𝘼 𝙃𝘼𝙒𝙆'𝙎 𝙍𝙀𝙏𝙍𝙄𝘽𝙐𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉, warriors

──── 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨.

ARCH HAD MANAGED TO fall asleep for a little while following her return to the den, though after some time she was nosed awake by her littermate, which she didn't appreciate.

     The fluffy brown kitten shoved Jag away. "Let me sleep."

     Her sister snorted, this time prodding her with a paw. "Get up, lazy-mouse. Mom and dad are gone. If we want to go hunt, we need to leave now before they come back."

     Arch groaned and rolled over onto her back, blinking open her eyes and staring up at her littermate. "Okay, okay, I'm up. Stop prodding me." She grumbled, sitting up and shaking wood chips from her thick coat. She sent a cold glare at Jag, before the two of them scrambled to the den entrance.

     Her sister looked around, nose twitching, before looking back at her. "The coast is clear, let's go!"

     The kittens padded out of the den and headed for the tall grass, keeping their ears pricked for any sign of their returning parents before they vanished into the brush. Arch felt the long stalks swallow up her bulky form, and only then did she relax, now out of sight from prying eyes. She felt safe in the confined space of the thick grass, and knew it was a good place for hunting. Mice tended to rummage through the stalks for fallen seeds, and birds often came down to pick at the worms which came up from the soil.

     Jag pranced forward, giggling and rustling against the grass with her long fur, before letting out a sneeze when a small yellow flower tickled her nose. Arch smiled, looking around with pricked ears for any sign of prey around them. She was aware of the sound of small pawsteps, which signaled something was shuffling around in the grass nearby.

     Leaving her sister to have her fun with other things, the younger of the kits began to head toward the sound, pricking her ears and twitching her nose to catch the scent. It seemed as though a mouse were the culprit of the noise, though she wasn't completely sure about that — it was hard for her to tell mice apart from shrews and voles, something her father always chastised her about.

     When she pushed through another wall of tall grass, she caught sight of her target — which wasn't a mouse. It was a vole, rummaging through some dead pine needles which littered the ground between the stalks.

     She dropped low to her belly, tucking her paws under her fluffy chest to watch the rodent continue on without a care, searching for seeds and other means of food.

     Arch took a deep breath, summoning what she had learned from her mother into her mind and calming herself. What pride would be in Shadow Fox's eyes when she returned to find prey! The idea made the young kitten even more determined to catch this vole. She was sick of eating the disgusting human food that her father brought back, and longed to make a habit of filling her belly with warm prey instead of the hard scraps King would bring them.

     She pounced, diving toward the vole with determination, only to end up flat on her stomach as the rodent skittered out from beneath her and into the long grass. The young molly sat up, using a paw to brush scraps of pine from her long fur as her face turned sour.

     Behind her, Jag was hysterically laughing at her failure, her face full of a mischievous tease that caused the younger kit to bristle.

     "Hey, it's not funny!" She growled, fur spiking up. "I'll bet you can't do any better!"

     "I'm sure I can actually catch something." Jag retorted, looking around alertly for any sight of prey. Arch watched her with a sour expression, lashing her fluffy tail before catching sight of some rustling grass.

      The pattering of pawsteps once again caught her ear, and she got up, creeping toward the sound while Jag was distracted trying to find something else.