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Word Count: 309
Damn that rabbit. Damn the hole. Damn the years. And damn these fickle limbs that randomly go weak. Roose thought for the thousandth time as he limped across the tundra. Each step sent shooting pains up his front limb, and there were times where he would simply hop along and not use it at all.
It was just supposed to be a simple hunt. It was not the first time he had strayed farther beyond the borders than was probably wise to find food. But this time, a trip that should only have taken two or three days at the most had become two weeks.
All because of that damn rabbit!
At least he’d gotten it, though in the end that was a small consolation prize. Sure, he had something to show for his long absence, but the scent of the pack had already faded from his fur and he knew he would have to beg entrance into the territory again. How bothersome.
He miss-stepped and went down with a yelp, the rabbit’s bones crunching in his jaws as his chin plowed into the earth. This was not the first time he had done this on his journey back, and he figured the rabbit would not even be worth eating by the time he finally arrived. But the advisor’s stubbornness refused to drop it.
Roosemooth sat up with a sigh, dropping his prize on the ground for a moment to lick his twisted paw again. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t broken. His old bones were getting frail, but that didn’t mean simply stepping in a hole would snap them. He was better than that.
As he bent to retrieve his prey again, the old man’s nose twitched. He was only a few body-lengths off the border. Might as well call from here. He tipped back his head and howled.
"Speech" Thought