Nightly rains and morning showers brought the pond's muck and grime's wrath upon his pelt, bogging him down ever so slightly as he prowled close to the wet ground. The occasional ray of light broke in between the cloud cover, making the opaque pond shimmer in its illumination. The glare cast by the reflective wave, warped by the lapping waves, caught Foxstep's wary eye. The tantalizing silhouettes of swimming fish taunted him like a siren song calling a victim beneath the waves. Foxstep scrunched his nose up in distaste. Someday, he'd catch a fish for fun and then brag about how those dumb fishcats were losers for eating scaly things or whatever. Maybe.

The soft whistling of a nearby duck snatched his attention, and Foxstep whipped his head around to narrow his eyes at the source. Gotcha, he thought with a slight smirk oozing its way onto his expression. The annoying whisper of cattails parting and rasping as his tail brushed them was the only sound that followed the duck's call, save for the croaking of an occasional, yet now rare, frog or the honking of overhead migrating geese. Each step of his was measured, even, and meticulously placed, careful not to alert the quarry of his presence.

He'd seen the prey pile as of late and was severely disappointed in his clan. Foxstep would've expected better, especially with leaf-bare creeping closer to their camp. This brown duck would make a sufficing addition until the next patrols were sent out, whenever that happened. A diminutive breeze pulled at his whiskers as Foxstep halted before the waterfowl. His nose twitched at the brisk air, but he soon pressed himself even closer to the muddy ground. Foxstep splayed his unsheathed claws, bunched his hindquarter muscles, and pounced upon the smaller-than-most duck.

The kill had brought him close to the pond's edge, and his shadow spooked some small fishes near the surface. Foxstep raised his jaws from the duck's neck, eyes darting across the iridescent pond water. He wondered what it was like to live underwater, observing the world above with nothing more than visceral terror. To not know nor understand what lived beyond the confines of their water prison had to be more excruciating than their fear of peregrine predators, though. Alas, fish do not have thoughts and make for a bad meal. Foxstep gingerly picked up his wares and began his travel back to ThunderClan; the sun warmed his back when he did not walk under a tree's shade.