03-04-2023, 11:11 AM
Ferretpaw's Path
WARNING: Canon Typical Violence, and mentions of war.
WARNING: Canon Typical Violence, and mentions of war.
Spoiler:
Ferretpaw used to be excited to be a gladiator, it was his dream since he was a kit to become the Van Guardian. He wanted cool scars, a tough name, and respect. He wanted the leader to look at him and tell him he defended the colony well.
But, dreams are fluid, he learned in the middle of the Arrkań-Maiàth War.
When Ranara declared war, Ferretpaw squared his shoulders and declared he'd pass the promotional exam early. He declared he'd win every fight, and prove he's gladiator material. He declared, he declared, he declared.
What are declarations but broken promises waiting to happen?
Ferretpaw's once excitement for training and devotion to learning each battle tactic faded. He could hardly knock a single soft-paw over. He could hardly force himself to unsheathe his claws during actual battles. He never won a single mock fight or a real fight. He was useless, no matter how much extra training, and extra practice, he did it never bore fruit. He woefully thought this before being called desperately into an ambush as a backup. Several tails streamed with his as the patrol he was on bowled over any Arrkań or Maiàth cat in sight.
His paws clumsy and anxious as he tried to fight a tortoiseshell molly triple his size, his barely unsheathed claw harmlessly passing through her fur as she let out a thunderous cackle, and easily pinned him down. Her teeth and claws ripped into his soft belly and his leg. His screeches were drowned out by caterwauls of anger and pain, blood dripping underneath him before suddenly he could breathe again. Ginger stripes in the corner of his eyes send the massive molly running.
Foxwave.
And, then he passed out.
Ferretpaw awoke to find himself in the Soothsayer's den, medicine lining the walls of the cave and a pool of running water that flowed to other caves making gentle sounds. He lay there, dazed, realizing he can't become a gladiator. He couldn't be, he couldn't be, he couldn't be. Then, he remembered that Foxwave, one of Ranara's merchants, saved him.
Spending 2 moon cycles healing, Ferretpaw found himself following after Foxwave. The tom going to Fenári and Virina to trade like usual, to give and take news due to the courier being injured previously. Ferretpaw began accompanying him, forgoing his gladiator training, forgoing his current tutor.
Ferretpaw found something he thought was amazing.
His head spun as he saw Foxwave barter, haggle, and fairly present his items. He watched as the merchant wrote down requests, kept an eye out for something, and even bantered with customers. He watched a world he considered weak and unneeded compared to gladiators unfold before him.
Ferretpaw asked Frogstar if he could switch paths. Warned he'd have to start basically from scratch with pathing, and that he might graduate late, Ferretpaw breathlessly took it. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted to become a merchant.
Ferretfoot wasn't a gladiator, he realized as he was on his first solo travel. He realized his paws weren't meant to destroy or harm, but to protect important things for others, delicately handle fragile items, use his paws to make important trades to help the colony, and make others smile when they receive the item they want.
Ferretfoot was happy.
But, dreams are fluid, he learned in the middle of the Arrkań-Maiàth War.
When Ranara declared war, Ferretpaw squared his shoulders and declared he'd pass the promotional exam early. He declared he'd win every fight, and prove he's gladiator material. He declared, he declared, he declared.
What are declarations but broken promises waiting to happen?
Ferretpaw's once excitement for training and devotion to learning each battle tactic faded. He could hardly knock a single soft-paw over. He could hardly force himself to unsheathe his claws during actual battles. He never won a single mock fight or a real fight. He was useless, no matter how much extra training, and extra practice, he did it never bore fruit. He woefully thought this before being called desperately into an ambush as a backup. Several tails streamed with his as the patrol he was on bowled over any Arrkań or Maiàth cat in sight.
His paws clumsy and anxious as he tried to fight a tortoiseshell molly triple his size, his barely unsheathed claw harmlessly passing through her fur as she let out a thunderous cackle, and easily pinned him down. Her teeth and claws ripped into his soft belly and his leg. His screeches were drowned out by caterwauls of anger and pain, blood dripping underneath him before suddenly he could breathe again. Ginger stripes in the corner of his eyes send the massive molly running.
Foxwave.
And, then he passed out.
Ferretpaw awoke to find himself in the Soothsayer's den, medicine lining the walls of the cave and a pool of running water that flowed to other caves making gentle sounds. He lay there, dazed, realizing he can't become a gladiator. He couldn't be, he couldn't be, he couldn't be. Then, he remembered that Foxwave, one of Ranara's merchants, saved him.
Spending 2 moon cycles healing, Ferretpaw found himself following after Foxwave. The tom going to Fenári and Virina to trade like usual, to give and take news due to the courier being injured previously. Ferretpaw began accompanying him, forgoing his gladiator training, forgoing his current tutor.
Ferretpaw found something he thought was amazing.
His head spun as he saw Foxwave barter, haggle, and fairly present his items. He watched as the merchant wrote down requests, kept an eye out for something, and even bantered with customers. He watched a world he considered weak and unneeded compared to gladiators unfold before him.
Ferretpaw asked Frogstar if he could switch paths. Warned he'd have to start basically from scratch with pathing, and that he might graduate late, Ferretpaw breathlessly took it. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted to become a merchant.
Ferretfoot wasn't a gladiator, he realized as he was on his first solo travel. He realized his paws weren't meant to destroy or harm, but to protect important things for others, delicately handle fragile items, use his paws to make important trades to help the colony, and make others smile when they receive the item they want.
Ferretfoot was happy.