lightning in my veins . fishing

[SWAMPHOWL]

With the water no longer the freezing temperature it had been not so long ago, it's not such a chore for Swamphowl to find himself at the water's edge, staring down in the shallow edge of the river, expression focused, ears pricked forward as his paw hovers. He'd been here for quite a bit already; it seemed to him that the fish simply did not want to come out today. He'd seen very few, and those that he'd spotted were far enough away that they'd hide by the time he could reach them. The few near him were mostly small, itty-bitty things that would provide no nourishment to anyone. He would be surprised if there was any meat on them at all. Regardless, he's a patient individual; he'll sit here as long as it takes to get a few pieces of prey to bring back to camp.

It's quite a while before he sees a faint shadow moving through the water, one visibly larger than the tiny minnows that have been swimming around near him as of yet. His eyes lock onto the shadow, waiting patiently as it moves closer, and closer, until finally his paw darts out to slap the fish out of the water. His head immediately drops down to place a bite behind its head, finishing it off quickly before it can start flopping around in an attempt to get back into the water. He lets go of it, dropping it to the ground beside him on a patch of moss. He wants to catch at least one more decently sized fish before he takes his catch back to camp.​

 

[Sablemist]

By the time Sablemist's head rose from her own peering Swamphowl managed to snag himself a fine specimen. "That was a wonderful catch Swamphowl!" She called from a few fox lengths away. Not so loud as to spook what large fish may remain, but still amplified enough to hear. His success spurred her on, giving her the faith needed to keep waiting for something to eventually come along. And come it did as a lazy shadow ebbed and flowed out of sight not too far from her grasp. Slow, precise movements edged her ever closer toward her target, hardly troubling the waters as she waded slightly deeper. With knitted brows she waited, ebony paws halting once they came in contact with murky silt. The last thing she wanted was to alert her potential prey.

Lithe musculature bunched beneath her pelt before exploding forth. Ivory talons sweep at their target, seeking purchase and eventually finding it. Her spirit soars upon dragging it to shore, wrestling with it to some degree before placing a well timed bite behind its gills. A puff of pride flares from her nostrils before grasping it by the tail and hoisting it further up the pebbled bank.

✿ ≖≖ riverclan warrior / seventeen moons old / she/her ≖≖ ✿​

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[FERNGILL]

His hunting was fine, nowadays. Thankfully. In the early moons of Ferngill's apprenticeship he'd worried if he would ever catch a single scrap- now, he'd lost count. He wasn't successful every time, but it was often enough that he no longer felt shame on his hunting patrols, and no longer felt the keen sting of envy whenever he watched a Clanmate snag something good.

Earnest admiration glittered in his eye as he looked to Swamphowl, who hauled from the depths a considerable catch. A grin lit up Ferngill's scarred features, his smile growing even wider when he caught sight of Sablemist. "Well done," he echoed, attention soon shifting.

Before long, Ferngill scooped to shore his own prey- nothing ridiculously impressive, simply a silver-scaled fish, dwarfed by the other two. Placing his average catch on the shore, pelt glittering from the water's gloss, he shot Sablemist a sunshine smile. "Look at you guys showing me up," Ferngill joked. "Makes you realise leafbare's really over, now..." The river kept them healthily fed all year, but luck always seemed better in the warmer months.​

✦ penned by pin ✦​

 

[robinheart]

Fishing had never been Robinheart’s specialty - she (pardon the pun) floundered when it came to scooping fish from the river. However the tortoiseshell had been trying to practice more and more as of late. Luck was on her side once, when twilight had yielded her a catch with only Brookstorm to witness her success. That being said, she should be a well rounded warrior, one adequate at land hunting and fishing, not just lucky every once and awhile. Smokestar may entrust her with an apprentice one day and she wants to be ready and prepared to teach them with as much encouragement and patience as Willowroot had given her.

She doesn’t approach the waters quite yet, instead sitting on the shore to silently watch her fellow clan mates skillfully snatch silvery prey from the water and deliver killing bites before the fish can flop about among the pebbles and sand. Robinheart takes mental notes at their form and technique so she could put them into practice. “Great catches, everyone!” Her voice isn’t too loud as to not scare prey or friends alike, just loud enough to show her admiration of their skills.