[namen_roodles]

FLINTCLAW
Thunderclan warrior | 23 moons | Massive, scarred dark tabby tom with pale blue eyes.
Killer Aptitude T1 | Just a scratch
~~~

Well, well, well. So they did manage to bring them down, did they? Flintclaw felt a pang of envy. He should've been able to kill one. Regardless, the dark tabby that had been basking in the sun outside the medicine cat den tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The pain continued to burn in his chest, no matter how he laid, sat, or stood. He was starting to get used to it... but that didn't make him any less hesitant to aggravate it further.

With an uncomfortable huff, Flint heaved himself up and approached the dead otter, giving a quick look at the obviously exhausted deputy. He was breathing and speaking to others. The returning clanmates still looked pretty beat up... Some even already a bit patched up. Treetiger's first large batch of work, perhaps? He was curious to see how she would operate. It still boggled his mind that the sleeping molly had been chosen as Thunderclan's new medicine cat.

All thoughts and worries aside, though, Flintclaw was hungry, and had no qualms about biting into the river-rats that had ruined his chest and leg. Limping with broken ribs had not been easy, but he was limping quite a bit less, now. He had forced himself to stop because his chest had been more painful than his leg.

Finally, he made it to the big, scarred otter that he remembered fighting, narrowing his eyes before digging in with his clan. Strange meat, tough and chewy, with an odd flavor that he couldn't place. A rare meal that the entire clan could share, now. There might even be some left over. Perhaps he would keep one of the otter's claws. It would make an interesting memento from the battle.