Feathered Petals

Smokefeather stepped protectively towards her daughter as the porcupine struggled to stand, fully prepared to take any blow that might come their way. The creature instead scurried off, and Smokefeather was almost of a mind to give chase. The only thing stopping her was the knowledge that the rogues watched, and her desire to protect Primroselight outweighing her desire for blood at the moment.

A sneer twisted Smokefeather's expression at Primroselight's comment. Even she was upset by it, Smokefeather could tell, and she wholeheartedly agreed with that.

"The point isn't to make our lives better, despite what they say. The point is control." Smokefeather spat, uncaring of the venom in her voice.

Her shoulder? "...oh." She hadn't quite registered the pain until Primroselight had mentioned it. Now though, the pain was almost enough to make her eyes water. The quills were embedded in her shoulder, and Smokefeather wasn't looking forward to getting them pulled out one bit.

"Right... Beechface will kill me if I don't." She sighed, then turned to retrieve what prey they had found before the porcupine had so rudely interrupted their hunt.

Primroselight nodded in agreement with what Smokefeather said, now not really caring about the Asylum cats listening in. She was past caring at this point. "You're right," She said, laughing slightly. It was undoubtable that Beechface cared about her clanmates, but her way of keeping them safe and healthy could be a little harsh. Only just realising how quickly the porcupine appeared, she retrieved her single quail. It wasn't much for a hunt; her quail and her mother's sparrow, but Smokefeather was too injured to continue hunting. Spines were still embedded in the fluffy she-cat's shoulder, and they would need to come out sooner rather than later. "Should we head back?" She asked, even though she wouldn't let Smokefeather carry on hunting anyway. She picked up her quail in her jaws - at least they had caught something.

"Care, Prim, you might start to sound like her at this rate." Smokefeather joked, understanding full well that her daughter's question hadn't been a question at all. She understood, of course, she was injured, after all. That didn't mean she'd enjoy sitting idle.

"Alright, let's head back to camp." Smokefeather sighed, picking up her quail. At least the hunt hadn't been a total failure. Her shoulder stung with every movement, and so Smokefeather limped alongside her daughter as they made the way back to camp, the rogues trailing after them.