Lost Creek Hollow The Wind In The Canyon

Here.

The weasel was offered to the other man. Crowfeather did not need it. He was lean and fit. Muscles had reformed and grown in his figure since their trip from Mereo. The time he’d spent getting to know Riverclan’s home had helped to keep him strong. He hadn’t considered that he felt… good. It had been such a long time since he had been confident in hunting, in running.

There was a- not really a rule… a code in my homeland. The clan must be fed before feeding yourself. It was how we looked out for each other. Even the injured could eat when there were hunters looking to fill caches and keep their bellies satisfied. Crowfeather wished to take this tradition and adopt it in Riverclan.

Besides, I would like another try, I think.

A small smile found his narrow snout.