He'd been given apprentices before to teach. Greysin wasn't particularly skilled at interacting with young cats, but he was efficient: strict and unforgiving and occasionally grudgingly supportive, he could often read his apprentices well enough to know if they needed a firm hand or a a gentle tongue, and thus far all his trainees had turned out admirably. But then, he hadn't been so affronted before either, he'd always been given a proper student, perhaps a stumbling halfwit, but a true-blooded cat nonetheless. Instead, Wintrystar had seen it fit to assign him an outsider. Did she think she honored him? No cat dared look down on him for his blood before, he'd been raised in the clan after the deputy had adopted him, and that had been the end of any jeers. He did not take kindly to the insult of some BrookClan cat being his student; their gods were too different from the ancients his clan had believed in and would bring nothing but ill tide upon his clan.

So perhaps Greysin was in a bad mood as he waited for his student, brooding outside of the den with a flat expression, but he thought it was quite justified. Just as it would be justified for the massive tom to lightly pummel Hel if she took any longer to show her face.