DONT EVER WANT TO SEE THINGS CHANGE
periwinklepaw | 06 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically easy (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff
periwinklepaw | 06 months | demi-boy | he/they | physically easy (pacifist) | mentally easy | attack in bold #ccccff
Periwinklepaw had thought there could be nothing worse than the bitter cold of the snow that had piled into their camp, chilling every bone of his body. He had been wrong.
Looking downright miserable, Peri quiet literally slips forwards, feet sliding on the slick mud underpaw. Hunting in this seems impossible - all he can smell is damp and earth and... nothing. The only thing he has to rely on is the path of pawprints that he's still not certain are fresh, but he's tired and hungry and desperate to keep his mind off of everything. His recent mentor change weight heavily on his mind, and though he's glad its snowshadow he's still not as close to the tom as one might think for them being siblings - there is so much he worries to say, to do.
Wincing as his paw sinks into a particularly deep patch of mud, nose twitches as he finally catches the scent of something appetizing. Rabbit! Sinking down into a crouch - ignoring the icky feeling of mud clinging to his soft underbelly, pawsteps go silent to the best of the boys ability as he tries to catch sight of his prey. Finally, he spots it - thick brown fur nearly as cacked in mud as his own. He's never put much thought into stealth - windclan is a clan of runners, of speed and stamina. And he's not much different - his long limbs have always helped him chase down the prey, though he's yet to be successful in anything but chasing it into another hunters path. But today, he tries somethin new. It cannot do any harm to try - he's already brown with mud, scent smothered, and his prey is nibbling away on fresh growth seemingly unawares.
He creeps forwards, slowly, carefully, paying more attention to the ground this time, and then when he feels he's finally close enough, he pounces. The creature flees but even the boy can tell he's already won. With only a few paces of distance between them, he pushes forwards, body flattening to gain speed, and as paws leave the ground once more he feels and tastes success as teeth and claws dig into his catch. Everything tastes of mud as he snaps its neck, sending them both tumbling head over paws, but the deed is done and he's trebling with pride.
It takes longer than he expected to drag his prey back to camp, and by the time he does he looks a sight - soft black and white pelt now a drab brown, flakes of dried mud already flaking off his pelt. Even that doesn't diminish the look of excitement in pale gaze, as he sets his significantly less mud-soaked catch down upon the small pile they've collected.
Looking downright miserable, Peri quiet literally slips forwards, feet sliding on the slick mud underpaw. Hunting in this seems impossible - all he can smell is damp and earth and... nothing. The only thing he has to rely on is the path of pawprints that he's still not certain are fresh, but he's tired and hungry and desperate to keep his mind off of everything. His recent mentor change weight heavily on his mind, and though he's glad its snowshadow he's still not as close to the tom as one might think for them being siblings - there is so much he worries to say, to do.
Wincing as his paw sinks into a particularly deep patch of mud, nose twitches as he finally catches the scent of something appetizing. Rabbit! Sinking down into a crouch - ignoring the icky feeling of mud clinging to his soft underbelly, pawsteps go silent to the best of the boys ability as he tries to catch sight of his prey. Finally, he spots it - thick brown fur nearly as cacked in mud as his own. He's never put much thought into stealth - windclan is a clan of runners, of speed and stamina. And he's not much different - his long limbs have always helped him chase down the prey, though he's yet to be successful in anything but chasing it into another hunters path. But today, he tries somethin new. It cannot do any harm to try - he's already brown with mud, scent smothered, and his prey is nibbling away on fresh growth seemingly unawares.
He creeps forwards, slowly, carefully, paying more attention to the ground this time, and then when he feels he's finally close enough, he pounces. The creature flees but even the boy can tell he's already won. With only a few paces of distance between them, he pushes forwards, body flattening to gain speed, and as paws leave the ground once more he feels and tastes success as teeth and claws dig into his catch. Everything tastes of mud as he snaps its neck, sending them both tumbling head over paws, but the deed is done and he's trebling with pride.
It takes longer than he expected to drag his prey back to camp, and by the time he does he looks a sight - soft black and white pelt now a drab brown, flakes of dried mud already flaking off his pelt. Even that doesn't diminish the look of excitement in pale gaze, as he sets his significantly less mud-soaked catch down upon the small pile they've collected.
