Strong, healthy, and skilled.

Karma has always been a funny and fickle force of nature; striking whenever it so desired, days or years after the folly committed. However, for some unlucky few, karma decides to play a trick, setting the prideful and foolish up for failure before single claw has even been lifted. In that sense it was hilariously ironic, that Vera Lynn's chosen target just so happened to be almost nothing like she wanted.

A snow-white figure sat alone in a clearing just a few fox-lengths away from where the huntress was hiding, pulling up shoots from the frost-covered ground. The silhouette was obviously a male one, not particularly muscular, but certainly handsome in his own way; young, with a lean, yet well-fed frame highlighted by short, gray-patched fur, and most noticeably: folded ears. What the she-cat did not notice, however, was how the tom's ears seemed to twitch at the softest of sounds, and how he used his nose and paws to find the next shoot to pull; his other senses making up for the one he was impaired in. If she listened closely, she could hear him humming a little tune to himself as he worked, placing all of the shoots in a small pile beside him. Guider Atticus was in good spirits today; his sister had recently given birth to a litter of healthy, rambunctious tykes, and he was thrilled to finally be an uncle.

"Oof!" Atticus let out a bark of surprise as something leapt onto the tom's back, something heavy. On pure instinct he attempted to roll onto his back to crush the attacker under his weight, his limbs flailing wildly. In his struggle he knocked over the pile of herbs that he had been collecting, the shoots scattering across the cold ground. It was only by pure chance that he managed to get a brief glance over his shoulder, and his let out a hiss realizing that it was another cat trying to pin him down. "G-get off...please-!"

It was a fair point. Atticus had never been a fighter like his sister was, he tended to avoid confrontation when he possibly could. If he could just wiggle himself free, the tom could make a beeline to the nearest tunnel entrance at the other end of the field; once he was underground, he doubted his attacker would be able to follow, only a true Regime cat could navigate down there. And yet...when whoever this she-cat was had jumped on him, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind in the panic, so why would she bring it up? Did she want to chase him? To fight him? Regardless, in a rare moment of stubborn determination for him, he decided that he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed all of his muscles and went limp beneath her.
"I'm not doing anything until you explain what this is about. You're League, aren't you? If you actually wanted to kill me, this would be over already."

As the she-cat got off of him, Atticus sat back up, getting a good look at his attacker for the first time. She was a lot smaller than he expected, her lithe frame and dual-colored mottled coat completing the look of a cat whose appearance was certainly deceiving, given how easily she had completely overpowered the Guider. Once again, he could've run the moment she loosened her grip on him, but now he was curious. Instead, he simply shook the dirt from his spotless pelt, giving his chest fur a few contemplative licks as he listened to the Huntress's explanation. "Four moons, huh?" He mused, raising an incredulous brow at her demand. Having spent nearly his entire life in the cave gardens, he honestly didn't know too much about the League, except the most-likely exaggerated stories the Mercenaries told him. "That's quite a long while. Any particular reason you're willing the risk the ire of the entire Regime to steal me away?"