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Post by [G]hostface-- on Feb 18, 2008 15:13:45 GMT -5
The broad, milky form of Ghostface slipped through the moonlit marshlands. Inwardly, she was cringing at the muck and mud that was pushing it's way between her claws, but outwardly, she was silent as she stalked across the vast swampland. She may be a ShadowClan cat, and true to her clan, but that didn't mean that being caked in mud at all times was something she found acceptable.
The she-cat's mouth was open, allowing the breeze to wash scents across the sensing glands in her throat. It was leafbare, and the frogs and the lizards and the snakes and the other swampland creatures had burrowed away to sleep for winter. Leafbare was a difficult time for ShadowClan, when their primary sources of prey were scarce. Their only saving grace was the occasional bird or vole. Beyond ShadowClan territory there was the Carrion place, and although she was a cat of the Shadows, she would not eat crow food.
She paused, as a scent touched her. The breeze carried a hint of those stinking ThunderClan cats, pine, and mole. It was on the surface, near where the marsh ground grew stiff. She cound smell it, and she could hear it, but the mud muffled the vibrations from the ground.
This was her chance. Carefully, she stalked in the mud, her belly rubbing in the mud. She cringed, but the clan needed food. The clan must be cared for first. The ground grew hard beneath her feet, and the soft snufflings of the mole, a primarily underground creature, could be felt. It was near.
She crounched, using her senses to pinpoint its location. It was near. Not far at all. Bunching the muscles in her powerful flanks, she leapt toward the base of a small pine tree, where the mole was located. It was beneath her paws, struggling, and with a quick bite from her boxy muzzle, it was over. She had succeeded. It was in pitiful shape, barely more than bones, but it was better than nothing. Someone at camp could use it. Anyone could.
The she-cat's mouth was open, allowing the breeze to wash scents across the sensing glands in her throat. It was leafbare, and the frogs and the lizards and the snakes and the other swampland creatures had burrowed away to sleep for winter. Leafbare was a difficult time for ShadowClan, when their primary sources of prey were scarce. Their only saving grace was the occasional bird or vole. Beyond ShadowClan territory there was the Carrion place, and although she was a cat of the Shadows, she would not eat crow food.
She paused, as a scent touched her. The breeze carried a hint of those stinking ThunderClan cats, pine, and mole. It was on the surface, near where the marsh ground grew stiff. She cound smell it, and she could hear it, but the mud muffled the vibrations from the ground.
This was her chance. Carefully, she stalked in the mud, her belly rubbing in the mud. She cringed, but the clan needed food. The clan must be cared for first. The ground grew hard beneath her feet, and the soft snufflings of the mole, a primarily underground creature, could be felt. It was near.
She crounched, using her senses to pinpoint its location. It was near. Not far at all. Bunching the muscles in her powerful flanks, she leapt toward the base of a small pine tree, where the mole was located. It was beneath her paws, struggling, and with a quick bite from her boxy muzzle, it was over. She had succeeded. It was in pitiful shape, barely more than bones, but it was better than nothing. Someone at camp could use it. Anyone could.
