- Jan 29, 2024
- 26
- 8
- 3
Whitepaw trails the patrol, his steps careful as he picks his way across the frozen ground. ShadowClan’s territory feels foreign, its pungent scents sharp in his nose, but Whitepaw refuses to let discomfort show. His posture is poised, standing tall even as he carefully navigates the frost-covered undergrowth. His ears twitch at every sound, yellow eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp precision. He lags slightly behind the others, more out of preference than necessity. Hunting in a group is never his favorite, especially not here, where every step feels like it echoes in the unnatural quiet of the frostbitten forest. He veers off the main path, moving through a patch of brittle ferns. His breath clouds in the cold air as he crouches, pausing to let the faint sounds of the forest come into focus. A soft scrabbling sound reaches his ears.
Carefully, Whitepaw advances, his movements deliberate and precise. The sound grows louder, a faint scratching accompanied by the occasional rustle of leaves. He lowers himself closer to the ground, muscles coiled as he rounds a moss-covered stump. There, not far ahead, a rat scavenges among the dead leaves, its gray-brown body blending with the frost-bitten surroundings. Whitepaw narrows his eyes, a small surge of satisfaction blooming in his chest. Perfect. He slows his breathing, aligning his steps with the natural rhythm of the forest. Each paw lands softly, deliberately, as he closes the gap between himself and the unsuspecting prey. His tail hovers just above the ground, the tip flicking once before going still.
When he’s close enough to taste the scent of the rat on his tongue, Whitepaw pauses, the silence of the moment pressing around him. Then, with a quick movement, he strikes. His claws sink into the rat’s body, cutting off its squeal with a swift, efficient bite to the neck. The creature goes limp in his jaws, its warm blood stark against the icy chill of the air. Whitepaw straightens, taking a moment to assess his catch. Rather large, healthy. Enough to feed at least a cat or two. His tail flicks, and he allows a brief glance toward where the rest of the patrol moves ahead. They haven’t noticed his small detour. He pads quickly back toward the group, carrying his prize with pride. Rejoining the patrol, Whitepaw doesn’t speak, instead slipping into line with a practiced air of disinterest. The rat dangles from his jaws, its weight satisfying even as the chill bites at him.
[ rolled a 4 for encounter, 16 so he keeps prey, and 14 for medium size ]
[ @whitedawn @Frightpaw @FOXGLARE @Daisywatcher. patrol tags! ]
Carefully, Whitepaw advances, his movements deliberate and precise. The sound grows louder, a faint scratching accompanied by the occasional rustle of leaves. He lowers himself closer to the ground, muscles coiled as he rounds a moss-covered stump. There, not far ahead, a rat scavenges among the dead leaves, its gray-brown body blending with the frost-bitten surroundings. Whitepaw narrows his eyes, a small surge of satisfaction blooming in his chest. Perfect. He slows his breathing, aligning his steps with the natural rhythm of the forest. Each paw lands softly, deliberately, as he closes the gap between himself and the unsuspecting prey. His tail hovers just above the ground, the tip flicking once before going still.
When he’s close enough to taste the scent of the rat on his tongue, Whitepaw pauses, the silence of the moment pressing around him. Then, with a quick movement, he strikes. His claws sink into the rat’s body, cutting off its squeal with a swift, efficient bite to the neck. The creature goes limp in his jaws, its warm blood stark against the icy chill of the air. Whitepaw straightens, taking a moment to assess his catch. Rather large, healthy. Enough to feed at least a cat or two. His tail flicks, and he allows a brief glance toward where the rest of the patrol moves ahead. They haven’t noticed his small detour. He pads quickly back toward the group, carrying his prize with pride. Rejoining the patrol, Whitepaw doesn’t speak, instead slipping into line with a practiced air of disinterest. The rat dangles from his jaws, its weight satisfying even as the chill bites at him.
[ rolled a 4 for encounter, 16 so he keeps prey, and 14 for medium size ]
[ @whitedawn @Frightpaw @FOXGLARE @Daisywatcher. patrol tags! ]
