there's a place [stag/open]

Whitetip had to admit, despite the fact there was a light drizzle filling the air with its fine mist, he was having a good day. While the thin layer of gray clouds flooded the usually blue sky with their presence, and the air had a cold sort of bite to it, overall, it wasn’t a bad time! The prey was still out and about judging by the amounts that cats were beginning to bring into camp, and there was more company to talk to than usual for those who kept under shelter in such weather. For him though, with his long black and white pelt already stuck slightly to his thin form, Whitetip wasn’t intending to waste a day sitting around.

With one step forward, then one to the side, before another diagonally to the right, he confidently, if not unsteadily swayed his way across the camp toward the fresh kill pile, intent on inspection. While hunting would never be something he was good at, he still tried his best to stick to the warrior code and only eat when he’d had some success. Of course it made the bad days pretty awful, especially when it was Mallowpaw pushing something she caught toward him (not that he’d ever say that to his beloved sister’s face), but he tried not to think about it. Especially not when he was confident enough that his might be coordinated enough to actually do some for the day.

Reaching down, he sniffed at one of the rabbit carefully, trying to get a sense of where it came from. If he was right, over on the far side of the moors it seemed, away from any tunnel entrances. There seemed to be a fair few rabbits coming through, along with the occasional bird. Not a bad day for finding things then. Giving a little nod, Whitetip mad up his mind. The question was, did he venture out alone, or did he find company. Lifting his head, amber eyes bright and alert, he scanned the collected cats around the camp. Well, it didn’t hurt just to ask, did it? “Aye, anyone without patrols up for a huntin’ trip with me?” He called out, tail flicking behind him and a small tremor taking over his posture.

Whitetip slowly edged his paws further away from each other to keep his balance correct. The last thing he planned on doing was falling over in the middle of the camp. After a moment of focusing on his paws and shuffling them out as his body shook, he turned his head back up to scan the camp, ears pricked and ready.