Post by graystripe on Mar 7, 2012 22:49:12 GMT -5
Thrushpaw wavered. His ears pricked left, and he swore he heard a rustle in the undergrowth. Silently, the small tomcat lowered himself into a crouch and stared into the bushes. His perfectly circular eyes reflected the pale green that glittered off the dew from the leaves. Thrushpaw narrowed them slighty, unsure of whether the noise was made from prey or perhaps a cunning enemy. He surveyed the area, noting his surroundings. It was dark, and dew had already set in on the cool ground. His pawsteps were bathed in silverlight.
Suddenly, Thrushpaw's stomach churned. It knotted slighty, and he felt sick. He usually blamed the uncomfortable feeling on hunger, for the prey was becoming scarce in the cool months. In the back of his mind, though, he knew the truth. Loneliness was eating him alive. He could feel it everyday. That hollow feeling, or that emptiness that devoured him at the end of the day when he realized that not a single soul had spoken to him. Was there something wrong with him? Thrushpaw wasn't sure. He couldn't linger on the thought long, for a movement distracted him.
A creature darted out in front of him. It must of been one making the rustling. Thrushpaw, who was lost in his thoughts, was late on making the kill. He clumsily flailed at the small animal, which he determined now was a squirrel. He sunk his claws into the flesh and delivered a killing blow to the neck. Instantly, the squirrel went limp under his paws. The tom sighed. He was thankful no one witnessed his messy hunting.
Suddenly, Thrushpaw's stomach churned. It knotted slighty, and he felt sick. He usually blamed the uncomfortable feeling on hunger, for the prey was becoming scarce in the cool months. In the back of his mind, though, he knew the truth. Loneliness was eating him alive. He could feel it everyday. That hollow feeling, or that emptiness that devoured him at the end of the day when he realized that not a single soul had spoken to him. Was there something wrong with him? Thrushpaw wasn't sure. He couldn't linger on the thought long, for a movement distracted him.
A creature darted out in front of him. It must of been one making the rustling. Thrushpaw, who was lost in his thoughts, was late on making the kill. He clumsily flailed at the small animal, which he determined now was a squirrel. He sunk his claws into the flesh and delivered a killing blow to the neck. Instantly, the squirrel went limp under his paws. The tom sighed. He was thankful no one witnessed his messy hunting.
