This is a tryout for Katkin #20. There will be 3 total stories.
Becoming a Hero...
The morning light peeked through the curtains and warmed the house. It was mostly quiet. There was a fire crackling in a kiln and birds bickering outside. Snuggled tightly under the sheets, a young katkin lay with his ears twitching to the annoying twittering. Deus's eyes slowly cracked open and he awoke groggily, unaware of his surrounding for a split second. He sat up and looked around his room.
Deus's bedroom was rather well furnished. Pale tan walls and wooden floors cluttered with various knick-knacks gave it a cozy feeling. His most prized possession was mounted above the mantle, an ivory shamshir with an engraved hilt. At first glance, the sword appeared decorative. However on close inspection, the dulled blade was once the work of a master. Deus had received it as a gift from his mother. He had begged her for weeks on end for a practice weapon so he could one day join the corps. When he first got the sword, he was quite disappointed. He couldn't use it as an actual weapon. Over time, Deus seemed to appreciate it's aesthetic at the very least.
The striped katkin finally got out of his bed after spacing out for quite a while. Something smelled absolutely lovely and whatever it was, it was making him salivate. Deus walked down a short flight of stairs and into the kitchen. His mother was manning the kiln, keeping a close eye on something inside of it. Her ears twitched at the soft sound of paws hitting the ceramic kitchen floor. She turned and her lips curled into a cheerful smile, "Good morning, sleepy head." She teased.
"What're you cooking mama?" Deus asked, his head cocking to the side curiously.
"Just some of your favorite is all, my sweet." She purred, obviously in a good mood.
Deus looked over and into the oven. He could see an enormous loaf of bread crusted with brown caramelized sugar on top. He licked his lips in excitement.
Deus adored his mother beyond words. She was beautiful, sweet, and extremely kind. He had never met his father and his mother rarely ever talked about him. When she did, she regaled Deus of tales about the heroic man his father was. How he protected everyone from the dangerous beast creatures that roamed the lands. Deus didn't quite believe them. He was pretty sure she exaggerated.
Despite this, the stories instilled him with a sense of wonder. He aspired to just like his father. Saving the innocent and protecting everyone from harm. He practiced every day, albeit it was with a stick against a tree, the deadliest of opponents.
After devouring the delicious breakfast his mother had prepared, Deus ran outside to practice his fighting skills. He had to keep up his regime everyday if he stood a chance of entering the corps. He went to his secret hideout, a tree off the beaten path. His picked up a stick that was poorly sharpened and started his routine. He would do it. He'd become the hero of the corps.
