[rising_heart]

Sharppaw trotted lightly, her feet moving as daintily as a hare's on the moor, her lithe body barely visible, moving one with the dapple of sunlight on her beautiful sand tabby coat. Her fur rippled across her spine, and her tail flicked a little in hostility as she gained footing upon a fallen tree log. She ensconced, letting her tail rest evenly on the prickly log, feeling splinters cut on her paw-pads. Patiently, she waited there for a few heartbeats, until a small shrew emerged. It was a meager kill, if she was to make it, but enough to redeem her awful hunting streak of late. Certainly, she was better at fighting, but hunting was a necessary skill of Clan life. Especially during leaf-bare.

She stayed upon the log, until the shrew ventured closer to collect beechnuts. Sharppaw unsheathed her claws deftly and slowly, and waited till the shrew stopped, started, looking around for the movement of a predator, and let its guard down. With the agility of an experienced hunter, she pounced on the shrew. It let out its final screech as she pinned it down and swiftly delivered a killing bite. Finally something to be proud of, she thought, still angered by her failures.