Hyenaprowl felt most comfortable in the darkness. He’d spent his adolescence in the dark rainsleek alleys of the city, ducking from the curious gaze of two-legs and dogs. The instinct was still with him now, as he silently slunk from the shadows of one towering pine to the next, trying to remain undetected by the prey. The commotion of the day had left his head aching. A spat with a warrior that had been snoring loud enough to wake the whole forest had left the other with a harmless scratch, and him with a harsh reprimanding from Aspenstar. With all the idiocracy of clan life, it was nice to be alone with his shadows again.

He’d decided to go hunt by the ruined camp tonight. He knew plenty of mice made their nests there, and his long limbs made him suitable for catching them. He was almost to the camp when a snap of a branch slowed his pace to halt. The spears of vertebrae in his spine arched as he lowered to a crouch, ears swiveling in the direction of the sound. The layer of rainwater from the afternoon showers masked all the forest scents, and the gagging stench of rotting mushroom paid him no service, but his sharp senses detected a hint of squirrel all the same.

He was edging around a dripping bush when a hiss and commotion alerted him that the squirrel was no more. Nightclan scent bathed his tongue. Part of him wanted to remain in the shadows, and slink away before the other noticed, but he reminded himself that he wasn't a creeping rodent. He was a Warrior of Nightclan now. Grudgingly, he emerged from the shadows to discover Shakeshiver.

Hyenaprowl had grown accustomed to that sight; the arched back, the bared teeth. He didn't have enough toes to count the number of times he faced down a rival just like this she-cat, over a scrap of prey like this squirrel. Part of him was always ready for battle, and it nearly jumped out in this instance, until he noticed her demeanor softening to a braggadocious smirk.

He returned her taunt with a flick of his ears. “One squirrel hardly makes you the queen of the forest.” He’d noticed this she-cat in the camp before -- hugging shadows, her paws likely made of clouds. She’d appear from thin air and disappear without a trace. Something about that set him on edge... but at least she didn’t snore. Shakeshiver, or was it Snakeshiver?

The moon was still high in the sky, but in a few hours it would retreat, and the shadows would follow. He still had a mind to visit that ruined campsite before that time. He saw something of himself in this she-cat, but he was still beside himself when he heard his voice say, “the old camp has new tenants. A clan of mice, just ahead. Let’s see who’s faster.”

Hyenaprowl couldn’t help but smirk at her peacocking -- a stretch to show off her length of bone, a yawn to show off those menacing teeth, really? Perhaps this was a fight of sorts, after all. Good. He hadn’t yet gained an appetite for all the palling around that these clan cats did, but good competition did get his blood flowing. This was something he was familiar with, at least.

“How regal of you,” he cooed sarcastically as he padded past her. It was true his sand-colored fur was idiosyncratic against the dark browns and blacks of his clanmates (and the surrounding forest), but he held two advantages that made up for it. First was his innate craftiness, that all city cats boasted. And the second was his speed. He was slim and tall, with a stride that could break distance in one step where it might take another two. He used the latter ability to break into a smooth gallop, leaving Snakeshiver behind without another word.

His paws pounded against wet leaves, the hidden roots in the dark earth underfoot not dampening his confidence in his gait. He was moving fast, so it came as a surprise to him when he looked over his shoulder to see Snakeshiver right on his tail, literally. He had never lost a race as far as he could remember, and he certainly wasn’t about to lose one to a clan cat. He cursed under his breath, urging his legs to move faster.

They sped through the night forest, the wind ripping through their fur as the trees thinned to a clearing. The ruined camp lay just ahead. Hyenaprowl was so full of adrenaline that he nearly forgot why the abandoned camp had been abandoned in the first place -- it wasn’t until he laid eyes on its devastation that he drew up, putting his shoulder out to slow Snakeshiver a moment before the earth underfoot opened up to a giant crevice.

That was close. The fur along his spine spiked as he peered down into foreboding darkness. They stood in front of a ruin of crisscrossed crevices and sinkholes, overgrown with wild grasses and encroaching bushes. It was hard for him to imagine these clan cats once lived here. He turned to Snakeshiver behind him. “You move pretty fast for a Nightclanner,” he admitted, evidently unaware of her heritage.

The story mirrored his. He’d been dumped like a pile of mouse dung as a kitten, but instead of Nightclan, he’d been alone in the city. Rats had been his clanmates, companions, and rivals. You would never hear him admit it, but he’d even eaten food out of two-leg paws on a few desperate nights. The face of his mother was a blur when he tried to remember it, but strangely, he still remembered her scent. He felt an urge to ask her more, or even share his own story, but “Oh,” is all he said. I’m such a mouse-brain sometimes. He shook his head, turning back to the ruin. He was so bad with words.

The camp did have a sad energy permeating over it, but the scent of mice was even stronger. This had been a fantastic place to hunt since the season had turned to Newleaf, but Hyenaprowl had noticed he’d practically been the only one to take advantage. Perhaps most of his clanmates had been warded off by the feeling of dread in the air.

“Let’s go down there and see what we can find.” He turned back to her. “You’re not scared, are you?” His mew was teasing, but it didn’t carry the same edge to it.

Hyenaprowl noticed that Snakeshiver looked unsettled, but chose to leave it alone. He knew a thing or two about personal demons, and he wouldn’t want anyone prying into his personal business if he didn’t want them to. He nodded and silently turned away, slowly working his way down the sloped earth into the ruined camp below.

By the time they got to the base of the camp, the stench of mouse dung hung heavy in the air. Squeaks sounded from all corners of the camp, and little footfalls could be heard racing down cracks and crevices. Hyenaprowl swiveled his ears at the sounds, trying to center on a single target. As sudden as lightning, he darted off into a thicket of brambles, seemingly where a den used to stand. He returned a moment later with a house hanging from his jaws.

“1-to-1. Now we’re even.” He dropped the mouse between them and flashed a smug smile. Hunting was easy here if you were quick enough. These mice seemed particularly mouse-brained.

A growl wound in Hyenaprowl’s throat, deep and guttural. He should’ve known so many mice were bound to attract other predators at some point. He wondered if Snakeshiver had sensed the fox earlier, and if that’s what she had been so unsettled about. He shook his head -- that didn’t matter now. Right now he had to focus on defending his territory.

“You want a piece of this, you mangy furball?” Hyenaprowl bared long white canines, flashing his claws in warning. Compared to dogs, foxes were nothing. He knew with a few good scratches this one would run off with its shaggy tail between its legs. He was more annoyed that the flea-bitten pest had interrupted his hunt with Snakeshiver.

Never one to stand by, Hyenaprowl took the offensive. The sandy tom shot forward with a quickness, delivering a devastating downward slash to the foxes maw before nimbly bouncing out of reach. The earth drank scarlett blood.

Hyenaprowl’s amber gaze blazed, adrenaline pulsing. He had faced so many foes, from rats to dogs, that fear no longer ran through him. In fact, he felt a manic liveliness filling his body.

His senses were sharp. He could smell the iron tang of the fox's blood mixed in with the feline scent of Snakeshivers. It looked like the fox had gotten a decent chomp into her leg. He had to admit that the she-cat had guts to still be latched on top of it like she was. Taking advantage of the fox's distraction, the Hyenaprowl launched again, delivering fierce rakes to the creature's cheeks and forelegs.

Triumph filled him as he saw the fox begin to back away. He leaped forward to join shoulder-to-shoulder with Snakeshiver, driving the creature backward. When the fox turned tail and ran, he broke away from Snakeshiver to chase it out of the ruined camp, giving it a last few licks in the hindquarters to contemplate.

Hyenaprowl re-emerged over the crest of the camp a few minutes later. He was so full of excitement, he practically bounded back down to his companion, throwing caution of the cracks crevices to the wind. But the closer he got to her, the stronger the iron tang of blood filled his nostrils. By the time he rejoined her, a cloud of concern had ballooned in him.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing that mangy thing again,” he chuckled half-heartedly, trying his best to hide his worry. “It didn’t get you too bad, did it?”