- Nov 7, 2023
- 103
- 48
- 28
Even at twelve moons, even as her siblings grow and become warriors, Fluffypaw does not often leave camp without her mentor. She does, today, despite the silvery cloud cover that builds overhead, shadowing the pine forest in gray. Her pelt bristles against the chill in the air, even as needles snap underpaw, made brittle by the frost. A thin rain begins to fall in intervals, just enough of a drizzle to soak the first layer of her fluffy coat. She tilts her face skyward, her frown questioning both StarClan and her decision to hunt alone today.
Maybe I should just go back, she thinks forlornly, but something wars against logic, something innate and animal she cannot name. Her Clan is hungry. Orangestar's kits suckle at her mother's side; Johnnyflame is round with his own litter, and there are others, stray kits brought in who cough and weaken in the cold.
Something steels her spine. She remembers how she'd hid herself, as her Clanmates had clustered around the dog who'd attacked Jupiterpaw. She'd been a coward, then. Then, and when Candorpaw had saved her from the fox, and when Butterflytuft had driven the adder from her kittens. Every time something happens, she cannot help her Clanmates, and she has failed to feed them for six straight moons now.
The idea is enough to depress her, to cause her to quit while she's ahead, but today Fluffypaw does not give into the despair. She tastes the air, ignores the wet sweetness of rain, the tang of promised frost. She scents something behind it all, behind the tangle of dead pine needles that litter the forest floor.
Vole. She stiffens. Her ears swivel upward, her tail beginning to stiffen in place. She thinks about Greeneyes, his ginger-splashed body low to the earth; she sinks, her breath smoking through her nostrils. She thinks about Candorpaw, the way he lowered his tawny body, the way his shoulders rolled as he crept, the way the mane of fur about his throat blew like flame.
Her green eyes narrow, determined. The creature is round enough, still fat from its leaf-fall feedings, but it is on high alert. Fluffypaw eyes the distance between them. Her heart begins to pound. Is her leap good enough to close that gap? If she steps forward, will she crack the foliage, scare it away? That always seems to happen, and she can't afford to take that chance, not this time.
Fluffypaw tightens her haunches. It's now or never, she thinks, and she catapults herself forward. Her forepaws close in on the vole, and, in a blind panic, she squeezes them together, trapping the plump little creature between her paws. It emits a shrill squeak; it twists its head and sinks its front teeth into the meat of her left forepaw. "Ow!" She hisses, then, in pain and also because she's frustrated with herself. A six moon old kit could have made a cleaner kill, and she hasn't even gotten there yet, and if she doesn't hurry it's gonna —
Fluffypaw clenches her eyes shut. She lowers her teeth to the creature's neck, and she sinks them into the velvet softness of the back of its throat. It gives a dying shudder in her grip; it lets go of her paw, goes limp, goes cold. Blood rushes into her mouth, coats her teeth, and she lets go, unsure.
She'd made her first kill. It had been messy. It had, no doubt, scared away every other piece of prey in this forest. But she had done it. She thinks of Greeneyes, the way he'd praise her when she'd return, thinks of Butterflytuft and Daisydrop and Weedpaw, but behind it all, there's another pair of warm green eyes, a smile rich with pride. Fluffypaw exhales; her breath billows like fog.
Thank you, Candorpaw. She wants to show him first — he's the reason, after all, she'd finally met her goal. She smiles, bloody, around the piece of fresh-kill. For once, she's happy to return to camp after a hunt.
Maybe I should just go back, she thinks forlornly, but something wars against logic, something innate and animal she cannot name. Her Clan is hungry. Orangestar's kits suckle at her mother's side; Johnnyflame is round with his own litter, and there are others, stray kits brought in who cough and weaken in the cold.
Something steels her spine. She remembers how she'd hid herself, as her Clanmates had clustered around the dog who'd attacked Jupiterpaw. She'd been a coward, then. Then, and when Candorpaw had saved her from the fox, and when Butterflytuft had driven the adder from her kittens. Every time something happens, she cannot help her Clanmates, and she has failed to feed them for six straight moons now.
The idea is enough to depress her, to cause her to quit while she's ahead, but today Fluffypaw does not give into the despair. She tastes the air, ignores the wet sweetness of rain, the tang of promised frost. She scents something behind it all, behind the tangle of dead pine needles that litter the forest floor.
Vole. She stiffens. Her ears swivel upward, her tail beginning to stiffen in place. She thinks about Greeneyes, his ginger-splashed body low to the earth; she sinks, her breath smoking through her nostrils. She thinks about Candorpaw, the way he lowered his tawny body, the way his shoulders rolled as he crept, the way the mane of fur about his throat blew like flame.
Her green eyes narrow, determined. The creature is round enough, still fat from its leaf-fall feedings, but it is on high alert. Fluffypaw eyes the distance between them. Her heart begins to pound. Is her leap good enough to close that gap? If she steps forward, will she crack the foliage, scare it away? That always seems to happen, and she can't afford to take that chance, not this time.
Fluffypaw tightens her haunches. It's now or never, she thinks, and she catapults herself forward. Her forepaws close in on the vole, and, in a blind panic, she squeezes them together, trapping the plump little creature between her paws. It emits a shrill squeak; it twists its head and sinks its front teeth into the meat of her left forepaw. "Ow!" She hisses, then, in pain and also because she's frustrated with herself. A six moon old kit could have made a cleaner kill, and she hasn't even gotten there yet, and if she doesn't hurry it's gonna —
Fluffypaw clenches her eyes shut. She lowers her teeth to the creature's neck, and she sinks them into the velvet softness of the back of its throat. It gives a dying shudder in her grip; it lets go of her paw, goes limp, goes cold. Blood rushes into her mouth, coats her teeth, and she lets go, unsure.
She'd made her first kill. It had been messy. It had, no doubt, scared away every other piece of prey in this forest. But she had done it. She thinks of Greeneyes, the way he'd praise her when she'd return, thinks of Butterflytuft and Daisydrop and Weedpaw, but behind it all, there's another pair of warm green eyes, a smile rich with pride. Fluffypaw exhales; her breath billows like fog.
Thank you, Candorpaw. She wants to show him first — he's the reason, after all, she'd finally met her goal. She smiles, bloody, around the piece of fresh-kill. For once, she's happy to return to camp after a hunt.
- ooc: —
-
-
Fluffykit. Fluffypaw, she/her w/ feminine terms.
— “speech”, thoughts, attack
— 12 moons old, ages realistically on the 8th.
— mentored by Greeneyes ; mentoring n/a ; previously mentored n/a.
— skyclan apprentice. butterflytuft xdandelionwish, gen 3.
— penned by Marquette.
lh chocolate tortie/cream chimera with jade eyes. frightened, clingy, anxious, gentle.
