Post by feeling kinda blue on Mar 16, 2016 23:01:58 GMT
The world was quiet. Motion whirled around Spottedowl in a rush of white noise, white noise bleeding into familiar silence as the dappled tom dove deep into the river. A familiar current tugged at his body, cool water pressing at his sides and a familiar burn taking up residence in his lungs. Lean, powerful muscles lashed out as the tom pushed himself deeper toward the stones that lined the riverbed. They'd been worn smooth by centuries of rushing water, moss and the occasional water plant clinging to the smooth surfaces. It was here near the bottom of the river Spottedowl was on the hunt. It was well into newleaf and that meant a variety of the fish were hatching and spawning in their cycles. Near the bottom of the river were the modestly sized fish, young and tender of flesh and preferred by the elders whom had softer fangs or had lost fangs in their many moons of service. Kits still getting their proper fangs also seemed to prefer the younger, smaller fish that had thinner skins than the bigger fish warriors and apprentices scarfed down.
Lashing out at a passing small trout, the golden tom sank his fangs into the fish and kicked his feet on the bottom of the river, propelling himself skyward as the fish wriggled in his jaws. His head broke the surface, clean fresh air rushing into the tom's nose, easing the ache in his lungs that told him he'd almost spent too much time under the water. Striking for the shore, Spottedowl swam smoothly to the sandy riverbank, climbing out of the water and dropping the fish up high on the bank where it couldn't flop back into the water. Three other modestly sized catches laid on the bank, shadowed by a low boulder to keep them from rotting in the sun and attracting awful biting flies. Dropping his most recent catch, Spottedowl glanced back at the river, still catching his breath a bit from his long stint underwater. He should go for another dive, catch another fish or two before heading back to camp, just to make sure no bellies went empty.
'You're young and able, might as well do it,' Spottedowl thought to himself, watching the river rush by as water dripped off his whiskers and sunlight made his dark golden fur glow.
Nodding to himself, Spottedowl padded toward the water again. His pelt was already dark and heavy with water, slicked against his lean muscles, the darker dapples and spots showing off against his flanks, rippling as he moved. Tiredness tugged at his legs and there was a low-key burn in his lungs from repeated dives. He'd made two trips to and from camp today already carrying fish and frogs he'd been catching. A few had gone to the nursery and some frogs to the apprentices but RiverClan was growing quickly and there were many mouths to feed. The familiar anxiety of no doing enough for his clanmates gnawed at the back of Spottedowl's mind as the tom stepped into the shallows again.
'You'll sleep well tonight at least,' Spottedowl thought, wading up to his belly with slow steps, balancing carefully on the smooth stones underfoot.
Notes: quake needs to teach him to have some fun!
Word count: 539
Tagged: alpine
