New leaves, new trouble (open)

A small breeze rustled through the boughs of the large trees around the camp. It made a soft sound through the tunnel of carefully woven brambles. The scents carried on it were different. Filled with new and exciting scents that clung to the fresh-kill that was placed on the pile. The surface of the camp was no longer slippery and troubling to walk on. It was soft and slightly squishy. It was the perfect conditions for an older kit to play.

A little tan head poked around from behind the warrior's shelter. His blue eyes set on a frog at the edge of the fresh-kill pile. He placed one paw after another on the ground. His claws dug in slightly while he lowered himself, his tail twitching excitedly behind him as the camp drifted away from his vision. Leaving him in the middle of a wide-open marsh. He crawled a bit closer. Lumbering a little and brushing up against the bushes, but the frog didn't move.

With a grin, the kit took a couple of rushed steps forwards. Then felt his paw suddenly move sharply in the wrong direction. His chin stung suddenly, and his eyes opened to see the frog right in front of his muzzle, and sideways. He pushed himself up from the ground and sat on the edge of the pile, ears flattened while he looked down at the traitorous ground.