[Spikes]

|| @catcafe ||

Mistburr padded into camp, head held high as he carried a plump squirrel in his jaws. The silver and mousy brown tabby took his prey to the fresh kill pile, adding his own fill to the clan's food supply. Licking his jaws, he sat in the clearing, long-furred tail stretched out behind him, rather than wrapped around his paws. He wasn't hungry, at least not yet, and he always took pride in supplying for the clan and not for himself when he didn't need to. Just thinking about it put a dreamy smile on Mistburr's face, his tail tip swishing idly.

He glanced at the surrounding clan cats, all going about their own business, as they should be. Nothing exceptionally bad had happened... At least not yet. Though it was a positive that things were going well, there was a part of the scarred tom that craved some sort of action. He wanted to save some cats from the jaws of death! Whisk a maiden off of her paws before a monster from the thunderpath got to her! But nowadays, there was a sense of calm in the air. All he would be needed for, at the time being, would be hunting, patrolling and protecting. He took that as it was... At least he was able to help the clan.