The wind whipped the snow across his face, causing Aldermoon to recoil with a hiss of discomfort. His muscles tensed with the flinch, turning his body against the cold breeze. The short tom brought a paw to his face, running it over his eyes and muzzle, clearing what senses had been stolen. The guider shivered, his short gray fur now being packed by the sprinkling snow. The territory was quiet, besides the faint whistling of the air and rattling of the trees. He doubted it would be easy to find any prey among them any time soon.
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Startled, the older tom attempted to jump back, but his short legs didn't carry him as far as he hoped. The white bits of frozen water hit him on the muzzle and stuck to his whiskers and fur. The gray tom shook his head, his whiskers quivering. "It could have let out a warning cry," he grumbled, flicking the remaining bits off with a paw. Without a warning of his own, he swatted a tiny mound at the she-cat in return, mrowing in amusement.