/Tourmalinepaw/ the name of an apprentice, one who was, if she understood this controlling, ridiculous and frankly inefficient system correctly, supposed to have a mentor. But her mentor, Hazel-something-or-other, had managed to get themselves killed during Mal's ceremony. Truly did the insanity of her little sea side world never end? Her mentors' death was tragic, she was sure someone must feel that way, but Mal had little more to say than, Good Riddance. She had no interest in more authority to hate her, or spite her, or disrespect her, or whatever else these foxhearts had done over the past ten moons. At this point they might as well call her Bellflowercrown II to make sure their slower members didn’t forget who to bully. That cat's death had set her free, free to roam the forests, free hunt and train whenever she pleased, and most of all free from the skies forsaken camp with its resentful little cats. She trained herself by watching the foxes hunt, clan customs or history could be ignored, but the packs of wild dogs would teach her to fight. Watching her birds would remain her favored pastime. She would follow them for entire days not returning to that cruel rocky little camp until the sun was far below the waves and the bright sky had faded to a dull raven-feather gray. Mal loved her freedom, relished her escapes, and took pride in her skill. With each day away from that camp her spirits rose. Then that mousehearted little tom had approached her, he had introduced himself as Wraithspirit. She didn’t hear him. God. Dictator. Captor. /Sovereign./ Raced through her mind, titles for her new tormentor.
