FEELING SO LOST AT SEA -- phase II hunting

[DAFFODILPAW]

The temperature in the air only continues to drop as days go on, and though the frost nips at his paws, it's not enough to stop him from his duties, sluggish as he may feel. Of his weak points, hunting is perhaps the greatest, but it's certainly not something he can neglect - not with the bodies inhabiting the nursery, the new kits and kits still to come. Sooner or later, he'll have to catch something, Fawnwhisker keeps assuring him, no more concerned the longer he goes with no prizes to his name, but her nonchalant demeanor does nothing to settle the tight feeling in his chest at the thought. Better to get out there and practice before it gets even colder, he figures, though his usual cheer is somewhat dampened as the hunting patrol sets out.

The first hurdle is tracking down anything to begin with, which - well, historically, that's always been the part he's best at. Finding scents had come easy enough, following them less so, but Daffodilpaw can at least say he's done that more effectively than actually stalking his quarry. Today, though, it seems even that is a struggle; no matter how he skulks and stalks, padding through underbrush and circling trees, everything he does seems futile. The early morning frost (quickly turning to mid-morning and even early afternoon frost) seems to dampen his senses as surely as it leaves his paws stinging, though he's not yet ready to give up empty-pawed - he can't, not when so many others are depending on him to bring something back.

Dead-set though he is, determination is no replacement for progress, and sooner than later Daffodilpaw's failure to so much as scent anything begins to catch up with him. He's tried everything - climbing higher to gain some sort of advantage, tuning out everything around him, focusing on everything around him, and still, nothing, besides a few empty leads. Old scents, the lot of them; far too old to have come from anything worth the effort of tracking.

It's not quite time for the patrol to return, Daffodilpaw knows, though he's doubtful of finding anything else before they do turn tail and head home. He senses one of his regrouping patrolmates nearby, and half turns to greet them, feeling deflated. "I can't scent anything past all this frost..." Perhaps there's still time for a stroke of luck, some inspiration to hit him, though with the way the cold thrums through his paws Daffodilpaw fears it would take nothing short of a miracle for it to happen on this patrol.​

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ BUT GOD I'M STILL CIRCLING THROUGH ❀ THE DIALOGUES I COULD'VE HAD WITH YOU ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎

• OOC: Rolled a 15 to avoid an encounter & a 9 to catch nothing at all </3
  ​
• REF PENDING, TEEHEE <3
  
• DAFFODILKIT / DAFFODILPAW —. He/him, apprentice of SkyClan
  — .Chyrsaliswing x Honeysplash, littermate to Weaselpaw & Adderpaw
  — . 8 moons old, ages on the 6th
  — .An average, well-muscled orange-and-white dipped cream tom with mismatched eyes.
  — .People-pleaser with a desire to do good - dedicated, but still fun-loving
  — .Peaceful & healing powerplay permitted - brushing up against him, shoulder bumps, etc.
  — .Penned by Hijinks - feel free to DM me on Discord to plot! ^^
  ​

 

[DUSKPOOL]

the dog that weeps after it kills is no better than the dog that doesn't. my guilt will not purify me.​

The old tom had half a mind to thank the stars for lettin’ him have a decent day of manageable pain that didn’t make him want to topple over and pull his damn bones apart in frustration. Duskpool kept close to the back of the huntin’ patrol as they set off on cold paws, mangled ear swivelin’ in muted annoyance, castin’ a deadpan molten copper across the frost-covered lands. He swallowed the bubbling dread that coated his stomach lining to focus on findin’ somethin’ viable in this blasted weather.

He glanced at Foxglovepaw padding alongside him, muzzle wrinkling absently, lost in thought. He really ought to pull the tom aside and talk, but for now, Duskpool continued ahead, frost-covered whiskers quivering.

A faint scent of a mouse brushed against the roof of his mouth, mangled ear swiveling in its direction. He cast Foxglovepaw an idle glance, rumbling a quiet, “Follow me”. His large body slipped through the undergrowth and away from the huntin’ patrol, keepin’ an eye on the cinnamon tom.

He crept along the scent trail, muscles coiling beneath scarred flesh, molten copper narrowing, catchin’ sight of a feeble mouse scurrying along the frost-bitten ground when he lunched forward, killin’ it with a swift bite to its throat.

Duskpool returned to his apprentice’s side, droppin’ the mouse between massive paws. “Tell me this, kiddo—” He began with a slow rumble, “Do ya smell anythin’ out here beside the frost?” He knew the apprentice could hunt, but it ain’t nothing to get cocky about when the frost was gettin’ bitter and colder as the days passed.​

my bones are smoldering ✦ and my knuckles are bloody

• ooc —— @Foxglovepaw.
  
  rolled 20 + 7
  
• 
  release me from my promise to you. don't make me do this anymore. don't make me go on without you
  
  — unknown
• duskpool he/him
  ♡ a massive scarred obsidian-smoked ghost makeral tabby maine coon / norwegian forest mix w/ molten copper eyes and low-white
  ♡ warrior of skyclan
  ♡ sixty moons; ages on the 1st of every month
  ♡ speech thought attack
  ♡ peaceful + healing powerplay permitted
  
  
  penned by blueblossomtea​

​