His paws hurt. The ground beneath them was uneven and distinctly squishy, highly different to the hard concrete Pep was familiar with. Every few steps he suffered the consequences of not treading lightly enough; squelching softly, mud gripped onto his paws like it wanted to suck him in and use him as fertiliser for the abundance of plants. He was too far into this to back out now, he thought regretfully, pausing by the safety of some tall grass to scratch an itch. There were cats out here, Pep had been told, and he was beginning to think they might be as crazy as mama. A moor was a terrible place to live.
One of the moor's few good qualities, Pep decided, was being ridiculously flat. From the branches of a tree, he could see everything. As it turned out, everything was a lot of nothing, prey, nothing, cats, nothing... Cats? He perked up, pleased to have finally spotted another cat after what felt like an eternity. Pep climbed down from the tree gingerly, reluctant to get his paws damp again no matter how excited he was by this discovery. Squish. Squish, squish. He cringed, but kept his tail held high and straight in greeting as he rushed towards them at the grand pace of a snail.