- 352
- #1
Keep fighting.
The kill pile was too small -- smaller than the last moon. His stomach clawed and snarled, gnawing in a ravenous rhythm as he looked down upon the pile and considered what had gone wrong. Was it due to the lessening prey as the cold began to seep in, or was it his fault?
Of course, it's your fault.
Any failure the clan faced was now on his shoulders. It was his job to ensure his clan survived the horrific drought and famine, even if it might sap each and every life he had been recently given. It wasn't his clan's failure, it was his, and his very first moon as leader had proven he wasn't doing enough. He had to have the answers, he had to be the one to shoulder the responsibility and lead his clan to a better future.
He huffed faintly and turned his back on the pile, eying his clan as they ate their dinner. His eyes hesitated on Streamheart, who remained still before the meal presented at her feet. That'd need correcting, she didn't have lives to spare. He flicked his gaze to the newer members, landing squarely on Fawndance. He considered hiding from the passionate molly, who would absolutely chase him down and force him to eat his fill if she spotted him.
You're failing her, too.
That nagging voice in the back of his head was a shrill and high whine, piercing through his skull and leaving a sharp ache in the side of his temple. He audibly growled, silencing the vicious voice. He didn't have time to brood or mope about; his clan needed him.
Do something, then!
Yes, do something. If he wasn't going to eat then he should take that energy and take a late night patrol. Maybe then he could bring home more kill and force Streamheart to eat it...
Yeah, that was a good plan -- hunt for the rest of the night and hope he'd have something to show for it. He just hoped he actually would find something, even if it was the smallest mouse.
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