Post by Surrle! on Jun 9, 2008 9:27:20 GMT -5
Pad..pad...pad...pad...pad... Footfalls, almost silent, on the hard-packed dirt path beside the JuniperClan border. The black and white tom sniffed carefully, checking to be sure no scents had gone over the border. Nothing so far, he thought, picking his way amongst the sparse growths in the heat-dried ground. Eventually he came to a place where the scent of a JuniperClan cat had invaded the normal scents, and Warmheart raised his hackles with a growl, opening his mouth to draw the scent over his scent glands. The scent was stale- maybe two days, and it was a younger cat, maybe an apprentice, or a young warrior. There was nobody here now.
The tom flicked his ears back in agitation. We should've caught that earlier, he spat in his mind, I should have caught that earlier. Whitestar will know about this, and surely he'll bring it up at the next Gathering.
Warmheart sat with a deflated sigh in a clump of sage grass, knowing that there was nothing he could do at the moment, and for some reason he didn't head back to camp. He didn't honestly see the point. He' go back soon anyway, and when he did, he'd speak to Whitestar. As he sat, still, he picked up the scent of a field mouse, maybe a fox-length or two away. He immediately stood and dropped smoothly into his hunting crouch, stepping forward quickly, and finally pouncing and killing his prey. He glanced up at the sky, thanking his warrior ancestors for the mouse, and opened his mouth again to scent any more prey.
The tom flicked his ears back in agitation. We should've caught that earlier, he spat in his mind, I should have caught that earlier. Whitestar will know about this, and surely he'll bring it up at the next Gathering.
Warmheart sat with a deflated sigh in a clump of sage grass, knowing that there was nothing he could do at the moment, and for some reason he didn't head back to camp. He didn't honestly see the point. He' go back soon anyway, and when he did, he'd speak to Whitestar. As he sat, still, he picked up the scent of a field mouse, maybe a fox-length or two away. He immediately stood and dropped smoothly into his hunting crouch, stepping forward quickly, and finally pouncing and killing his prey. He glanced up at the sky, thanking his warrior ancestors for the mouse, and opened his mouth again to scent any more prey.