Withering

Withering's eyes narrow, his eyes on one of his favorite prey. Fish. He leaps, quickly hooks his claws on the fish, dragging it to a few tail-lengths away from the water. This isn't very big, but I'll manage. He scoffs to himself, his tail twitching as he stares at his flimsy catch, before looking up, his red eyes scan the area, then heading to his den, his catch in his maw. The scent of another cat hits his nose, and his pelt bristles as he looks around for the hidden cat.