The quiet call of evening rolled into the red trees like seeping black ink. It spread into the depths of corners of the world, only contrasted by the glow of a falling sun. Crickets began to sing their songs of day's end reverie, accompanied by the only quieter beings of this world finally creeping in their darkest crevices. Something small skitters past the paws of a tom, who lifts them in quiet and disgusted protest.

Not that he were scared or disgusted by bugs, the contrary in fact, but instead that he was touched without his say. Without even seeing it's face either, for it had soon returned back into the leaves that it had come from. A shiver rolled up the pale cat's spine, one that was quickly dissipated with a arch-shaped stretch. His tail swished as if to ward off any latent icky feelings.

The cat wandered carefully and incredibly silently through these woods, like one of the little quiet creatures himself. For he were not very big, nor strong in mass. Only a cat, who's slender form trickled through the undergrowth the same way.

It seemed he had the idea to climb, to catch visual on the world below and get a better vantage. He was practiced, clearly, for scaling the tree looked to be of no great effort. The tom perched himself on a branch and watched the happenings of below.

His job was to hunt. For him and his mother. To keep them both fed. So regardless of the pain in his limbs or the heavy pounding in his chest. He had to push through. Didn’t matter if he was tired, being lazy wasn’t an option. He’d already gotten off track, following the scent of a lynx hidden in the forest. He’d given up when the scent led him in circles, realizing far too late that he wasn’t the one tracking the other. His fur itched with the realization that the lynx had been watching, playing with him. He’d given up and left, finding a small clearing where a rabbit caught his attention.

His own body was black and slender, fit in the way on was built for speed and not strength. He was fast. He had no doubt he’d catch the rabbit. So he crouched, stalking low to the ground. His movements were slow. Any of the forest’s sounds drowned out by his own screaming heartbeat.

He launched up quickly darting after the rabbit. Only for his blood to catch up to him. Or lack there of. His vision went black, his limbs falling slack under him. Awkwardly he stopped in his tracks, stumbling with a dazed look before he tripped and fell onto the ground. He stayed there, semi conscious. He was panting heavily, trying to calm his panicking body. The world around him was spinning fast, he knew the rabbit was far gone by now.
Leaving him collapsed in the snow covered grass. His paws cold under him. His vision returned but he didn’t move. He’d over done it. His fur bristled in frustration, his claws digging at the ground below him.

He had been observing a rabbit for a while, watching with curiosity as it went about it's skittering business. Moth had been amused by it, thinking it was so silly to be observed by a cat and not know. Was he that sneaky or was this rabbit simply naive?

His inner monologue was interrupted, however, by the sudden thrashing of paws in the undergrowth. His blue eyes widen to realize he hadn't been the only cat observing the rabbit, and not even he noticed. Perhaps he was the naive one here then?

The tom continued to observe, wondering if he should make himself known after the rabbit had been caught, or if he should remain hidden and avoid confrontation. Yet he had not much time to think about it, for the other cat stumbled, tripped, and fell rather unceremoniously into the dirt. Surely a brief rabbit's chase wasn't fatiguing enough to cause a full-grown cat to collapse? His heart twinged for concern of the stranger.
He hesitated on the branch for a second, wondering if he should get involved or turn the other way. He leapt down and towards them before he could make the decision, perhaps his soul had other plans. Ones that didn't concern his logic or reasoning.

Are you alright...!? He called from a distance, drawing nearer with every hastened step. He stopped a couple tail-lengths away, still cautious about invading the personal space of a strange cat. His nose lowered and pointed towards the dark figure, trying to take in scent of disease or illness that would cause the sudden collapse. Moth trilled another quiet hello. Was he dead?

The sound of footsteps, despite being obviously far too light, made his fur bristle. Panic seeping in. The lynx, it’d come to claim its prey.
He craned his body with a hollow sounding hiss. He stopped at the rather small cat. At least small in comparison. He hadn’t noticed him, though if he came from the trees that’d explain it. Even so, with a whit pelt? He’d blend into winters blanket.
“I’m fine” his body flushed with embarrassment, how much had this cat seen? Enough to be concerned. Probably saw him fumble the hunt and land like an overexcited kit walking for the first time.
He didn’t try and get up yet, he knew he couldn’t. Instead he glared at the stranger and rolled. Pushing himself into the ground and rolling onto his back. Hating the utter stupidity of the situation. The vulnerability of having his stomach exposed to the air. It felt horrible, and yet he knew from experience that it’d help his body regulate again, for the blood to stop pooling in his paws and return to his brain. He stretched out with a grunt. No other cats had this problem, no one else he’d met had any cure for it. Herbs didn’t work.
All he had was tricks to help.
He eyed down at his paw, flexing his claws in frustration. So incredibly foolish. That’s all he was. Foolish and stupid. Incompetent at best.

Moth shrunk where he stood. He felt like he invaded, intruded, on this person. Like he walked in on them in the bathroom but is entirely unable to close the door now that he's opened it. He stood there awkwardly, his left paw raised and his head turning away as if he were fighting with his instinct to run away from discomfort.

He swallowed on whatever spit he had in his mouth, trying to use it as an opportunity to think.
That.. rabbit was really fast. Don't sweat it. He tempted, trying to be lighthearted.

He let out a frustrated sigh, his tail tapping against the floor. “Super fast” he decided to entertain the other. Giving his body a few more awkward moments upside down before pushing over and trying to stand.
His legs shook under him, claws gripping to stabilize himself. He panted some at the strain.

“Fastest rabbit I’ve seen, hm?” He mused playfully. He refused to make eye contact, instead looking over the Tom. Not necessarily staring, or at least not trying to. But looking him over, getting a good look of him. His speckled browns and tans over white fur.

Despite the complaints of his body, he stood. Slowly, but he stood.
His steps wobbled but he pushed forward and walked past the Tom. His thin tail running under his chin.

“What’s your name stranger?”

He's an oblivious creature most plainly, he still couldn't hide the concern on his face when the other struggled to maintain their balance when they stood. They seemed to recover quickly, though, quickly enough to look Moth over like he was a slab of meat. At least that's what eyes felt like to the awkward little entomologist. The tom shifted his body slightly, as if trying to hide himself away from prying silver eyes. A slight heat in his face to prove his embarrassment and suddenly Moth was very grateful there wasn't an otherwise obvious tell to expose him.

A tail graced his sharp chin. It felt like a cold breeze ran across his neck. His fur bristled slightly, much beyond his sense of control.

Ah... eh... Mothwing. The tom replied, his eyes blatantly avoiding contact with the other's. And yourself? Why had he so easily given his name to this guy? But Moth felt so awkward, so misplaced, it felt like he answered if only to justify his existence. My name is Mothwing, and therefor I am here. Or was it "I am here, therefor I am Mothwing"..? His brain scrambled, an encounter with a stranger wasn't exactly what he signed up for this evening. He felt unprepared, unready, as if a chance encounter was something you should've been prepared for. It made him feel silly, like he had dressed differently from everyone else at a party he wasn't exactly invited to.

It was a quick exhale of amusement, not exactly a laugh but certainly something. He kept his gaze on him, distrustful of the stranger. However, confident  enough that he’d keep control over the situation. That he’d be able to guide the conversation however he wished.
He raised a brow, watching the toms fur bristle. “I’m not going to hurt you, moth. Lay your fur” he teased “that scared of me? You’d have as much chance as that rabbit” he reminded.

“Flint’Strike, just Flint works” he answered, pawing over some snow under his paw.
“So, you just have the need to check out every unfortunate Tom? Or am I something special for you?” He turned, circling around him like a shark would a piece of prey.
“If you’re that concerned, why don’t you look me over for injuries?” He stepped close, lingering in front of him with a sly smirk. His silver gaze slitted. His face in front of his, forcing eye contact.

I- im not- He mewed to interrupt, but the stranger was already onto the next sentence, pulling Moth along like a dog on a leash. His ears perked, however, to the sound of the strangers name. It intrigued him, but also he was thankful to have been reciprocated. A part of him was worried he would run back to his clan to tell them his name so they could hunt him down.

Na- uh- UHM Moth's voice stuttered in embarrassment, his face flushing red hot again. He stared at Flint with wide, blue eyes. There weren't any other toms like him in his home clan. Partially why he left. To be so blatantly flirted with by another tom, Moth's heart skipped every other beat. Moth didn't think he was regarded as handsome or attractive either, never felt anything more than ordinary.

W- wha- uhhh, do you have a clan? He managed to spit out, trying to forcefully change the subject before he was drowned in his own hot blood.

“A clan?” He repeated it like if was foreign to him. He raised a brow before going along with it. Taking an uneducated guess on what that meant. I mean it was obvious he was asking about a group, but why would he?
He leaned in close to moths face, hovering above his ear. “If you’re asking if I have a mate, I don’t” his voice was quiet, rolling past the toms ears. His whiskers twitching slightly.
He pulled back, smirking down at the shorter Tom.

“It’s just me and my mother , I’ve been smelling other cats around, guess I got lucky to run into one” he pulled his paw up, grooming it over.
“By the way you’re asking, I’m assuming you don’t have any pretty shecat sharing your nest either”

His tail folded calmly over his paws. This was rare, he barely found other cats, or creatures that didn’t just want to eat him upon first view. Finally , finally another cat he wasn’t related to.