(=〃ﻌ〃=)ﾉ — It's a comfortably warm day; the sun's rays lulled Mouse to sleep some time ago and she's been dozing near the river, soothed by the sound of rushing water. The kitten is easily lost among the reeds, a heaping pile of poorly-groomed fluff that rises and falls with each breath. The peace only lasts for about an hour at most, however, upon which she rises and stretches, jaws parting to release a big yawn. She glances around, blinking the sleep from her yellow eyes — which are quick to lock on a leaf blowing lazily through the air, pushed by the breeze. The perfect prey. With a lash of her tail she springs up, swinging at it with a forepaw... and swiftly misses. The little tabby whips around as soon as she hits the ground and leaps again, misses again, and then darts off in the direction she lands facing; running is less frustrating, and the wind feels great as it slicks her pelt back. No need to think, just run run run. Mouse bounds this way and that, weaving in and out of any cats who find themselves in her path, kicking up dirt and grass in her wake. She shoots a glance over her shoulder toward someone she's passed — and almost immediately slams into a solid frame, falling onto her rump with a loud "Oof!"
TAGS — Hemlock is not good with kits- they are beings forged from inexperience; they lack understanding of the world around them and, though it isn't their fault, he finds that he rarely has the patience to teach them such things. Some may scold this attitude. You were a kit once yourself, weren't you? But Hemlock would deny it; he often feels that he'd stepped into this world fully realized, with a sound and traveled head on his shoulders and an air of knowing that children simply lack.
It's why he hardly understands Mouse's reckless exercise. When she slams into his shoulder, Hemlock hardly moves-- his head simply turns to examine the kit with scrutiny in his gray gaze. Were the impact not enough to offend, her fur sticks out at odd angles, clearly unkempt. He ought not to mind, really. She's not his kit-- it's not his responsibility to keep her orderly. But there is an itching at Hemlock's forelimbs as he suppresses his barbed tongue, instead inhaling quietly and using his own paw to nudge the kitten to hers.
"You ought to watch your path, Mouse," the feline hums, pale ears twitching. He speaks with the kindness of sundew nectar. His teeth glint cold as he smiles at the girl. "You can't catch prey you don't see, hm?"
【◈】Honestly, Rye has half a mind herself to join Mouse in her napping, wanting to soak up some rays of sun herself, but unfortunately for her, she's found herself otherwise occupied on this sunny day gathering up materials for nests. There was already enough to make do for now, of course, and with any luck they'd all be moving on to some place better sooner or later, but she'd rather the elders and kits feel at least a little bit more comfortable in the meantime. Moss is piled up near her hulking form, along with some extra bits of feathers she'd saved from her last meal, and she works slowly and methodically through each nest, adding a little extra padding and rifling around for any thorns or sticks that might've made their way in there. It's not particularly difficult work, and Rye finds herself lost in thought until a sudden blur of motion out of the corner of her eye catches her attention - looks like Mouse's recovered from her nap. Abandoning the leaf, she's getting pretty close to a couple of other cats, but before Rye can call out a warning, the kit's already bumped into Hemlock, just missing Coyote's Heart on the way.
The way that Mouse bounces backwards while Hemlock stands unaffected elicits a mrow of amusement from Rye, though she's quick to silence any further chuckles from the way Coyote's Heart reacts - he seems tired, though it's not like she can blame them on that front. These days it'd be harder to find someone who's not tired, aside from Mouse, apparently. Hemlock and Coyote's Heart both offer their advice on the little mishap, and she can't help but feel the need to chime in even as an on-looker. "Enthusiasm's great, Mouse, but gotta watch where you're goin', like they all said." Setting the last bits of her work aside, she shoots a glance at Hemlock and Coyote's Heart, neither of which seem too thrilled about Mouse's antics, and then back to Mouse. "Say, you wanna play with me for a bit? We could race and you can show off your speed, or somethin' else you wanna do, I don't mind," Rye offers, a lazy grin plastered across her face. A little break would be nice, and she's sure entertaining Mouse would be appreciated by the others.
(=〃ﻌ〃=)ﾉ — With a start she realizes it's Hemlock that she'd slammed into. The older feline stands tall despite the impact, staring down at her with a look that's hard not to find intimidating between his marred face and the fact that she's probably earned a scolding. But he speaks kindly, helping her back to her paws, and she gazes up at him through owlish yellow eye and a twinge of relief. "Sorry," mumbles the spotted tabby, though she doesn't sound entirely apologetic. Though her tone isn't often the most expressive, to be fair.
His smile encourages her to mirror it with one of her own. "I can catch all the prey," she declares proudly, lashing her fluffy tail. "With my eyes closed." Never mind her prior failure to catch a single leaf. She's never actually hunted real prey before, but she knows it'll be different. How? Well, she just does.
Then she turns her gaze toward Coyote's Heart, who seems far less pleased with her behavior. Not mad, which is encouraging, but not happy, either. "Okayyyy," she mews. She can do that. She can be so aware. She loves watching other cats. But she doesn't like how observed she feels right now, especially as Rye pipes up as well. I know, I know, she thinks, but hesitates to appear impatient or disrespectful. Fortunately, the long-limbed molly switches gears with an exciting offer. "Really?" She perks up, ears shooting skyward and eyes stretching wider. "Okay, let's all race! Go!" With that, Mouse darts off without checking to see if the other two are okay with this and without having even set a finish line.
【◈】Watching the way Mouse immediately perks up at the prospect of a race, Rye can't suppress her chuckle this time, whiskers twitching in amusement. The little molly sure is raring to go, and she's happy to provide a temporary outlet for that energy, though before she can even climb to her paws and get in a quick stretch, Mouse is off with a holler, tiny form darting off in a random direction. For a moment, she's left in the dust, watching her racing companion take off, and before she follows, she'll shoot Hemlock and Coyote's Heart each a quick glance. It's not a beseeching look, not asking them to join - rather, it's moreso meant to convey the question of do you want to join? Regardless of whether either of them makes a move to join, Rye will finally set off after Mouse, trying to close some of the distance initially and then after planning on keeping a languid pace so that she doesn't fall too far behind.
So long as she stays in sight, it should be fine, and either way, it's not like Mouse'll get that far that fast if they did happen to run into some sort of trouble. "How'd you get to be so fast, huh?" she calls ahead lightly, carefully weaving past a particularly dense patch of reeds. It's meant for Mouse's sake, wanting to encourage her, but it's not embellishment, either; keeping up is harder than she originally thought it would be, and Rye suspects that it's not just the bursting energy Mouse's been building up. Still full of youth for certain, but starting to grow up before their very eyes, too, and the thought leaves her feeling a bit ruffled. When had she gotten that fast, indeed? And, has she grown just a tiny bit bigger, or is that Rye's imagination? The thought is a happy one, of course, but it's also a bit bittersweet - after all, it feels like just yesterday when Mouse had been born, hardly anything more than a small scrap of brown fur. One day that'll come far too soon, she'll be all grown up and ready to forge her own path, and Rye can't help but hope she won't ever lose her spark for life that prompts things like this impromptu little race.
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