((Sure.))
Arren stalked through brambles, low to the ground. He slid each paw carefully across the ground. He could've been mistaken for a patch of dirt, possibly. He was stalking a vole. It was ahead of him, nibbling on a seed, oblivious to the killer behind it. He stared hungrily at it. He could imagine the blood that would come from the animal. He raced forward, streaking for the vole. It had nary a second to react before he was upon it, skillfully breaking it's neck. It fell from his jaws with a satisfying plump.



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