unlucky (closed.)

[talltale]

Mintpaw
She-cat || 6 Moons || Windclan

--~-----~--

Mintpaw looked up at the tom her minty eyes blinking slowly, something seemed to be bothering him. Then again it was hard to tell when he was really mad or just day-dreaming. Mintpaw didn't know him well enough to understand the difference between those expressions yet, but she was sure she'd figure it out. "I wouldn't put anything past any of the clans right about now." She replied, everything was seeming so tense, all clans were on edge and all leaders wanted to beat the living death out of one another... it was really just a terrifying scenario for a little cat, "It's ok, I have a hard time focusing on warrior stuff anyway" she continued feeling a little ashamed of herself, "My tail's too short to be of any use in balance and my claws are like little raspberry thorns. I don't even have particularly strong teeth." She explained.

As he asked her not to forget to visit her whiskers twitched in astonishment, she wouldn't forget to do that! She liked Cinderfoot she'd even go as far as to call him a friend... well really she idolized him, him and Barkface, but she wouldn't say that out loud. She knew that Breezepaw would make fun of her for it and other cats might just think she was running away from her fear of battle. That wasn't the case though, she would have wanted to help the other cats of her clan even if she had her tail! "I won't forget!" She promised, "I'll come visit whenever I'm free and then you can teach me more about less commmon herbs and I can help whenever you need an extra pair paws. You'll be tired of me before you know it." She chuckled.

Her heart was far too big for her body.

--~-----~--

Word Count;; Unknown
Ooc;; If you'd like, sure.
Tags;; Cinderfoot

[gray]

He would have to come out again tomorrow, but this time the gray tom made a mental note to try a different spot—perhaps an area he and Barkface rarely traveled to for herbs, or that one spot he hadn’t gone to in ages. Surely, the moors housed plenty of other decent herb spots. They were vast, the moors. At times, it seemed as though they went on forever—until the rude awakening when the foul stench of RiverClan wafted in on the wind, or the reeking decay of ShadowClan and Thunderpaths rolled in. Mintpaw assured him that she had poor focus for warrior training anyways, which of course he already knew; Cinderfoot had seen Mintpaw while she was out hunting with her mentor one day and, nothing against the little apprentice, but it was clear that she had little natural inclination for warrior duties.

Amused, Cinderfoot cast his gaze over Mintpaw. “Your tail is just fine,” he said. “Normal is overrated.” That was true—no average cat ever caught Cinderfoot’s attention. There was something a little different, something that stood out, in each cat that he chose to spend extended amounts of time with. The average cats never asked the right questions. The average cats always assumed things that they had no business assuming. The average cats couldn’t understand. Someone different, someone who either couldn’t quite fit it or someone who knew something was wrong, now those were the types that Cinderfoot got along with.

Barkface, for example, possessed an odd mixture of ground level-headedness combined with a bit of a daydreaming side. He saw more than there was to see and understood without asking. Mousedapple, stupid she-cat, stood out in her incredible uselessness—and, of course, how pretty she was. And then little Mintpaw… she was so selflessly kind and undeniably likeable, that he had no other option but to spend time with her. Her promise was proof of that.

“Whenever you have time, I would definitely enjoy your company. I assure you that helping paws are always welcome.” Cinderfoot shuffled Mintpaw’s poppies into a neat bunch. “Well, unfortunately it’s getting late, and we should head back to camp. Thank you for your help.” If only he could have found more useful herbs, but today he would have to swallow the anger and tell Barkface. If he got angry, he’d just have to sit through his mentor’s disappointment on top of his own fury and sense of failure and wounded pride. Then he’d have the double wounded pride, the wound of failure and the wound of Barkface’s disappointment. He picked up the stems in his mouth and set out at an easy lope, waving his tail for the apprentice to follow.

word count // 453
ooc comments // none
tags // tale

[talltale]

Mintpaw
She-cat || 6 Moons || Windclan

--~-----~--

Your tail is just fine, Normal is overrated.

Mintpaw looked up at the tom in a little surprise, his words made her very happy. Everyone knew what had happened to her, everyone knew that she was so clumsy she couldn't even outrun a badger in the open moorlands and for that she lost her tail. Everyone just say an average little klutz, a nice klutz, but just a klutz. Or at least that's what Mintpaw had always thought, but there was someone that was kind to her. Someone who thought she wasn't just a little cute ball of fur, and someone who actually had the courage to tell her about it. It wasn't really a big deal, the whole sentence, but it had made Mintpaw's day.

The little apprentice happily picked up the flowers, "I'll always have time." She meowed softly, though it was a little muffled with the flowers, but it was easier to talk through a moutful of stems than it was with a mouthful of fur... not that she would know, she hadn't actually ever caught something. Well that was a lie, she caught a mouse that her mentor wounded first but she didn't count that. "Besides, the medicine den always smells nice, I know some cats don't like it but I like it." She said.

As the tom began to trot off towards the camp Mintpaw was quick to follow, luckily for her her legs were long enough to keep up with Cinderfoot and the flat ground ensured that she didn't make a fool of herself by tripping and doing a face-plant in the soil.

--~-----~--

Word Count;; Unknown
Ooc;; Nada.
Tags;; Cinderfoot

[gray]

Mintpaw kept up quite well considering Cinderfoot’s typical rangy lope on lengthy legs; he was really a lanky sort of tom, very lithe and tall with a large stride. The apprentice promised him she would make frequent visits to the medicine den, a good thing too—when Barkface retired, Cinderfoot would have his work cut out for him because Mintpaw would already know half the herbs if things continued like they had today. “Besides, the medicine den always smells nice. I know some cats don’t like it, but I like it.”

[/I] Hmm, he had rarely given thought to the scent of the medicine den; to him, it had always been there. Barkface always smelled like it and Cinderfoot had spent enough time in there from a young age that he had simply become accustomed to it.

Making a noncommittal sound in reply, the gray tom wished he could go faster and stretch his body to its limit once more. It had been ages. Perhaps next time there was a battle or a border skirmish he could get away and participate in it… prove to everyone what he knew and what they dreaded. His claws were still as sharp as ever.

Then, it would be everyone else who was unlucky.

word count // 209
ooc comments // finished thred.
tags // tale

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