It took a little bit of imagination - lying, even - to imagine that the sun was still as warm as it had been. Owlfang stretched out near the cluster of warriors’ dens exposing his expansive belly to the sky. His dark fur greedily soaked up what little heat the leaf-fall weak sun had to give. The tom heaved a contented sigh, trying not to think about the frigid months that loomed ahead.

He dozed there far beyond the ideal sunbathing hours, blissfully unaware of how much time had passed until a cat called out to him. Rolling from his back to his side, his eyes cracked open to see Cherrybite approaching. “Cherrybite,” he rumbled in return, straightening a little more and fixing her with a curious stare.

As the mottled warrior continued, recalling their now distant plans of sharing a meal after their memorable spar. A smile spread across his muzzle and he pushed himself up onto his paws. His back arched and ears snapped back against his head and he stretched until his legs quivered before relaxing with a shake of his pelt. “What a good night for it,” he agreed. With a dip of his head, he invited her to walk with him before starting towards the fresh kill pile. “I think I can forgive you,” he teased. “Better late than never, after all. So tell me, Cherrybite, what is your favorite thing to eat?”

Owlfang drew to a stop and poked through the pile with one front paw. “If we’re going to share, I’d like it to be something we can both enjoy, after all.” His head tilted to punctuate his question and he watched her for an answer.

280 | NOTES | owl