Armidillio

Slipping and Falling Mothpelt goes hunting, but finds a familiar- and fake- face instead of prey. 1623 Words | 6 -8 minute read There was nothing more unnerving than leaf-fall. The loss of warmth, the shriveling of the leaves, the increase of coughs. Mothpelt hated leaf-fall. It meant she had fewer opportunities to slack off and doze in camp since hunting would be of the utmost necessity. Hunting was something the tortoiseshell warrior took very seriously; she would leave camp frequently to prowl the territory and observe hotspots of prey activity. Leaf-fall was unpleasant because she would have to return to the prey-less confines of camp more often, just to cuddle with some other cat for warmth, and even worse, the chances of her returning with a catch decreased with each passing day. It crushed her pride in ways inexplicable, to pad through camp-entrance after several hours with nothing to show for it. Determined to not let today be one of those dreadful empty-pawed days