[amapup]

*I don't know yet where this is going to go. I will adjust the rating accordingly as it evolves.

The midmorning rays struggled to filter through the thick canopy above. It was just late enough that the birds had ceased their morning chorus, and aside from the occasional animal call and buzzing cicada the forest was silent. Ferns on the ground rustled as a dusty fenling pushed his way through them. He wore a grim line on his face and a wide-brimmed hat which would have surely fallen in his face if he hadn't had such large ears to balance it. His fur appeared to be a dull matte color, but whenever a spot of sun managed to land on him it seemed to glow with a hidden sparkle.

The underbrush here was some of the thickest in the area. It was difficult enough for him to get through, and it would be even harder for any larger creatures. That was why he had chosen this place. Rookie suppressed a hiss as a thorn snagged on his tail, ignoring the slight pain as he tugged himself loose. His mind was more occupied with the frustration caused by the past several weeks.

[amapup]

Here it was.

The fenling deftly skirted around the trap loop he had placed, before pushing aside some leaves to reveal a burrow descending into the ground. It was one of a small handful of supply stashes he kept in various parts of the jungle, for those times he would be out for a good while. He had a spot in the Slums too, sure, but he didn't keep much there; Rookie knew first hand what life was like around here, and anything left alone wouldn't be left alone for long.

He poked his head inside, hoping for some good news. Despite the rumors of a new poacher in town, his trail had run cold after the first few days of tracking, and after several weeks of work Rookie had been unable to pick them up again. Now he was back to try and figure out his next move. The stash seemed to be mostly stocked: a decent amount of rations, some netting and twine, a few knives, a pair of shackles he'd managed to pick up long ago, a box of matches. The fenling spat. No smokes. And the rope was running a little low. Guess he would have to go into town after all.

[amapup]

Rookie grabbed one of the knives and a small sack of coin and transferred them to the small belt he wore after withdrawing from the burrow. He would need protection where he was going. He carefully replaced the leaves and double checked the trap to ensure it was still functional. Gathering his paws under him, the fenling leaped out of the brush, aiming himself at the trunk of a nearby tree. His paws collided with the wood,and he managed to redirect his trajectory, landing with a hard thump just outside the mass of brush. It had taken him a while to learn that trick.

He rose from the ground, shaking himself from the fall. Looking through the trees ahead he could already see the rooftops of the rundown shacks that made up the slums. A sinking feeling entered the pit of Rookie's stomach. The Hell he had been forced to call home. There may be some small nostalgia for certain aspects of the place, but life had never been easy, or secure. There wasn't a more dangerous place on the continent for a creature like him to be.

And yet this was the life he had chosen. A hard glint entered his eye. An endless cycle of revenge against those who would do him wrong. He scanned the ground around him, until he found a suitable spot devoid of plants. The fenling flung himself into the moist dirt, the hat tumbling off his head as he vigorously rolled himself in the earth. By the time he was done any golden sheen in his coat had all but disappeared, and his fur had become a dark, dirty color. Rookie spat out a piece of soil and grabbed the brim of his hat in his teeth, flipping it back onto it's perch between his ears. He couldn't have too much camouflage.With a grim line set in his maw he continued towards the slums.