The tom gave his pelt a shake in frustration as he once again lost the scent for the prey he was hunting to the wet, damp scent of dirt and rock and cavern walls. Letting out what was basically a sigh that was half a hiss, Randall took a short moment to sit and evaluate what in the world he should do next. He hated hunting in the dark crevasses of the tunnels, he had been trained to be a mercenary and hunting was never his forte'. Even beyond trying to track down the scents of prey that was ultimately unfamiliar to him and easy to lose in the sometimes overpowering earthy smell of the regime, he was a more muscularly built tom, and mauevering the sometimes tight spaces one had to twist their body through to give chase was an extra challenge for him.

Even still, it wasn't as if he had much of a choice and he knew it. The Regime had been low on prey, and everyone was in need of helping out. So, in spite of his frustration, Randall rose to his paws once more and once again continued what he considered a mind-numbing search for prey.