A Hare-Brained Scheme (Whitesmoke/Snowfoot)
Jan 5, 2014 19:10:17 GMT -8
Jan 5, 2014 19:10:17 GMT -8
A Hare-Brained Scheme
So give me something to believe
Snowfoot was not an idiot. The tall white tom could recall the names of his clanmates with relative ease. Each battle move, hunting technique and word of the code had been scorched into his mind at one point or other. And during his apprentice assessment he had passed as easily as the next cat. So then why was he here, stalking by the edge of the Thunderpath, with such a hair-brained plan?
The sun was slowly slipping beneath the canvas of night, casting lingering rays in a last ditch effort to withhold the shadows. They gathered, like cats clocked in black, tails swaying in the prospect of descending upon their victims. It was the time of day where hunters became active, and prey scattered in search of a last tiny seed to fill their winter-slim bellies. Kill or be killed. Hunt or starve. This was the way of the world.
Apparently no one had told Snowfoot that. Between the shallow ditch where the forest huddled away from the stinging stench of the Thunderpath he had created a sort of funnel. It was easy to make. All it took was a few quick passes on foot back and forwards, making sure the ThunderClan side was a great deal wider than that by the Thunderpath. It was shoddy at best, but he was hurrying so as not to get caught. It would suffice.
Then he waited, frosted pelt blending in perfectly. Finally at long last a mangy specimen of a squirrel hurried past, shuffling tiny little feet in an effort to cross the exposed distance. Transferring his weight into his haunches Snowfoot readied himself. Then, with an ear-splitting yowl, he leapt at the creature. But his aim was not catching the poor thing. No, instead he chased it along the shallow walls of snow, into his trap. Right up onto the Thunderpath it went, too frightened out of its wits to pay attention to the cat who had ceased his pursuit.
In an effort to encourage it onward the white tom gave a hearty call, “Go on, get out of here, go!” And just like that it disappeared into the burnt forest beyond, where hopefully a starving ShadowClan cat would find it in no time. Oh boy was Snowfoot an idiot.
Purposefully chasing prey into another clan’s territory? He could easily get banished for such a treacherous act. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He had watched, belly arching in sympathy for the pain of the other clan, as an earlier patrol had come creeping by with their bones poking through.
ShadowClan was in a bad place, and to be honest, Snowfoot had a bit of a Robinhood complex. ThunderClan may be coming down with a cough, but their neighbors needed the food even more so. What point was the warrior code if everyone died? Who cared about some law laid down moons ago when right here, right now, cats where on the brink of death? He knew they wouldn’t appreciate his efforts if he was ever found out, but he didn’t care. Something had to be done.
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Words: 515
Tag: Whitesmoke
Notes: Here it is! I have an awful feeling Snow is about to have his butt handed to him
The sun was slowly slipping beneath the canvas of night, casting lingering rays in a last ditch effort to withhold the shadows. They gathered, like cats clocked in black, tails swaying in the prospect of descending upon their victims. It was the time of day where hunters became active, and prey scattered in search of a last tiny seed to fill their winter-slim bellies. Kill or be killed. Hunt or starve. This was the way of the world.
Apparently no one had told Snowfoot that. Between the shallow ditch where the forest huddled away from the stinging stench of the Thunderpath he had created a sort of funnel. It was easy to make. All it took was a few quick passes on foot back and forwards, making sure the ThunderClan side was a great deal wider than that by the Thunderpath. It was shoddy at best, but he was hurrying so as not to get caught. It would suffice.
Then he waited, frosted pelt blending in perfectly. Finally at long last a mangy specimen of a squirrel hurried past, shuffling tiny little feet in an effort to cross the exposed distance. Transferring his weight into his haunches Snowfoot readied himself. Then, with an ear-splitting yowl, he leapt at the creature. But his aim was not catching the poor thing. No, instead he chased it along the shallow walls of snow, into his trap. Right up onto the Thunderpath it went, too frightened out of its wits to pay attention to the cat who had ceased his pursuit.
In an effort to encourage it onward the white tom gave a hearty call, “Go on, get out of here, go!” And just like that it disappeared into the burnt forest beyond, where hopefully a starving ShadowClan cat would find it in no time. Oh boy was Snowfoot an idiot.
Purposefully chasing prey into another clan’s territory? He could easily get banished for such a treacherous act. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He had watched, belly arching in sympathy for the pain of the other clan, as an earlier patrol had come creeping by with their bones poking through.
ShadowClan was in a bad place, and to be honest, Snowfoot had a bit of a Robinhood complex. ThunderClan may be coming down with a cough, but their neighbors needed the food even more so. What point was the warrior code if everyone died? Who cared about some law laid down moons ago when right here, right now, cats where on the brink of death? He knew they wouldn’t appreciate his efforts if he was ever found out, but he didn’t care. Something had to be done.
- - - - - - - - - -
Words: 515
Tag: Whitesmoke
Notes: Here it is! I have an awful feeling Snow is about to have his butt handed to him