birds of a feather [closed]

Snowflight wasn’t the type of cat who planned his days. Usually, he finished whatever tasks Stormbringer or Ivystar set for him, then let his paws carry him wherever they wished (which, since SkyClan’s arrival, had been “anywhere out of camp” more often than not) until nightfall. Today, however, he’d woken early with a fully-formed idea lodged in his head. Spiderquill had always been a hard worker, but he’d really been running himself ragged lately. He didn’t have much fur to begin with. What would he do if the rest of it fell out? Snowflight frowned, muzzle wrinkling. No, Spiderquill could use a break—and Snowflight, remembering what they’d discussed on their way to the Moonstone ages ago, had the perfect excuse.

Of course, one problem remained. The river was still so low that he could walk across it without getting so much as a drop of water in his whiskers. He’d promised fishing, not fumbling over tree roots. Then again, Spiderquill hadn’t spent moons on hunting techniques the way warrior apprentices did. And he was a friend. Maybe missing a few water voles in front of him wouldn’t be such a big deal.

On the off chance it was a big deal, Snowflight set to work grooming his pelt, as he always did; it tended to help with things like this. As he worked, the sun broke away from the horizon to cast its yellow light over the camp. At last, his fur curled just the right way. He rocked on his paws once, twice, then strode toward the medicine den. ”Spiderquill!” he called as he poked his face inside, head angled in an attempt to hear the response and spot Spiderquill amidst the herbs at the same time. ”You free? What would you say to going on that hunt we talked about?”

The medicine den was oddly quiet today. Spiderquill didn't know why, but nevertheless, he was eternally grateful that RiverClan's kits had collectively decided to stop falling off large rocks for at least one day. In fact, he hadn't seen a single patient today. So, naturally, Spiderquill was entertaining himself using what little resources the medicine den had to offer. Namely, he was decorating the den(and accidentally his pelt) with flowers and cobwebs. So when Snowflight appeared at the mouth of the hitherto undisturbed den, it caught Spiderquill entirely off guard. He spun around, petals coming unstuck from his fur and fluttering to the ground. 


"S-S-Snowflight! I, heh, didn't see you there. Wasn't expecting anyone today, so, uh. Redecorating. I-" He stopped to sneeze, getting rid of the poppy tickling his face. "Yeah, I'm free! Free as I'll ever be, a-anyway." He tried his best to shake the colourful plants and strands of cobweb from his thin pelt, but there were still various petals scattered across his fur when he slid out of the den, bumping shoulders with the larger tom and waiting for Snowflight to guide him wherever they were going to hunt. "So, uh, will we be fishing? I like fish, it's my favourite. Haven't had fish in a while." He forced himself to stop there before he started rambling again, and though it almost hurt to not go on another tangent he held his tongue so Snowflight could respond.

Judging by Spiderquill’s startled expression and the petals and webbing clinging to his short fur, Snowflight had caught him by surprise. Snowflight burst out laughing, not cruelly. It took a few moment (and some strategic tongue-biting so he wouldn’t laugh at the flurry of petals accompanying Spiderquill’s sneeze) for him to get his breath back. ”Hey, it looks good! The flowers are a nice touch.” The complement was genuine; he’d been gathering flowers for his own nest since he’d been strong enough to pull them up—though after his first talk with Spiderquill, he’d gotten more careful about which plants he picked. Besides, the medicine den had always seemed so dark and dreary compared to the others. Spiderquill nudged his shoulder. Passing by him to take the lead, Snowflight returned the gesture with a grin. As he pulled away, a stringy bit of cobweb stuck to his own pelt.

Spiderquill’s question gave him pause partway to the camp’s entrance. Snowflight looked over his shoulder at his companion. ”Me too,” he said mournfully, ”but…no. The river’s so dry, we probably couldn’t even catch a minnow. We’ll be staying on land.” His ears flicked back. ”I, uh—I’m not as good at land hunting as I am at fishing. Just so you know.” It wasn’t as embarrassing to admit to Spiderquill as it would’ve been to, say, Stormbringer or Beecloud, but that didn’t make it not embarrassing. Giving himself a firm shake, he hurried through the bushes and onto the territory itself, where he waited for Spiderquill to catch up.

Spiderquill's face flushed in embarrassment at Snowflight's laughing, the red tint evident on his bare face. "Th-thanks. I kept getting comments about how dark it looked so..." He gestured lamely at the den behind them. He couldn't help the brief flash of disappointment on his face when the warrior informed him that the river was too dry to fish. He tried his best to mask it with a sad smile. Hunting may not be what he expected, but he was sure it would be just as fun. The sad smile stayed on his face until Snowflight's admission that he wasn't as good a hunter as he was a fisher. That made a real grin spread across Spiderquill's face. 


He was going to respond, but Snowflight bounded off into the bushes before he could. Stretching out his spindly legs, he took off after his friend. Huffing even after only running the relatively short distance to where Snowflight was, he looked up at the white tom and resumed his grin. "Well -huff- I'm sure you're no worse a hunter than -huff- me. Medicine cat, and all that." Obviously, Snowflight would be the better hunter by an impossible margin. Spiderquill was already out of his comfort zone here. "So, mentor mine, how do we start?"

Snowflight managed to pluck exactly one strand of webbing off his shoulder before Spiderquill burst out of the bushes, winded and grinning. Even that short sprint had left him out of breath. I guess picking herbs doesn’t take a lot of running… This could be a challenge. Still, Snowflight answered with a grin of his own. Though he and the concept of “challenge” disagreed more often than not, a fun challenge was worlds apart from the ones warriorhood had given him. “We start,” he said with a flourish of his tail, “by checking the air.” He paused. “Actually, we should get a little further from camp first. It’s too noisy here.” That said, he turned and padded on, keeping a reasonable pace this time.

It wasn’t long until RiverClan’s camp looked like little more than a cluster of reeds behind them. Snowflight spun on his heel to face his friend. “Now we check the air. Everything pretty much smells like it does in the fresh-kill pile, but, uh, warmer.” Here, he sank down against the grass. “When you find something, you crouch, sneak toward it, and pounce like”—he launched himself forward, front paws hitting the dry dirt with a muted thud—“that!” Bouncing back to his full height, Snowflight gave himself a thorough stretch before turning his gaze onto Spiderquill, mismatched eyes shining. ”That’s about it. Wanna give it a try?”

Spiderquill groaned at the prospect of more travelling. He was no athlete, he could barely make it up to Highstones without getting winded. He was grateful, at least, that his friend slowed down this time. He had probably gathered that if they ran a little bit more, Snowflight would be coming home with a dead medicine cat. Breath slightly visible in the cold air, Spiderwuill quickened his pace a little to catch up with Snowflight and stopped when the other tom did. He sat down and pricked up his radar-dish ears, listening intently. Checking the air was, thankfully, a practice Spiderquill was already familiar with. Herbs didn’t find themselves. The scent itself, though, may pose a problem. “Uh, fresh-kill but warmer. Right. How do you smell... warm? Is it like, blood or something?” Also, the pouncing bit. Yikes. He didn’t do much pouncing nowadays, but with a cringe he remembered his kithood. He had practiced pouncing, sometimes. He looked like a demented, oversized flea. “Okay. Uh, I don’t think I’ve pounced since I was, like, four moons old. Is it like this?” he crouched, trying his best to somehow contain his too-long-for-his-body legs, and jumped. He landed with a kind of ‘flump’ noise, like a wet hacky-sack. He went red, quite literally given his bare face, and avoided Snowflight’s gaze. “Um, how about you show me again? Just... just to, uh, ingrain it in my memory. Yeah.”

In response to the first question, Snowflight scrunched up his face as he tried to think of an answer. If Stormbringer had ever taught him how to differentiate prey-scent from everything else, he didn’t remember it; by now, it was as ingrained in him as the hunting crouch itself. “It’s kind of like blood,” he said after a moment. “Mostly, it’s just…alive. I guess if you smell something that isn’t wind or mud, it’s probably worth checking out.” Spiderquill somehow kept all those herbs straight; he’d probably be able to do the same with prey, given time. Maybe, Snowflight thought, mouth twitching, a lot of time.

It took a moment for Spiderquill to push past his obvious uncertainty. After a small eternity, he bunched himself up like a mushroom and…tried to jump. To his credit, Snowflight did not laugh, half because the whole process had looked sort of painful, half because the bright flush on Spiderquill’s face made something in his gut twist. “Well,” he said, and stopped. He’d never been great at treading the line between encouragement and utter honesty. “Well, uh—you’ve got the right idea? You just need to crouch low instead of up. And for the landing—” Suddenly, his ears went straight. “Maybe it’ll help if you have something to pounce on.” Without giving Spiderquill a chance to respond, the tall warrior scurried off. After a minute or so, he returned, holding a dry, crunchy leaf as gingerly as one might carry a newborn kit. He laid the leaf on the ground, thanking StarClan for the lack of a breeze, and shuffled sideways. This time, when he crouched, he did so slowly. “You want to flatten yourself out ‘til you’re almost lying down. Then you pounce.” As for the jump itself…well. One thing at a time.