Strawberry425

This is why we can't have nice things.

@Shurikai

This woman? selenada.deviantart.com Because this is the woman who I've found claiming this art to be hers...

This is why we can't have nice things.

EDIT: selenada.deviantart.com

Well, this argument spiraled out of control very quickly, but @LetMeDoStuff confronted you people for the right thing. He just didn't go about it the right way. You could say it's up for debate, but I highly doubt that art is your own, xXBalloonsXx. Not only does the original artist type a completely different way from you, but you keep proclaiming you have school to go to. That woman looks well beyond her years; she's either out of it already, or in college. Either way, if you are plagiarizing, which I suspect you are, it is immoral and disrespectful.

I can't stand to see someone plagiarize. It's deplorable.

It's so ironic, I defended Blizz in the Casual Warriors rp, only to come here and find that, an argument has broken out for the same thing I wa standing against. GingerKollie was smart, kind, and respectable enough to realize that keeping Blizz's character would have, ultimately, been plagiarism. If you were any the same, you'd admit this art wasn't yours and get on with it. Of course, we still can't definitely prove it, but the startling difference between what you claim is yours, and what is that woman's, is suspicious.

El Grande (Fantasy Frontier RP)

Last bump, maybe.

Strawberry425's Cupcake Sheets

El Grande

El Grande

Appearance: (May be written, or an image. If an image, only semi-realistic to realistic images allowed, or real people.)
Name:
Age:
Species:
Personality:
History:
Other:

---

RPer: Strawberry425 || Copper "Penny" Sling || 25 Years || Half-Orc, Half-Human || Male || Reddish Brown Eyes || Brunette Hair

Appearance

Personality:
Copper, more commonly referred to as Penny on the rails, is a tough and stubborn Half-Orc. Tough in the sense that Copper is used to tragedy in his life; and while more tragedy may hurt him internally, he strives to maintain the outer composure of someone who is unaffected. Only those who become truly close to Copper get to see beneath the tough guy visage, to the person who is lonely and hurt. Copper can also be stubborn, but it is only to a point. If he sets his mind to something, he will persist until it seems futile to do so.

Copper is friendly and handsome ("for a Half-Orc" as people like to say), and is naturally able to put people at ease with his presence. He makes friends well enough, though he and trust have never been great bedfellows. Though friendly, he can sometimes appear distant. Not in a cold way. Rather, he may appear hesitant to engage in raucous behavior, or intrude upon what he believes to be somebody else's moment. He will stand by the sidelines and out of the limelight. This hesitance can sometimes pan him off as an awkward character, and can cause him to come off as confusing to people who have seen both his friendly and hesitant side.

History:
There's not much to say about Copper's history. His mother was a wench, his father, a traveling Orc. A brief, night time encounter, left his mother pregnant. Before she had even discovered Copper had been conceived, his father had fled the town. After all, it was only a brief, night time encounter.

He's not quite sure why she carried him to term. Maybe she felt sorry for him even before he was born. Either way, Copper was born and kept hidden from the eyes of curious strangers for a good bit of time. In his youth, he retained the visage of an almost average looking human child, and when he came of age, his mother, loving him though he was part-Orc, chose to enroll him in a free education program so that he might make something of himself.

Puberty was when things started taking a turn for the worse. Copper's ears had always been passable as a child; people assumed that he had received a normal genetic quirk and nothing more. But things started getting fishy when, at puberty, sharp tusks began to protrude from Copper's lower jaw. It was difficult, thereafter, to maintain a human disguise, and Copper chose to drop out of school.

Now, jobless and with a lesser education, he has chosen to pursue a fresh lease on life on the rails. He hopes to weasel his way to the high ups, become a lapdog of sorts for them. Already, he has a nickname. People have taken to calling him Penny, since copper's what pennies are being made out of now-a-days. Copper loathes it, since he believes it sounds to feminine. At the end of the day, however, he would much rather tolerate it than face the prejudice and ignorance of his fellow workers. Anything to make them tolerate him is good enough.

The good thing is, not everyone's a bigoted douche, and Copper's found that quite a few people genuinely find him to be a good human being. Considering the notions that exist with half of his kind, he finds these people intelligent and refreshing and seeks their company as often as possible.

---

RPer: Strawberry425 || Charlotte Johanssen || 24 Years || Amazon || Female || Blue Eyes || Black Hair

Appearance

Personality:
Like many people, there are two sides to Charlotte's coin. Being a woman in a high position of power, she's developed a few ways of dealing with people that may make her personality insanely difficult to decipher.

The real Charlotte is smart, gentle, and sweet-tempered. Overall, this Charlotte is rather attractive, both in appearance and personality. She's known for being a charmer, and has been placed in her position precisely for that reason. What Charlotte does is fish people in; she compliments them and makes them feel good, and when the time is right, she captures them. Of course, he natural charm doesn't always work, as some people seem to have an unsupported vendetta against her; nonetheless, unless blatantly insulted or challenged, she treats others with as much respect as she can muster.

Charlotte is also a flirt, though it is rumored that's she's already quite dedicated to someone.

The other, fake, Charlotte is business Charlotte. Business Charlotte can appear cold and calloused, but its just Charlotte using her perspective to look at problems in their most whole sense. This Charlotte has developed from Charlotte position in her family, and can be quite commanding (or demanding, depend on who she's interacting with). Business Charlotte also assists in overseeing El Grande alongside Overseer Rocket. Having not been formally given the title, Rocket seems to believe his word is stronger than hers. But Charlotte has a powerful family and the government silently supporting her. She works tirelessly with Cyril, who, from the rumor mill, is supposed to have quite the crush on her.

History:
Charlotte is a Princess of sorts. The eldest child of the eldest family of the Amazons, Charlotte holds on her shoulders a decent amount of power among the Amazonian people. Her family, as ages have gone by, is wealthy, and Charlotte has enough of an inheritance to last her and her first grandchild a lifetime (presuming currency doesn't change.)

Charlotte is also fairly well educated, and is well-versed in more than a few subjects. She has dedicated herself to the finer arts, and is a renown author in both the Americas, and Greece, especially for her novella, Midnight Stroll. Her sweet charm, blossoming popularity, looming influence in the literate world, and politically powerful family had made Charlotte the government's perfect unnamed employee.

In addition to dabbling in the arts, Charlotte is a prolific horse trader, as well as a breeder. She has produced some of the finest show animals in the Americas; however, as specified, her horses are for show as opposed to work.

Other:

• She is Bisexual.
• Her rumored lover is not a rumor at all, but is instead a house servant named Dany. The two have a long history together, and are quite dedicated to one another.

---

RPer: Strawberry425 || Dany || 22 Years || Werewolf || Female || Brown Eyes || Black Hair

Appearance

Personality:
History:
Other:

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

I've had Sandfire steer them back in the direction of the Great Sycamore anyway :)

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Sandfire

"Snakerocks hmm ok let's hop to it Sandfire"

Sandfire tipped her head and allowed her eager apprentice to lead the way. Snakerocks lay mere fox-lengths away from the Great Symcamore, and the walk would be brief. Stonepaw's tail disappeared between the fronds of tall grass that encircled the Sycamore, and Sandfire brisked her pace to keep up.

The two cats padded in a silence in which Sandfire reveled. It gave her time to muse over the succinct and angry conversation she had, had with Bravefeather. Away from her brother's curious, scrutinizing stare, Sandfire allowed herself to review what Mallownose really meant her. Nothing serious, surely. Sandfire had carefully avoided deep interaction with Mallownose since she had realized her own feelings. And she planned for those feelings to stay stunted; Mallownose himself, however, seemed to hold no aversion for Sandfire. He would acknowledge her presence when their paths crossed, and for the most part, Sandfire had reason to believe that he was none the wiser about the way her paws tingled, and her fur burned.

She shook her head. It didn't matter if he was aware of her feelings or not. The Warrior Code was the Warrior Code. And what the Warrior Code stated was that a respectable Medicine Cat was to, by no means, engage in relations with another cat. Sandfire resolved to squash her dreams of an improbable and unreasonable future with Mallownose; he was a dedicated Medicine cat, and among the clan, was highly regarded as a decent and caring tom. Tempting him (and somehow succeeding) would only tarnish his reputation among his fellow clanmates.

Deep in thought, Sandfire nearly collided with the rump of her apprentice. He had stopped abruptly, and, blinking in surprise, Sandfire realized that they had reached a cradle of bush tucked almost exactly between Snakerocks and the Great Sycamore. Scanning the bristles of grass around them, the lean she-cat spotted a slanted rock protruding significantly from the green stalks that surrounded it. Bounding over, she settled herself on its tip, and, tail curled comfortably over her paws, proceeded to diligently observe her apprentice.

For a moment, his mouth hung upon as he seeped in the scents of the surrounding forest. Something seemed to hold his interest, and in the next instant, he was flying through the air gracefully, landing a few tail-lengths away from where he had been standing. His head disappeared beneath the sea of green, and resurfaced with a look of triumph.

A mottled brown mouse lay lifeless by his gray paws. He beamed a proud smile up at Sandfire, and she returned it with a flourish of her tail and an affectionate purr. Always having been the humble one, his mind did not stray from the task, and soon he seemed to be on the trail of a handsome crow that Sandfire had spotted from her perch on the rock.

Crow in sights, Stonepaw crouched deeply into the surrounding brush, his gray pelt melting into the thicket of twigs, grass, and shadow that surrounded him. His haunches bunched; then he was flying again, only this time, it was more like flailing. His paws whipped out in all directions as he struggled to reach the crow, which, alarmed by his attempt, had fluttered off into the sky.

Briefly, he looked back around to the sandy ginger she-cat, before his eyes fell on his stone colored paws, and, sounding extremely regretful, he meowed, "Sorry Sandfire."

For a moment, Sandfire's deep emerald eyes filled with surprise. A crow was, by no means, an easy catch, and the fact that Stonepaw had tried only proved his great determination to succeed. If anything, the she-cat was proud that her apprentice showed such great aspirations.

Seeing the disappointment etched deeply in his face, Sandfire leaped from her rock and padded to where he stood.

"There's nothign to be sorry for, Stonepaw," she meowed, laying her tail on his shoulder, "You did the best you could! Crows can be difficult prey, even for experienced warriors. You should be proud of yourself for getting as close as you did!"

Nodding at his mouse, she added, "And look! You still caught something. Remember, every bit of prey, no matter how small, matters to the clan. In times of harsh weather, why, a mouse like that could be the saving morsel for a kit!"

Hoping her apprentice had been eased by her words, her eyes flickered back to the Great Sycamore, where Bravefeather and Shadowpaw had stayed to hunt.

"Perhaps we should head back."

El Grande (Fantasy Frontier RP)

Great

Hopefully some more interest will pour in!

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Hey all. I'm really tired, and my writer's block is persisting for some reason. I did the best that I could, but its not great. If anything needs to change just tell me. Idk why I'm having such bad writer's block, but I'm going to assume it really does have to do with this sleep deprivation, and then the fact that the semester begins again next week. Ugh

Welcome to Santa Somabra [Fantasy Noir]

Chinatown was a mini metropolis within a metropolis. Its streets were often dense with thick, bustling, crowds, and it’s cluttered, tightly packed stores often concealed illicit underground on goings. Sweatshops, sex slaves, contraband…you could find it all in Chinatown.

Werewolves had some of the most sensitive ears among the supernatural. It was a miracle that Chase didn't flinch at every loud noise that greeted him on the city streets of Somabra. And, if he remembered correctly, his integration back into society after his defection from the Hunters had been difficult and wearisome. Days had been wasted holed up in his room, hiding away from the overflow of information that urban Somabra presented his senses with.

Chinatown, with its noisy shops and packed streets, was a werewolf's worst nightmare. The quite seclusion of the Golden Dragon was a poor reflection of the morning activity that defined Chinatown. Chase had rarely visited it; not only was its clamorous streets intimidating, but it held no merit for Chase. He had never had dealings in this part of town, and had never intended to do so.

But that was beside the point. All had become clear with Nyxvira Bloodbloom’s name, a name that, previously, Chase had only heard from the SSPD grapevine. It was a name that held weight (both physically and figuratively) among the corrupted cops of the SSPD. Chase had, obviously, never had explicit dealings with Nyxvira and her clan before; he had stoutly avoided Chinatown, and therefore, avoided her employment.

And yet, here he was.

Nixie. Had he just prostituted himself away? He wasn't sure.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t make promises when I’m the one calling the shots…which is you know, like, all the time.”

Chase nodded sycophantically. Anything to appeal to her ego, Chase thought. Those grapevine rumors had left enough of an impression on Chase to have roused some sense of respect for the great bowling ball of a woman that sat before him. She seemed relaxed and unfazed, and Chase couldn't blame her. When you held that much power in the tip of your fat pinkie finger, what was there left to fear?

Prying herself away from the cluttered, food heavy table, she allowed her richly round stomach to fall out before her, no doubt giving it freedom from the restrictive tabletop. Chase tried not to stare as pronounced ripples traveled through the round, flabby mass that was the Faerie's stomach. Give it a week or two, and maybe he'd see it naked. He shuddered ever so slightly and coughed quietly to cover up the movement.

“Here’s how this is going to work, honey; you and blondie clear up this little situation for me, and I give the pixie-haired-priss back to her lovely lady, but my boys make house calls every now and then, just to make sure you aren’t saying anything you shouldn’t to people who’ve no business hearing it. I keep you both on my friendslist, and drop you a message whenever I need something…delicate to be taken care of.”

House calls. Chase could deal with house calls. He didn't live with any relatives or loved ones, and while the threat of a goon abducting a family member remained a looming possibility, Chase was obedient enough that he hoped he could forge some sort of pseudo trust between himself and the massive faerie, an imitation of a genuine working relationship, something that would persuade her not to seek out his family. Or harass poor, sweet, Johanssen and her loved ones any further.

The humongous woman shoveled another spoonful of rice into her gaping mouth, and then released a burp so loud that Chase flinched and asked himself again: had he just prostituted himself out to this?

“Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this personal business you mentioned.”

One of her heavy lids winked lustfully at Chase and he felt his face pale ever so slightly. He had. He had prostituted himself out to this.

Still, somewhere else, in the bowels of Chase's chest, his heart soared with some optimism. This dictator of a woman was showing some semblance of being willing to release poor, broken Ann. And he knew Johanssen well enough. She would make up for it to him in other ways. Her calming presence alone had already done a good deal for Chase; and her sweet personality had changed him to some extent. In a way, however little it seemed, he owed her already.

---

Pathetically mewling in a corner of the takeaway restaurant, I had left poor Chase to do all the work. With very little hesitation, he had thrown himself into the bowels of that woman's gaping, manipulative mouth and sacrificed himself.

Pulling myself up from under my lake of misery, I focused in on the conversation, trying to ignore Ann, who had slumped down pathetically by the feet of the men who had prodded her forward.

From my distant observation, I could only infer that the evil creature seemed pleased with Chase. Her name was Nyxvire Bloodbloom. A minute change in Chase's posture told me that the name rung a bell. But, no matter how much I racked my brain for information, I couldn't place my finger on where I'd heard the name before.

Her golden orbs raked over Chase's handsome, confident face lustfully, and I felt some apprehension rise in my chest, protesting against what my dear friend had seemed to promise her. Chase accepted her appraising gaze with the ease of an old pro; he had, had a few years ahead of me to perfect his groveling persona, and the effect was astounding. The fat faerie seemed immensely pleased with him.

“Because I’m such a darling, I’ll even let the charming Miss Charlize off of the hook once we sought out the specifics of this personal business you mentioned.”

Chase paled ever so slightly, but the shadow of a triumphant smile played on his face. We had a chance. Ann had a chance.

I looked at Ann, and her pure, blue eyes meet mine. Though she sat weak and crumpled by the feet of her captors, her eyes were filled with resilience. They seemed to urge me on.

I pried my gaze from her face and focused back on the exchange going on before me. I had looked just in time to see Nyx winking lustfully at Chase.

Before he could respond, the front door exploded open, and a zombie shuffled in at an alarmingly fast pace. He wore a suit that seemed as though it had been freshly ripped, and his stooped stature seemed disgruntled somehow. Without a word to the assembled crowd, he stumbled to the back of the counter and filled a bowl with water, dipping his bloodied hands in it so that red dispersed into what had once been fresh, cool, crystal clear water.

He looked up at our incredulous faces, and for a moment, his cold eyes seemed to search among us. Finally, they rested on Nyxvira, whose commanding stare was almost as flat and dismissive as his.

"What? Never seen a guy beat a werewolf to death before? And what the hell is all this? Did I walk into some sorta exchange?"

Almost as one, the group turned to look at the entrance of the Golden Dragon. A werewolf, in human form, having morphed back upon death, lay sprawled out eagle style at the front of the restaurant. Its mutilated face had been smashed to a pulp on the pavement of the sidewalk. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat and swallowed frantically. My skin must have look swallow and green, because Chase's worried eyes caught mine.

I was imagining him there, instead of a stranger. Fear and anger mixed in my stomach, and I had the overwhelming urge to draw the gun I didn't have.

An awkward silence blanketed our oddly assorted group. Another surprise, when a green goblin slipped into the establishment. Then, minutes passed, and finally, another zombie trudged through the front door of the Dragon.

"Hey, don't be such a rudeface and go introduce yourself to the guys, dumbass." Said the first.

"Oh, well, uh, I'm Benjamin Kiddo. I kill things for a livin', just like my pal here." The second responded, flustered-like.

"Yeah, great job, wonderful presentation, flawless execution, dumbass. Now lookie what we got here, Kiddo."

"Oh, what, Andy?" The eyes of the zombie called Kiddo found their way Ann's stooped body.

“Ooh looks like we got ourselves a little prisoner exchange, Andy." I felt like throwing myself in front of her. As it was, several choice profanities came to the tip of my tongue. They were treating it too casually. A voice in the back of my head asked me, "How else would they treat it?" But I ignored it. Right now Ann was suffering more than ever because of me. I didn't care that the rotfaces didn't know who she was. But, at the same time, I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted. My thoughts were jumbled, disorderly. What was it that I desire? For them to treat her with more respect? To not eye her like an inanimate object, a simple trading card?

"That's right Kiddo. Feels just like the good ol' days again, eh? Old fashioned, but 'ey it works."

The zombie called Andy sauntered casually into Nyxvira's space. Chase leaned away as the corpse, frozen in a state of rot, pressed in closer to the obese faerie before him.

I didn't understand most of the subsequent exchange. They were bartering for something, but I didn't quite grasp the concept of what it was. It seemed there was another, unknown, factor involved, something Chase and I were not privy too. Most of the rest of the room, however, seemed perfectly at ease with the conversation, and eagerly soaked up every word that transpired between the zombies and Nyxvira.

“Well, gentlemen, you’re certainly right when you say I’ve got connections, and you’re also right to assume that I can get you what you want in regards to this ‘Canoness’, a name I’m sure you’re as sick of hearing as I am. There’s a very specific hunter I want you to take care of. My sources inside the lycan community tell me he goes by the name of ‘Brunkas’. Second-in-command to the Den Mother, and a royal pain in my gorgeously proportioned arse.”

So they were here for a purpose similar to our own. My head pulsated with pain. There were too many limp links to the connect. Chase was sitting before Nyxvira, his fingers entwined, listening politely to her commanding speech. His body was relaxed, his face, impassive. Clearly, he seemed to have everything straightened out.

A long list of instructions continued to pour forth from the faerie's mouth.

“He’s been rampaging up and down the Red Lights district, and giving me a real bitching headache. Take care of him and his cronies, and you’ll get what you want.”

She cleared her throat, and her voice boomed over the heads of the assembled crowd.

“We’ve got a long fucking night ahead of us, boys and girls, and it only gets rougher from here. I want results, not excuses. If any of you come back to me with anything other than what I’ve asked for then you’d better learn how to dig you way out of a shallow grave really fucking quickly.”

Chase looked from the confident zombies and the quiet goblin, to Johanssen who now sat straighter, to Ann, who looked damaged, to Nyx's three submissive lackeys, and finally, his eyes came to rest on the enormous figure that now commanded them all. He wondered with genuine curiosity if the obese faerie planned to extend her grasp beyond the streets of Chinatown anytime soon.

Chase let out a subdued coughed, a small, diminutive noise, something to catch her attention. The zombie had invaded Nyx's space, but Chase held nowhere near that amount of blind confidence. Good for the, if they could beat the shit out of Nyx. But Chase, he just wasn't in a position to do that, or risk offending her. It could very well mean the end of Ann.

"Nixie," He pronounced the word delicately, making sure to wrap every syllable the cadences of his voice that would make him sound most respectful. He did it because he hoped it would help Ann live, but his face burned red in the light of the restaurant; not so much because he was attracted to Nyx in any way, but more because of the embarrassment that now boiled under his skin like a hot stove. Surely the zombies, who clearly had not been put in the same servile position as him, would be judging him harshly.

Trying to ignore their presence, he turned his attention to more pressing manner. They where to eliminate the she-wolf, most likely in a timely and proficient manner. He would have to impart everything he knew about killing werewolves to Johanssen in a brief amount of time. But, a few questions still floated in the air unanswered.

"Where exactly are we going to find Ameilkas? And is it in our jurisdiction, how we...err...," he mimed the blade of a knife cutting across his throat, "get rid of her?" He needed information. He needed to know how the she-wolf ran, what kind of characters composed her packs, how easily she trusted.

And that opened up another question, one of genuine curiosity, that slipped from Chase's mouth before he could phrase it in the most politest of ways, "Does she need anyone? For her pack, I mean. Any replacements."

Warrior Cats - Plague of Misery

Snowpaw

"You're welcome, I hope the opportunity appears soon for you." Tabbyfur smiled and straightened up, licking her shoulder, "I'm sure they'll be very excited to see their big sister!"

Snowpaw felt her fur burn with pride. She had never thought of that before. Did her siblings even know of her existence. She hoped they did, hoped her father had been kind enough to tell them that somewhere, over the borders of Riverclan and Thunderclan, within the camp of a foreign clan, was their sister.

"No, you're right. I'll talk to him when we get back to camp." Snowpaw felt some relief. At last, someone would interfere on her behalf. Perhaps Hawkfire had simply overlooked the young she-cat by accident. Snowpaw did not want to believe that her half-clan status had anything to do with it. Besides, her leader had always been a benevolent one, and she believed that he had no discrimination for her. Indeed, Snowpaw felt like Hawkstar had treated her birth among the clan fairly, and as was right, had fought for her to remain in residence within Thunderclan. After all, why would he have fought for her if he didn't believe she would have made a fine Thunderclan warrior cat?

Tabbyfur shook her tawny, striped head, and leaped to her feet lightly.

"Hmm...Do you think you're okay to train now? I wouldn't mind going hunting if you're still kinda stressed."

Hopping to her feet and feeling refreshed, Snowpaw meowed with enthusiasm, "I'm great to train now, Tabbyfur. Thanks for listening to me. This half-clan stuff...sometimes makes me nervous. But I feel much better now!"

Bravefeather

A shadow of suspicion seemed to flicker across Shadowpaw's dappled calico face, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in deep, troubling thought. For all his outgoing limit-testing, he's still an observant young tom, Bravefeather thought with a swell of pride. Surely, Shadowpaw must have noticed the fact that Bravefeather rarely sent him anywhere even remotely dangerous, where caution was required. At the moment, it was just too much of a risk, and Bravefeather didn't want to be responsible for the endangerment of anyone's son. The long-legged tom was sure his young charge would mature up at some point or another; already, he expressed the thought process of a cat who took what he was given and thought about it. He just needed to reign in that propensity for pranking other cats. Some didn't seem to mind it, but Bravefeather had once found a dead mouse in his nest, and wasn't too keen on experiencing similar traumatic experiences.

Shadowpaw shook out his fluffy white, ginger, and black head, and then bounded off towards the roots of the Great Sycamore. Bravefeather slunk after him quietly, not wanting to break the apprentice's concentration. Settling himself in an indiscriminate patch of weed like grass that had hinged itself in between the roots of the Sycamore, he keenly observed the actions of his apprentice.

Shadowpaw's head had perked up, and his eyes swiveled back and forth as he thoroughly inspected his surroundings. Another swell of pride rose in Bravefeather's chest, and he resisted the urge to purr loudly. Next them, he thought contentedly, he would accompany Shadowpaw near Snakerocks, where they would hunt together for voles and adders.

The apprentice had adopted a hunting stance, his stomach scraping the high standing, weed-like grasses that grew around the three. His nose twitched, and he seemed to spot something out of Bravefeather's line of sight. At first, Bravefeather tensed, waiting for the killing pounce that he was sure was bound to come. But it never came. Bravefeather wondered with curiosity what had happened, but resolved to wait patiently for his apprentice's kill.

It was always rewarding to see an apprentice succeed in their endeavors, and though they weren't kin, Bravefeather felt they were as good as. By that extension, he felt an immense amount of pride when his apprentice executed hunting and battle training in a superior and meticulous way, and felt extremely contended when his apprentice triumphed in his attempts.

Finally, he seemed to settle on circling around the tree, and Bravefeather lightly sprung to his feet, following the young tom at a distance with the alacrity that only a mentor cat could have. A tawny colored mouse exposed itself from the shelter of the brush around, and Shadowpaw pursued it. At the last moment, Bravefeather's ears flattened and he watched with disappointment as the mouse scampered off, too far away too understand what had transpired.

Finally, luck seemed to lay within the paws of the young apprentice. His nose perked up, and Bravefeather could see his mouth open to draw in the scents of the surrounding brush. His fluffy body tensed, and Bravefeather found himself standing on the tip of his paws to see the target of his apprentice's attack. In the blink of an eye, the apprentice had jetted off and snapped up a juicy red squirrel. Squirrel clamped in his jaws safely, he turned around and surveyed the roots of the tree for Bravefeather.

When he spotted the tom, who had taken to observing from the top of a particularly gnarled and high standing root, he bounded over.

"Great job!" Bravefeather half-meowed, half-purred. The squirrel was a big robust animal, and Bravefeather was sure it would make some cat happy. His eyes flickered back to the distance and watched for sign or sound of Sandfire and Stonepaw. Not seeing them, he turned back to the apprentice, contemplating their next action.

They could return to the camp. But he didn't want to risk upsetting Sandfire, when she was already in a foul mood. Besides, Stonepaw would end up becoming the object of her rage, and Bravefeather could not put that strain on any apprentice. He looked between the direction of the Snakerocks and the camp, and resolved to ask his apprentice.

"Shadowpaw," he meowed, "Would you like to return to the camp, or," and at this, his feathery tail flicked in the direction of the Snakerocks, "Follow after Sandfire and Stonepaw?"