Whiskers and Bones [C]

StarClan, it was cold. Even the seemingly everlasting warmth of newleaf could fall to the creeping chill of the dawn, it seemed - the sun just barely blinking its eyes open, not yet risen to warm the marsh beneath his paws. Though dawn training always promised a spectacular view, with the sky all streaked in brilliant hues of pink and orange and the rarest birds singing perched atop the trees, Nightpaw wondered if it was really all that worth it. But he had requested this patrol, after all.

The muddy ground beneath him soaked into his fur, and he was finding more and more that he could not feel his paws. If the sun rose now, he might still be frozen to the spot come tomorrow. It was ridiculously hard to make himself move, each step an incredible effort, but...he was going to prove himself today. He would. If he wasn't any bit of a fighter, maybe he was more well-suited to hunting - he hoped, anyway. An apprentice that couldn't defend the territory or feed his Clan wasn't much of an apprentice at all. Much less a warrior.

With a quick glance over at Silverhawk, the small tuxedo stopped and tasted the air. Maybe he could prove himself before Silverhawk came over and taught him how to do something basic, like a hunting crouch, that even the youngest kit in the nursery could master. He had never hunted before, but he'd seen warriors and apprentices demonstrate their hunting crouches enough time that he was sure he could copy it. How hard could it be, anyway?

Something that smelled vaguely like the fresh-kill pile reached his nose, and orange eyes narrowed into slits as he glanced in its direction. A slight scurrying sound, almost imperceptible, was coming from a bush just ahead - a mouse, maybe, or some kind of lizard? Excitement burst in his chest as he crouched toward it, coming into pouncing distance just as the mouse came into view.

It was unimpressive - small and really nothing more than whiskers and bones. Nightpaw's stomach lurched - this wouldn't impress Silverhawk much. Or anyone, really. A kit would refuse it. Well, he could keep going, or he could show that he was a natural hunter who was most assuredly worth training, even if the mouse was little more than a skeleton. And he didn't trust himself to stumble upon another piece of prey so easily.

When he felt close enough, he gathered himself to pounce - not trusting that he could take another step without alerting his prey. But his haste failed him. His paws skidded in the damp of the marsh as he launched forward, and he slipped, just barely managing to steady himself before falling. The small rodent looked up and scrambled away, chittering all the while as if to mock him. Well. Maybe Silverhawk hadn't seen - maybe he had a chance to try again and do better. StarClan, could he do anything right?

Nightpaw tried to catch a mouse . . . and failed!