the hunt. [open]

[Finnick]

The bronze-pelted cat slipped through the tall grasses of the plains, sea green eyes flashing with determination. He hadn't managed to execute a ground kill yet, instead feeding himself with fish from the rivers he crossed, but he hadn't seen one in the near horizon in very, very long. His pawsteps were light and calculated, and he was overwhelmed with the obvious scents of mouse, of squirrel, even of a hare, but he knew not how to hunt them down.

He cursed at himself, ear flicking, annoyed, when a flash of a bit of brown fur caught his eye. Frozen, unsure of what to do, he made a decision and bolted after it, long legs stretching far to cover as much distance as possible.

Somehow, by the work of some God up there, he caught up to it before it scurried into the safety of its burrow and leapt on top of it, bringing it down and setting his teeth around its throat. That much, he knew. And he waited while the rabbit bled its life out, feeling a tinge of sympathy for it that he never felt when he hunted fish.

Then again, fishes' eyes were nowhere near as expressive.

"I'm sorry," he meowed quietly as he dropped the rabbit, letting it give one feeble kick before it succumbed.

[Quail]

Quail aimlessly wandered the plains, looking for something to do. Just anything that he could do besides toss around trash. He was hungry, and didn't want to resort to trash unless it was absolutely needed to live. The brown tabby sniffed the air, his ears perking up.

The young tom caught the sight of another cat who looked his age. Quail's eyes widened as he caught the view of a rabbit, and his stomach growled. A lot of thoughts went through his head, but he finally decided to just approach and see where it goes. Who knows, maybe he could get a bite of that rabbit. "Um... Hello?" Quail murmured, approaching the tom lightly.

[Finnick]

Finnick's ears flicked at the growl of a stomach, and he turned in time to hear the soft murmur of a voice as a young brown tabby approached him.

"Hello," he meowed in response, voice low and purred, flashing green eyes at whoever this stranger was - Quail, was his name? He tried to make a mental note to remember the name, but it was half-hearted. Names weren't his thing.

Neither was land, but sometimes you'd just have to make exceptions.

His sea green eyes critically scanned the other tom, coming to the conclusion that he must be eager for a meal; widened eyes at the sight of the rabbit, the growl he heard earlier: of course. And Finnick felt bad for him. Unfortunately for him, because he'd tried to rid himself of emotions a long time ago. Obviously it hasn't worked.

"Come on over, kid," he sighed, stepping away from the rabbit, dressing the tom as 'kid' even though they were likely the same in age. "I'll catch another one later."