The Great Stone Drum

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Dawn crept into the stone cave where Flintwhisk lived with his family. The young cat stretched his gray-striped paws and yawned, revealing tiny sharp teeth. Around him, his parents and siblings stirred on their beds of soft moss and dried grass. Outside, the river sang its morning song, calling them to another day of work. Flintwhisk's stomach rumbled. Yesterday's fish had been small, and the berry bushes near their cave grew more bare each day. His father's whiskers twitched with worry as he counted their remaining food stores. "Today we fish together," his mother announced, her golden eyes bright with determination. "Every paw helps."

The family padded down the rocky path to the river, each carrying woven grass baskets. Flintwhisk loved these morning walks, when mist rose from the water and birds called from the trees. His older sister showed him how to spot the best fishing spots where the water swirled in deep pools. His younger brother practiced his pouncing stance on the riverbank. "Remember," their father said, demonstrating his fishing technique, "patience brings the catch." They spread out along the shore, each finding their own rock to perch upon. Flintwhisk watched the silver fish dart beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. This was their way—working together, each contributing what they could to help the family survive.