- Jul 27, 2022
- 32
- 3
- 8
She has been on his mind since he was welcomed in to the ranks of Riverclan. She has caught his interest, tenfold, the way she moved and stalked with such power. He has decided that he needed to know her, learn about her, be her friend and so he sets out with a determined spark. Otter has never had a friend, never been around other cats- its a new experience and its weird, but… Welcomed.
He has to bring a gift. A gift for her that says “thank you for saving me”, his sincerity in a piece of prey. He has never really hunted for himself before nonetheless other people and the river is terrifying. White front paws are dipped slightly in to the water on the bank and his pace of breathing quickens, his chest tightening before he lets it all go. Slow, Otter, slow. Mismatched eyes trained around the little things darting around his paws, minnows, he believes they are called. They’re tiny, nasty, little creatures but he grimaces for its all he can catch. He has never eaten fish before, minnows and he hopes to whoever is out there that they are good. He dives forth, slipping slightly against the under-bed rocks and snapping his jaws in to the water. He’s reeling back as things swim in his mouth, inwardly gagging and practically barfing the minnows out of his mouth (though all he did was open his mouth and they fell out). That was absolutely disgusting, turning his head to the side and coughing.
Eyes scan the horizon, searching for a familiar pelt. Her fur was spotted so uniquely that he knew it’d be hard to miss. He’d go to her, but shes elusive and he’s not sure where he’d even find her; if he slipped in to the river again, any farther than he had with the minnows, he may not be so lucky to have a savior this time.
His eyes dart around, making sure no other cats were around. "Buck?" he calls out gently, ears perked as he looks around. His catch was pathetic, but perhaps she’d appreciate the sentiment. Maybe. Maybe not. He hopes.
He has to bring a gift. A gift for her that says “thank you for saving me”, his sincerity in a piece of prey. He has never really hunted for himself before nonetheless other people and the river is terrifying. White front paws are dipped slightly in to the water on the bank and his pace of breathing quickens, his chest tightening before he lets it all go. Slow, Otter, slow. Mismatched eyes trained around the little things darting around his paws, minnows, he believes they are called. They’re tiny, nasty, little creatures but he grimaces for its all he can catch. He has never eaten fish before, minnows and he hopes to whoever is out there that they are good. He dives forth, slipping slightly against the under-bed rocks and snapping his jaws in to the water. He’s reeling back as things swim in his mouth, inwardly gagging and practically barfing the minnows out of his mouth (though all he did was open his mouth and they fell out). That was absolutely disgusting, turning his head to the side and coughing.
Eyes scan the horizon, searching for a familiar pelt. Her fur was spotted so uniquely that he knew it’d be hard to miss. He’d go to her, but shes elusive and he’s not sure where he’d even find her; if he slipped in to the river again, any farther than he had with the minnows, he may not be so lucky to have a savior this time.
His eyes dart around, making sure no other cats were around. "Buck?" he calls out gently, ears perked as he looks around. His catch was pathetic, but perhaps she’d appreciate the sentiment. Maybe. Maybe not. He hopes.
"speech"