The tunnels had always provided a safe haven for Rattleheart, whenever he needed a break from the stresses of the Windclan life that lingered above. He would always be grateful for the clan that had taken he and his siblings in, but he couldn't deny that recent events had been driving him down into the tunnels more often than not. Rising tensions with not only Shadowclan but Riverclan as well were leaving him constantly on edge, a feeling he felt he could rarely discuss with others. Certainly not Scorchstreak, whose faith in Sootstar seemed unshakable no matter what she did. He'd thought once or twice about truly speaking to her candidly, but the thought of losing his sister over something like that weighed heavily enough on his mind that he just kept his muzzle shut.
Instead he let the dark silence of the tunnels absorb his thoughts, his lithe figure traveling through cramped dirt corridors like he was walking shoulder to shoulder with old friends. It was only when the scent of a rabbit reached him that he finally tensed, crouched low and focused with his maw slightly parted. There's a rush of adrenaline as he drives the scampering prey out of the tunnels and out onto the moors, just a few steps behind before he's able to throw himself forward. Relief floods through him as soon as his teeth sink into vulnerable flesh, the taste of rabbit enough to make his mouth water even when he doesn't intend on eating it.
Unfortunately, his satisfaction is short-lived.
He's used to the winds of the moors being strong, but this is something new. The gust that collides with him is enough to leave him lurching forward, shoulder colliding with the ground and jaws parting to let out a grunt of pain. It was lucky he'd already killed the rabbit, or the sheer force of the wind would've allowed it to dash away easily. There's no steadiness to his paws when he gets back up again, grabbing the rabbit once more and practically flinging himself back down into the tunnels. By the time he gets back to camp his fur is sticking up in unruly spikes, shoulder aching and his face set in an expression of annoyance rather than his usual anxiety.
His catch is deposited into the prey pile before he sits, trying and failing to tend to his wind-mussed fur before he finally spits. "I thought the wind was going to carry me all the way over to the fish-brains... where did this even come from?"
[ PENNED BY EO ]