!TakeMeOut?!

[{darkles}]

It was dusk. The pale sky was darkening at an alarming rate, the clouds hiding the light of Silverpelt from the forest below. At the edge of a small clearing lay an old and battered tree trunk, hollowed out by turmites, beetles and other small creatures that itched and tickled if they crawled through your fur. Of course the wood of the tree had been dead for years and all remnants of miniscule life had apparently abandoned it. Now it stood as a shelter for the young apprentices of ShadowClan. As if on cue, a shadow slipped out from one end of the structure, blending almost seamlessly into the grass behind it, two yellow pinpricks glittered in the fading light.

The shadow snuck quietly across to the fresh kill pile opposite the leaders den and delicately closed it's jaws around a scrawny mouse. Weaselpaw retreated quickly, taking his catch to sit behind a large patch of sweet smelling grass that was parallel to Shade Rock. Crouching down to eat he slicked his ears back and glanced around himself warily before taking the first bite. He shouldn't really be eating, as technically he hadn't hunted for the Clan that day. The jet black tom was not completely in the wrong however, as he'd made sure the queens and kits were fed before taking his own food, and he'd deliberately chosen the smallest and most unappetising piece of prey on the pile. He devoured the mouse in swift bites, savouring the warm coppery scent that wreathed its way into his nostrils and made it impossible for him to scent anything other than the prey.

He countered his supposed breaking of the warrior code with the fact that he had no mentor, and no cat had volunteered to take him hunting that day. Apprentices weren't allowed to venture into the forest alone, particularly inexperienced and untrained apprentices such as he. Therefore, he thought, why should he deny himself food. It wasn't his fault he hadn't been hunting. Even so, as he swiped his pink tongue around his jaws to catch the last of the mouth watering taste, he felt the prickling claws of guilt scrabbling closer. Weaselpaw looked up at the sky, now completely ink black. The entire forest was dark and he was practically indistinguishable from the scenery behind him. That was one of the advantages of being a black cat at night. The young apprentice grinned, a sparkle of mischieviousness flickering across his parchment coloured eyes as he pondered just what he could do in ShadowClan territory at night, alone. No cat would notice him leave, they'd paid no attention to him all day and he was quite frankly sick of it. He just wanted a mentor! Some cat that he could talk to and train with, a cat that would take him out hunting and enable him to let loose the confined, cooped up feeling that was threatening to swamp him.

He paused to scent the air around him and sat up. He scanned the clearing of the camp, which appeared to be empty, and took several cautiously silent pawsteps towards the camp entrance, keeping his body and tail low in an effort not to be noticed. Well, if no cat was going to train him, he'd just have to train himself!

[{darkles}]

[OoC; B-b-b-bump! =3

I'z just being impatient now. =D]

[Jayflight]

The tom's muscular shoulders could be seen in the appropriate den, a dark side rising and falling. He was having an uneventful night more often now, and waking up at perfect intervals to see something happen. So, upon waking, he slipped from the den and his eyes locked onto an apprentice. He'd seen the cat here and there lately, and knew some about him. His name was Weaselpaw, he had no mentor, and... that was all. The white-chested tomcat made his way up to the nearest hiding place, and crouched down there. then, slinking forward, he emerged with eyes full of amusement. The apprentice was obviously going to sneak out, and Deadheart remembered his own apprenticeship. Well, the good parts of it. sneaking out at night for random things that seemed so important at the time, getting in trouble constantly. "Good morning, Weaselpaw," the tom joked, as it was obviously still night. "And what are we up to today?" Now, it was plain that Deadheart took an interest in the young one, without any mentor, and he wanted to see how he'd do. Yet pity was something this black warrior indeed had at times now, and he was more than willing to see that Weaselpaw got his training.

[{darkles}]

The light of determination crept into Weaselpaws lamplike yellow eyes, but it was dampened with a touch of nervousness. This would be the first time he'd left camp in days. He had no battle training and barely knew the borders. Perhaps it wasn't such a smart idea? Pssh, what kind of ShadowClan cat are you? he hissed at himself. Holding his head a little higher, as high as he could when trying to be invisible, he padded carefully around the very edge of the clearing, skirting behind the nursery, just to be sure. He reached the bramble barrier and stopped, ears pricked. He thought for a heartbeat that he could hear pawsteps behind him but it must have been the wind in the trees. The black cat whisked through the hole in the brambles without a backward glance and had made it just two or three bounds across the soft pine needles littering the floor, when he realised that his escape attempt had been fooled. Spinning around at the sound of the older warriors voice he had trouble not to curl his lip in a defiant snarl.

'Why do you care?' Came the very rude response, and immediately the smaller tom regretted it. Deadheart was not yelling, clawing or anything vaguely hostile, and was even lighthearted enough to slide in a joke. If he'd wanted to punish Weaselpaw then he would have done so by now.

'Sorry' He mumbled, scuffing his small feet against the dirt and avoiding Deadheart's gaze. Now he'd done it. It would be camp confinement for a moon for trying to sneak out, looking after the elders single-pawed for being rude to a senior warrior, and no cat would ever want to mentor him. Blinking in the darkness he took a look around him, he would have wagered at least three mice that this would be his last chance to see the forest in ages. Not for the first time he wondered if he would have been better off following his father afterall. Weaselpaw was sick of being overlooked and ignored.