Nightburr put one paw in the dung with a heavy heart. He shuddered, but it was something he had better gotten used to. Besides, the fate of the Clan was in his own paws. Rippledust was right--he was the only one who could do this. He needed to prove himself--no--he needed to be dependent on himself. All this time, he had clung to his parents, his mentor, his friends, but that was going to change now. All he needed to do was be sneaky and not get caught by anything.

So after getting used to the feel of the dung, Nightburr plopped down and started rolling left and right--feeling quite stupid, actually. Once he got back up, his whole flank was practically drenched in the off-turning smell. He tried his hardest not to gag while he crept through the bramble bushes, his belly hanging low. One wrong step and he would be dead.

Nightburr continued to go upwards. The NeedleClan camp was located north of the forest, so getting there wouldn't require much thinking. The only problem was the scarcity of bushes and trees, making it hard for Nightburr to hide behind something. Only StarClan knew what was going on up there, but whatever it was, it wasn't friendly.

He knew he was somewhere near the camp when the blades of grass brushing his feet became smaller, and the scent of NeedleClan cats grew excessively striking. Be strong, Nightburr thought. The whole Clan is depending on you. He began trekking somewhere to his right, where there was a large clearing--no cats in sight. But once he stepped inside, he did find something--actually--something living.

A bird.

Suddenly, the hunger hit Nightburr. As soon as he laid his eyes on that bird, he could feel something inside his stomach. It just came to him naturally. He never felt this way before, but why was it happening now? But there was something else inside his stomach, something other than hunger.

Doubt.

The voices in his mind spun around. He wasn't ready for this, after all, was he? A naive cat like him was better off catching prey for his Clan and leaving. That was all he was good for anyway, right? He'd be better off giving up than dying like some idiot. What would his mother think of him then?

Now he could hear his consciousness begging him to catch the bird. To be a good cat. Nightburr looked at it again. It was a big one, which meant it would be less wary of its surroundings. 

What was he waiting for? He could get kill for his Clan and not risk dying. But the other voices in his head told him the opposite--that the future of BarkClan revolved around him. Whatever good he did would benefit the Clan, but if he died, the Clan would be in danger. What about Honeyspots? Was she doing well? What if--

But hunger triumphed over doubt.

Nightburr quickly lowered his center of gravity; his belly hovering over the ground, his tail flicking from side to side. He inched toward the clueless bird, who was chirping away while it quickly hopped over to the side/

But it wasn't any match for Nightburr.

He sprang forward, claws unsheathed, like a bee to a drop of honey, and pounced onto the bird. His claws dug in, wriggling into its neck. He could almost taste the tender meat inside of the plump little thing as he stood there, his mouth wide open, teeth showing as saliva dripped onto the floor as if he was a lion.

Nightburr quickly came back to his senses.

He jumped back in shock. He looked at his bloody claws and then at the trees surrounding him. "What am I doing?" he hissed frantically. "What am I doing? Idiot! IDIOT!"