching Quillpaw intently. “Let’s found out. And, for the love of all that is holy, keep your claws sheathed.”
Quillpaw grinned, triple-checking that his claws were sheathed before he attempted to copy the placement of Doestar's crouch. He had so much new body to deal with, to shift into some new positions, that his long form ended up looking somewhat awkward as he moved. Eventually he had a passable offensive crouch, darting forward to swipe one of his oversized, fluffy paws at his mentor's front legs, unsure of how else to start.
Doestar watched Quillpaw with a fond smile and an undisguised purr for a long moment before catching himself and stifling the purr, setting his expression back into something more sombre and focused. When the apprentice swiped at him, he let out a happy laugh, collapsed swiftly onto his side, and rolled easily out of the way; it was an odd move — most cats would have simply side-stepped or darted aside — but, with his leg, Doestar had quickly learned that the simple solution of just using it as little as possible was the best one. He lay there, paws crossed in front of him, and smiled up at Quillpaw with a gentle purr.
“Almost!” he told him, pushing himself to his paws. “But you took too long — your eyes gave you away, and you shifted your weight into the position you were going to push off from.” As he spoke, he was reminded faintly of one such lesson long ago with Skye — a little while ago, the memory would have stung; now it was warm and amused. “Not your fault,” he went on, limping over to his apprentice and dropping into a crouch beside him, “but, while we’re here, a tip for hunting: keep your haunches down and your stomach fur above the ground — the prey will hear you rustling through the leaves, otherwise. It feels a little funny at first but you’ll get it. And it’s useful for fighting, too — it’s all the same muscles, and strengthening yourself for one strengthens you for the other.”
Without warning, Doestar bunched up his hindlegs and leaped lightly onto Quillpaw’s back, dragging his weight with him and rolling him over till the apprentice’s chest was pressed to the earth. “And don’t let your guard down,” he purred in Quillpaw’s ear, stepping off his back and smiling down at him. “Try agan. Surprise me.”
Quillpaw nodded as his mentor spoke, his eyes losing none of their enthusiastic luster as he took in the new information. He corrected his posture, taking the extra time to correct the malplacement of his limbs. It was less natural for him, but it did seem to work better. "Thanks!" He chirped, before lapsing into silence as he tried to come up with another way to surprised Doestar. After a moment of thought, he glanced down at Doestar's feet again, but reared up when he lunged, moving to plant his paws on Doestar's shoulders to knock him over.
