private last pick for dodgeball // hawkspine

[spicepurr]

The bird she catches is easy. Her claws expertly hold to the branch she prowls along, measures away from the feathered beast, and before it takes off she launches. Into her maw is its throat, and with a soft crack, it is gone. A better display than she's had before, that's for certain. (That patrol was... a mess in itself, she thinks.) She looks over her cinnamon shoulder towards Hawkspine, and immediately wonders if her uptick in skill is because he's watching. By some star-given delight, is she only allowed to do well if she's aiming to impress someone else?

What does it matter?

She moves to the thicker end of the branch, seating herself whilst she waits for the tom to end his hunt. The freeze has been making it harder as of late, she notes; but surely if she's having better luck, then maybe he will, too.

[ @HAWKSPINE
rolled 18 (no encounter) 17 (found prey) and 14 (prey size) ; 2 pts ]​

 

[HAWKSPINE]

Is it better to find nothing at all, or to find something and have it vanish? Again and again, Hawkspine's hunting skills come up short. Today is no exception, half-followed scent trails leading to empty paws and a growling stomach. His tail whisks, ears pinning briefly as he makes eye contact with Spicepurr - jealousy pangs in his stomach at the sight of a bird clutched gingerly between her jaws - and his head dips to lick at his chest fur with some embarrassment.

"Glad you caught something at least." He huffs, but despite the annoyance pinching scarred features there isn't true anger in his tone. Leave it to me to lose out on prey to a cat who'd failed her first assessment. The thought, traitorously acidic, stings his mind and he winces at the implication. Tense, he tries again for positivity: "You're getting better catching birds."

// rolled a 10 (no catch</3)

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[spicepurr]

He pops up from the dying foliage with nothing to claim for himself, bitterness lighting his odd colored gaze for a moment. Spicepurr cannot discern the emotion from the rest of his visage - embarrassment and pride dilute it enough from her perspective - and she leans the feathered meal against the branch, holding it steady with a paw.

"I suppose I am," they share similar thoughts. She failed her first assessment, after all; while not difficult, she should not match and beat a tom more skilled than she. And yet, here they are. "The cold makes it harder still," she tries shortly after, trying to relieve his shoulders of anything they hold. Guilt, frustration... Hunger? Her chest tightens.

"If it helps," she tries to be nonchalant about it, tries to hide the slight hammer in her chest, "My twoleg leaves food in the garden for Edie - Edenberry and myself. It doesn't taste as good, but it'll fill your belly...?" Not blasphemy, not yet. She doesn't think the mottled warrior has acid on his tongue for daylighters anyways; he willingly hangs out with her after all. "We can try hunting again after. I... don't mind waiting," and wait she does for his reply.
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