'You know how to hunt, we all had the same lessons, you just...don't.'

It was the single most Nightshade answer she could give him, and the most honest. Yes, he knew how. Yes, he had the knowledge -- in fact, his one on one lessons with Papa should've given him an edge on his littermates. He had tried -- he'd tried time and time again, he kept trying. But his paws were always in the wrong place, or he waited too long (or not long enough), or the prey seemed to hear him coming even if he thought he did it all right. It was frustrating, and he was tired of being such a disappointment.

He loathed the thought that they thought of him as lazy, or unwilling.

Penny grew quiet again as they kept walking, but whether Verbena took his request to heart or realized the lash of her tongue seared him, she piped up again. Practice. Ha. He curled one side of his lip in dark amusement. He had more of that than her, he wanted to spit. He should've been as capable as she thought he was.
But when she told him to use his nose, and he stuck it up in the air to get a good whiff, the prey-scent just blended into the background like every other 'normal' smell around. It was, in fact, the one strange one so starkly different from the others, the one that his subconscious knew was Not Good, that stood out.

Dunno what it is, he frowned, but nodded in the direction of the cat.