
II
tom II
no mate II
currently: camp II
mood: neutral II
action II "speech" II
thoughtsThe substantial brown tabby tom moved on through the forest with Watersprout at his side. While he knew an apology would comfort Watersprout, he withheld it. He feared any thoughtful gesture, even something so much as an apology, would lead her on in false hope. He had no interest in finding a mate any time soon, and he wanted to make that very clear to her. The tom lifted his head at the smell of vole nearby, the tempting smell interrupting his thoughts. "You smell that?" He asked Watersprout. His tail thrashed as he made his way towards the smell, his hunting instincts kicking in. He couldn't wait to sink his teeth into a warm, juicy meal after a long battle. He had very little energy left, so he was determined to finish the hunt quickly. Not too long after, he spotted it. Motioning with his tail to Watersprout that he wanted to take this kill, he silently advanced on the prey. It sat unexpectantly and lazily on the cool forest floor, grooming itself. Darkpelt sneered, licking his lips. He bunched his muscles and pounced, picking the prey up in his jaws quickly with a fatal blow. The vole's warm blood gushed in his mouth, sending shivers down his spine. The best feeling in the world was the taste of your kill's blood. He turned to Watersprout with the prey limp in his jaws. "We should get back to camp soon. It's getting dark and cold, and Dawnstar will get worried." He suggested, voice muffled through the vole's fur.