change in seasons [c]

In the presence of Newleaf, Fernpaw's body thrived. More food to fill his stomach, and warmer air to shed some of the tensity in his muscles. His grey pelt even had a slight shine to it while he moved alongside his mother, nodding as she spoke of the new season. Fernpaw had never known the world could feel this pleasant. He had heard of easier hunting days, but poorly estimated how much easier these times truly were, or how awful Leafbare was. He stole a breath of fresh air. I hope the next set of moons are like this one.

The tom glanced at his mentor and blinked. "I understand what you mean." Many more creatures filled the forests now that their plant-food turned green and healthy. Meaning that even if you missed a catch you were well assured to find another one. Newleaf lacked Leafbare's pressure to succeed, or else go hungry. In Newleaf an apprentice could afford sloppy form. But Fernpaw knew there was no guarantee that prey would remain plentiful for long, so he refused to let the abundance lower his self-expectations. "I promise I will be patient and not waste my chances. I would rather have two fresh-kill instead of one."

Fernpaw stopped in unison with Pineblossom, his ears noting her inhale, then flicking away to follow the birdsong above. He still wished he knew how to climb trees. One day, he swore to the prideful finches, before turning his attention back to Pineblossom. "Okay," he acknowledged with a nod. The apprentice drew a breath to search for drifting scents, then quietly pursued the strongest source.

A delicious smell of vole led him to the edge of a pool. Very deep, as his mother had mentioned, and probably made deeper by the recent rain. Branches of pine trees reflected in its dark waters, silhouetted by the bright moon. Munch, munch. Fernpaw's eyes locked onto a nearby water vole chewing on fronds. He followed it from afar as it scurried down the bank, mindfully keeping himself downwind as best as possible. It stopped. Little paws in the water, cleaning its face. He took light steps while holding his tail above the grass. Finally close enough, he began stalking. Step by step. Slow, focused movements. He was in range to leap but took one extra heartbeat to consider the jump. Landing in the water might make a noise louder than he would like. The tom waited a second longer, prepared his haunches, and noted the possible burrow nearby. Somewhere distant a twig snapped causing the vole to flee. Fernpaw jumped between it and its escape, grabbed its neck, and squeezed. Satisfied with the small crunch he turned to look for Pineblossom.

Fernpaw successfully hunted a rodent with the chance of 1-7, costing 3 stamina.