[Doom]

The little black tom swam his way through the undergrowth like a snake, amber gaze scanning every shaded nook and cranny for moss or feathers. He knew there was more than enough moss back at the new old camp, but he couldn't be bothered to disturb the natural beauty of it. Some of it could be covered in charcoal, too, which he was not eager to sleep on. Nests were better clean and untouched, after all.

He tore the green stuff off the bottoms of several trees with ease, but feathers...those were proving tricky to find. Unusual, considering birds were everywhere now. "C'mere lil birfdy-firdies," He quietly called out through a mouth full of moss, "Gimmie your feafferrrrs."

After a couple of laps through the territory, he managed to find 3 downy feathers, which weaved effortlessly within the large wad of moss in his mouth. However, part of him still wasn't satisfied with his findings. He could do better. His Clan deserved better!

Then, right before the sun was setting (and he'd been searching all evening), Hawkshade came across a striped white, blue, and black feather. Oho! His eyes rounded on it as he approached, crouching down beside it for a closer look. "Ohh, how pretty." He purred, then attempted to carefully nip the stem of it into his mouth without dropping the rest of his hoard. Once it was crammed in with the rest of it, Hawkshade gave a satisfied nod, then turned heel back to camp with his mouth full of nesting materials, tail high in the air.