private BLOODY SURPRISE LIKE CHERRY PIE — rabbit hunting

[SOOTCHASER]

the first prey ceremony—sootchaser remembers his own, though moons passing have left it blurred. his first taste of rabbit, the sweetness of blood and the earthy flavor of its flesh upon his tongue, had been an important moment in his childhood. it marked his ascension from a suckling newborn to a young tom ready to blossom into one of windclan's finest warriors; now, his little half-siblings have entered that same stage, and sootstar has entrusted him and windstrider to catch the future moor-runners' first rabbit. a high honor that he promises himself that he would not fail. even though the moorland prince has... mixed feelings towards the newest additions to his family—they steal his mother's precious time and attention from him like leeches, competitors for sootstar's respect, but they are hers and that inspires some sort of frustrating loyalty from him—he would not let his mother down. sootchaser would give everything he has to see the kindling of pride in emerald eyes.

with windstrider at his side, sootchaser departs from the camp. the dawn sky bleeds pink behind him, painting the moors in its soft glow. he doesn't have time to stop and appreciate the beauty of it, the importance of his task drawing him onward with an invisible string, but he glances around him nonetheless. "our moors are beautiful, aren't they?" sootchaser murmurs to windstrider, keeping his voice low to avoid it carrying far; he wouldn't want to startle the prey they seek. how lucky they are to call these moors home. the filth who turn their backs on it never deserved to know its blessings in the first place.

the tantalizing scent of rabbit touches sootchaser's tongue, and the touch of his tail tip to windstrider's flank is fleeting but hopefully prominent enough to garner their full attention. "smell that?" he smiles at them, fanged like a viper. "rabbit. in that direction, it seems." a jerk of his muzzle is thrown to where the rabbit scent grows stronger, giddy with the need to give chase.

@WINDSTRIDER ​

 

[WINDSTRIDER]

Nodding silently, they gazed at the dawn sky, paralleled by frozen green. The first prey ceremony was of utmost importance. Windstrider could recall how fleeting the moment had been as a kit, how it was as simple as a transition from milk to meat. In reality, it was a sample of what warriorhood would allow them to obtain. They longed for the exact details, to relive the first taste of rabbit, all for them and Sootchaser to have. But now they were on the flip side, a provider, that first promise of the moors bent into application. Jaw parting on its hinges, Windstrider drank in the scent of rabbit.

A wicked grin appeared on the hunter's face, mirroring their brother's. "It smells like a fine catch," they whispered. "Perhaps the best catch of the season."

What would be better for their young siblings? It was safe to say Sootstar's older children shared these motley feelings with eachother. Jealousy, at their mother's attentions being rationed towards the kits, and pride at being the ones to deal the killing blow of their first taste of blood. Equal and overwhelming, Windstrider was compelled to do something rash. Their paw fidgeted, longing to connect with Sootchaser's ankle, make him stumble so their siblings would have to settle for the stringy meat of a less robust scent. At the same time, they were longing to provide more than just a simple rabbit. Starclan, they'd have the entire population of the moor burrows in a pile if it meant making this a good memory for their siblings.

They lowered, hovering slightly above a regular hunter's crouch, forcing their tail to still low to the ground. Now was not the time to think about pushing farther, when they hadn't even seen the first rabbit yet. Looking to Sootchaser, the smoke cat began to inch towards the scent, anticipating the sight of a short tail just at the other end of the hill. Eyes fluttering shut, they sent a quick prayer to the stars, heart beginning to pick up a desperate beat.

"Showtime."​

 

[SOOTCHASER]

"perhaps." sootchaser echoes, a quiet rumble in his chest. perhaps the best catch of the turning seasons, all for the rats. but the rats share his blood, so they must deserve the best, right? he tells himself this, yet the niggling envy does not wane. it's made its nest in his churning stomach. if it wasn't for his longing for his mother's approval, he might've unknowingly agreed with windstrider. let the rats settle for something lesser, allow their ceremony to dull in comparison to the duo's own.

but he thinks of his mother's critical eyes, and he squishes that thought under his heel like an unfortunate insect.

sootchaser mirrors his sibling, hunkering low to the earth. he moves through the tall grass like a snake, steps as silent as the night as he weaves closer to that tantalizing scent. anticipation pools in his gut, that itch in his paws mounting. but he knows better than to begin the chase prematurely; the only thing more shameful than returning with unsatisfactory prey is returning with nothing at all because of carelessness. so he forces himself to wait, chewing on his lip to curb his impatience, until there is a flash of a cotton tail in the heather.

a contrast to his sibling, whose eyes flutter shut in silent prayer, sootchaser's own widens with his grin. this is it, the ashen prince thinks, the fur along his spine rising with excitement. the moment that his sibling utters a word, showtime, sootchaser springs into action. unsheathed claws tear at the dry earth as the moor runner pushes himself into a sprint, gaze zoning in on the retreating haunches of the hare. all that he feels, at that moment, is the wind whipping his face. everything else melts away; the jealousy, the bitterness, the fear that he will lose his mother to her new spawn. there is just the thrill of the chase pounding in his flattened ears.

for a fleeting moment, he is free.​

 

[WINDSTRIDER]

They'll never get bored of this rhythm. Where their identity dips from moorland royal to fervent hunter, how amazing they felt when they could be both. Sometimes Windstrider fretted over their inadequacy, jealous eyes cast upon the tunnelers, resenting their taller form. For how holy was it to build in the world, to enter the darkness, cousin of the stars? But this was their work, their own place within the clan, and when they forgot that, this brought it back. The chase was a precious art, one they'd like to be perfect at.

They pushed their body further, legs stretching out, the breeze whipping in their ears. In the moment they passed up Sootchaser, they laughed, a vicious, unmaintained thing. Hoping to meet the rabbit at its side, they were a blur of smoke and snow. But the prey was no fool; and it was built for this kind of speed.

Gritting their teeth, Windstrider kept a vague awareness of their brother, keeping their position to where it'd benefit them both. They had no qualms with the idea of snatching away the hunt, of coming to camp and claiming they both took it down while Sootchaser's jealousy ate him up inside, but they did take issue with the guilt that snagged onto their heart. Plus, any distraction of focus in pursuit of such infinitesimal joy could lead to their collective failure.

They fell behind the rabbit slightly, and saw a gateway. Whilst still speeding, their jaw clapped violently at the rabbit's hind leg, teeth making an audible click! with the intensity. Their whiskers could feel the run of the catch, the heat it emitted. If they could listen, just ever so closely, they could hear its heart feebly beating in its chest.

The plan was to draw the hare nearer to Sootchaser, where hopefully they could both pounce. As quickly as they'd lagged to snap, they quickened again, their muscles beginning to pulse in protest.​