When You Fall, You Pick Yourself Back Up Jul 9, 2018 3:29:23 GMT
Post by ladyspectral on Jul 9, 2018 3:29:23 GMT
The sun was blazing hot, and the air humid from a recent shower. The dew that had lined the grass when Kit had first begun her hunt had long dried, a testamant to how long the two faced she cat had been out hunting. Still she pushed her tender paws forward, eyes locked on a small mouse eating some sort of berry in the thin forest. If she brought prey back, that would prove her worth to Mothclan. She didn't even have formal training, only what she had done with Hailstrike and on her own. Impressive, if she said so herself.
Her paws brushed an unseen stick, and the mouse froze. In an instant she lunged, and something caught between her paws. The sound of the creature rapidly scuttling away and the object's hard surface told her it was just a rock in her paws. She rose with a sigh, continuing on to seek her next target. She just had to keep moving forward.
The disfigured she cat never told the clan where she was going, and they never asked. She still tended to her old duties, she simply focused on the hunt now. They had seen her abilities to care for camp for moons, and it had seemingly done little to impress them. Kit needed to find a new tactic. She pondered if they hoped she wouldn't return one day, out of their fur permanently. She had begun loosing weight again, eating the bare minimum to keep herself going for the next hunting attempt. If anything, she didn't want to be a drain on resources.
She just kept moving forward, always. Even if she noted the uneasy looks of the clan more and more as she stopped being a kitten. Now they could drive her out, and still feel guiltless. She was in danger, the loner knew that too well.
She inched forward, again. As always she picked herself up off the hard stones in the camp's middle, and begun to hunt early on an empty stomach. Just enough time to groom herself. Breakfast is for winners, is what she told herself each morning as she headed out. And so far she was anything but a winner, always coming back to camp with empty paws.
This time a bird had caught her eye, and she tensed her sore muscles. Starclan she was hurting, and she was sure she was coming down with something, but she continued on in spite of it. She swayed her head a bit, then she pounced toward the brown creature. It's head turned toward the paws lunging toward it.
The sound of feathers fluttering filled the air, just for a moment. Then a thud filled the silence, and Kit found herself staring down in shock at the brown bird under her paws. It struggled, beak emitting a warning call that was sure to scare off all of it's kin. That didn't matter, the cinnamon tabby quickly silenced the creature. The blood was mouth watering, but she gently lifted the body in her jaws. This time she wouldn't return empty pawed.
The mutant approached the fresh kill pile, head held high in pride as she carried her prey. Her first prey, before she was even trained officially. Not many cats could boast that, at least that's what Kit assumed. She gingerly set the brown bird down among the other prey the clan had caught so far.
I decided to divide this one up clearer, instead of having timeskips/flashbacks seemingly at random. I hope that made it easier to read, but let me know if you have any other ideas.