[/i] have a distraction. Not the training session that she had thought of and insisted on. No, she was focused on her rage. Just as ShadowClan had been leaving the camp, Whitesmoke had looked right at her and said something about 'paltry battle skills'.
Insult her Clan, she'll insult you back. Insult her family, and Tawnystripe is ready for a fight. Insult her battle skills, however, and shit gets real. The warrior got to the clearing surrounding the scorched sycamore ahead of her Clanmates and fixed her burning amber eyes on the blackened bark. She imagined it being Whitesmoke's face, her fugly arrogant face, and a vicious snarl ripped through the air. Tawnystripe lashed her paws out and ran her claws over the bark over and over again, until the ground in front of her was littered with charred pieces.
She backed away from the tree and took a calming breath. She felt better now, and didn't even feel guilty. Whitesmoke wasn't her Clanmate anymore, and Tawnystripe would treat the thought of her like she would an enemy warrior. The tabby she-cat sat where she was and licked her paws, tugging bits of bark out from beneath her claws. When the others got there, Tawnystripe looked calmly at her new leader, Smallclaw, and tilted her head curiously. "So, how are we doing this? Apprentices at one side, warriors on another? Warriors spar first while apprentices look on? What?" [/ul][/blockquote] [/div]
Following the pack and even lagging behind somewhat as to watch the rear of the remnants of Shadowclan was Ashstrike. The muscular tom's paw prints padded in a dusting of ash, kicking up the fine particles in which he was named after. His home was reduced to dust, and recently the Shadowclan warrior felt that statement was perhaps more true and bitterly poetic than ever. Fire wasn't the only thing that had completely crippled Shadowclan. Friends and comrades, clanmates that had been with him since the very beginning had spelled their clan's own doom in a dizzying amount of speed. Tongues were sharp, and the blatant arrogance and viciousness that was displayed put a bitter, simmering feeling in Ashstrike's gut. Everything that could have gone wrong did. How could this have happened? Why did Starclan LET this happen?
Ashstrike was silent during the events of the schism. Part of it was out of analysis, part of it was out of numbing shock. When Smallclaw formed the rag tag group of dissenters, Ashstrike was left with a choice... Stay behind with traitors in the land where his mentor and ancestors were buried, the home he had called all his life, or go off into the unknown with the small band who still called themselves Shadowclan. It was a torturous choice, but an obvious one none the less. Without much explanation or hesitation, Ashstrike approached Smallclaw at the entrance of the old camp, simply stating, "I'm going with you."
They were the remnants of what was left behind. It wasn't much either. The entire group was comprised mostly of toms, 1 older she cat, and small group of apprentices. They were exposed, and vulnerable in territory that was quickly becoming unfriendly to their presence... Territory that once was the centerpiece of their life. They had to keep moving, only stopping to hunt or train the young ones for the harrowing journey ahead.
Ashstrike didn't say anything, but with his face set in a grim half scowl, it was obvious he was aware of their chances.
But these thoughts were not conductive to his duty. As a veteran warrior who was once one of the stronger fighters in the territories, Ashstrike made sure to watch the group's back until told otherwise, icy-blue eyes scanning the burnt landscape for strangers wearing familiar faces. His form was relaxed, but the tension evident in jaw and the overall alertness of his form illustrated the fact that the tom was keeping a lookout for trouble. With most of the other warriors leading the party or surrounding the apprentices and their current leader, Ashstrike felt like his position was ideal.
Momentarily, the smoky-gray tom turned to the commotion his clan mate Tawnystripe made as she raged ahead of the group to the now burnt sycamore. Her anger was evident, and one that the gray tom could sympathize with. He just had a different method of expressing it. More than anything, they couldn't let themselves appear bothered by what had happened, at least not openly and especially not now. They had to appear strong for those that traveled with them. They were being looked up to, whether they wanted to be or not. For apprentices, following their clanmates right now was a choice Ashstrike could barely fathom. That took inner resolve that needed to reaffirmed. If composure was lost, things would go downhill very fast.
He didn't blame Tawnystripe though. She always had a fire in her heart that Ashstrike felt a kinship with and could even applaud. He knew her for a long time and was even present the day the border skirmish occurred with Thunderclan. He was there the day that her mother died too, and both of them earned their warrior names at roughly the same time. She became a great warrior, and a respected fighter. Ashstrike was glad that they had that fire with them, but for now? Now was the time to be level-headed about things, even if that composure was but an illussion. There would be a time and place for that fire later.
Eventually, the distance gap was closed as the small group settled in the barren clearing. Ashstrike settled down with them, fixing Tawnystipe a calm look before he spoke, voice clear and gentle. "Take a breathe first Tawnystrike. We need those claws of yours honed for Skyclanners and other troubles. No sense dulling them on burnt vegetation and your own clanmates." It was the first thing Ashstrike had said since he first joined the group. Despite that, his tone was in no way condescending. If anything, there was a slightly strained smirk on his face, and a level of respect directed at the she cat suggesting sympathy and understanding.
He didn't say anything else though. Hopefully that small assurance would keep everyone relaxed enough for Smallclaw to give his orders.
The running helped. The horrendous anxiety, the raging, dramatic thoughts of death and danger, they all momentarily faded with the steady strides against the marsh floor. Beetle-ear arrived at the clearing just after Tawnystripe and unhesitatingly lay down, curling his tail around his dusty brown body and laying his chin on his paws. His panting breath grew rhythmic after a few moments, as he focused on inhaling in and out clearly, slowly, and calmly. I've made the right decision, I've made the right-
Beetle-ear’s light blue pools widened in alarm; Tawnystripe had started ripping into a tree with such viciousness it was as if it had spat at her. The fur on his shoulders rose, and his almost cartoonish, widened eyes froze on her figure until she stopped, taking a calming breath. Again, he found himself staring on like a stupid kit and the realization annoyed him. Usually he would have cracked a joke, or thrown a look at a friend. This whole split was really getting to him, wasn't it? He forced back a laugh he wanted so badly to release for fear of standing out, and continued bottling his anxiety. He was gifted at it too, for at the moment he looked rather languid. His eyes were half-lidded and dazed, and face solemnly blank.
Ashstrike's words reached his dark brown ears, which twitched as Beetle-ear moved his head to look at the tom. How is he so calm? I feel like- he went back to his paws, lapping one slowly with his tongue. After a moment, his nerves died down a little. Perhaps it was the black tom’s words and aura, or his own odd series of self-soothing methods, but he began to feel normal once more. He knew the best way to stop his own panic was the stop thinking, and that's exactly what he did as he zoned in on Tawnystripe's words directed at Smallclaw.
Her pertinent question opened a curiosity within him. Beetle-ear shifted position, putting all his weight on on his right paw and going a little on his side to look up at his new leader. "Speaking of which, Smokepaw and Lionpaw no longer have mentors," he commented. Part of him wondered who Smallclaw would bestow as what would essentially be caretakers, another part dreading he might end up being one. He earnestly just wanted to take care of himself, and not die some horrific death outside the reach of StarClan or be held responsible if a tragedy happened against an apprentice under his watch. Then again, an apprentice on this journey would guarantee a strong bond and future friend, as well as mutual guard in the event they were attacked...his tail twitched in in frustration at his own indecisiveness, before agreeing with himself he’d go with whatever Littleclaw's decision was, if he even made one, and adapt without stressing. Hopefully.