Folded ears twitched as words fell from Silversmoke’s maw - some good, some bad. Naturally, Eggshell focused on the latter. The skittish Scottish Fold stiffened as the other admonished him, and an anxious mind was quick to join in. Just as the momentum he’d tried to maintain was screeching to a halt, Silversmoke picked up the slack and kept things moving at a brisk pace, not drawing too much attention to the boy’s failure.
Instead, it seemed his strategy was to distract Eggshell with more stress.
The flighty feline felt his mouth go dry. “Su-Sur-“ He couldn’t even get the word out, eventually just mouthing what Silversmoke had said with a horrified expression on his face. Survive? Was that a joke? Amber eyes looked to Silversmoke for confirmation, hoping for a laugh, chuckle, or at least a smirk. Unfortunately, the stern warrior didn’t seem to be in a joking mood.
With a gulp, Eggshell tried to focus on the instructions for his next assignment, but found a nervous gaze wandering towards Silversmoke’s paws, looking for the flash of unsheathed claws. The coward became so engrossed, in fact, that he hadn’t realized the warrior had finished until he roused the boy with an “Off you go.”
“B-Bird. Sundown. Got - er - I got it.”
Butter-soaked paws felt slippery as Eggshell trotted, then sprinted, into the forest, occasionally looking back to see if Silversmoke was hunting him instead. After being somewhat convinced that he wasn’t about to be killed, Eggshell began. A nervous nose sniffed the air, trying to plan. He’d only caught his first prey a few days ago, after all. More had come into his grip since, and it was certainly getting easier, but the boy hadn’t caught a bird yet.
The time limit was what bothered him most. Eggshell was on the clock now, he didn’t have time to waste. Whatever mistakes he’d made during his many failed attempts at hunting birds, they’d have to be corrected fast. In fact, speed seemed to consume the coward as he hastily sniffed the air, padding to and fro before anxious amber eyes locked on to the direction he needed to go.
He was moving quicker than usual, and not in a good way. Every few minutes of stalking through the underbrush, there was a mistake. A misplaced paw, a non-optimal path taken, a blinding cobweb. Small things, little things, but they added up. It came to a head when Eggshell reached his target, a bird resting on a high branch. Amber eyes didn’t even focus on the prey at first, instead looking to the sun to see how much time was left. Plenty, but he was still nervous. With gritted teeth, the boy began to climb, but he was too hasty. Claws ripped out some loose bark, and the boy slid down the few tail-lengths he’d ascended as he watched his prize flutter away.
It took a lot of effort not to cry right there. After a few minutes on the ground, trying to collect himself, Eggshell stood. Perpetually terrified yet incredibly tenacious, a strange combination of traits indeed.
A large part of Eggshell was telling him to move even faster to make up for all the time he’d just lost, but the boy tried not to listen. Cowardly claws flexed in and out of the earth, and the kittypet took a deep breath. Closed eyes came after, followed by a slowing heart. It was hard, but he’d calmed down just a bit.
Eggshell took it slower after that, sniffing out another target with the sun still reasonably high in the sky. He stalked through the foliage that littered the forest floor, pace perhaps a bit too languid for his peers, but it was what Eggshell was comfortable with. It was satisfying in a strange way, slowly assessing everything around and trying to make the best decision possible. It felt better than trying to rely on instinct, anyway.
And that was how he proceeded. Cautiously checking the wind, working out where the closest cover was, and gradually honing in on his prey, all while forcing amber eyes away from the ticking clock in the sky. He remembered Silversmoke’s lesson on strategy to heart, but had clearly developed a preference for sneaking instead of chasing.
Once patient paws had reached their target, it was practically over. Another bird, a bit bigger than the one he’d failed catching at first, idly pecking the ground for its own meal. Muscles tensed, and claws unsheathed. Eggshell still didn’t like the ending, the burst of unpredictable movement and energy that came at the end of every stalking session, but he’d certainly grown better at it.
A few moments later Eggshell was sitting against the trunk of a large tree, dead bird at his paws and sun still a decent ways off from the horizon. The kittypet idly thought about how he would’ve saved even more time if he’d simply taken it slow from the start, at least until Silversmoke padded forwards. “So, did I - did I survive?” The coward’s nervous stutter was present as always, but there was an undeniable hint of pride in his voice at his catch.
