The tom glances around the terrain, sniffing into the thick layer of rain. A few cat lengths away... hare den... He treds forward with determination, the rest of the hunting patrol left behind as he's stuck with his thoughts. He pauses his skittering and shoves his muzzle down the hole, resurfacing with a thick brown hare in his jaw. "Good. The kits can have leftovers again." His cranium lifts, the herbivore dangling in his mouth as he steps north from his spot, returning home
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