- Dec 27, 2022
- 123
- 39
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.°❁ YOU TOLD ME 'BOUT NOWHERE
Lichenpaw hasn't been catching much prey lately. He's been distracted, from the battle at Sunningrocks and his own argument with his mentor. Unable to focus. His tail droops as he wanders the forest, eyes flitting around for any sign of prey even if he knows he wont' react fast enough to catch it. It's not a sight, but a sound that catches his ears, however. A frenzied chirping, the distressed warbling of a songbird cutting through the quiet forest. He first wants to run, but he catches himself. Stealthy, that's how he's supposed to do it.
Lichenpaw creeps through the underbrush until he finds the source of the sound: a robin, broken-winged and struggling to fly despite it, thrashing on the forest floor. He can't quite tell what's happened to it; there's no blood, a clean break. Lichenpaw finds himself drawing closer if only to observe. It won't live long, like this, a bird unable to fly. And it's cries will certainly draw predators, himself only the first. Still though, he finds himself a bit fascinated. It doesn't quiet itself when it sees him, merely cries more frantically, as though wishing to make itself known, make itself seem louder in the final moments before it's death. And it will certainly die, now. Does it know?
He doesn't give himself time to wonder, moving in fast with a strike to its throat.
It quiets then, and Lichenpaw picks it up. He puts the question out of mind. It's probably better off this way, he thinks, a swift death from a more honorable sort rather than any further mangling. Perhaps he should appreciate this encounter -- it's not often his prey waits for him -- but the whole thing leaves a strange taste in his mouth, beyond the robin-blood that now seeps into it. Food is food though, and he could certainly use an easy catch right now. He makes his way back towards the patrol, not wanting to linger lest some other predator comes prowling.
Lichenpaw creeps through the underbrush until he finds the source of the sound: a robin, broken-winged and struggling to fly despite it, thrashing on the forest floor. He can't quite tell what's happened to it; there's no blood, a clean break. Lichenpaw finds himself drawing closer if only to observe. It won't live long, like this, a bird unable to fly. And it's cries will certainly draw predators, himself only the first. Still though, he finds himself a bit fascinated. It doesn't quiet itself when it sees him, merely cries more frantically, as though wishing to make itself known, make itself seem louder in the final moments before it's death. And it will certainly die, now. Does it know?
He doesn't give himself time to wonder, moving in fast with a strike to its throat.
It quiets then, and Lichenpaw picks it up. He puts the question out of mind. It's probably better off this way, he thinks, a swift death from a more honorable sort rather than any further mangling. Perhaps he should appreciate this encounter -- it's not often his prey waits for him -- but the whole thing leaves a strange taste in his mouth, beyond the robin-blood that now seeps into it. Food is food though, and he could certainly use an easy catch right now. He makes his way back towards the patrol, not wanting to linger lest some other predator comes prowling.
WELL IT SOUNDS LIKE SOMEPLACE I'D LIKE TO GO ! .°❁
