Harefoot went silent in thought but quickly evaluated her idea, “Frog hunting would not be as profitable to the clan as it is a low source of meat. However, fishing is more of a… patient activity.” He hoped she got the idea. Gullwind had many moons over Harefoot as a warrior. However, it didn’t take long to notice she was the more restless type- yet somehow still slacked off at times, which irritated him- so she would probably yield more results from trying to catch moving prey rather than waiting in one spot. Of course, he only knew this because he was not, per se, a flawless fisher. Shameful, as it was, only his younger brother inherited their father’s natural proficiency. Harefoot was swift, sturdy, and had an exemplary sense of smell- all well and good, of course- but none were as useful when executing this kind of hunting. Although, with her, he couldn’t be sure. They had hardly spoken or been on hunting patrols together during warriorhood. “Honeyhoot or Minkstar might have better luck fishing than us. I recall Honeyhoot was given her warrior name as a tribute to her observation, and Minkstar is quiet-spirited, so I think she would do well. Perhaps Gullwind and I should look nearby for prey suitable for our abilities?” He tried to give all engagement and care to his words, looking to Minkstar for her thoughts, but he remained expressing exhaustion and sharpness in his voice. Hopefully, his dipped head and still tail would express his non-hostility. At least he could tell his sister he’d tried.
Honeyhoot looked up to the gray sky. Her mind wasn’t doing much, making mental notes of where the clouds moved and how the wind chilled her golden fur. She was always acutely aware of how the things around her changed and moved. How they affected her, but she was never sure why. Nonetheless, she guessed that didn’t matter. She counted the falling leaves, the tumbling of blown-away pebbles, and the beats of her own heart either way. So why should it matter?
