[div style="width: 50%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Things were moving unbearably quickly.

It had felt like just moments ago Rainstep had shut his eyelids, his eyes burning from long awake days in their old, now-forgotten home. Life in the clan, if one could call such a rag-tag band of felines a clan, was once much simpler, with fewer bellies to fill, fewer souls to protect, fewer corners and shadows to anxiously watch. It was not as though they were burden-free beasts before, but at the very least they were among familiar surroundings and faces. But expansion happened in the blink of an eye — new warriors, queens, kits, elders, may they be a product of the miracle of life or simply found upon their territory and taken into their ranks. As their numbers grew, so did the workload — at least, that's how it felt to him. The tom had never been one to complain about keeping busy, but in recent times, he hardly felt as though he could sleep for a mere second.

And now here they were, in this alien environment with no one but themselves (and StarClan, if anyone had even received any counsel from them since their arrival here) for guidance. Rainstep was more than capable of comprehending the logic behind their great journey. Their old territory, as familiar as it was, could not possibly house the surplus of cats that crowded their camp, creating a housing situation that was far from livable for anyone. Aside from the painfully evident issue of space, there was also the matter of food. With their near-exponential growth, they needed a land with proper resources to accommodate it, lest they face mutiny, perhaps even death if not dealt with quicker. On the other hand, these new woodlands that they had decided to settle in would do just that, with its flowing waters, bountiful fields, and rich forests. Plenty of ways to sustain oneself, and plenty of space to house everyone.

Naturally, Rainstep had anticipated this move for a while. He just didn't anticipate how much it would tire him out.

The dark-furred tom abandoned his racing thoughts as the metallic taste of blood combined with thin, short fur coated his tongue, filling his mouth with crimson liquid and returning him to his forest surroundings. His fangs were connected to his prey: a decently plump squirrel that he had found upon his independent hunt. He had taken the initiative to contribute to their new fresh-kill pile in order to get a head start on combating the clan's hunger. Starvation would have to be the least of their worries when they had a new, unfamiliar realm to conquest. He had primarily stuck to his own private hunts in order to explore their new territory, confining himself to their scent borders as the cats had agreed upon while still taking the opportunity to take note of unique landmarks and locations that would better assist his navigating around the land in the future. He had to admit, though, that he wouldn't have particularly minded bringing others on a hunting patrol to do the same. Perhaps soon he would organize one.

Somewhat triumphant paws led him back to their camp, his fat squirrel hanging from his jaws until he deposited it unceremoniously in their fresh-kill pile, which, thanks to his contributions among others, had been notably growing. Vivid blue hues scanned the camp, watching his fellow warriors mingle about and pass through the camp's entrances. He hoped that the dullness coating his tired eyes was far from noticeable.

[div style="width: 50%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Already his arrival back to the clan's camp had summoned two more cats towards him, the former evidently more prickly than the latter. Rainstep was far from immune to the remarks of Canarysong, whose words cut sharply as though they were daggers, but in time he began to sympathize with her plight, perhaps even pity her a little. Her physical being was littered with scars and memories of an unkind, painful past, not to mention her pregnancy, which was far from an easy state to be in. She was a bitter she-cat, yes, and often a thorn in many's side, but there really was no point arguing with her. These were punches the tom learned to take and shrug off. "I hope you're faring well today, Canarysong," he replied, nodding his head to her in acknowledgment. "You can look through the fresh-kill pile for my other contributions if you find this unsatisfying." He could kill her with kindness, sure, but a part of him still wished to put her in her place. He said nothing more on the matter.

Exhausted blue eyes fell upon Whitedove now, who also addressed the molly before speaking to his fellow warrior. The bicolor tom's voice was akin to his, and he knew that they both could use a moment of rest for once. When they would be able to shut their tired eyes, though, was entirely unknown. Until then they could only march onward and keep their heads up with a sense of dignity, even if it felt as though it would fall down at any moment. "Good enough," Rainstep replied with a soft huff. "Though hunting alone isn't nearly as fruitful as working with several eyes and ears. I'd love to organize a patrol soon." He was fine with his independent ventures, but it wouldn't be long before they needed more than individuals hunts could offer.