Poignant aches ran through Coe's shoulders like sharp rivers of knives, the result of hours piled upon hours of strenuous yet repetitive exercise spinning his banshaw staff through the air. The unyielding bands of wood that made up the back of the chair did little to sooth the pain as he leaned against their resistant support.
After so long being outside in the strong heat of summer, he ought to have been relieved to be indoors and off his sorely worn paws, but the air in the small room was stuffier than the chairs in the parlor and heavier than a crate of lead. Not only was the atmosphere suffocating, but every fiber in his body dreaded the work spread out before him.
Entrance forms and apprenticeship applications for so many different things, it hurt his head to try and remember them. But fill them out with meticulous care he must. Every single one, whether it was he who had suggested the career choice or his parents.
Honestly, he wasn't even remotely interested in being a blade smith or a dentist despite his aptitude for remembering the details of either subject. But they were opportunities and opportunities were not to be missed.
So his parents told him, every day of his life, until he had no choice but to believe it. If indeed the rest of his options failed he supposed it was better to be a dentist than to live on the streets or be something base, such as a miner.
He tried not to think of being trapped in a mine that had all the air of his room while filling out the forms. If he let himself become imaginative it could really suffocate him.
Form after form rolled away past his ink stained claws while the candle dripped in slow tears into a mere stub. Hours slipped away in time with the shortening of the candle until the last form was completed and the ink had gone dry.
With a groan of relief he leaned back, stretching his arms above his head in an attempt to relieve the stiffness that had set in with a vengeance. His eyes burned from focusing so long on the minute lines and his head ached a little, but he was glad to have it over with.
"Stepstone?" His mother entered without knocked and came to stand next to him "Oh, you haven't finished."
He sank back down with a miffed laugh "I've done them all, Mum. Is dinner ready?"
"You haven't put any of them in envelopes or addressed them or any of that! Come on now and finish that before you eat. You'll want to have them ready before morning so we can send them off right away!"
He sighed heavily and nodded, sinking back into the chair while his headache rose, digging into his skull with multiple lacerating claws.
"I'll have it done soon, Mum, keep a plate covered for me, will you?"
"Of course dearie."
It was nearly an hour later that he finished. The house was still as an old stone, not even a floorboard creaked beneath his paws as he slipped into the kitchen. His food was cold and hard; fish that would've melted in his mouth took vigorous chewing to turn into a digestible form. But it was the only food available to him since hours before, when he'd accepted a few crackers and an apple from one of the other students at the training yard.
He finished the unappetizing meal quickly and with a long sigh slipped through the dark hall into his room.
At last embraced by the gentle cushion of his mattress, Stepstone Coe spent his last few moments of wakefulness wondering if he'd be accepted by any of them. If he was, would it be the right one? What if it was more than one, how would he choose?
He supposed his parents would help him choose.
More than one did accept him, in fact nearly every application came back in the positive, leaving Stepstone nearly buried beneath his choices and crippled with uncertainly.
"You don't have to limit yourself to one," his father said, leaning over the desk and shuffling through the replies "You're more than capable of handling more than one apprenticeship."
"I-" before Coe could speak his mind, his mother added her thoughts.
"Indeed, it shouldn't be so hard, dear. Recall when you were in school? You took all those extra classes without any trouble."
"In fact you excelled, son."
"Yes, Dad, but-" Coe shook his head "I'm just not sure which ones I want the most."
For a second, Stepstone noticed just the slightest flicker of disapproval on his father's face but dismissed it as annoyance.
"Well, that's why you try all of them," his mother said assertively "Some of them you wouldn't need to go into until next year and some of them would only be a day or two a week. You could take night classes for some of these too."
"Yes, but-"
Again Coe was interrupted, this time by the shrill shriek of the kettle.
"Well, that's tea," and his mother floated away, trailing her rose spotted dress behind her.
"Son," his father leaned closer to Stepstone's face, the disapproval returning in the form of a stern frown and a low voice "You're nearly a full-grown cat. Don't you think it's time your words and actions reflected that?"
Coe tipped his head, feeling the disappointment radiating down on him "I... I'm not sure what you mean."
"This! This is what I mean!" His father gestured to what seemed the whole of his son "You have no confidence in your style! No maturity in your tone or voice. It's more than time you began to grow up. Only young children call their parents "Mom" and "Dad"."
"You... You want me to call you Father and Mom... Mother?"
"Yes and I want you to start reading more healthy books. Legends and poems are appropriate for youngsters, but they won't serve you at all in life."
"I barely even have time for reading anymore anyways."
"No excuses, Son."
Stepstone hung his head, his claws twitching along the edges of an envelope "Yes. Sir."
"Posture and confidence!" His father reminded briskly.
Stepstone Coe straightened his shoulders into a strong even line and with a militaristic fashion replied "Yes, sir!"
And so his life took on a even more rigorous schedule than before. Sleep became of the greatest unimportance while his eyes constantly burned from being forced to focus on anything between pages of cramped words to the tedious chore of braiding rope
No one. Not even Stepstone himself, realized the devastating toll that his extreme dedication took on his health. Not until he took a week of leave from everything to attend a Scholar's convention on Storm Coast Island.
He locked himself into his room on the ferry, with a stack of books he fully intended on memorizing before the two day trip was over.
He had to.
He blamed the headaches that split through his head like a tree on fire and the spasms of inexplicable pain that raced through his abdomen on seasickness. The inability to support himself standing was simply because he was unaccustomed to the rocking of a keel on the water.
But the captain of the little ship would have none of it.
Knuckles rapped against the locked door, sending a sharp wooden sound echoing dully in the small cabin. The tall black cat stepped back, awaiting an answer, but none came.
She repeated the knock, receiving the same silence again.
"Now you listen here, mate!" She called leaning close to the door frame "Seasick and busy you may be, but neither me nor my crew has any time for playing doctor and room service. So you get your wobbly little tail down to the galley and feed your own shore loving face."
She paused, frowning down at the doorknob waiting for any sort of answer.
"Alright, you sorry excuse for cat-kind, I'm coming in there!" Producing a long handled key from the depths of her skirt, she inserted it into the locked and with a click, shoved the door inwards.
Feverish eyes glanced up from the pages, lights like pained coals filling them. Confused Coe staggered to his paws, clutching at the wall to keep himself steady.
"Captain, is something... something wrong?"
She stared at him, shocked by the disheveled appearance that the high-collared student had descended into.
"You're ill, boy."
"It's.... It's just the sea sickness..."
She stepped into the room, ignoring the papers she crushed beneath her boots "Sea sick my tail, you've got a fever- and a raging one at that."
"I've.... it's just a headache," he staggered back as she came to stand over him "Don't.... don't bother yourself, ma'am."
"Now you listen here, boy," she snapped, her paw reaching out and gripping his shoulder, both to hold his attention and to prevent him from tumbling over backwards "You're going to march your pretty little tail down to sickbay and you're going to stay there until we get to Storm Coast."
"But I have work to...I can't be sick."
"You are sick and that's a fact," using his shoulder as leverage she pulled him out the door "And you're going to sickbay."
Half an hour later saw the ailing cat fairly immobilized in a wrap of sheets, only his head visible laid against a worn white pillow.
The captain stood over him, shaking her head "You're in it a bad way, Stepstone."
He tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but was unable to support his weight "I..."
"How'd you even let yourself get like this, huh? When was the last time you ran a comb through your fur? You're a mess, plain and simple."
Coe winced at her criticism "I need to... keep on top of my studies."
"You keep on top of your studies you could end up underground. Don't you have friends or family who look after you?"
Coe closed his eyes. Friends had become as unimportant as sleep in the past few years and his state of total self abandonment had been heartily encouraged by his family as long as he could make himself presentable in public.
But this stranger didn't need to know that. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't her concern, but the words got confused in his throat and his tongue was too heavy to lift.
"I checked over some of the books you were slaving over. Why does a scholar need to memorize the routes of the Border Scouts?"
Why did she need to know? If he told her, would she leave?
"I'm in Border Scouts."
She whistled between her teeth "Border scouts and a scholar? No wonder you've run yourself down. You're not doing anything else, are you?"
Why wouldn't she just be quiet? His head was hurting more and his throat began to itch, like someone had dumped sawdust down it.
He began to list off every apprenticeship he could remember being involved in, in some way or another, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her. Somewhere in the middle the itchiness turned violent, forcing to cough against the dryness in his chest.
"Woodchips, Coe, you're going to kill yourself," the captain muttered after passing him a cup of water "How long have you been trying to do all this?"
Still with the questions. He had teachers who required less of him. But he answered anyways. Maybe it was a reflex now, to not be allowed to hide anything private, anything personal.
Somewhere he registered her wide eyes staring down at him "That long? Why? Why would you do that to yourself? Just pick one and-"
"I don't know... Don't know which one I want."
"So you do all of them? Seriously, just...." she paused, her shoulders locked up in a frustrated shrug "Go into the Navy. That's what most uncertain young creatures do."
Memory stabbed at him. He'd suggested that, only a few months ago. It was an opportunity. Opportunities were meant to be taken, his parents told him. But even just the mention was enough to bring his father to a shouting voice and his mother to tears. How foolish he'd been to suggest he leave every other accomplishment, every other opportunity his parents had provided, to throw away his life aboard a ship.
"Far be it from me to say how to live your life, Stepstone," the captain of the little ship drug a chair to his bedside and sat down "But with a little friendly advice, pick one you like a little better than the others and don't kill yourself pursuing it."
"I... don't know which one..."
"Then the Navy," there was something reassuring about her perfect certainty. It was something he lacked. "A year shipside would be good for you. Loosen up those stiff whiskers of yours."
"My parents... wouldn't like it."
"So? Are you living their life or yours?"
"But..." He closed his eyes, trying to form the words, make her understand "I can't, they done so much-"
"Except teach you how to make your own choices it seems," she picked up the cup, twirling it between her paws and watch the water swirl in untraceable ripples "Try the Navy, boy. It just might make you into something you can be proud of."
Coe had no intention of following her advice, but as his health declined further into treacherously deep trenches of sickness and he was forced to give up class after class to take the time to recover, the simple rigors of the sea became beckoning. Following straightforward orders on a schedule that demanded much less than his parents sounded like a siren's song.
Frightening though the storms were, they paled in comparison to the tempest his life had become, a tossing of steep valleys of delirious, dangerous ills and impermanent highs were empty praise was the only thing to cling to.
So, he picked up a pen and scrawled his name onto a document, promising a year of his life into dedicated service on the waters.
And didn't tell his parents until afterwards.