indentttSilvery scales glimmer brightly, reflecting the light from the sun back onto the surface of the water. Mothbite watches with wide, black pupils, from the edge of the pond. He's taken to thinking about fish, recently. After finally meeting Riverclan face-to-face, he can't get the memory of their smooth, shining pelts out of his mind. Do they look shiny like that because they eat shiny fish?
indenttt Catching one of them is harder than it looks, though. The herons and egrets make it seem effortless, as simple as plucking catmint from a bush, but Mothbite can't seem to emulate them. The few times he's tried, he just got wet and soggy. In the humid Greenleaf air, it took him hours to dry off. It's not a performance he's eager to repeat anytime soon.
indentttThat's why, for the past few days, Mothbite has been spending his free time here. At the edge of the pond, obscured by the reeds, he watches and waits. Like the heron and the egret, he stays still by the water. And he's only fallen asleep a few times! After all that studying, Mothbite is sure he's ready for another attempt.
indenttt Ever so gently, he creeps towards the pond, his head and shoulders overhanging the water. The shadow he casts on the surface is overtaken by the shadows cats by the reeds. When a juicy looking, striped fish enters his shadow, Mothbite lunges.
indenttt Instead of succulent meat, Mothbite gets a mouthfull of stagnant pond water. Coughing and sputtering, he pulls out of the water. What the hell? He was so sure he had done everything tight this time. Was he just not fast enough?
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