Post by Frosttail on Jul 16, 2013 12:28:55 GMT
The wind blew cold over the moors, pushing the grasses low and Frosttail bent low with them, trying to hide his white pelt in the browning grasses. He flattened his ears, crouched, keeping his eyes locked on the lanky brown hare just a few steps ahead of them. It snuffled at the dirt, ears tilting cautiously in all directions, but that was not a problem. Frosttail was lean, he was mean. He was a prey catching machine.
The wind stopped buffeting him for a moment, the moors suspiciously quiet without the low rush in his ears. The approach of leaf-bare was soon and he was gratful, for once his pale coat an advantage. In the slight lapse of breeze, he managed three steps closer, finally in leaping distance. But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a chase.
Purposely, he step against a dry stalk and it crackled, sending the hare straight up, and sniffing before it caught his scent and bolted away, hind legs pumping as it tried to flee. Frosttail leaped after it, his own limbs sretching, claws out to catch the ground to propel him forward, ever gaining, ever reaching, the wind buffeting his face, his muscles burning with effort and freedom.
He caught the hare, sprinting next to it for three pawsteps, then springing at it's neck, swiftly suffocating it as it struggled weakly in his jaws. He sat, panting around the rabbit, waiting patiently for Tawnywing to approach, pride oozing from his pelt.
The wind stopped buffeting him for a moment, the moors suspiciously quiet without the low rush in his ears. The approach of leaf-bare was soon and he was gratful, for once his pale coat an advantage. In the slight lapse of breeze, he managed three steps closer, finally in leaping distance. But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a chase.
Purposely, he step against a dry stalk and it crackled, sending the hare straight up, and sniffing before it caught his scent and bolted away, hind legs pumping as it tried to flee. Frosttail leaped after it, his own limbs sretching, claws out to catch the ground to propel him forward, ever gaining, ever reaching, the wind buffeting his face, his muscles burning with effort and freedom.
He caught the hare, sprinting next to it for three pawsteps, then springing at it's neck, swiftly suffocating it as it struggled weakly in his jaws. He sat, panting around the rabbit, waiting patiently for Tawnywing to approach, pride oozing from his pelt.