Sweetberry bounded across the moor, feeling the wind rush through her creamy fur. She narrowed her pale green eyes, an attempt to keep the rushing wind out. Nothing could beat this, just. . . . . running. That's what she was built for. Not swimming through water with strong paws, like a RiverClan cat. Not stalking prey through thorny brambles, like a ThunderClan cat. Not performing a silent ambush on an unprepared enemy, like a ShadowClan cat. She was WindClan, running across the moor after fleet-footed prey, while the wind blew fiercly alongside her. Sweetberry would always be a moor-runner, always.
All credit to VenusFlyer for run cycle.
