[ from thunderspark's adoption contest ]
Thunderpaw blinked shining eyes at her leader, an aloof certainty in her stride as she closed distance between them and touched his nose to her own. "I'm fine, Coldstar. Go." She purred, but it did little to soothe the tom's anxiety. She understood why. She was only six moons old, barely an apprentice, and he'd become like a father to her after she was abandoned in the middle of his camp only a few days after he himself had arrived there. But they desperately needed food; the waterfall that fed the stream which cut their camp in half had frozen over and the stream had begun to dry up, taking with it their steady supply of fish.
Their dire need in mind, the two cats decided that one of them would range further from the camp to hunt and the other would remain home to strengthen the scent markings and continue the excavation of the nursery tunnel. It only made sense for Coldstar to hunt - he was stronger, faster, had more experience. He could take down bigger prey and more of it.
Thunderpaw sighed as Coldstar's figure disappeared into the undergrowth, turning back and padding through the camp to the other side and slipping through a gap in the rocks, towards their northern border. She didn't go very far, renewing the closest border before doubling back. The light was just beginning to bleed out of the sky when she returned, the tails of two mice clutched firmly in her jaws. They were thin but would sate at least some of the thunder in their empty stomachs.
As she entered the camp she knew something was awry. The stench of bear - the first she'd been taught - was sickeningly strong in the clearing, and soft whines could be heard coming from the den. Her fur stood on end and she dropped her catch, fighting every instinct in her that said to flee. She had to get this intruder away from their home!
Stiff legged, the young she-cat made her way into their den, coming face to face with what looked for all the world like an ugly cat. Still, she went at it, hissing and yowling and batting its face with her claws sheathed; she didn't want to harm, only scare. And it worked! But as the cub fled, it lashed back at her in its panic to get away and wicked claws raked across her nose, pain exploding soon after. She pushed through it, following the cub out and up the sheer rock face behind the den, only to stumble on a root and catch her flank on a jagged rock as she tumbled the short distance back into camp and lay in a shivering lump.
This was how Coldstar found her when he returned, dropping his kill and rushing to her immediately. Neither knew much about herbs, and despite doing their best, the wounds still scarred over, though did little to dampen Thunderpaw's spirit or hinder her abilities and training.
Thunderpaw blinked shining eyes at her leader, an aloof certainty in her stride as she closed distance between them and touched his nose to her own. "I'm fine, Coldstar. Go." She purred, but it did little to soothe the tom's anxiety. She understood why. She was only six moons old, barely an apprentice, and he'd become like a father to her after she was abandoned in the middle of his camp only a few days after he himself had arrived there. But they desperately needed food; the waterfall that fed the stream which cut their camp in half had frozen over and the stream had begun to dry up, taking with it their steady supply of fish.
Their dire need in mind, the two cats decided that one of them would range further from the camp to hunt and the other would remain home to strengthen the scent markings and continue the excavation of the nursery tunnel. It only made sense for Coldstar to hunt - he was stronger, faster, had more experience. He could take down bigger prey and more of it.
Thunderpaw sighed as Coldstar's figure disappeared into the undergrowth, turning back and padding through the camp to the other side and slipping through a gap in the rocks, towards their northern border. She didn't go very far, renewing the closest border before doubling back. The light was just beginning to bleed out of the sky when she returned, the tails of two mice clutched firmly in her jaws. They were thin but would sate at least some of the thunder in their empty stomachs.
As she entered the camp she knew something was awry. The stench of bear - the first she'd been taught - was sickeningly strong in the clearing, and soft whines could be heard coming from the den. Her fur stood on end and she dropped her catch, fighting every instinct in her that said to flee. She had to get this intruder away from their home!
Stiff legged, the young she-cat made her way into their den, coming face to face with what looked for all the world like an ugly cat. Still, she went at it, hissing and yowling and batting its face with her claws sheathed; she didn't want to harm, only scare. And it worked! But as the cub fled, it lashed back at her in its panic to get away and wicked claws raked across her nose, pain exploding soon after. She pushed through it, following the cub out and up the sheer rock face behind the den, only to stumble on a root and catch her flank on a jagged rock as she tumbled the short distance back into camp and lay in a shivering lump.
This was how Coldstar found her when he returned, dropping his kill and rushing to her immediately. Neither knew much about herbs, and despite doing their best, the wounds still scarred over, though did little to dampen Thunderpaw's spirit or hinder her abilities and training.