Blessed Cliffs

It was the height of the dry season. There was no denying it. The deputy walked through the broken rock that composed the Blessed Cliffs, mostly void of life during this time of the year. Most cats avoided it if possible, with little prey to be found outside of the odd lizard and smaller mammal in the area. Still, the tom moved with purpose, broad shoulders gliding effortlessly through the dark, weather beaten stone. His fur cloaking him from all but the most alert of creatures. Despite his very clear goal of a simple patrol to ensure no ShoalClanner or outsider had gotten the wrong idea and decided to begin hunting in the clan's rightful territory, he would not say no to some prey if there was any to be found. Even fish seemed like a good idea at the time, golden green orbs occasionally turning to the waves.

Massive paws slowly taking him down the slippery stone, Grayflame suddenly stilled, crouching down low. Slow, almost lazy movement had caught his attention, narrowing his eyes as he tasted the wind. It was hard to discern prey scent in the area. The heavy smell of ocean breeze as well as the stench of those who claimed these rocks once a year lingered like a fog in the air, and unknown to him yet, the scent he was attempting to find was much lighter than either of the two prevalent forces of the cliffs. Just the same what his nose did not catch his gaze soon did, the sluggish movements of an iguana at rest clear to him as he poked his head beyond the next rock.

The Maine Coon remained impassive as he stared down at the reptilian form, its almost grayish scales blending less effectively with the rocky backdrop it resided in than his own pelt. Judging by the size and general physique of the creature, it was a younger female, information that in earnest did little for his enthusiasm at the thought of hunting this creature. While there was no doubt that iguanas were a common sight in the territory, they were not a meal EmberClan warriors were used to. And yet, the clan had fallen in a bit of a lull of late. With barely any motion to be seen. Easy pickings for ShoalClan if they were to suddenly attack. Perhaps the thought of having to eat this for dinner with no other option in sight would get his clanmates off their lazy asses and moving towards sustaining the clan.

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