Soft-tail left ThunderClan's Camp. Upon questioning from Briarsong, he told her that he would just go out and see what prey he could find since it's nearly Newleaf and perhaps just relax a bit. He hadn't lied.

Soft-tail trekked through the territory until he ended up at the Birch River. The underbrush felt warm buy wet - the ice and snow was thawing. The ground was cold and somewhat muddy. It didn't take long until he was at the river. He neared the water and drank. It felt cold and refreshing.

With a wet muzzle, Soft-tail made his way towards a tree. The grasses and ferns slid against his soft, short fur, chilling him. His winter fur was never very thick – just thick enough he wouldn’t freeze to death. He neared the base of the tree while birdsong could be heard. 'Maybe I'll be able to catch one,' he thought. Soon after he was at the gnarling roots of the tree. With one wet paw after another he climbed it, his sharp claws gripping harder to account how slippery the bark was. Soon, however, he was next to a branch. It was thin and couldn't withstand much weight, thus when he would sit on it, he'd have to stay at the base, where it was thickest. With one graceful maneuver, he sat. His eyes sparkled in the sunlight; he was quite high up. The sun warmed his damp fur as the birds continued to chirp happily. He closed his light green eyes - not yet ready to fall asleep but ready to appreciate the warmth from the upcoming Newleaf.