A Midnight Catch

Night patrols aren't just for pacing borders; a proper warrior never returns to camp empty-pawed. I stalked silently across the dark rug until I caught sight of a colorful, feathered shape perched dead still along the rim of a woven wicker basket. It was roosting with zero survival instincts. I sank low into a strike crouch, pinned my ears back, and sprang. My forepaws struck true, pinning the stiff craft bird against the rim before it could even flutter. Clamping the feathery prize securely between my jaws, I dragged it all the way back across the floorboards and dumped it neatly beside my nest cushion. ThunderClan's fresh-kill pile is provided for.